#and OTHERS (looking at you Washington…always making trouble…)

[aroguexenolith]

If your employer fires you without cause you can file for unemployment benefits! Which probably most people know, but what people DON’T know is that former employees claiming unemployment benefits can make the employer have to pay higher taxes. Not like, a ton, but still—you get to hit back just a little bit.

[ruewrote]

𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑝𝑒𝑟𝑓𝑒𝑐𝑡 𝑑𝑎𝑦.

PAIRING: josh washington x gn!reader WARNINGS: reader has longish hair, no use of y/n GENRE: fluff SONG INSPIRATION: out of my league by fitz and the tantrums WORD COUNT: 1.2k REQUESTED: yes

navigation | ask | josh washington masterlist

the chill in the air was biting, but you felt warm, tucked close beside josh as you both settled on a bench near the edge of the overlook. the mountain stretched out before you, blanketed in fresh snow that sparkled under the clear winter sky, while the lodge loomed in the distance behind you, cosy but full of life.

he had one arm wrapped around your shoulders, holding you against him, while his other hand gestured animatedly as he recounted some story from his childhood. you weren’t even fully paying attention to the words; you were more focused on how happy he looked, his eyes bright with laughter, the smile on his face one of the most genuine you'd ever seen.

“and then,” josh said, chuckling as he shook his head, “chris, of course, freaked out, totally bolted. we’re all yelling for him to come back, and he just kept screaming, ‘it’s gonna get me!’ i think we all got grounded after that one.”

you laughed, imagining a younger josh and chris running through the snow, getting into trouble the way they always seemed to. “let me guess, you were the mastermind behind it?”

“hey, i was just an innocent bystander!” he held his hands up in mock innocence, grinning when you raised a sceptical eyebrow. “okay, maybe a little bit. but who can really blame me?”

you laughed, leaning into his side, he tightens his arm around you, brushing his lips against the top of your head. for a moment, you just sat there in comfortable silence, breathing in the crisp air and listening to the quiet sounds of the mountain.

“this is nice,” he murmured, breaking the silence, his voice soft and thoughtful.

“yeah, it really is,” you agreed, smiling as you looked out over the expanse of white and towering pines. the mountain felt serene, almost untouched, and being there with him made it even better. 

josh glanced down at you, a mischievous gleam in his eyes. “wanna go sledding down one of these hills?”

you looked at him in mock horror. “are you serious? i don’t trust you to steer.”

he laughed, reaching over to poke your side. “come on, where’s your sense of adventure? besides, i’d steer us perfectly… into the nearest snowbank.”

you shook your head, giggling as he tickled you, pulling you closer when you tried to squirm away. finally, you gave in, nodding. “alright, but only if you promise to actually avoid trees.”

“no guarantees,” he grinned, standing up and offering his hand. “But i guess i’ll try for you.”

the two of you tramped through the snow, finding an untouched hill nearby, your laughter echoing through the trees as you settled onto the sled from the lodge, holding tightly onto each other. 

as you flew down the hill, nothing but non stop laughter was shared. you were both out of breath when you finally landed in a heap at the bottom, a mix of happy tears and snowflakes.

josh brushed snow off your face, his thumb lingering on your cheek, his gaze softening as he looked at you. “i think this was the best idea i’ve had all day.”

you leaned in, pressing a quick kiss to his nose, feeling that familiar warmth spread through you. “it was perfect.”

with a soft smile, he leaned down, his lips meeting yours in a kiss that was slow and gentle, melting away the cold and wrapping you in a warmth. 

when you finally pulled back, josh’s eyes sparkled, his grin widening. “ready to go again?”

you laughed, shaking your head as you leaned into his side. “as long as you’re with me? always.”

after an hour or so outside in the snow, you decided to finally make your way back into the lodge, cheeks pink and hands cold but hearts happy. you busied yourselves in the kitchen, gathering mugs, marshmallows, and chocolate to whip up hot cocoa for everyone, while sneaking kisses and lingering touches whenever you could. 

every few minutes, josh would tug you close, wrapping you up in his arms, pressing kisses to your forehead, making you giggle and playfully roll your eyes as he grinned down at you.

as the mugs were finally filled, you shared a look, a silent agreement that the rest of the afternoon was yours to make the most of. the two of you set off, grabbing mike and jess for a quick round of card games that spiralled into laughter and not so serious arguments. 

josh kept one hand resting on your leg as he played. each time you leaned into him, you felt the warmth of his breath on your neck, his smile against your shoulder. it was clear to everyone around you just how smitten he was.

as the hours drifted by, the two of you wandered back outside to catch the last of the daylight, throwing snowballs and making clumsy snow angels before retreating inside, cold and ready for a warm meal. 

in the kitchen, you all got together and prepared a big dinner. josh passed you ingredients, occasionally reaching over to tuck a stray lock of hair behind your ear, his gaze never faltering as he looked at you. between each dish, he’d pull you close, pressing a soft kiss to wherever he could reach.

when dinner was finally served, everyone gathered, voices filling the room with easy chatter. you and josh exchanged smiles across the table. he reached over to squeeze your hand under the table, his thumb brushing over your knuckles.

after the meal and another round of games, the lodge gradually grew quiet as everyone started retreating to their rooms, the warmth of the day leaving a glow in the air. the two of you slipped away to his room, where the fire crackled, casting a golden light across the space. 

you could hear the faint murmur of conversation from down the hall, but as he pulled you into his arms everything else faded away.

pulling the blankets around you both as you settled in, limbs tangling together in a comforting embrace. his fingers combed through your hair, moving slowly, gently, before trailing down your back. you shivered, feeling the warmth of him pressed against you, the steady rhythm of his breathing calming your own.

“i know i joke around alot, but i mean it when i say you mean alot to me,” he murmured, his voice barely a whisper as he gazed at you, his hand tracing slow circles along your back..

you didn’t need words to respond; instead, you let yourself lean into him, nuzzling closer into his chest as you felt his arms tighten around you, anchoring you in the gentle quiet. the warmth of the fire filled the room, wrapped up in each other, content in a silence that needed no explanation. 

as the minutes drifted by, his hand moved to stroke your hair, his fingers threading through in a soothing rhythm, and you felt yourself growing drowsy, his warmth and presence lulling you into a peaceful haze. with every gentle touch, you felt cherished. 

as you lay there, eyes heavy, you felt him press a kiss to your forehead.

“i love you,” that was all it took for you to finally fall asleep.

comments and reblogs are appreciated ˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗ @daisydark

© ruewrote 2024.

[lvlyfawn]

SAILORS SONG — N. MÜHL

key; nika , reader

summary; just pure fluff and nika being a cutie pie!! the pair is shortly separated from each other due to reader visiting family. only one lyric from “sailors song” is used, but i do have several other ideas for this song, just leaving out a chunk of the chorus!

word count; 722 words

you'd been down in iowa for the past two weeks, visiting family. all while your poor girlfriend sat waiting for you in seattle. nearly every night you'd facetime, or atleast work a phone call into both of your tight schedules, but it was difficult being away from eachother. especially for nika.

nika was always on the more "clingy" side, and loved physical touch. but, ever since you'd moved with the girl from connecticut to washington, every second you were away from her felt like a second too long. she had you all to herself all the time, so you being nearly two thousand miles away was hard on her. and on top of that, the timezones of ames and seattle didn't match up. every night when you'd lay down for bed, it'd be nine for you, but seven for nika. which made this much harder on her.

you really did try. every single night, without fail, you would try your hardest to stay up for nika. during your "bedtime" she'd be at a team dinner, or late practice. the second she got home, it was only 8:30 pm' for her, but 10:30 pm' for you. she'd sit on her bed, watching as your eyes would flutter shut every couple minutes. you were tired. so she'd let you sleep, never once hanging up the phone. right after you, she'd head to sleep aswell. she couldn't bear seeing you look so peaceful, so precious, so hers, but not at the same time. she wanted you next to her.

in the morning, you would have already been up for almost three hours when nika gets up. right when you knew the girl would set her alarm for, you'd send a sweet "goodmorning baby, i miss you so much :((" to nika. the first text from you would set the tone for her whole day, and this one left her feeling pretty sappy.

"i miss you too, moje dijete. you'll be home soon, right?"

"yes, but i miss you now ☹️"

"i miss you now too, pretty. i have to go now, quinn is making us come in earlier than usual. let's hope we're not in trouble 🤞🏼🤞🏼."

"good luck, niks. i love you 💕"

"i love you more, i will text you when im done."

and she did. nika always kept her promises. thankfully she was able to facetime you during the day, when you and herself weren't consumed with sleep. the call was long, almost two hours. which didn't compare to the twenty six hours she was away from you.. but it would do until then. the call was sadly cut short when your mom had knocked on the door to tell you it was time to go over to see some cousins. goodbyes were said, and once again you were out of the brunettes reach.

that night was late for you. first, you were stuck watching all the younger kids which tired you out majorly. then, you had to help carry out your sister who'd drank one too many at the dinner table. and finally, you fell asleep in the car from pure exhaustion. the five minutes you took to move yourself from the car, to your bed, were not spent speaking to your girlfriend. she understood.

when nika headed to sleep, her dreams were filled with you. her head was on your pillow, your scent filled her senses, it was almost as if you were there. after her long day, she needed the soothing dreams of you next to her.

when she woke up to her newest goodmorning text from you, "two more days!! i can't wait to see you, baby!", she could only think of her dreams of you from the night prior.

"goodmorning !!"

"what's got you in such a good mood this morning, love to see it!"

"i had a dream about you :((("

"aww baby!! are you going to tell me about it?!"

"mhm, you were here with me. and we cuddled. i miss that so much."

"you're going to make me cry ☹️☹️"

"i've been doing that the last few days.."

"hmm.. doing what?"

"dreaming of you."

"yeah?"

"i sleep so i can see you, cause i hate to wait so long."

"nika!! i can't even :((( i love you so much baby."

"i love you more 🥹"

divs are by @/anitalenia , feedback encouraged , the cliffhanger on this one is just odd to me .. @bveckers @kmoneymartini @cosmopretty @charlottehughess @aubreygriffin @favreader23

[misguidedasgardian]

Wild Cats (part I)

MASTERLIST

I. Roof cats

Summary: You had been alone for a while, until you came across the most unusual group 

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Fem!Reader (slowburn) OCC

Warnings: Zombie apocalypse AU, living dead, zombies, guts, blood, guns, injures, cannibalism, cursing, slowburn

+18, MINORS DNI

Notes: Readers it's on her twenties, this will start after the fall of the prison, when everyone is on their own, separately 

It was some sort of miracle that you managed to stay alive this long

You didn't know if it was because of your instincts, mistrust in general, knowledge of the undead because of comics, video games and movies or… whatever. 

It was sort of miraculous

When it hit, you were at an airport, trying to get back home, but all the flights became grounded, and the end of the world began. You ran, with a group of people, the most sensitive ones that didn’t want to go back to the city, to Atlanta, you got stuck in a highway, your group began to collapse.

You are not gonna talk about what you felt the first time you saw one.

This is not that sort of story. World had went to shit almost a year ago

You started to feel like you were blessed but cursed at the same time, every time you joined a group, something happened, everything went to shit, they started fighting, they started killing one another, or they got overrun, you never lasted long with any of them. You bailed before things got really ugly.

It was good to be on your own, sometimes, although you haven't had a decent night’s sleep in a while, a long while

You had a technique, you moved early in the morning as soon as you had visibility, half a day, found sleep on the roof of any house or structure after noon, to be awake all night, because the night was all more dangerous. You had to stay alert

You started moving, away from Atlanta, North, with no plan, you guessed, that in this country that wasn’t your own, the safest place could be Washington DC. The capital, were the president and most important people were, you guessed is there was a stronghold of humanity in this country, that might be it… so you started moving, with a map you scavenged from somewhere 

But it was slow, you couldn’t find a working car and when you could, they were low on gas.

You found a couple of houses in the middle of nowhere, they were packed with things and supplies, and you were relieved, so you grabbed a quick snack, and then went up the stairs, always on guard, but the house was empty, and quiet, and then from a window on a child’s room, you climbed onto the roof, you were so tired.

The roof was steep, but you already knew a couple of techniques not to roll and fall off, fortunately, there was a tree that covered you from the sun, so you cuddled hugging yourself, putting your backpack as a pillow, your ax on your hand and a gun in a holster 

You were lulled to sleep quickly, as you couldn’t hear any roamers, only a soft wind.

But you came quickly to yourself again once you heard the click of the safety of a gun near your face. You jumped, instinct polished by more than a year in the damn apocalypse, you only had to tighten your hand, your ax already there, and the other went to your holster. When you managed to lean up to face the intruder, you came face to face with a boy, who shouldn't be older than twelve

You were not going to shoot a kid, and he seemed indecisive, and not violent even though he was pointing a gun at your face

“Don’t shoot me please”, you said calmly, releasing your gun and letting it slide a bit down the roof, until you couldn’t reach it, you raised your hand until they were far enough from the ax. 

The boy seemed to relax his stance

“Are you alone?”, he asked severely, you nodded

“Are you?”, you asked him, he shook his head, “oh”, oh shit was more like it, were you in danger? he seemed like a serial killer in the making, “look I… don’t want any trouble, I just came across this house, I was sleeping a bit, I just want to… keep moving, alright?”, he stopped pointing his gun at you, “I can drop my weapons to the grass below, you can go and then��”, he put his gun back on his hollister, and came out to the roof with a big can of pudding under his arm

“Oh”, you laughed, “you found it”, you said lightly, he smiled, you showed him your own stash, you had found some candy bars

“I’m Carl”, he said, taking a seat near you, opening the can.

“(y/n)”, you answered back, he started eating it, unapologetically. He seemed so relaxed now, but just a few seconds ago he was pointing a gun at you. 

“Are you a nurse?”, he asked, “or a doctor?”, you shook your head

“No”, you whispered, “are you sick? I have paracetamol”, you offered with the pain of your heart, you almost got killed obtaining it, but he was a kid, and you wanted to think that there were still “codes” in place. 

“No”, he mumbled, “it’s my dad”

“What’s wrong?”, you asked back

“He collapsed, he is tired but… he is not waking up”

“Oh”, you muttered, not offering anything helpful, “It’s just the two of you?”, you asked him, but he frowned when he looked at you, thinking you did not have good intentions

“We were a big group, we got split up”, he mumbled, “after a group attacked our camp, we were hold up in a  prison”

“Really?”, you asked, “that’s smart actually, a place to keep people in, and out”, you mumbled

“Yeah, but we got overrun”, he whispered

“Oh”, you said back

“Do you want to come with us?”, he asked, you looked back at him.

Yes the rest of the groups you had joined had not worked out, but you had been alone for four weeks now, and you were getting pretty tired, and lonely, almost going insane, you had to sing in a low voice to yourself to hear something, a voice even if it was your own

“Are there… more kids?”, you asked, doubting it, “is this like a Peter Pan and the lost boys situation?”, he laughed

“No, it’s my dad, and Michonne, two adults”, you hesitated

“I’m not gonna lie, it’s been tiring being alone”, you admitted, “I would like to hang out with people for a while”, you tried to smile softly at him, and he smiled back. He straightened his posture, and got all serious

“How many walkers have you killed?”, your raised an eyebrow

“Walkers?”, you asked

“Those things”, he clarified, “the undead”

“I call em’ fuckers”, you said with a smile, he laughed, “Don’t know, many, a lot like, I hope a hundred by now”, you said happily and proudly, he nodded

“How many people?”, he asked then

“One”, you whispered

“Why?”, he asked, he wasn’t asking randomly, he knew what questions to ask and why

“He tried to steal from me”, you said truthfully, “something I needed to survive”, he seemed to nod

“What’s in your pack is yours, but what we find from now on, we share with the group, is that cool?”, he asked, you smiled and nodded, “let’s go”, he said.

You both sneaked back into the house, it felt nice to let the decision making go to somebody else, even if that person was a kid 

You came inside the house, and arranged to search the different rooms. You had barely turned your back when Carl opened the door and a walker? came out aggressively. Carl jumped towards the door to try to close it, but the monster was already half out. You grabbed your ax from your belt and smashed the roamer’s head in. He felt limply into the room.

“Thank you”, he muttered. You barely nodded

“I think this was the only one”, you both nodded and kept searching.

You found a flashlight and batteries! you already had one, but it was always useful. You also found some toiletries, which were not a priority, but again, always useful

You searched another house nearby, this kid… was amazing, he seemed to know what he was doing, a bit hesitant, but still. 

Then, we returned to the house, and there, covering the door with a huge sofa, rested a man. He looked a bit wild, thick unruly beard and curls, he must have been on his forties or so. He looked… tough, if anything

“That’s your dad?”, you asked

“Yeah, he is Rick, Rick Grimes”, he muttered

You placed what you scavenged on the coffee table. 

“It's a nice loot”, you admired, he smiled at you

“That’s a cool ax”, he admired

“Thank you! went I first got stranded trying to leave atlante we just happened to stop by a Bass Pro Shop”, you giggled. It was one of those you could throw, with a carbon fiber black handle.

You heard steps on the porch and you raised from the seat you had taken in one of the single sofas of the house, standing on guard. Carl as well stood up, but signaled you to stay calm

“It’s MIchonne”, he mumbled, and a woman entered the house

She was a badass, you knew the second you saw her, long hair in dreadlocks, leather tight vest, and a freakin’ katana hanging from her back

But as soon as she saw you she tried to grab the handle 

“Carl!”, she called

“No!”, he said quickly, placing himself between you both

“Who’s that?”, the little discussion woke up RIck, who, when he saw you, he grabbed his big ass gun he had on his holster

“Dang it!”, you said raising your hand as he pointed the gun at you

“Dad! stop!”, said Carl, with his back turned to you 

“Who are you?”, he asked 

“(y/n)”, you said back quickly, showing him your hands

“Dad is fine”, insisted Carl, “I asked her the questions”, you smiled apologetically

“Are you alone?”, he asked severely

“Yes, I swear”, you muttered

“I haven’t encountered anyone”, muttered Michonne, seconding your words 

You looked at both Michonne and Rick

“Look, I’m alone”, you said quickly, “I have been for a while, a month or so, I’m tired I would really like some company”, you begged, “if not, please, just let me leave, you will never see me again, I swear I want no trouble, for me this is the living VS the dead, I swear”, you said hastily 

“How many walkers have you killed?”, he asked, again. 

“I’d like to think I’m reaching triple digits, but I can’t be sure”, you said in all honesty, still with your hands leveled with your head. He frowned when he looked at you, “I try to drop them all, because, one less human-eating corpse walking around, right?”, you asked, he shared looks with his son, and then nodded. Carl walked until he could see your face, he nodded at you, encouraging you

“How many people have you killed?”, he asked then. You swallowed, hard

“Intentionally? one”, you whined, “but I accidentally pushed something that fell on top of someone and…”

“Why?”, he asked

“We were trying to leave that warehouse and a door just…”

“The one”, he clarified. Your eyes filled with tears

“I was trying to leave the thick of Atlanta, and… he was with me in the safehouse when it collapsed, we ended up wanting… there was only one car and…”, you choked, you still couldn’t sleep some nights, “he had a gun on me and I had a gun on him, I fired first”, you managed to let out, “I like to tell myself that he was a bad person, he certainly sounded like, I… also like to think it was him or me, he was a bit of an asshole…”, he lowered his gun

“I’m guessing you don’t have a camp”, he said slowly, lowering his gun, you shook your head

“I sleep on a lot of roofs”, you muttered, “mainly in the daylight… there is where Carl found me, I keep moving… from house to house, and…”

“Why? Why are you alone?”, you seemed to think the answer

“I’d like to think of myself like someone who is a good people reader”, you said slowly, “I tried to join some groups, but they all collapsed pretty quickly, I… gathered things by myself and I usually scattered before things got ugly”

“Where’s your family?”, he asked, now these questions seemed random

“I was alone in the airport hoping to catch a flight home, when it hit”, you muttered, “my family is on the other side of the continent”, you admitted.

“Are those your weapons?”, you had your ax, and you had a gun which you could find a silencer for, you had been very lucky. You nodded, “are you a good shot?”, you nodded again

“Decent”, you said, “I have been able to take him out with one shot”, you said proudly. They seem to relax, “we found pudding”, you offered with a smile, “I have paracetamol”

. . .

Even if the beginning was a bit… gun-sy, you made peace with Michonne and Rick, and now you felt at a disadvantage because they knew some things about you, but you didn’t know much about them except that Carl was Rick’s son, and Michonne was not related but they knew each other pretty well.

So, as it was night as you had opened some cans of spaghetti, you gathered the courage to speak to them. 

“Carl told me about a prison…”, you started the conversation, they both looked at you with serious faces

“We had built a camp on a prison”, she said, “We were a big group, but we got attacked by another group”, Michonne said, “We all got split when the prison was overrun by walkers and the governor’s people”

“He came with a tank!”, said Carl, and you looked at him surprised

“A tank? really?”, you asked, truly surprised, “Do you have some sort of meeting point?”, you asked, and they looked at each other

“No”, said Rick

“Do you intend to find them?”, you asked

“Yes”, said Michonne

“Great”, you said hopefully, “I hope we do”, you said truthfully. They shared entertained looks 

You consider yourself to be a good people reader, and them? they seem fine to you, though as hell, but good. You felt good, safe, they knew what they were doing, as did you. 

Even though they made you sleep while they kept watch, you managed, to finally, have a good night's sleep. You could understand why they were weary of you, you did, they wouldn’t let you out of their sight, and they didn’t let you protect them at night, but still, you understood, so you did what you normally would have done, and you showed them you could be trusted, leaving your weapons around when you were in the house and trying not to eye them too much even though you were curious. 

You believed they accepted you because they could see you could handle yourself in this fucked up world. And you found yourself wanting to prove yourself to them.

The very next day, they left you on your own to keep scouting the surrounding area, Carl and Michonne left on their side, you guessed they kept testing you.

You had your pack and arms with you, and you did as you always did, you guessed if it was a trap to get rid of you, at least they didn’t rob you or killed you, but Rick had stayed in the house to rest, apparently he had a couple of very rough days and needed it.

You met with Michonne and Carl back again on your way back, you were happy, you found a first aid kit, to replenish your own, and then some, and then you found some cans of mushrooms, those were your favorites, if only you could find some mostaccioli and cream, but that was too much to ask.

You missed pasta

But when the house was in your sights, Rick came running out, signaling you to do the same, there was people in the house, you turned around and started running, being thankful you had carried all your things with you.

“What happened?”, Michonne asked as you were running away from the house

“A group of men, several, entered the house”, he told you as you ran. And you did not ask more questions, being thankful that they accepted you.

[cecilysass]

Honest Man (1/3)

Read on AO3 | Tagging @today-in-fic

Chapter One

He almost never goes out to bars in Alexandria, and when he does, he’s typically in some kind of despairing mood. But Mulder isn’t despairing tonight. He’s hopeful.

It’s hope tempered with some reservation, of course. He’s not stupid—the other shoe can always drop—but there’s definitely a feeling that there could be less troubled paths ahead. If all goes well.

The pub is crowded, so he stands in the entrance scanning the room for her, feeling strangely awkward, like an adolescent boy. He jogged a little to get here at the time they arranged, and Mulder’s uncomfortably sweating now in his work clothes. He loosens his collar and tie.

She’s sitting with stately posture at a side booth, a menu propped in front of her. She spots him and raises a single hand.

He eagerly makes his way across the room, ducking in between the people making their way to get a drink at the bar, and slips into the seat across from her. “Hi,” he says. “Sorry I’m late.”

“I’m used to it, Fox,” she says, coolly amused. Diana slides him a menu. “It’s given me plenty of time to look over the culinary options here at the Honest Man Pub.” She draws out the name of the bar in an affected way, a little mockingly.

He smirks at her. “Come on. Who doesn’t like an Honest Man, Diana?”

“Who indeed.” She smiles tightly. “As it happens, I remember your taste in restaurants, so I’m not surprised.”

“Mozzarella sticks,” he says, pointing a finger at the menu enthusiastically. “You want to share some? I’m starving.”

“No thanks. I ordered a negroni.”

“Look,” Mulder gestures towards a woodcut illustration of Abraham Lincoln on the cover of the menu. “It’s Honest Abe, Diana. Trustworthy. You sure you don’t want a burger or something?”

“I’m really not hungry,” she says. But she, too, flips the menu over to look at it. She traces Lincoln’s face with her fingertip. “You think it’s supposed to be a reference to that story about chopping down the cherry tree?”

“That was George Washington.” Mulder sets the menu down and gives her a mildly admonishing look.

“What? I’m no historian,” she says dismissively. “And what politician has the luxury of honesty anyway?”

Diana’s not wearing her work clothes, he notices in surprise. Unless she wears a form-fitting black dress to work, and he doesn’t think she does. He chews his lip, wondering why she bothered to go home to change, especially because he’s pretty sure she lives in DC.

After the server passes by, and Mulder orders his beer and mozzarella sticks, he turns his attention back to her. “Well? What’s up?” He folds his hands on the table. “You made it sound like good news.”

Her cocktail is placed directly in front of her, and she murmurs a polite thanks to the server. “Potentially it is,” she says. “I need your help on a case, and I think if you do well, it could be … a step in the right direction.”

He tries to play it cool, even though this is exactly what he hoped. “My help? Did Kersh have a personality transplant or something?”

“This would be outside of official channels,” she explains. “At first, anyway.”

There are several cardboard coasters on the table with quotes printed on them in homey, old-fashioned typeface. The one nearest Mulder reads: “An honest man is always a child. - Socrates.” He pushes the coaster around the table with his fingertip, nodding slowly. “I’m listening.”

“There have been a series of credible sightings of unusual crafts flying low outside of Groom Lake,” she says in a low voice. She sips her drink, meeting his eyes. “I know you’ve probably been following it. Kersh doesn’t want Jeffrey and I to spend too much time there. But you could go.”

“Under what auspices?”

“It would have to be extracurricular.” She shrugs, the corners of her mouth lifting slightly. “You’ve done this sort of thing before, Fox.”

“Shiner Bock,” the server says cheerfully, setting a bottle down in front of Mulder. “Your mozzarella sticks should be out soon.”

“Thanks,” says Mulder. As the server darts off, he takes a slow sip, mulling over Diana’s words. “How would this be a step in the right direction?”

Diana leans towards him, her glass resting against her cheek. “Jeffrey and I have received some information about experimental craft at Groom Lake,” she says softly. “If we could put that together with your field work—and what you already have in the files—then we could have a report they’d have to take seriously.”

Mulder can’t help but feel excited, but he takes pains to mask it, chuckling cynically. “I’ve been down this road before, Diana.” He shrugs. “It never amounts to much. Plus, Kersh is already looking for any reason to chuck me out of the Bureau. This could easily be it.”

She reaches across the table and clasps his hand tight. “Not if I have your back.”

He frowns a little, confused by her meaning. She’s much more open to this than he expected. Still, his whole soul cries out to get back to working on the X-files. It’s almost all he thinks about these days. If there is a way forward here, he needs to hear all of it.

“We’ve always made a good team,” Diana points out. “We could be again. And this is your life’s work. You’re wasted in the bullpen.”

“Yeah,” Mulder says uneasily, “but what would—”

“I knew it.” interrupts a booming voice startlingly close to their table.

Mulder looks up blankly, and it takes him a half second to place the tall, pink-faced man towering angrily over them.

He knows Bill Scully’s face very well—associates it with some of his most emotionally vulnerable moments, in fact—but seeing it here in this Virginia bar, out of context, gives him a moment’s pause.

“I just knew it,” repeats Bill, his eyes narrowing. He squints down at Mulder murderously. “You’re not even worth … one of her goddamn pinky toes, you no good son of a bitch.”

“Bill,” Mulder murmurs, staring back. The man seems to be swaying slightly from side to side as he spits words out, as though he’s insulting Mulder on rough seas. “I didn’t know you were in town.”

Bill leans over, placing a palm flat on the table, and Mulder can distinctly smell whiskey on his breath.

“You have some nerve,” Bill hisses. “This is how you treat her? After everything you’ve done? Now you’re just out … on some date?”

Diana gives him a significant, questioning look, and Mulder straightens in his seat, his eyes scanning behind Bill’s back for a sign of who might be accompanying him. “I think you‘ve had a few too many tonight,” Mulder attempts genially. “You’re not making much sense. Why don’t I—”

“Why don’t you shut your damn mouth for once in your life?” Bill bellows. The group of young people at the next table looks over, watching them now, their expressions half interested and half alarmed.

Bill turns his attention to Diana, pointing one of his large fingers at her like a scolding father, even though Mulder is pretty sure Diana is at least Bill’s age, if not older. “What do you know about this guy, miss?” His words are definitely slurring. “How much did he tell you? Did you know he’s a dangerous sonofabitch?”

Diana smiles stiffly. “I’m safe, thank you.”

“Well, when he asked you out,” Bill says to her, gesturing sloppily, “did he mention he’s been fucking my sister for years? Destroying her life? Breaking her heart?”

He knows Bill’s drunk, and he knows Bill doesn’t have his facts right, but Mulder can’t help feeling the sting of shame over what he’s being accused of. Part of it, anyway. He hears himself inhale sharply by reflex.

Diana’s eyebrows have arched in surprise. She looks pointedly at Mulder. “Oh? Is that right? Who’s your sister?”

“My sister Dana,” Bill spits out, slamming his hand on the table for emphasis. “My baby sister.”

“Ah,” Diana responds conversationally. “You’re Agent Scully’s brother.” She seems unfazed by this information. “We both work with her, actually. Why don’t you join us for a moment?”

She scoots over in her seat, gesturing calmly to the spot next to her. Mulder doesn’t move, paralyzed with horror at the way this is unfolding.

Bill looks at Diana a moment, his jaw clenched, and then, to Mulder’s shock, slides in next to her in the booth, turning to direct his glare at Mulder.

For a moment Mulder just stares, slack-jawed, back into the man’s furious face. Bill seems to be waiting for something—for Mulder to explain himself, probably.

“This … isn’t a date,” Mulder begins, pointing between Diana and himself. “It’s work. And you need to understand that your sister and I aren’t in a romantic relationship either. Or a, uh, sexual relationship.”

Bill chuckles, shaking his head slowly, then abruptly changes mood, pounding his fist loudly and suddenly on the table and causing both Diana and Mulder to startle.

“Then why?” he demands, meeting Mulder’s eyes intensely in a way that reminds him, unsettlingly, of Scully. “Why does she do it? Why does she put up with you?”

“I … really don’t know,” Mulder admits miserably. “You’d have to ask her.”

“I know my sister,” Bill says, his features softening a little. “There are only … a few reasons why she would do it.” His tone goes cold. “Does she know you’re on a date?”

“No,” Mulder answers quickly, “but it’s not a—”

“I hate you,” Bill leans forward to whisper to him. “I hate you for what you’ve put her through. Now you’re cheating. On a fucking date. Jesus.”

“Yo, Scully,” comes a masculine voice from the bar. “Where’d you go?” Mulder looks around nervously, half expecting to see his partner, but of course the voice is calling for Bill. A group of men in their 30s and 40s, all with square shoulders and military haircuts, seem to be looking in this direction. Bill doesn’t even look back at them.

“You don’t understand,” Mulder says. He feels panicky and anxious. “It’s not a date. And Scully’s my partner, not my—”

“Jesus, shut the fuck up,” Bill groans. He slides out of the booth. “Don’t you ever get tired of your annoying-ass voice?”

He does, actually, more often than one might think.

“Bill, wait, are you—” Mulder stops suddenly.

He realizes what he was about to ask—are you going to tell Scully that you saw us here?—sounds completely at odds with what he has been telling Bill, what he has been telling himself. That question doesn’t make him sound like a partner out talking about work with a colleague.

It makes him sound like he thinks he’s doing something wrong, something he needs to hide.

The truth is that he does think Scully would be angry to know he’d met Diana here. She would be angry for a whole snarl of tangled reasons—and yeah, hurt, like Bill says. He doesn’t especially want her to know.

“Am I what?” Bill sneers, turning back around jerkily.

“Are you … okay to get home?” Mulder mumbles. “You have a ride?”

Bill gives him a look of withering contempt. “That’s none of your fucking business.” He turns and staggers back towards the bar.

Mulder watches him go, trying to swallow back his self-loathing. He realizes after a second that his fists are clenched.

“Fox,” Diana says in concern. “Are you all right?”

He says nothing for a beat, making a game attempt to pull himself back together.

“Yeah,” he says to Diana. He takes a fast swig of beer. “That guy—he, uh, just really hates me.”

“I gathered,” Diana says. She looks at Mulder appraisingly. “You seem to be taking what he says awfully seriously.”

“Well,” Mulder says grimly into his beer, “it’s just he’s not entirely wrong.”

Diana leans back in the booth, lifts her glass to her beautiful lips, and takes a careful sip. “No,” she says coolly, “he’s not.”

Mulder exhales raggedly. “Gee, Diana,” he says, “don’t hold back how you feel on my account.”

“He’s wrong about plenty,” she breathes. “He underestimates you, like most people do. But he’s not wrong that your work has hurt Agent Scully.”

“Don’t you think I know that?” he snaps at her. He pauses to compose himself. “I don’t want Scully to be hurt,” he says in a more controlled voice. “I never have. Her choices are her own.”

“And your choices are your own,” Diana says. Her eyes are dark and shining. “You know, Fox, I hope that if all goes well with this initial foray at Groom Lake, we might all be a little more ambitious in our choices.”

Mulder shakes his head rapidly, still rattled by the encounter with Bill. “Ambitious in our choices how?”

“Well,” she says. “Thinking longer term, I don’t know if Jeffrey is working out on the X-files. I think he might prefer to be elsewhere at the Bureau. And if he does… then I’d be asked for my preference in a partner.”

Mulder looks up quickly. “And you’d … want to work with me?”

“Of course,” she says, giving him an inviting look. “Who else would I want?”

There’s an uncomfortable pause. Mulder toys with a coaster on the table idly.

“Do you think they’d even listen to you?” he wonders. “They’re really not my biggest fans right now. Kersh in particular.”

She fishes an ice cube out of her drink, sucks on it a little. Then she meets his eyes, and there is a dangerous spark. “I can be very persuasive, Fox.”

Mulder’s fingertip worries the corner of the cardboard coaster back and forth, back and forth. He hasn’t asked the biggest question. “And what about Scully?”

“What about her?”

“I couldn’t … leave Scully behind in the bullpen.”

“Without you,” Diana says, sipping her drink, “she wouldn’t be in the bullpen for very long. They would give her a better placement in no time. She’s only stuck there because of you.”

Mulder’s eyes remain on the scuffed tabletop as he considers the truth of this statement. Scully certainly is only being punished because of her links to the X-files. Were she cut free from him, she probably would be given a fresh start.

“I don’t know,” he says bleakly. “I don’t know if I could even do it without her.”

Diana makes an exasperated hiss. “Fox,” she says. “Of course you could. What is this codependency you’ve developed? You weren’t like this before.”

Mulder rubs the bridge of his nose. “Diana, I–”

“Mozzarella sticks,” announces their server, his voice surreally peppy as he places the basket on the table. Mulder nods and smiles miserably, his eyes down on the fried cheese.

As the server walks away, Diana reaches over and places her hand over his. It’s light and soft as silk. “I could be the partner you need, Fox,” she says softly. “If you give me a chance.”

Her fingers now are caressing his hand lightly. Mulder’s taken aback. “I remember … how to calm you down,” she adds, almost a whisper. “How to reduce your stress.” She runs her fingertip down the back of his hand, a subtle but effective gesture. “And I’m not someone who is easily hurt.”

As opposed to Scully? he wonders. Is that what Scully is? Easily hurt? Is that why I’ve hurt her so much?

Somewhere to Mulder’s left there is a loud discussion at the bar. Despite Diana’s surprising advances, Mulder finds his attention drifting over there. He recognizes Bill’s voice, speaking loudly to the bartender, and looks for him in the crowd.

“I’ll tell you what,” Diana adds, reaching out with her finger to gently direct his chin back towards her. “Come over tonight.” Under the table he feels her foot brush against his calf, ostensibly accidentally, and she’s successfully got his full attention back. “We can discuss your Groom Lake fieldwork more privately. I can … convince you of everything else.”

Mulder closely watches her face, every nuance of her expression. “Oh yeah?” he says guardedly.

“Hey folks, you doing all right here? Need ketchup or anything?” The energetic server is suddenly smiling broadly next to the table, hands on his hips, and Mulder can sense Diana’s annoyance from across the table.

“We’re fine,” Mulder says, still staring at Diana, “but I’m going to need to get these mozzarella sticks to go. And our checks, please.”

“Coming right up.” The server obligingly darts away.

Diana’s foot brushes up his calf again, this time with less pretense of accident. “Is that a yes, then?” she says, the barest hint of a smile.

In the background, Mulder is aware of a flurry of activity at the bar—the bartender’s voice firmly declaring something about someone not being served any more.

He looks back at Diana, who looks very beautiful, curvy and enticing in the dress he now realizes was strategically chosen to showcase her body for him.

Then his eyes fall down to one of the coasters on the table. He reads it, then reaches down and picks it up impulsively, sliding it in his pocket.

“Diana,” he says, suddenly sounding more certain than he expects, “I’m going to have to get back to you.”

***

[wardenparker]

Hummingbird Has Landed, ch 2

Marcus Pike x female reader Co-written with @absurdthirst

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

Rating: Mature, but this blog is always 18+ Word Count: 12.6k Warnings: *Blanket warnings for this series: occasional mention of American politics, pregnant character, food/alcohol consumption, mentions of clothing/regulated dressing for occasions, mentions of therapy because we believe in self care here, reader is in a previous relationship, love triangle* Mentions of sick loved ones, mutual pining, personal guilt, relationship turmoil. Summary: After only knowing Marcus for a brief time, you can already feel emotions beginning to build. Will that spell trouble for the relationship you've worked so hard to build with Sam, or will something else altogether begun to sow seeds of doubt? Notes: Once again I'm afraid I have to ask forgiveness in the edit of this chapter. I went away for a few days this week and ever since my chronic illness has been utterly kicking my ass. Hopefully I didn't miss too many errors here.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

______

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

HHL: @haileymorelikestupid @anoverwhelmingdin @storiesofthefandomlovers

My Masterlist!

[whataperfectwasteoftime]

Spring Fling

(gif by @pedropascalsx. I've given up using Tumblr gif search)

Pairing: Marcus Pike x virgin f!Reader

Rating: E (explicit smut, 18+ only)

Word Count: 19,228. Oops.

Warnings: Significant age gap (almost 20 years), college-age reader, sexual tension, mentions of: strained familial relationships, divorce, unhealthy breakups, stalker(ish) behavior (PAST), therapy. Virgin/inexperienced reader, fingering, oral sex (f! receiving), unprotected PIV sex and a lot of it, comeplay if you squint, Marcus’s filthy filthy mouth, happy ending

Summary: When you and your friend, fellow pre-Law student Emma, plan to go to Washington DC for spring break instead of the typical beach destination, she makes plans for the two of you to stay with her estranged father for the week to save money on lodging. You never expected Emma’s father, a man she says she’s barely seen throughout the years, to be so sweet, so troubled, and so unfairly pretty. Neither did you expect for what you'd thought was a one-sided attraction to turn into a spring fling... or maybe something more.

A/N: I got an ask asking about 'Best Friend's Dad' Marcus Pike, so I now post a question to you, dear reader: What if Marcus Pike had a college-age kid from his first marriage, one that he'd entered into at a very young age because of an unplanned pregnancy? Anyway to find out the answer read this almost 20k fic LOL

Masterlist

"We should go somewhere for spring break."

Your friend and fellow pre-Law student at the University of Texas, Emma, laughs. "Go somewhere? Like what, the fucking beach? And with what money?"

"No, no beaches. Somewhere cool. Somewhere unusual."

"Like what?" Emma asks, shoving another handful of chips in her mouth.

"I've never been to Washington, DC," you comment thoughtfully.

"I thought every public school in the entire country went to DC at some point," Emma remarks. 

"I had the chickenpox."

"Ew."

"Do you think that would be fun? Going to the Capitol for break?" you ask.

"I guess," Emma shrugs. "It's better than going to writhe on the beach with fifty thousand wasted twentysomethings."

"There's still the issue of how to pay for a trip. For any trip. I think I could cover airfare, but a DC hotel? Ugh," you say with a groan. 

"I could put the hotel on my credit card and work a bunch of extra shifts at Pizza Express afterward to make up for it," Emma says. "But that would pretty much max out my card."

"I can look up the cheapest spots outside the city," you suggest. "And we can take the metro in."

"Outside the city isn't going to be much better," Emma remarks. "We could… nah."

You look up, curious. "We could… what?"

"Well, my uh, my dad actually lives in DC."

"Your dad?" you repeat incredulously. "You've literally never mentioned your dad. I thought he and your mom were estranged?"

"Sorta," Emma says. "The official story is that they married too young and eventually separated."

"...And the unofficial story?"

"My mom found out she was pregnant at nineteen, and my dad wanted to do the right thing, so he married her. But I guess they weren't right for each other, because they were already divorced by the time I was two."

"Do you see him much?" you ask.

"I used to," Emma says quietly. "But my mom was never really enthusiastic about spending much time together, so it wasn’t very often. And then he moved to DC when I was a junior in high school, and I haven't seen him since. He always sends me cards on my birthday and Christmas, though. And…" she suddenly blushes, looking down and away.

"What?"

"Nothing."

"What, Em?"

"He pays for my tuition."

"What?!"

"Yeah, I've barely had to take out any loans. It's just for housing and stuff."

"You ass, you never told me that!"

"It's not common knowledge," Emma mumbles. "Besides, no one wants to admit they've got an absent, divorced father paying the bills."

"But you'd want to contact him for this? For a place to crash over spring break for a week?"

"He's nice," Emma says quietly. "I always got the feeling that he wanted to do his best by us."

"I mean, if you're cool with it, it kinda sounds fun," you admit. "Better than Galveston, anyway."

Emma laughs. "Yeah, way better than Galveston."

"Holy shit, Em, you can see the Capitol from here." 

The two of you had emerged from the underground tunnel of the metro station, trailing suitcases behind you, into what feels like the middle of the city itself. The busy street is flanked with large condominiums on both sides, with--unbelievably--a view of the Capitol building in the distance.

"I think it's this one," Emma says, squinting at the address on her phone and back up at one of the buildings. 

"How do we get in?" you ask. 

"He just said to text him," Emma answers. "Hang on." She taps out a message on her phone before sliding it back into her pocket. "And now we wait."

You barely have time to check your email before the front door opens and a man emerges, striding quickly toward the two of you. You think he's about to envelop your friend into a crushing hug, but he stops short, eyes wavering with uncertainty as he looks his daughter up and down. His hand reaches toward her arm, but he hesitates just short of touching.

"Emma," the man breathes, the emotion evident in his voice making you want to duck your head and turn away from the scene. 

"Hey, uh, Dad," Emma says, giving him a sheepish smile. "Been a while."

"It's been six years," the man says emphatically. 

"Yeah."

You watch as Emma's father's fingers twitch toward her. "C-Can I–" 

Emma shrugs. "'Course."

The man carefully steps forward and wraps his arms around her, pulling her to his chest. His eyes close, his eyebrows pull upward to reveal a deep crease in between them as he holds his daughter for apparently the first time in six years. This time, you do look away from what feels like surprisingly tender and private moment. 

"I'm sorry I wasn't there for your graduation," you hear him say softly. "I was undercover for a case, and… Anyway, it doesn't matter. I'm sorry. You don't know how badly I wanted to be there."

"S'okay," Emma says cooly. She steps back, and, for the first time, her father seems to notice you. 

"Hi," he says brightly, and his pained, heartfelt expression melts into an easy smile as he extends his hand to you. "Marcus." 

You don't know what you had been expecting. Maybe someone older. Maybe someone less… attractive. Not this frankly gorgeous man, with his boyish smile, pretty eyes that crinkle around the edges, slightly mussed brown hair that falls over his forehead, and the light smattering of facial hair that only seems to soften his features further. Not that he needed any help, in that respect. Slightly stunned, you step forward and take the man’s hand, trying not to trip over the syllables of your own name.

Marcus’s smile widens, and he repeats your name, which does nothing to quell the sudden burst of butterflies in your stomach–and are your palms sweating?

"Thank you for allowing us to stay for the week," you say politely, forcing yourself out of the trance.

"Not a problem," Marcus answers. "What a great destination for spring break! Whose idea was that?"

"Mine," you say with a little laugh. 

"My kind of girl," Marcus jokes. "Keeping my daughter out of trouble."

"Dad," Emma groans. "I'm not a kid."

"Well, last time I saw you, you were fifteen," Marcus says pointedly. "You're gonna have to let my brain do a little catch-up, here."

"Well, to start with, I'm not a beach party kind of person," Emma says. "I'm a nerd–y'know, being pre-Law and all."

Emma's father beams. "So I've heard. Well, I'm happy to host two nerds while they do a little sightseeing in the nation's Capitol. I can even," he adds with a conspiratorial smile, "give you a tour of the J. Edgar Hoover building. If–If you want," he finishes awkwardly, appearing hesitant and unsure again.

"Oh, cool!" you exclaim automatically, without thinking.

Marcus grins widely at your enthusiasm, and you find yourself staring at your shoes, biting your lip as you flounder under his attention. You're being weird. Stop it. 

"Y-Yeah," Emma adds, nodding hesitantly. "That would be nice... Dad. Thanks."

“C’mon,” Marcus says, grabbing both Emma’s bag and, before you can protest, yours. “Come on up. I ordered some pizza for everyone. You can get settled tonight and… go do whatever you two want to do in the morning.”

The two of you follow Marcus through the lobby and into the elevator. You can’t help but keep stealing little glances at him–the way his shoulders fill out the maroon henley he’s wearing over jeans, the way those shoulders taper down to narrow hips, the way he’s got the top two buttons of his shirt casually undone, showing you a hint of collarbone that has you damn-near salivating. Snap out of it. Oh, God, snap out of it. You’ve known the man for five minutes, and you feel like you’re losing your mind. It’s gonna be a long week if you don’t pull it together. 

Marcus opens the front door and gestures the two of you in before him. You stand awkwardly in the living room, looking around at the furniture and at the decor on the walls, looking anywhere but at your best friend’s dad, whose very presence seems to fluster you beyond all reason.

“I just have one spare room, hopefully you two don’t mind sharing…?” Marcus asks.

“That’s fine,” Emma says good-naturedly. 

“It’s just through here,” he says, walking past you. “I’ll set your bags down in there and show you around.”

The room is clearly his workspace–there’s a desk and a chair shoved into a corner to make room for a comfortable-looking guest bed. The side wall is covered with floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, and you subconsciously step toward them, eager to see what titles this man keeps on his shelves.

“Sorry, it’s kind of an… all-purpose room,” Marcus says sheepishly. “Bit cluttered.”

“I like it,” you murmur absentmindedly, still scanning the spines.

“‘Gardner’s Art Through the Ages’” Emma reads, crinkling her nose. “How many editions of this book do you have?”

Her father laughs. “It’s work stuff, mostly. Although there’s a few thrillers here and there. And some classics.” He approaches the shelves as well, and you can feel the hair on the back of your neck start to stand up on end at the sensation of his body hovering just behind you. You’re so… aware of him. You don’t know if it’s because Marcus seems to naturally command every space he’s in or if there’s something electric that’s pulling you toward him, but either way, your entire body feels as though it’s on high alert.

A sharp buzzing makes you jump comically, making Emma snort.

“That’ll be the pizza,” Marcus announces. “Be right back.”

You glance over at Emma, who is still staring disinterestedly at the bookshelves. “It’s a nice place,” you say conversationally. 

“Mmmhm.”

“You okay?” you ask softly.

“Oh, yeah,” Emma scoffs, waving her hand. “Just been a while. It’s weird. You know.”

“He seems nice,” you say.

“He is,” she remarks. “I told you he was. I just… don’t know him very well. Like he said, I haven’t seen him in six years.”

“Maybe this will be good, then,” you suggest. “Get to know him now that you’re an adult and all that.”

Emma shrugs. “Maybe.”

You look back at the shelves. Emma was right; Marcus does have an alarmingly large number of editions of Art Through the Ages. You furrow your brow.

“What does your dad do in DC?”

“Oh, did I not tell you? He’s in the FBI.”

You feel as though you’ve swallowed your tongue, but before you can garble out a response–something like, “Mmmgnnbbllgffnhh?”–you hear Marcus coming back.

“Get it while it’s hot!” he says cheerfully. “You guys must be hungry after traveling all day.”

“Oh wow, Dad, that’s… a lot of pizza for three people,” Emma says, her eyebrows raising in surprise and confusion.

She’s right–there are five boxes sitting on the small kitchen island, along with several options of drink.

“I had no idea what either of you liked,” Marcus reasoned. “So I got a few different options. Cheese, pepperoni, supreme, hawaiian, and some kind of vegan thing, just in case.”

“You know, you could have just texted,” Emma remarks, at the same time that you whisper, “Thank you.”

Marcus looks sheepish. “Wanted to surprise you. Anyway, dig in–there’s obviously a lot.” He laughs quietly to himself, grabbing three plates and setting them down on the counter. You grab three different kinds–supreme, hawaiian, and the vegan option, out of curiosity–and sit on one of the barstools opposite Marcus. Emma grabs two cheeses and sits down next to you.

“So,” he says after a few minutes of surprisingly companionable silence. “I know Emma is pre-Law. Are you pre-Law too?” he asks, looking at you with a friendly, curious smile. 

“Mmmhmm,” you nod, tight-lipped. You hate this conversation–the college-age version of ‘What do you want to be when you grow up?’ Everyone asks the question with good intent, but it always leaves you in an anxiety spiral, an existential crisis, because no matter how many times you’re asked, you have absofuckinglutely no idea. 

“What kind of law do you want to go into?” This question is addressed more to Emma, who immediately launches into an explanation of Environmental Law and the impact of climate change on public health. Marcus nods eagerly, giving Emma his full attention as she talks, watching her with a small smile. 

“What about you?” he asks when she’s done, turning to you.

You gulp. 

“I don’t—I don’t really know. Not yet, anyways.” You brace yourself for the judgmental eyebrow raise, the well-meaning advice.

“That’s okay,” Marcus says, smiling. “No one says you have to have it figured out at… how old are you?”

“T-Twenty,” you mumble, feeling more naive and inexperienced than you ever have before.

“Nah,” Marcus says, shaking his head playfully. “No one has it figured out at twenty. And the people who think they do? They change.”

His eyes go far away for a split-second, and you wonder what he must have been like at twenty. Did he already have Emma at that point? Did he just find out that his girlfriend was pregnant? Was he panicking, trying to figure out how to make things work? You wonder what it was that he had wanted to do, and what he had sacrificed for Emma and her mom. You wonder if he had wanted the divorce, or if she had been the one to suggest it.

“Anyway,” Marcus says, casually waving a slice of pepperoni as he talks, “I mostly work with criminal lawyers. If that’s something you’re interested in, I could arrange a chat with someone this week.”

“Oh,” you say, too stunned to say anything else. “Yeah, maybe.”

Marcus shrugs good-naturedly. “Think about it,” he says, giving you another crooked grin. His eyes crinkle around the edges when he smiles, and it makes your stomach do somersaults. 

“Yeah,” you say again, a little breathlessly. Your next bite of pizza misses your mouth entirely, and you manage to stab yourself in the cheek with your slice, transferring a glob of tomato sauce onto your face in the process.

Emma laughs, and Marcus’s eyes glitter with amusement as you frantically reach for a napkin. 

“So you do, um… FBI stuff?” you ask him clumsily, trying to break the silence.

“Yep. FBI Stuff. Says it on my badge and everything.”

“Why do you have a bunch of art books?”

“I lead an international task force dealing with art crimes,” he answers patiently. 

“What constitutes an art crime?” Emma asks, her mouth full.

“Theft,” Marcus lists, “forgeries, black market sales, dealing in antiquities, looting of archaeological sites…”

“Oh, wow,” you breathe, a dopey smile on your face. Emma shoots you a funny look.

“So it’s like, nerdy FBI stuff,” she says.

“The nerdiest,” Marcus agrees, smiling.

“Do you still have a gun and stuff?”

“I do,” Marcus says carefully, frowning slightly. “It’s in the safe for the week, though, while you’re here.”

Your stomach flip-flops at the mental image of Emma’s dad holding a gun, those warm brown eyes dark with focus as he stares down… an art thief. Or something. 

“Enough about your old man,” he says with a self-deprecating chuckle. “What are you two looking to do tomorrow on your first day in DC?”

“Think we’ll hit the museums,” Emma says. “Get them out of the way first. We want to see the Library of Congress, obviously. Plus walking around to all the monuments and stuff. Oh, and the zoo!”

“Do you want my advice?” Marcus asks, and you both nod. “It’s supposed to be unseasonably warm tomorrow, and sunny. I’d do the monument tour or the zoo tomorrow if I were you. Save the indoor stuff for the end of the week, because it’s supposed to rain.”

“Monuments it is!” Emma exclaims. “Hey, can I… can I use your shower? I feel kinda gross from the travel day.”

“Absolutely.” Marcus hops up, leading Emma over to the guest bathroom. You listen as he points out a stack of towels intended for the two of you during your stay, the extra shampoo he’d bought, the spare toothbrushes just in case… Eventually he returns, hands stuffed in his pockets, looking hesitant again.

“Thank you,” you say again. “You went through a lot of trouble, and–”

“It’s no trouble,” Marcus says quickly. “No trouble at all. I–I have to admit I was surprised when Em–when she called, but I’m–I’m more than happy to host you two for the week. It’s no trouble at all,” he repeats.

“Okay,” you say dumbly. You’re staring again, unable to help the way your eyes are drawn to the way his arms fill out the shirt he's wearing when his hands are in his pockets like that. 

"You alright?" 

Your eyes flit up to his at the question. He's looking back at you, his head cocked to the side as he watches you. And suddenly, you can just tell–you can tell that he knows how flustered you are in front of him. 

You nod rapidly up and down in response, not trusting yourself to answer.  

"Good. Had enough pizza?"

"Mmhmm."

"Anything else to drink?" he asks. 

"Got any beer?" you ask with a quirk of your eyebrow.

"You told me you were twenty," Marcus reminds you. 

"Oh."

"And I work for law enforcement," he says gravely. 

Oh. 

"Oh, f-fuck, I um… I was kidding. Holy shit. I'm sorry. Seriously, I'm not a-a bad… student, or anything. I swear, I–"

As you continue to frantically backtrack, you realize that Marcus’s shoulders are shaking with laughter. 

"Oh, you're funny. Real funny. Ha. Ha."

"Next you'll be saying I should quit my day job," he says, his eyes sparkling. 

"I'm not sure what kind of art… crime… solver… you are, but I have to believe you're a better agent than you are a comedian," you deadpan. 

"You can come to my stand-up show on Tuesday and see for yourself."

Your jaw drops before you realize Marcus's lips are quivering with the effort of keeping a straight face. 

"You're on fire, tonight," you say, rolling your eyes. 

"You'll have to forgive me," he says, a gentle, more wistful smile gracing his lips. "I don't have company often, and it's been even longer since I've seen–" his eyes flick to the bathroom door, and he looks troubled for a moment. 

"Strictly off the record, if you do want a beer, I happen to have some," he says, changing the subject and smiling back at you again. 

"Nah, I'll save that favor for later in the week," you tell him.

"Noted," Marcus replies. He's looking at you again, still. He seems to be one of those people who gives all of his focus to someone when they speak, and the attention is starting to overwhelm you. 

"Hey!" Emma calls from the guest bedroom. "I wanna get started early tomorrow. Those monuments aren't gonna monument themselves."

You laugh and roll your eyes. "That's my cue," you say with a little smile. "Gonna grab a shower myself and call it a night."

"If you need anything, I'm a room away," Marcus says, but it only serves to remind you that this man will be sleeping in the next room.

"Got it," you say, nodding thickly. "Um, good night."

"Good night," he answers softly. 

When you reach the bathroom door, you turn around again–you can't help yourself. 

He's still looking at you. 

"Get up!

"Get up!"

"GET–"

"Okay!" you whine, throwing an extra pillow in the general direction of Emma's voice. "Fuck. I'm up."

You throw on a pair of jeans and a faded tee, scrubbing your hands over your face as you stumble out of the guest room and into the kitchen, where Marcus hands you a cup of coffee, which you accept with a grunt.

"Emma warned me that you weren't a morning person," he says. 

"God, it's both of you, isn't it?" you grumble. "Morning people."

"I guess we turned out alike after all," Marcus says with a soft smile, watching as you take a grateful sip from the mug. "What's the first stop on the list?"

"I dunno, she's got it all planned out," you murmur. "Of like, seeing the farthest place first and working our way back."

"Sounds like a plan," Marcus says. "You two have fun."

"What are you doing today?" Emma interjects, coming into the kitchen, grabbing a bagel off of the counter, and stuffing it into her mouth. 

"Well, it's Sunday, so… grocery shopping," Marcus says. "Any special requests?"

"Filet mignon," Emma says. 

"You got it. Want some lobster tails as well?"

"Mmhmm."

"I was thinking more along the lines of spaghetti and meatballs. Anything else you ladies would like?"

Emma shuffles her feet, and you frown slightly. You've never known her not to immediately say what's on her mind–and clearly, something is. 

"What is it, Emmie?" Marcus asks softly.

"Do you remember that one time that we came to your family's for Christmas–I think I was maybe twelve?–and you made…"

"...Tamales?" Marcus asks, his eyebrows shooting upward. 

"Yeah," Emma answers, her voice smaller than you've ever heard it. "I still remember those. They were really good."

"Jesus, I haven't made those in…" he shakes his head. "I don't even know. But uh, sure. We can do that. Tamale night. It's a deal."

"Thanks," Emma says, smiling. "And… really? 'Emmie?' Dad, I'm not seven anymore."

"My mistake," Marcus says with a playful wink in your direction–which might make your heart stop. "You girls stay safe. Text if you need anything."

Marcus was right–the weather is beautiful today. It’s perfect for walking endlessly from monument to monument, which you do all morning. You try to stay focused–thoughtfully reading the names on the Vietnam War Memorial and not thinking about Emma’s dad, in the plain white t-shirt he had been wearing this morning, in the produce section picking out apples. Even worse, you try not to imagine the sight of him cooking tonight.

He’s becoming a bit of an obsession for you, you can admit it. You want to know everything about him–what his job is like, what he does on the weekends, what he likes to read, what he did in the past to alienate the mother of his child enough that he’s barely seen his daughter–who he very clearly cares deeply for…

As you walk around the Washington Monument, you can’t stand it any longer. 

“Sooooo. It seems like things are going well between you and your dad,” you say conversationally.

“How do you mean?” 

“Less awkward, I guess.”

“It’s not that we don’t get along,” Emma says with a shrug. “We always used to. Like I said, I always thought he was nice. My mom…” 

“She didn’t like him?”

“She didn’t want to be around him. I don’t know why. They tried to protect me from the messy parts of divorce, but part of that means that I have no idea what their history is. She never talked about it. Neither did he.”

“Huh.” You stare in silence at the large white obelisk. “I wonder what happened.”

“I thought about asking my mom,” Emma says. “Lots of times, but I never got up the courage.”

“You should ask him,” you say quietly. “I get the feeling he needs to tell the story.”

Emma gives you a funny look. “That’s a weird thing to say.”

You shrug. “I’m weird.”

“Fair.”

The two of you walk until it feels as though your feet are going to fall off. 

“My feet are going to fall off,” you announce. “Surely there are no more monuments in the entirety of Washington, DC.”

“We’ve still got the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier.”

“Uggghhhh, how important can he be? He’s unknown.”

“This was your idea,” Emma points out. “Go to DC for spring break! Stay with my best friend’s estranged dad! Walk around and see all the monuments and shit!”

“Too many steps,” you groan. “They should all be concentrated in one square mile of land.”

“One more,” Emma promises. “And then spaghetti.”

“And laying on the couch watching TV,” you counter.

“And laying on the couch watching TV,” Emma agrees. “...And tomorrow we go to the zoo.”

“No!”

Marcus chuckles as you stumble into his condo just after six. You immediately collapse onto the couch with an exaggerated groan.

“I’m staying right here for the rest of the week,” you announce.

“It’s been one day,” Marcus points out. 

“My phone’s step counter measures over thirty thousand steps,” you mumble. “I’m done.”

“That’s a lot,” Marcus concedes. “Hopefully that means the two of you are hungry this evening.”

“Fucking starving,” Emma agrees, crashing onto the couch herself and nearly colliding with you as she does so. 

“Well, since everyone is so tired,” Marcus says, the playfulness evident in his voice, “I’ll make spaghetti and meatballs tonight. Tamales are a group effort, so you two better be ready to work for your food.”

“I shall endeavor to do so,” Emma remarks with an exaggerated accent, causing you to laugh giddily. 

While Emma’s eyes are closed, you take advantage, watching Marcus–still with that same fitted white shirt–in the kitchen, boiling water, heating the sauce, and adding the meatballs. He must sense your gaze, because he turns, a characteristic crooked smile on his lips as he acknowledges you. 

“I know they’re frozen,” he admits, speaking of the meatballs, “but they always taste the same to me anyway.”

“I can’t wait,” you say, truthfully. “It’s been a long day.”

As if to demonstrate the fact, a loud snore emanates from the body next to you, making you grin.

“I’m glad you guys came,” Marcus says softly. “I don’t often have the opportunity to cook for… more than one.”

“No girlfriend?” you ask conversationally. 

Marcus laughs. “I’m… in between things, I suppose.”

“In between,” you parrot with a laugh. “How long have you been ‘in between?’”

He huffs. “Too long,” he murmurs. 

“How come?” you ask quietly.

Marcus frowns, thinking. “I dunno. No one recently has been… exactly what I’m looking for.”

“And what are you looking for?” you ask breathlessly.

“Spaghetti,” Emma mumbles from the couch.

“Spaghetti,” Marcus repeats, giving me a slightly melancholy smile. “Exactly. Come and get it, you two.”

Emma stirs, stumbling into the kitchen where two giant bowls of spaghetti and meatballs are awaiting the two of you.

“Holy shit,” she remarks. “Thanks for this.”

“Of course,” Marcus says. “I would never agree for you to stay and then not…” he trails off, unsure of himself.

You’re starting to realize that the bulk of Marcus’s most emotional statements go unsaid. I would ever agree for you to stay and then not take care of you, is what he hadn’t said. 

“Still doing the zoo tomorrow?” he asks, changing the subject, as always.

“Yup,” Emma answers.

He huffs, smiling wistfully. “Been ages since I’ve been to a zoo.”

“D’you wanna go?” you ask, before you can determine that it’s a bad idea.

Marcus looks at you, indecisive for a few seconds before he seemingly comes to his senses. “Nah,” he says, grinning. “You two have fun.”

“Are you sure?” Emma asks. “Apparently there’s a new panda baby.”

“That’s a hard bargain,” he admits.

“You should come with,” Emma decides. “It could be fun.”

“All right,” Marcus agrees hesitantly.

“It’s Monday,” you point out. “Don’t you have to work?”

“I’ll call off,” he answers quickly. “Not everyday one’s daughter is in town for an impromptu zoo trip.”

“Look at the little lad,” Emma gushes. 

“The what?” Marcus asks. 

The three of you are staring at the panda enclosure, watching the newest addition to the zoo cause chaos.

“The chonky boi,” you agree.

“I have no idea what you two are saying,” Marcus admits. 

“The baby panda is cute,” Emma offers. 

“That I can agree on,” he decides.

The three of you, you’ve decided, make a good team. You try not to think about how your heart burns whenever Marcus looks at you, how your stomach does flips whenever he laughs. If you’re going to be a good friend to Emma–and you are–you’re going to have to put this silly crush aside and accept the fact that he’s a package deal with your best friend. 

That doesn’t stop the way the man looks at you, though. 

You think you’re imagining it, at first. After all, Marcus seems to be the type of person who focuses completely on whatever anyone has to say. The more you’re with him, though, it’s hard to deny that he seems to look at you just a tiny bit longer.

You start to notice it all day–when you’re looking at the exhibits, Marcus is looking at you. 

He’s watching your reaction to them–smiling when you smile, laughing when you laugh. You can’t parse out the meaning behind his actions–does it mean something? If so, what? What does it mean? 

You can’t admit the truth to yourself until you’re in the insect house. Emma is giddy with interest, and you… are trying. 

“Are you okay?” Marcus asks softly in your ear–and you try not to shiver.

“Great,” you squeak. “Just don’t love the bird-eating spider.”

“I don’t like them either,” he confesses with a smile. “Do you need to leave?”

“Idunno,” you mumble, slurring the words together. 

“Emmie,” Marcus announces, “we’re going to take a little break, okay?”

“Mmm.” 

You and Marcus escape into the bright sunshine, and you let out an awkward laugh. “I can’t believe they have some of them loose in there–without glass or anything!”

“I’m not going back in that building,” Marcus agrees, laughing with you. “The giant orb weaver was the last straw.”

“That was awful,” you say, nodding.

“Come to think of it, I might be more of a baby panda guy, myself.”

“I’ll take the snakes over this,” you agree.

You sit down on a nearby bench, still giggling together as you wait for Emma.

“Is it weird if I say I’m glad you came?” you ask quietly.

“I’m glad I came, too,” Marcus says beside you.

“I think–” you begin, but Emma emerges from the insect house, grinning ear to ear.

“You think… what?” Marcus asks, but you shake your head and shrug.

“I dunno,” you mumble. “I just… think.”

“Hey, wimps,” Emma shouts. “They let me touch the tarantula.”

Marcus takes the two of you out to dinner at a casual burger spot near his place. While the tension between him and Emma has lessened significantly since the first day, it feels as though it’s been replaced by a thick cloud of tension between the two of you. 

There’s something about the man that speaks to you, something within him that seems to vibrate on the same frequency as something within you. Twin souls, you’d say, if you were in a mind to be romantic, except… it can’t be. He must be nearly forty–and almost twice your age. There’s nothing you have that he would want–nothing you could offer a man who has his entire life together while yours has barely started.

Still, the way Marcus laughs at your jokes and gives you knowing glances–as if the two of you are sharing some type of inside joke that you’ve had for years–keeps you flustered and breathless throughout most of the evening.

The glass of wine he offers when you arrive home doesn’t help, either. You watch the red liquid swirl in your glass and wonder how it would taste from his lips, instead. And, when you’ve reached the bottom of your glass, the fuzzy-headed feeling you get from the alcohol combined with the way your stomach swoops in its place every time Marcus’s eyes meet yours has you feeling dizzy and enraptured in equal parts. 

When he locks eyes with you over the rim of his own glass as he drains the last sip, you freeze, afraid that you’d been caught out–that he can read every dumbstruck expression on your face and knows exactly what he does to you.

But all he does is shoot you a little smile, announce that he’s going to bed– “Back to work for me, tomorrow”–and leaves you in the living room alone with Emma, trying not to look as though you’re checking out her dad’s butt as he leaves the room. 

The next day, you and Emma spend most of the day at the Library of Congress while Marcus is at work. As a result, neither of you are too tired to help when Marcus suggests making the tamales tonight. 

“I’m going to preface this by saying I’m not very good at making these,” he says with a laugh as he struggles with the dough. “My grandma only made these on special occasions, and I’ve done it myself approximately two times without her.”

“Well, the good news is that I’ve got no frame of reference,” you tell him. “So as long as they’re edible, they’ll be the best tamales I’ve ever had.”

Marcus chuckles and ducks his head; you can see the pink tinge on the tips of his ears as he continues to stir the mixture.

“Emmie, do you want to do the dough or the filling?” he asks. 

“Filling.”

“That leaves you with the fun part,” Marcus says to you with a playful wink. “You get to spread the dough out on the corn husks like this–” he frowns as a glob of dough gets stuck to the spatula. “I told you I’m not very good at this. But you get the idea.”

You really don’t; cooking has never been your strong suit. You do your best to spread the dough out, but after just a couple of repetitions, your fingers, your shirt, and the counter around you are sticky with dough. 

“This is not going very well,” you mumble. 

Marcus looks up from the tamale he’s currently folding and laughs joyfully. “That’s part of the process.”

“I really don’t feel like it is,” you shoot back. “It’s sticking to everything but the corn husks.”

“Here,” Marcus chuckles. And suddenly, he’s right behind you, his chest nearly touching your back as he reaches around you to gently guide your hands himself. “Like this.”

You can’t possibly focus on your task, not when you have to remind your body to keep breathing while Marcus’s hands are on you. Your eyes stare unseeingly down at the corn husk until he releases you. 

“Better?” he asks.

“Mmhm,” you hum, abnormally high-pitched.

“You’ve got some on your cheek,” he remarks with a soft smile. His thumb gently swipes across it, catching the stray dough and wiping it on a towel. 

In the end, the tamales are hideous, but they taste incredible. They might be the best meal you’ve ever had–or maybe it’s just the way Marcus had smiled proudly at you when your technique improved after his intervention.

After dinner, the three of you sit on the small couch and watch a movie.

“It’s in black and white,” Emma remarks, wrinkling her nose.

“Double Indemnity? It’s a classic!” Marcus protests.

“Old movies are always so boring,” Emma says. 

“It’s not boring,” he pouts. “The unhappy wife of a wealthy oil baron starts a dangerous, illicit love affair with an insurance salesman, and they hatch a plot to murder her husband and collect the insurance money.”

“That’s wild,” you laugh. “How have you seen this before?”

“I’ve always been told I’m an old soul.”

“Are you sure you’re not just old?” Emma teases.

“Hush. Watch the movie.”

The film is engaging, but all of the walking around of the past few days starts to catch up with you about halfway through. Before you know it, your eyes are drooping, and your head tips back on the couch cushion as you start to doze off. When you wake, the credits are rolling, and you’re no longer upright on the back of the couch.

You’re drooling on Marcus’s shoulder.

You startle, sitting back up with a frantic gasp and wiping your mouth in horror.

“Shh,” Marcus whispers, placing a calming hand on your forearm. “Emma fell asleep, too.”

“Fuck. I’m sorry,” you babble, taking in the little wet spot on his shirt.

“Hey, it’s okay,” he assures softly. “You’re tired. You needed the sleep.”

“Still,” you say. “I didn’t mean to…” you trail off awkwardly. 

“It’s okay,” Marcus repeats, even quieter still. His hand still rests on your forearm, his thumb subtly moving back and forth across your skin. 

Neither of you speak for what seems like an eternity, until finally, he breaks the spell.

“Should go to bed,” he murmurs. “I’ll wake up Emma. Go get some rest.”

“Marcus,” you whisper shakily.

“Go,” he whispers back. 

He squeezes your arm once, then releases you, and you reluctantly get up from the couch and cross to the guest bedroom door. You turn again, watching as Marcus gently smooths Emma’s hair back from her forehead as he rouses her from the couch. There’s so much tenderness in his eyes, and you wonder how much different he might be if Emma had been a more constant presence in his life. He seems so lonely–does he have friends outside of work, you wonder? Does he ever date? 

Emma sits up blearily and pads across the living room, walking past you and collapsing on the bed. You take one last look at Marcus, and follow her. 

The next morning, you feel as though you could cut the tension between you and Marcus with a knife. There’s something there–and you both know it. He seems to be doing his best to ignore it, avoiding eye contact with you, and busying himself with pouring a thermos of coffee and messing with his tie absentmindedly as he gets ready to leave for work. 

“Where are you off to today?” he comments lightly.

“Smithsonian,” Emma answers. 

“Sounds fun. I’ve got a deposition this afternoon that’s probably going to run late, so go ahead and grab something for dinner while you’re out. I’m not sure when I’ll be home.”

The only time Marcus’s eyes fall on you is in the moment just before he steps through the front door. He pauses, hand on the doorknob, and glances back in your direction, dark eyes watching you for a moment before he nods subtly and leaves.

It’s funny how just a simple, seconds-long moment of eye contact with this man can turn your insides to jelly. Your breath stutters as the door clicks shut, and you try to gather yourself again.

“What’s first?” Emma asks. “Natural History or Air and Space?”

You put Marcus out of your mind for most of the day, although he’s never far away; you’re able to call up the feel of his hand on your forearm at any given moment. You can imagine the burn of his eyes even as you walk through exhibit after exhibit.

True to his word, he’s not home for dinner. You and Emma grab sandwiches from a shop around the corner and eat them in the living room in front of the TV. It’s nearly seven when Marcus finally gets home, opening the door and greeting the two of you with a tired smile and a heavy sigh.

“How did it go?” Emma asks.

“Shit,” he answers, shooting her a crooked grin. “But I’ve got leftover tamales to look forward to, so the day is looking up.”

You watch another movie–Emma’s choice this time, and something a bit more current. You don’t fall asleep this time; you can’t, not with the way your body feels on high alert tonight. Marcus is sitting beside you again, as he was the night before, and all you can think about is how much you want to sink into his arms again–and this time, intentionally. You want to lay on his chest and have him wrap his arms around you; you want him to slowly turn and press you down on the cushions, to feel the weight of him on top of you, the light scrape of his beard on your neck, his breath in your ear.

A wave of arousal washes over you, heating your skin and sending a little trickle of damp into your underwear. You wonder if Marcus can feel it–feel the elevated warmth of your skin from where he’s sitting. You wonder if he can tell how much he affects you. 

When the movie ends, you can barely meet his eyes as you bid him goodnight, following Emma to your room. You can’t turn around to see if he’s watching you; you can’t stand another glance at that deep, burning gaze of his. 

Sleep evades you. You’re too hot, so you kick off the covers. Then you’re too cold, so you cover up again. You flip over the pillow, turn from your back to your stomach, and back again. The fantasy plays once more in your head: Marcus’s hand cradling the back of your neck as he kisses a path down your neck and to your chest. You want to feel the weight of him between your thighs, feel him pressing against your core. You’re dripping for him, and he doesn’t even know it. 

No one has ever done this to you, but he has. And he hasn’t even touched you. 

You wonder if he’d be bothered by the fact that you aren’t exactly sure what you’re doing in that department. You wonder if he’d be put off by your inexperience, or if he’d be happy to guide you in the act of pleasure. 

You’ve had a couple of fumbling encounters, rushed, frenzied moments as a teenager with boys who haphazardly stuffed a finger or two into you, but it didn’t feel like anything to you. Not really. No one has ever made you cum–just you, in the safety of your own bed at night, your fingers seeking relief that no one else has been able to provide.

Could he give it to you?

Your past experiences have been with boys; and Marcus is a man. 

Your legs shift, rubbing your thighs against each other as you try to find a more comfortable position.

You can’t find one.

Eventually, you give up–getting out of bed with a sigh. Maybe if you grab a drink of water and sit on the couch for a while, sleep will win out in the end. You pad into the kitchen, filling a cup in the sink and taking a few long sips. The cool water is a relief, so you run your hand underneath the water next and scrub it over your face. Finally sated, you set the cup down by the sink and turn.

To see Marcus sitting on the couch, dimly lit by the glow of his laptop screen.

You nearly double over with shock, the unexpected sight causing a spike of adrenaline to course through your body.

“Sorry,” he says apologetically. “Couldn’t sleep, so I was… catching up on work.”

The mirror image of a popular news site reflects through the glass picture frame behind the couch, exposing the tiny lie.

“Yeah, me neither,” you admit quietly. “Thought I’d sit out here for a while and see if that helps, but… sorry, I’ll leave you to it.” You make to turn back, to retreat to the room again, but Marcus speaks softly behind you.

“Come sit,” he says. “I don’t mind.”

Breath caught somewhere in your throat, you hesitantly sink down on the couch beside him. Marcus closes his laptop and sets it down on the coffee table, and the silence stretches out between you. 

“So, are you liking DC so far?” he asks.

“Yeah,” you answer eagerly. “I’m having a great time. I’ll… I’ll be sad to leave,” you admit. “Is that weird?”

“It’s weird if you’re talking about missing the Washington Monument,” Marcus teases. “Or the traffic.”

“I’m talking about the metro, obviously,” you joke. “The rest of the country could stand for some public transit options.”

“I’m not sure they should be taking their cues from DC,” he chuckles. 

“Pssh, I like it.”

“The novelty wears off, believe me.”

You lapse into silence again. You’re sitting close enough to Marcus that you can feel the warmth from his skin, even though you aren’t touching. You want to sink into him, to have him envelop you, consume you.

You feel yourself unconsciously shifting closer to him. 

Is it just your imagination, or did Marcus subtly lean closer to you?

The pull is inevitable; your eyes flick up to his, and you can almost feel the point of no return pass the two of you by. 

You lick your lips, and his breath catches in his throat.

“I wasn’t talking about the metro,” you say breathlessly. 

“I know.”

And suddenly, his lips are on yours. 

It’s not fast, not rushed or frantic; he doesn’t surge forward to take you. It’s simply that the two of you are close enough that at one moment, Marcus Pike is not kissing you, and then the next moment, he is. 

As with everything this man does, the kiss is soft and tender. His hand comes up to cup your cheek, and he gently tits his head as his lips move against yours. His mouth opens ever so slightly, and you feel a wave of pure want rush through you at the light flick of his tongue against your lower lip.

You make a ragged sound in your chest as your lips part for him, and your tongues slide against each other for far too short of a time before Marcus pulls back, suddenly, his eyes full of worry.

“Oh, shit,” he murmurs. “Shit, we… we shouldn’t.”

This time, you kiss him back. The neck of his soft t-shirt crumples in your fist as you pull him closer, opening your mouth to him, and his protests die at the feel of your lips on his. Instead, it seems to light a fire within him; one hand curls around the back of your neck and the other grips your hip and you gasp softly into his mouth at the feel of his hands on your body. 

Marcus breaks the kiss again, but instead of pulling back to give you more reasons why you can’t, this time he kisses a path across your cheek and down your neck. You’ve imagined the way his light beard would feel against your skin so many times over the last couple of days, but nothing compares to the reality of having him gently scrape his teeth against your neck as you arch your back to him. 

“Fuck,” Marcus whispers. “So sweet, honey.”

You whimper at the term of endearment as Marcus gently starts to shift positions, turning and guiding you down onto the couch, just as you’d imagined. 

Now that you’re horizontal, the kisses that started out tender and sweet start to grow more and more lascivious. You can feel the weight of him between your legs and his hot length pressing against you, his hips rocking slightly as he lazily explores you with his hands and his mouth. 

One hand creeps up your inner thigh and slips under your thin sleep shorts and underwear, gently grazing your folds and feeling the obscene amount of slick that’s already gathered there. 

“Shit,” Marcus hisses softly, reverently. “You’re so wet. How are you so wet?”

“You,” you answer earnestly, staring up at him with wide eyes. 

He laughs breathlessly in response, his eyes raking up and down your body, taking in your nipples peeking through the threadbare material of your tank top. His finger explores deeper, slipping inside your tight channel and immediately finding… something… that makes you gasp raggedly. 

“So responsive,” he murmurs playfully. “I’ve barely touched you.” He starts to slowly pump his finger in and out, his thumb pressing on your clit as he rubs against that little spot inside of you every time, and all you can do is squeeze your eyes shut and cling to him as this one little movement threatens to take you apart. 

“Honey,” he whispers disbelievingly as he feels you start to tighten around him. “Already?”

“I–” 

Whatever you had been about to say dies on your lips as you suddenly fall over the edge, shaking as the pleasure overtakes you. Marcus soothes you through it, whispering in your ear as you come down from your high.

“Wow,” you murmur. “Holy shit, that was amazing.”

Marcus pulls back and gives you a funny look. “What’s going on?” he asks, frowning slightly.

“Heh–you’re going to laugh,” you say, giving him an awkward grimace. 

He raises his eyebrow, waiting for you to continue. 

“I’ve–kind of never done this before,” you admit, pressing your lips together sheepishly. 

“Oh shit,” Marcus breathes, sitting up fully as his eyes frantically sweep over you. “Oh, honey–no. I can’t–we can’t do this.”

“Why?” you ask, wincing internally at how whiny it comes out.

“It can’t–it shouldn’t be me,” he says softly. “That’s more than I deserve to take.”

“You’re not taking anything,” you protest. “I–I want it to be you.”

Marcus shakes his head again, but you can see the cracks in his resolve, the way his eyes are searching you, devouring you with his gaze.

“I don’t want it to be some boy at a frat party back home,” you tell him. “I want you. I want it to feel good. Please?”

Marcus’s expression is inscrutable as his eyes rake over your form, disheveled and sated, underneath him. Your heart sinks when he stands up, shame sinking down into the pit of your stomach, but then he extends his hand to you, and you look up at him, questioning. 

“I’m not going to let your first time be a quick fuck on my couch,” he says quietly and resolute. “If we’re going to do this, we’re going to bed.”

Wordlessly, you accept his hand and allow him to pull you to your feet. You wobble slightly, still shaky from the orgasm, and Marcus draws you into his side, steadying you. He guides you forward, keeping you close as the two of you walk to his bedroom. 

Despite the fact that you were more than ready to let this man take you right there on the couch, the change in venue has your heart hammering in your chest. Now, it feels real. It feels intentional. 

“C’mere, beautiful,” Marcus murmurs when he feels your steps falter. His hand slides up your arm and across your shoulder until it curls gently around your neck, causing goosebumps to rise to the surface of your skin. He presses a couple of soft, chaste kisses across your opposite shoulder, and your lips part of their own accord. 

“I need you to tell me if you don’t want to do this,” he says softly in your ear.

“I want–”

“I know, I know,” Marcus interrupts. “I want you to tell me if that changes.”

He gently guides you onto his bed, one hand on the small of your back to keep you from going too fast. 

“I wanna know what you like,” he murmurs as he hovers over you again, his hand coming up underneath the thin material of your top. “I wanna know what you don’t like.” 

“I–I don’t really know–”

“I know,” Marcus grins wolfishly, his eyes sparkling with amusement. “That’s the idea.”

He starts to push the material of your shirt up, up, up, until your nipples are pebbling in the cool air of his bedroom. He gently pulls it over your head and casts it aside, looking down at you with undisguised hunger. He trails the backs of his fingers down the side of one breast and underneath. “I get to find out what you like,” he says. He circles one areola with the tip of his finger, making you shiver. “And I get to be the first to do it.”

He gently drags the pad of his finger across the little bud of your nipple, and you gasp for him as if you’d hit a live wire. 

“I’m gonna take a guess and say you liked that,” he teases. 

“Marcus,” you whine. 

“Shh,” he whispers again, just before his mouth engulfs your nipple. Your hand darts out unconsciously, tangling in the hair on the back of Marcus’s neck as you squirm under his hot tongue. You can’t tell whether you want to pull away or push toward him, but in reality all you do is whine and take what he gives you. He switches to the other one; lathing and flicking his tongue and pressing down until you whimper.

“So… fucking… responsive,” Marcus murmurs in between kisses as he starts to mouth his way down your belly to the band of your sleep shorts. His fingers dip underneath, poised to pull them down over your hips, but he waits–eyes flicking up to yours to gauge your reaction. 

“Can I taste you?” he asks quietly.

“I-If you want,” you laugh shakily. 

“If I want?” he parrots disbelievingly. “You’re saying that like it’s not a given–like I haven’t been thinking of burying my tongue in that sweet little pussy all night. If I want,” he chuckles to himself again, slowly dragging your shorts and underwear down your legs. “I need to taste you. I need to feel you fall apart on my tongue. The first one was kind of a surprise, and all I want is to feel you shaking again.”

You’re bare before him, but you don’t have any time to be self-conscious, because Marcus is laying back down on the bed, his face inches away from your pussy. He gently guides your legs over his shoulders before lowering his mouth to you. 

You aren’t sure who groans louder at the first touch of his tongue through your folds. 

Marcus makes a pained noise in his throat before murmuring, “So sweet, honey–fuck, you’re so sweet.”

His tongue is delicate, but precise; he flicks it back and forth against your clit, then dips down to lap at your entrance until you’re trembling for him. He’s tireless and patient, cataloging every whimper and moan he pulls from you as the pleasure slowly builds inside of you. In no time at all, you’re dangling on the precipice, your hips locking into place as you start to reach the point of no return. 

“I–I–” you stammer, trying to warn him.

Marcus hums enthusiastically in agreement, concentrating his efforts on your clit until you fall apart with a gasp.

He groans again, licking you through each little aftershock of pleasure until you’re boneless. 

“You squeeze me so hard,” he croons. “Can you feel that? You’re so tight around my tongue.”

“Shit…” you murmur. You’re too fucked-out to say anything else. 

“Gonna have to open you up a bit with my fingers,” he says softly. “So I don’t hurt you.”

You look up at him with half-lidded eyes. He’s still clothed–wearing sweatpants and a shirt, while you’re completely naked, and you frown slightly at the disparity.

“Everything okay?” Marcus asks, seeing your expression. 

“Can–Can I see you? You’re so… clothed,” you say with a little pout. 

He laughs, smiling widely so that the corners of his eyes crinkle, and your heart soars. 

“Of course,” he agrees, stripping off his shirt. “Of course.”

You raise up on one elbow, gazing up at Marcus’s broad chest, the light smattering of hair, and the soft swell of his belly. You can’t help but reach up and touch him, pressing your palm to his sternum and trailing down, tracing the little path of hair until it disappears under the band of his sweatpants. Your fingers curl underneath the band, looking up at him with wide eyes. 

“These, too?” he asks with a teasing chuckle, smiling wider when you nod eagerly. 

His cock bobs free as he pushes his pants down his hips, and your eyes widen at the sight of him, thick and hard and heavy with want. Curiously, you wrap your hand around him, and you’re rewarded with a little ‘hnnngg’ of pleasure and surprise as you touch him. 

You gently trace the little ridges on his shaft, traveling up to the flushed, purple head, where the skin is even softer, and back down again.

“F-Fuck,” Marcus muttters. “Can’t do that too much, honey, or I’m gonna lose it before we even get started.”

“I like it,” you say with a little giggle. “I never realized they were so… soft.”

Marcus makes a broken, choked sound. “Jesus. You’re gonna be the death of me.” 

He falls onto one elbow, giving you a messy, passionate kiss before sucking his fingers into his mouth and gently sinking one finger into you again. His lips stay close to yours, noses almost touching, his eyes watching your face intently as he slowly opens you up. His fingers are so thick, and just like before, he seems to know exactly where to press up inside you to make the pleasure spark inside of you. He adds a second finger, and you whimper–you're already so full. 

"Little bit more," Marcus murmurs. "Doing so well for me–fuck–so tight."

He gently starts to slide a third into you, the heel of his hand pressing against your clit to offer some relief.

“Is it greedy if I say I want you to cum for me again?” he asks softly. “I want to feel it again. Can you do that for me?”

You nod dazedly–wanting to do anything, everything this man asks as long as he keeps making you feel like this. 

His fingers press up against your walls again, and you sob loudly into the room.

Marcus immediately muffles the sound with a kiss, swallowing your whimpers and cries in an attempt to keep the sound from carrying across the apartment. 

“Gotta stay quiet for me,” he whispers against your lips. 

“S-Sorry.”

“No, shh, don’t be sorry,” he murmurs. “I wish you could be loud. Wish I could make you scream for me. Just–fuck, honey, you’re right there, aren’t you? I can feel you squeezing me–fuck, you get so wet. Give me one more. One more, and I’ll give you my cock. That’s it, that’s–yes–” 

Marcus breaks off on a groan as you clamp down on his fingers. It’s so much, you’re so full, and you buck against his hand, your lower back rising up off of the bed as he pulls it from you. 

You slump back down, breathing heavily, as he carefully withdraws his fingers. 

“Hey,” he says quietly, trying to get your attention. “Hey, I should have asked this sooner, but–are you on birth control? Do you want me to use a condom?”

“I-I’m on the pill,” you tell him. “If you… you know, if you didn’t want to. That would be–I’d like that.”

“That’s perfect,” he whispers, giving you a tender kiss. “I’d like that, too.” He pauses, and mutters a soft curse under his breath. “I wish I had some lube,” he remarks. “Just to be sure I don’t hurt you.”

You watch as he spits on his cock and takes himself in hand. 

“This will have to do, though,” he says as he slicks it over his cock and crawls over you. “And I’ll just go slow.”

He cups the back of your neck with one hand as he lines himself up with the other. His lips are inches from yours, but he doesn’t lean down to kiss you–no, he seems to want to watch your reaction as the tip of his cock notches at your entrance. 

“Don’t want to hurt you,” he whispers again.

“You could never hurt me,” you say confidently, and you watch as his lips part in surprise. “Marcus–” you add, as you shift your hips impatiently. “–just do it.”

Your eyes widen as you feel him push into you, his girth splitting you open. It can’t be much bigger than three of his thick fingers, but still, it just feels like more. It’s longer, certainly; he keeps pushing in, and even when you’re sure he’s reached the end, there’s still more. 

“Oh wow,” you hear yourself murmuring again and again. “Oh, Marcus.” 

“I know,” he returns, kissing your cheekbone, your forehead, your nose, and then finally, your lips. “I know, honey.”

He starts to rock his hips, slowly undulating them, letting his cock drag back and forth against your walls. It feels incredible–you never imagined how fucking good this would feel–and you know beyond a shadow of a doubt that it’s because it’s him. It’s Marcus–a man you’ve admittedly only known for a few days, but you feel as though you know him already–and you trust him completely. 

“Does it hurt at all?” he rumbles softly in your ear.

“No,” you answer emphatically. “It feels–holy shit.”

Marcus laughs breathlessly. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. Can–can we do this again?”

He chuckles. “We’re currently doing this.”

“I already want it again.”

He starts to go a little harder, his thrusts a little deeper. His hand grips your hip for leverage, the other still cradling the back of your neck. He kisses you, a deep, messy, passionate thing, before burying his face in the crook of your neck and sucking a gentle mark into your skin.

“Feels so good,” he murmurs. “I’m not gonna last, not when you feel like this.”

“Like how?” you ask, smiling widely. 

“So fucking tight,” Marcus groans. “And wet, and hot, and–” he brings his thumb to your clit and starts to rub little circles around it. “I need you to cum again,” he says. “Fuck, you–you feel too good, honey, I’m not gonna last.”

“I—I don’t know if I can,” you murmur. 

“Please,” he says, a hint of desperation in his tone. “Please, baby, you’ve gotta do this one last thing for me. Let me feel it, let me make you feel good. Let me–let me–”

Your mouth falls open as you feel it wash over you. This is better than anything you’ve ever felt before, any relief you’ve been able to seek with your fingers–the drag of his cock along your walls only serves to prolong your pleasure, making each little aftershock feel like a new wave of pleasure. 

“Oh, fuck,” Marcus groans. “Fuck.” He buries his face in the crook of your neck as he shoves his hips into you one more time, emptying himself within you with a deep groan. 

The aftermath is quiet. After gently, tenderly cleaning you up with a damp cloth, Marcus collapses on the pillows and pulls you to him, wrapping his arms around you as you settle with your head resting on his shoulder.

“Was this a bad idea?” you ask quietly as you trace little shapes on his chest.

Marcus huffs a laugh. “Probably,” he answers.

“I don’t care,” you say resolutely, causing his hold on you to tighten. “...Do you regret it?” you ask, feeling unsure of yourself again.

“No,” Marcus says immediately. “No. I was drawn to you from the beginning. I’m sorry, I–I should have tried harder to prevent this, but…”

“I felt it, too,” you murmur. “Maybe we weren’t meant to prevent it.”

The two of you bask in the afterglow, reveling in the feel of your bodies pressed together. You can’t help but think of how tender, how loving he is–not just with you, but with Emma.

“Can I ask a personal question?” you ask, breaking the silence.

Marcus shrugs. “Sure.”

“This is probably weird to be thinking about right now, but… why does Emma’s mom not want you around?”

 Marcus sighs, his lips pressing into your forehead–not really a kiss, just a caress of your hairline with his mouth.

“That story doesn’t exactly paint me in the best light.”

“I want to know. I just… don’t understand.”

“What don’t you understand?” he asks.

“You’re… you’re such a good dad–a good man. I don’t understand how her mom wanted nothing to do with you. I just don’t get it.”

Marcus nods, pressing his lips together. “I wasn’t always a good man,” he says quietly. “I tried to do the best I could for the both of them–for Emma and her mom–but I’m afraid I fell very short, in the beginning.”

“What happened?”

“We were in college when we found out she was pregnant,” Marcus says with a sigh. “She was nineteen, I was almost twenty-one. We hadn’t been together long; maybe a couple of months. She was terrified, of course–and so was I, but never told her that. I asked her to marry me because I thought it was the right thing to do.”

“Did you love her?”

“I cared for her, very much so. And even if we weren’t quite right for each other, knowing–” Marcus swallows thickly, “–knowing our child, my child, was growing inside of her made me feel deeply connected. If you had asked me at twenty-one, I would have sworn up and down that I was in love.”

“But not now?”

Marcus huffs softly. “I know a little better, now.”

“What happened?” you ask, tracing the line of his collarbone with the tip of your finger. “What did you do?”

“Well, the first thing I did was drop out of art school,” he says with a little laugh. “Didn’t think it would pay the bills, especially not with a wife and a baby.”

“You were an artist?” you ask, surprised.

“Wanted to be,” he chuckled. “At least at that time. So instead, I applied for the FBI. Joined the Art Crimes division. And shortly after I completed training… Emma was born.” His eyes are far away, a small smile on his face as he remembers. “And she was perfect. And I remember thinking, all the struggling, all the hardship, all the times Denise and I didn’t get along… it would be worth it, in the end. No matter what happened; because I had her.”

You swallow past the lump in your throat. “What went wrong?”

“Nothing in particular, at first. We struggled to make ends meet. We were two young parents with no idea what we were doing, and even though I might have known deep down that we weren’t right for each other, I just wanted it to go right. I wanted us to be happy, but in the end we were just too different. We didn’t work–and while I might have been blind to it at the time, Denise wasn’t. When Emma was barely even two, she filed for divorce, and I–” he sighs heavily again. “I went a little off the rails.”

You tilt your head and look up at Marcus. His eyes are stormy, and you can see the remorse etched into the lines of his face. You don’t ask how, you just wait patiently for him to continue.

“I didn’t want to be divorced at twenty-three. This wasn’t–it wasn’t the life I had expected for myself, not what I would have chosen, but because I had Emma, I didn’t want anything else. I always knew I would want a family, and so what if it happened… a little out of order?”

“What did you do?” you whispered.

“I tried to convince her to change her mind. She took Emma and went to live with her parents, and I’d call them every day, asking to talk to her. I wanted to persuade her–I thought that if she could just see that we had plenty of time, we could raise Emma and be good parents and still… still have time for whatever we wanted. That we could still build lives.

“When she never returned my calls, I started stopping by,” he confesses, his voice even quieter. “They’d always tell me she was out, so I started showing up at odd hours, trying to… trying to just catch her one time–I thought if I explained that she could do whatever she wanted, as long as we could just stay together and raise Emma, she’d agree. But the more I tried to contact her, the more she pulled away, and rightly so, honestly. I was badgering her. I tried to justify it at the time, said I was doing it all for Emma, but I, uh… It took me until much later to admit I was actually doing it for me. I was so scared of being a failure, and scared to be alone.

“Anyway, the court didn’t look very kindly on what looked to everyone involved like stalking behavior, and Denise was afforded full custody.”

“M-Marcus,” you murmur, unable to help the water gathering at the corners of your eyes. 

“Broke my heart,” he whispers, his voice full of emotion. “And I was angry about it for a while, but when it comes down to it, I was just angry with myself. It was my actions that lost me my daughter, and… well, I’ve had twenty years to come to terms with that, now.”

“How did you finally… come to face all of that?” you ask quietly.

“Therapy,” Marcus says with a genuine laugh. “And that is another story for another time.”

“God, what else happened to you?”

“Nothing,” he chuckles, “just another relationship that I fought way too hard for.” He playfully runs his finger down the bridge of your nose before tilting your chin upward for a soft kiss. “And you,” he murmurs, “need to go back to bed.”

Your emotions still running on high alert after Marcus’s emotional confession of his past, you surge forward and throw your arms around his neck. 

“I’m sorry,” you whisper. 

“I’m okay,” he promises. “It was a long time ago.”

“You should tell Emma,” you say softly. “She never knew why her mom didn’t want you around.”

“Not really something you want to tell your daughter,” he says with a sad smile. “That you basically stalked her mom.”

“She’s grown up. She’s older than her mom was when–”

“Believe me, I know,” Marcus groans. “Don’t remind me; it makes this feel very… wrong.” He gestured between the two of you.

“Just trust me,” you murmur. “She’d want to know.” With herculean effort, you extricate yourself from his arms, grab your clothes, and redress. Feeling unsure in the way the conversation ended, you tell yourself not to turn around again when your hand lands on the doorknob.

“Honey,” Marcus calls out softly from the bed. “Good night.”

“Good night,” you whisper back, and then you’re gone.

“Where are you two off to, today?” Marcus asks conversationally over coffee. He’s made it stronger than usual today, and it makes warmth pool deep in your stomach at the reminder of your very sleepless night last night. You’re grateful for the extra boost of caffeine as well, of course–the morning seemed to come far too early after being up half of the night. Sleep had still been hard to come by when you finally returned to the guest room, after all; the conversation about Marcus’s past was still swirling around in your head, and every time you closed your eyes, you could still feel his hands on you. 

You never knew it could feel like this, never knew how good it could be with someone who really knew what they were doing. Someone so giving, so gentle and yet so ruthless in pursuing your pleasure. Someone brimming with passion, capable of both the softest prase and the most depraved filth in the same sentence.

If you had thought your thirst would be sated after finally getting what you’d fantasized about and more, you were a fool. The flame burns hotter than ever this morning, and the sight of Marcus in a suit with not a hair out of place only makes you think about how he had looked between your legs last night–that devilish smirk as he teased about wanting to taste you.

You wonder if you’ll ever see him that way again, or if last night was a fluke. 

Had he noticed when your fingers had trembled around the coffee cup he handed you? 

He had given you a soft, tender stare when you had first entered the kitchen, but that’s the only evidence you can find so far that Marcus is even half as affected as you feel. You can still feel him this morning, a subtle ache between your legs when you sit down, and you wish you could see some outward sign on him that this actually happened.

“Not really sure,” Emma answers Marcus’s question. “Kind of ran out of stuff to see.”

“Impossible,” Marcus chuckles. “Well, you can hang out here if you want, or if you're really looking for a distraction, you can come to the office with me.”

“The fucking FBI office?” Emma asks. “Are we allowed?”

“Yeah, why wouldn’t you be?” Marcus shrugs. “Plus, I might be able to set up some time for you to talk to someone in Legal,” he says to you. “Are you still interested in that?”

“Oh wow,” you breathe. “Really?”

“‘Course,” he replies. “I said I would.”

You nod, smiling up at him beatifically. “I’d like that a lot.”

“Perfect,” he grins. “Well, if you’re coming, we’re going to need to leave soon. Are you almost ready?”

“I’m ready,” Emma announces, shouldering her bag.

“Yeah, me too.”

Marcus winks at you, and you try not to let yourself react to it.

“Let’s go, then.”

You had assumed that you’d spend most of your day at the FBI holed up in Marcus’s office, doing nothing. You had imagined that, out of necessity, you’d be barred from attending any meetings or hearing about his department’s day-to-day activities, but when you arrive, his team seems enthusiastic to have you and Emma there. Much to your surprise, they even let the two of you sit in the back of the room while Marcus conducts a briefing. 

You listen, enthralled, as he discusses a recent forgery case that the team is working on. His demeanor, as it is at home, is good-natured and easygoing. He’s easy to smile, and engaging when he talks, and as a result, he utterly commands the room. His style of quiet, unassuming authority has you subtly squirming in your chair. Even though you have no idea what’s being discussed, you can tell simply by listening to his cadence of speech that he’s incredibly knowledgeable, and fucking good at his job. It’s clear he loves the work–and when you think back to the night before and his whispered confession that he had once dreamed of being an artist, you find yourself beaming with happiness that he’s clearly found something he loves to do. 

“People change.”

You suddenly recall his words the very first night you were there–his assurance that it didn’t matter that you had no idea what you wanted to do at your age, because there’s no promise that you’ll still want the same things in ten years. After last night, you realize that he was talking about himself in that moment.

You hope he’s happy and fulfilled.

He deserves it.

You watch him wrap up the meeting–delegating work to each member of the team and asking for updates–and every so often, as his eyes sweep around the room, they always seem to land on you.

As he promised, Marcus introduces you to Kimberley Alexander, the lawyer that his department works with most of the time. You’re nervous at first–you aren’t sure what you’re going to talk about, but you end up staying in her office through lunch, spending almost an hour and a half longer than you had intended, talking about potential jobs with the FBI.

Not because you suddenly have the desire to return to Washington, DC as soon as you can, nope. It does interest you–quite a bit, actually–but you can’t pretend that you aren’t excited at the prospect of living in the same city as Marcus. Would he want to see you again? Is he really interested in you, or is it just the forced proximity–because you’re convenient and available? If you had your own life here, would he be interested in a place in it?

When you find Emma and her dad again, they’ve clearly just come back from lunch. Emma thrusts a container into your hands, which you discover, with an exaggerated moan of satisfaction, is pad Thai.

“Must have been a good talk,” Marcus remarks. 

“Yeah, you were there for two hours,” Emma adds.

“It was good,” you nod. “Talked about, y’know, internships and stuff.”

“You wanna live here?” Emma asks, looking surprised and curious.

You try to shrug noncommittally. “Sure,” you say lightly. “It’s as good a place as any, and it would be kind of fun to work for the FBI, right?”

“I’m afraid I can’t give you an unbiased answer to that,” Marcus says with a wry smile, “but I think you’d be a great fit.”

Your heart swells at his words. “Really?”

“Absolutely,” he says earnestly. “And I hate to do this, but I’ve gotta run to do a witness interview, and you guys have to stay behind this time.”

You watch as Marcus gives Emma a quick kiss on the forehead, and your eyebrows raise in surprise at the action. They’ve gotten more comfortable around each other in the time you’ve been here, but neither of them had seemed to be very comfortable with physical affection. Marcus, for his part, is always so hesitant–wanting to reach out, but seemingly afraid that he doesn’t deserve it, or worse, that it won’t be received well. You still remember the first day you saw him–when his hand twitched toward his daughter, seemingly desperate to wrap her in a hug, but he hadn’t allowed himself to do it.

What changed?

Marcus glances at you, and gives you a slightly awkward, stiff nod before leaving for his meeting.

You busy yourself with eating lunch, digging into the container they brought you.

“Tomorrow’s the last day, huh?” Emma says conversationally.

You gulp. You’ve purposefully been putting the fact that your time here has an expiration date at the back corner of your mind. Whatever you have with Marcus, it’s temporary by its very nature, and you know it.

You just don’t really want to think about it right now.

“Yup,” you agree, mouth full of noodles. 

“What do you wanna do? I’m kind of out of ideas.”

You shrug. “We could ask Marcus if there’s anything he recommends seeing that we haven’t already been to.”

“I think we should go as far out as the metro line goes,” Emma says.

“Why?”

She shrugs. “See where we end up.”

“Whatever you want,” you tell her. “Last day is up to you.”

“How’s the pad Thai?”

“Good,” you nod, mouth full. “What’d you get?”

“Calamari,” she answers. “Never had it, wanted to try it.”

“How was it?”

“Chewy.”

You laugh, taking another bite of noodles. “Think I’ll stick to my favorite.”

The two of you huddle together on the small, two-seater couch in Marcus’s office, watching YouTube videos and laughing together until he comes back near the end of the day.

Your eyes automatically brighten when you see him return, drinking in the sight of him–the crisp lines of his suit paired with the slightly unruly hair. You discovered last night how soft it is, and how much he loves it when you thread your fingers through it and tug gently. 

He meets your eyes, but quickly drops his gaze, and you try not to sink in disappointment. Did it not mean as much to him as it did to you? Or is he just better at hiding it?

“You two hungry for dinner?” he asks, putting his stuff back in his messenger back and throwing it over his shoulder.

Emma groans loudly beside you. “Gonna be honest, I’m not really feeling dinner.”

“That was a lot of pad Thai,” you agree.

“Good,” Marcus says with a smile. “Me neither. Let’s go home and have a lazy night eating popcorn on the couch.”

The moment you arrive home, though, Emma makes a beeline for the bathroom. 

“She okay?” Marcus asks you.

You grimace at the faint sounds of retching. “Doesn’t sound like it.”

When she emerges again, Marcus hands her a glass of water with a concerned expression. “Everything okay?”

“No,” she mutters pitifully.

“Was it the calamari?” you ask.

“Please don’t say that word ever again,” Emma groans, flopping down on the couch. “Fuck. Everything hurts.”

“What do you need?” Marcus asks, looking a little lost.

“Distraction,” she mumbles. “Long movie or something.”

Emma takes up the entire couch, so you and Marcus have to sit in opposite armchairs while you watch Lord of the Rings. It’s almost unbearable to you, being so close to him and yet not being able to touch, not being able to look at him for fear of giving everything away. If you two were to lock eyes, you know that you wouldn’t be able to hide your reaction to him. So much so that even Emma, who’s still alternating between running to the bathroom and collapsing on the couch, would have no choice but to notice. 

The pull to him feels overwhelming; the only thing you can think of doing is crossing the living room and sinking into his arms. It makes you feel guilty–your best friend has food poisoning, Marucs is trying to help by refilling her water and encouraging her to drink, and here you are, with nothing to do but yearn for your best friend’s dad. 

When the movie is over, it’s late; Marcus brushes Emma’s hair back from her forehead and suggests she go lie down. As she’s stumbling toward the guest room, Marcus touches you for the first time since last night–lightly wrapping his fingers around your wrist while Emma isn’t looking.

Your eyes meet, and he gives you a coal-black stare, trying to communicate without speaking. He nods subtly, and his meaning is easy to understand.

Come to me tonight.

You come to him in the dead of night. You lie awake, listening for Emma’s breathing to even out, and then waiting another thirty minutes after that, just to be safe. 

It’s nearly midnight when you slip into Marcus’s bedroom, but he’s still awake; his lamp is on, and he’s reading a book.

Waiting for you. 

The moment the door creaks open, Marcus casts the book aside without even marking his place, and rises to his feet. He strides forward and you meet him in the middle, a clash of mouths and hands as you come together desperately. 

“Fuck,” he whispers against your lips. “All fucking day, all I could think about was this.”

“Me too,” you mumble hastily in between kisses. 

“No idea how hard it was to concentrate on giving that meeting this morning,” he confesses, “with you in the corner looking at me with those eyes of yours.” 

He grabs your top and pulls it over your head in one swift motion and ducks down to lathe his tongue against your nipple, making you arch against him. 

“Ah!–Really?” you gasp. “I didn’t–you looked so… calm the whole day. Like it didn’t affect you the same way it affects me.”

“Doesn’t affect me?” Marcus repeats incredulously. “Honey, I am out of my mind with wanting you.” He pulls back, his palms cradling your cheeks as he stares at you with a disbelieving smile. “Do you not have any idea what you do to me?” he asks softly. 

Stunned, you shake your head.

Marcus laughs breathlessly, as he reaches down to encircle your wrist with one large hand and brings your hand forward to press against the front of his pants, where you can feel him, hard and straining against the fabric. “You feel that?” he rasps. “Do you fucking feel what you do to me?”

He shoves your flimsy sleep shorts down your legs and all but tosses you onto the bed. He strips off his own shirt and follows you down. “I’ve been half-hard all day,” he confesses. “I had to fuck my own hand in the shower this morning and still,” he groans. “As soon as I picture your face as you fall apart for me, I’m done for.”

“You thought about that?” 

“All fucking day,” Marcus promises. 

“That all you thought about?” you ask, your voice turning coy as you gain more confidence.

He chuckles darkly. “Thought about a lot of things,” he murmurs.

“Such as…?”

“Just–all the ways I want to have you.” 

“Show me,” you demand.

Marcus chuckles again. “Show you what, pretty girl?”

“All the ways that you want me.”

“That would take a lot more time than we currently have,” he says wryly. 

“Then show me how you want me most,” you say. 

“Let me get you ready first,” Marcus murmurs, starting to kiss a path down your body, intent on his destination. 

“No.”

“Hmm?”

“I want it now,” you say frankly.

“Honey–” he protests softly.

“Consider the fact that I’ve done nothing but think about what happened last night and fantasize about what’s going to happen tonight foreplay,” you tell him. “I can’t–I can’t wait. I don’t want it to be slow. I need–I need—” you trail off, searching for how exactly to find the words for what it is that you need. 

Marcus nods slowly, his eyes darkening as he watches you plead for him to take you now.

“You really want me to show you?” he asks quietly.

You nod.

“Then get on your hands and knees for me, honey.”

You comply with a shiver, your heart in your throat as you turn around and put yourself on display for him.

Marcus mutters a soft curse behind you as his palm strokes up the skin on the back of your thigh and up over the swell of your cheek. 

You hear him spit in his hand, and you know he's coating himself in it behind you, easing his way in. He does it again, and this time you whimper softly as he cups you, transferring more wetness to your folds. 

"Already so wet," he teases softly. "Tell me if it's too much."

He slides forward, sheathing himself in one fluid motion, and your elbows nearly buckle at the overwhelming feel of it. 

Marcus doesn't wait for you to adjust, this time. He starts thrusting right away, his hands grasping your hips for leverage. He's pressing right on the spot that makes pleasure sing throughout your entire body. Once he's sure that his pace isn't too much for you, he starts giving it to you harder, snapping his hips into you over and over.

Last night was overwhelming in its own way, but this–this is devastating. You thought last night was the most pleasure you could ever feel, but you had no idea that this could wreck you so completely. 

You're crying out with every thrust, each punishing snap of his hips punching little pathetic noises past your lips as you take what he needs to give you. 

"Shhh," he reminds you. "Gotta stay quiet, honey."

You drop to your elbows, burying your face in the pillows to try and muffle the involuntary sounds, but you can tell it isn't enough. 

"M-Marcus," you whimper frantically. "I can't."

"Do you want to stop?" he asks (making you shake your head rapidly), "Or do you want me to help you be quiet?"

You nod frantically, although you have no idea what he means. You'd do anything to keep feeling his cock like this. 

Marcus’s hand wraps tightly around your mouth, quieting your cries and forcing you to breathe through your nose. Something about the action makes your pussy clench violently, and Marcus makes a quiet groan of pleasure above you. 

He fucks you harder and faster, one hand sliding underneath you to rub tight circles over your clit. 

"Cum for me," he rasps brokenly above you. “Fuck, please–” 

The soft plea is enough to end you. You wail into Marcus’s hand as you come undone, and he tightens his grip, muffling the sound. 

It doesn’t take long for him to follow–just a couple more minutes of brutal thrusts that have you whimpering into his hand, oversensitive from your orgasm. The minute he stills, his cock slips from you as he immediately collapses on the bed and pulls you into his arms. You’re both still breathing heavily, but he smooths the hair back from your forehead as he looks you over.

“Are you okay?” he asks softly. “That was a lot, I’m sorry.”

“‘Re you kidding?” you slur. “That was… amazing.”

Marcus laughs and pulls you close again. “I’m glad,” he whispers, and you can hear the smile in his words. 

“Can I stay here for a little longer?” you ask. “Just a little.”

Marcus pulls back again and looks down at you with an amused smile. “It’s cute that you think I’m done with you, honey.”

Your eyes widen. “You’re not?”

“Mm-mm. Don’t think I’ll ever get tired of the way you look when you come undone,” he murmurs, tracing the tip of his index finger down the side of your cheek. “You didn’t think I’d be satisfied with just once tonight, did you?”

You giggle. “I guess not.”

He fixes you with a fiery look. “Do you trust me?” he asks quietly. 

“...Yeah?”

He raises one eyebrow. 

“Yes,” you answer, with more conviction this time. “Yes, I trust you.”

Marcus kisses you tenderly before sitting back on his heels beside you. His fingertips trail down your chest, over the peaks of your nipples, and down your stomach, as though he can’t get enough of the feel of your skin. One hand travels further down, stroking the soft patch of hair on your pubic bone before he slips one finger gently inside you. 

You cringe slightly at the wet squelch of your combined release, but Marcus shushes you gently. “Love how wet you get,” he teases affectionately. “And I like knowing I’m there inside of you.”

You clench involuntarily at his words, your lips parting as you exhale shakily. 

He chuckles. “You like that? You like knowing that I get off on the idea of you carrying a little piece of me with you?” he asks, as he starts to slowly fuck you with one finger.

“What if I told you that I was thinking about it during that meeting this morning?” he continues. “I kept wondering if there was still a little in there from last night, leaking into your underwear as I talked.”

“Shit,” you mumble. “Marcus.”

“Wanna fill you up again tonight,” he remarks casually. “So it’s still there when you’re walking around tomorrow.” He groans softly. “Fuck–Can I–Can I give you my number? I–I want you to text me. Tell me you can still feel me.”

“Oh my god,” you murmur. “Yes.”

“Good.” He adds a second finger and presses the heel of his hand against your clit, working you up to another orgasm exactly how he now knows gets you off quickly. When you start to clench around him, though, he doesn’t stop. He starts to rub quickly back and forth on that little spot inside of you until something else starts to build. 

“M-Marcus,” you murmur. “W-Wait, I–something is–”

“Shhh.” He keeps going, rubbing harder and faster until he suddenly rips his fingers from you as you gush around them, soaking his hand and the bed.

“Oh! Shit,” you cry out, panicking. “What the f–”

“Fuck, yes,” Marcus groans, the sound coming deep from within his chest. “Oh, fuck, do that again.”

When he notices your expression of utter shock, though, he pauses, a slow smile of understanding spreading across his face. 

“Honey,” he says soothingly. “Was that the first time?”

You stare up at him, mouth hanging open. “I… I kind of always thought that was a myth,” you admit, ducking your head in embarrassment. 

“Oh, baby,” he breathes softly. “No, it’s definitely not.”

He lays down beside you again, gently tucking a wisp of stray hair behind one ear. “That was so good,” he praises softly. “So good to me.”

You smile shakily, but something is starting to nag at you.

“What’s wrong?” Marcus asks, noticing your hesitant expression. 

“I just… feel really inexperienced,” you admit quietly. “You know all this stuff, and I–it must be tedious, having someone who doesn’t know what they’re doing, or–”

“No,” Marcus interrupts, his voice full of sincerity. “It’s not tedious at all. On the contrary,” he says with a little laugh, “the fact that I get to show you… that I’m the only one who can get you to do something you didn’t even know you could do–Well, shit,” he says with a crooked grin. He reaches down and palms his cock, which is hard and weeping again. “Look at what it does to me, huh?”

“Does that mean you’ll fuck me again?” you ask eagerly.

Marcus chuckles at your enthusiasm. “I did say I was going to fill you up one more time, didn’t I?”

When you wake up (in your bed, next to Emma, after sneaking back into your own room after Marcus was finally finished with you in the wee hours of the morning), your travel companion is decidedly not ready to go. 

“I feel like I’ve been run over by a train,” she grumbles. “And my stomach is still in fucking knots.”

“We can just stay around the house,” you offer.

“I don’t want you to lay around being bored just because of me,” she protests, flopping down on the couch with a groan.

“Not feeling any better?” Marcus asks, coming into the living room. 

“No,” Emma pouts. “I’m gonna stay here and rest.”

“What are you going to do?” he asks, looking over at you.

You shrug. “I don’t really know. Stay here too, probably.”

“How about this,” Marcus says carefully. “I’m supposed to be going to the National Gallery of Art today to give a little talk about forgery detection. If you wanted to come, we could… walk around the museum a bit, afterward?”

You try to keep your face neutral at the prospect of spending a day with Marcus. Alone. 

“Sure,” you say, hoping it sounds nonchalant. “Could be fun.” 

“Great,” he says lightly. “It’s a d–it’s a plan.”

It’s a date.

You’re giddy as you wave goodbye to Emma–who’s watching daytime TV and holding a bottle of Gatorade–and follow Marcus out of the door. 

As soon as the door shuts, he rounds on you, taking your face in his hands and kissing you soundly. “So glad you said yes,” he says breathlessly. 

“Why wouldn’t I say yes to that?” you tease. “Spending the day with you.”

“I don’t know,” Marcus murmurs playfully, capturing your lips again. “Good question.”

“Is this a date?” you ask coyly.

He pauses, lips parting in surprise. “Do you want it to be?”

Taking a big leap of faith, you nod. 

Marcus’s expression softens, and he threads your fingers together. “Then it’s a date.”

After his talk–which you listen to with eager eyes and rapt attention–the two of you stroll slowly through the galleries, talking. Marcus occasionally stops, taking in the artwork, and tells you little tidbits of information about each piece. He seems to be using the quiet setting as an excuse to keep you as close as possible; his arm wraps around your waist as he leans down and talks quietly in your ear, making goosebumps rise on the back of your neck whenever he speaks. He seems to know the effect on you–you had no idea art could be described so sensually. 

You lose the afternoon to each other; having lunch in a small cafe and then walking down the National Mall, hand in hand.

You pick up a sandwich for Emma, just in case she’s feeling better, on your way home. As you get closer and closer, every step starts to feel heavier and heavier. You never want this to end. 

Just before you arrive at his building, Marcus stops and spins you around, cupping your cheek and pulling you to him for a soft kiss. 

“Today was–” he starts, but breaks off, shaking his head. 

“Yeah,” you agree.

“Listen, I don’t–I don’t know what your plans are after you leave tomorrow, but–”

“I don’t know.”

“Okay.”

You’re both dancing around something big–both of you afraid to say what you really mean, and you know it, but you can’t bring yourself to take the leap. 

You had been hoping that Marcus would.

“It was nice,” you say lamely. 

“It was,” he agrees softly. 

Emma is looking a little less green when you arrive back home, and accepts the sandwich eagerly. 

“Sorry about today,” she says, her mouth full. “I don’t know what the hell that was.”

“It was the cal–”

“Don’t fucking say it.”

At first, when you hear Emma start to fall asleep beside you, you're paralyzed. You want to go to Marcus. This is your last night; if you want to say goodbye, you need to go to him this one last time.

You just don't know if you can face goodbye.

You don't know if you can face him. 

You aren't under any reservations about what this is. Marcus is a man, and you're nothing special. You're also nearly half his age. You gave him 'fuck me' eyes for three days, and he when he gave in to the temptation, you came willingly. But this was never meant to be a long-term arrangement. 

It was never meant to be in the first place.

You just wish your first time hadn't been with the total package. Marcus is sweet, kind, attentive, and can apparently make you cum like it was a competitive sport. How are you supposed to go back home, back to being around boys your age, and expect them to measure up?

You debate staying in bed. It would be the easiest thing to do. You could begin tonight: stuffing your feelings down and burying them deep, never letting them see the light of day again. You were on spring break, and this was a fun romp. A fling. You could leave it there and never give Marcus the goodbye he probably deserves. 

On the other hand… 

What's the harm in delaying for one more night?

You slip into his room for the third time in three days, and carefully close the door behind you. Marcus is shirtless in bed, and he beckons you over with a crooked, affectionate smile. 

"Fancy seeing you here, beautiful," he says, drawing the covers back with a playful raise of his eyebrow. 

Despite your heavy mood, you can't help but grin back and enthusiastically hop into bed beside him. 

He takes advantage immediately, grabbing you and turning you, and pulling you back against his chest with a playful growl. You're caged tightly in his arms, and there's nowhere you'd rather be.  

"This is nice," you hum contentedly. 

"Oh yeah? This all you want? Just a little cuddle?" Marcus teases, nipping gently at your shoulder. 

"What if it was?" You wiggle your hips playfully against his hardening cock.

"If that was all you wanted? Then I'd think really hard about dead puppies and my childhood neighbor Mrs. Fitzwilliam in order to calm myself down a little," he answers. 

"Mrs. Fitzwilliam?" you laugh. "Why?"

"When I was a little boy, I was convinced she was a witch. I couldn't so much as talk to her for years."

"Stop it, no you did not."

"I wouldn't joke about that," he laughs. "I was really scared of her!"

"Do me a favor and don't think about her," you tease. "I like how it feels against me."

"Would feel better somewhere else," Marcus says darkly. 

"Have somewhere in mind, do you?"

"I've had it on my mind all day," he says softly. 

"Show me," you murmur. "Show me what's been on your mind all day."

"Wanna know what I was picturing while I was giving that little forgery talk?" Marcus asks.

"Obviously."

"Then sit up, pretty girl."

He loosens his hold on you and you sit up, unable to keep the grin off your face. He sits up too, gently taking hold of the hem of your shirt and drawing it up over your head. He hooks his thumbs under the waistband of your shorts. 

"Help me out with these," he commands quietly. 

You shimmy them down your hips and kick them off, still kneeling before him, now completely bare. Marcus sits back on the headboard and pats his thigh suggestively, giving you a wicked smile. 

"C'mere."

You giggle and bite your lip nervously as you crawl forward and straddle him.

"Wanna see you just like this," he murmurs. 

"I–I've never–"

"I know," he interrupts with a wry smile. "I've got you. Just wanna see you like this," he confesses, palming your jaw and rubbing his thumb across your cheekbone.

Your eyes start to flutter shut as you feel the tip of him breach you as you sink slowly down. 

"Eyes on me, honey." 

With a shaky breath, you open them again, holding Marcus's intense gaze as you impale yourself on his cock. Your lips part, eyebrows pinching together at the stretch of him–you don't think you'll ever get used to the feeling of being broken open for the first time. 

"That's it," he whispers. "Just like that." 

You slowly rock your hips, rising up and sinking back down again. You feel so full like this; your lips part and a breathy gasp escapes you as you feel the drag of Marcus’s cock inside of you. 

This is the first time you've chased your own pleasure with him like this; Marcus's eyes rake over your form greedily and as you ride him, you start to feel overly conscious of his scrutiny.

"Do I look okay?" you ask shyly.

Marcus makes a disbelieving noise and surges up, his hands starting to guide the movement of your hips as he kisses you messing, trailing from your mouth to your neck as he flexes up into you.

"Are you kidding?" he asks softly. "You're ethereal. A fucking goddess in my bed. And if you're thinking about that, I'm not fucking you right."

"That's a lie," you say with a lazy smile. "You're very thorough."

"Oh yeah? You like how I fuck you?"

"Mmmhmm," you hum. "Liked what you were doing last night."

Marcus chuckles deep in his throat. "Is that so? Cum for me like this, honey, and I'll put you on your knees again."

When his thumb presses into your clit, rubbing in small circles, it doesn't take you long to start to feel the pleasure growing in your core. You start moving faster, bouncing on his cock, no longer caring if your body is jiggling too much or that your face might look silly contorted with pleasure; all you can think about is chasing that feeling that’s building inside of you. Marcus helps you along, thrusting up into you, and you swear he must get deep enough to feel the very end of you. 

He whispers little praises and encouragements in your ear in that deep, raspy way his voice gets when he’s drunk on pleasure. You can recognize all his little foibles, now–the way he wiggles his wrist back and forth when something’s on his mind, the way he talks with his hands when he’s passionate about a subject, and the way he sounds when he comes undone.

You’re going to carry all of those things with you, now–the way his eyes crinkle when he smiles, the way he raises one eyebrow when he’s being playful, and the way he sometimes mouths along to the words of his favorite old movies.

Is it possible to miss someone so completely after just one week?

You’re so deep in your emotions when you cum, you barely even realize that you’re about to until you’re clenching hard around him, grinding down on his cock as he works you through it, guiding your hips with his fingers pressing hard into your skin.

You’re still in a daze as Marcus flips you over, depositing you on your back and then turning you over onto your stomach on the bed. Rather than pull you up to your knees like the night before, he straddles you like this and sinks back into you, draping himself over your back as he starts to really fuck you.

Oh. This might be your favorite position yet–it’s the same angle as it was last night with the added bonus of getting to feel the weight of this man pressing down on you. His chest is against your back, his ragged breaths in your ear. His elbows cage your face and he entangles your fingers together over your head. It’s a sensory overload in nearly every way, and you’re drowning in the feel of him.

It’s so good that you feel your core start to tighten again.

“So soon?” Marcus teases breathlessly in your ear. “Fuck, I can feel you shaking. How are you so fucking perfect, hmm? You always feel like you were made to take me.”

His words inexplicably cause a lump to build in your throat. Made to take him, but this couldn’t, by definition, last. The statement only makes you wish that your compatibility didn’t have to be so fucking temporary. 

You’re teetering on a precipice–on the verge of both an orgasm and inexplicable tears. When Marcus gently brushes the shell of your ear with his lips and murmurs one last, soft sentence, you finally succumb to both.

“You can let go, honey. I’ve got you.”

You convulse with a wet sob, pleasure and sorrow overtaking you simultaneously. Blessedly, with your face buried in the pillow, Marcus doesn’t notice yet; he starts fucking into you with abandon until he lets go with a deep groan in your ear. 

When he finally stills, and he starts peppering kisses across your shoulder blade, you can feel him stiffen when he realizes that, mortifyingly, there are tears on your cheeks.

“Shit,” Marcus breathes. He carefully slips out of you and turns you over underneath him, quickly brushing the tears at the corners of your eyes. He kisses them away, whispering softly to you.

“Did I hurt you?” he asks frantically. “Honey, look at me.”

“No!” you exclaim emphatically. “No, I–I don’t know why I’m doing this.”

“Talk to me,” he demands softly.

“I don’t–I don’t want to go home,” you whisper. “I don’t want this to end.”

“Oh, honey,” Marcus whispers. “Really?”

“Sorry,” you mumble. “I’m sure this is exactly what you’re looking for–for some girl to get attached to you after one whole week of knowing you…”

Marcus smiles and brushes his thumb against your cheekbone. “Attached to me?”

“I didn’t mean for it to happen,” you say. “You’re just really nice, and you’re gorgeous, and you’ve been so good to me–”

“Don’t cry,” he whispers. “Please don’t cry.”

"Sorry," you say again.

"Hey," he says softly, still stroking your cheek. "You know something? You're wrong. You're not 'some girl.' You're sweet, and funny, and cute, and maybe having this girl right here be attached to me after one whole week of knowing me is exactly what I'm looking for."

"What are you suggesting?" you ask bluntly. 

“All I’m suggesting is that we stay in touch,” Marcus answers. “No pressure, no expectations. We talk, and we get to know each other better, and when you graduate, Miss Pre-Law,” he teases, lightly touching the tip of your nose, “if you still feel the same way, come back to me. Go to Law School at Georgetown. Get an internship at the FBI. And whatever it is that you do, I know of a place you can stay.”

"You'd really want that?" you ask, a slow smile starting to spread across your face.

"I'd be a fool not to grab onto this with both hands," he murmurs, stroking his hand down your side. "A damn fool."

"What about Emma?"

Marcus pauses, biting his lip. "She's a grown woman," he says carefully, "and I haven't had much of a place in her life growing up. I would hope that… once we see where this goes–if it goes anywhere–she'd understand."

You nod slowly. "Okay."

"I've rushed into things in the past," he says softly. "More than once. But I'm not in any rush right now. I want to take my time, get to know you, and if you're still looking at me the way you're looking at me right now in a year, I'll consider myself a lucky man."

Your smile is brilliant. "I'd like that."

"I'd like that, too. And that means tomorrow isn't goodbye, anymore." 

"No?"

"Nope," Marcus says with a grin. "Just 'see you later.'"

"Can I still get a goodbye kiss?" you ask.

He shakes his head playfully, but his lips descend to meet yours anyway. 

"Not a goodbye kiss," he teased.

"A 'see you later' kiss," you correct. 

"A 'you are so goddamn beautiful that I can't help to kiss you' kiss."

"You're making this too complicated."

"An 'I'll call it whatever I damn well please' kiss."

"An 'everything's gonna be alright' kiss?" you ask hopefully. 

Marcus smiles and kisses you long and deep. "Especially that."

– – – – – 

One year later…

“May I present: the graduating class of 2024.”

Along with Emma and the rest of the seniors in the auditorium, you throw your mortar-board hat into the air, shrieking happily as someone else’s crashes down on your head, instead. 

“Fucking finally!” Emma shouts beside you, and you grin widely. 

The last year has been a whirlwind for the both of you, and you know it. 

After reconnecting with her dad, Emma made an effort not to lose touch again. Eventually, he had opened up about his past and the circumstances surrounding his divorce, and at her urging, even began the process of making peace with her mom. They even had Christmas together, for the first time since Emma was two. 

And how do you know all this?

Well, Marcus hadn’t lost touch with you, either. 

True to his word, you both took your time and got to know each other from a distance. Talking to him was still as easy as breathing, and you’d spend entire nights at the beginning staying up far too late and talking well into the wee hours of the morning. 

It wasn’t hard to see that the something that was between you was still there and not going away any time soon. And the only thing you’ve found so far that rivals the strength of your friendship is the passion that you continue to have for each other in the bedroom.

Marcus would make trips when he could–some visits ostensibly to see Emma and other, more secret trysts where his only aim was to see you. (And see you he did; on most occasions, he’d barely let you out of his hotel room.)

Your beginning may have been a meteoric collision–two people forced into proximity that had no choice but to fall into each other–but the growth of your resulting love was slow and careful.

Eventually, you’d need to tell Emma, but it didn’t feel like the time was quite right, yet. Of course, when she visits you at Georgetown next year and you give her not your own address, but her father’s, the two of you will have to come clean. 

Right now, though, as you and Emma weave through the crowds of people looking for Marcus, you’re content to keep things the way they are. Everything is slowly falling into place, and that piece of the puzzle will fit into the rest when it’s ready.

“There she is!”

Emma beams as she hears Marcus call out, waving his hand frantically to catch your attention among the sea of people. 

She lets herself be crushed into a hug, her father grinning proudly and murmuring something unintelligible into her ear. After a few minutes, he releases her and turns to you.

“Congratulations,” he says–perfunctorily, but warmly. 

“Thank you.”

After a couple of beats, Emma rolls her eyes.

“Would you just kiss her already? Honestly, it’s more weird that you’re not.”

Two sets of eyes swivel to her in alarm.

“You… you knew?” you exclaim.

Emma gives you a disbelieving look. “Okay, the fact that you two both think you were being subtle means you might actually be meant for each other. Wow.”

“How?” you choke out.

“Are you serious? You two had bizarre energy when you met, and ever since, I see you smiling at your phone all the time,” Emma says to you. “And after that week, whenever he’s come to visit, you both act weird around each other.”

“Oh,” you say dumbly.

“Plus, you had a hickey on your neck one morning,” she says, rolling her eyes. “Real subtle.”

Oops. You shoot Marcus a look, and notice that he’s as red as a tomato. 

“Em,” he starts, looking pained.

“It’s fine,” she interrupts. “Look, it’s not like we had the closest of relationships when I was a kid. I'm getting to know you as an adult, and it just feels different than it would be if you had raised me. I’m not going to say it doesn’t make me feel fucking weird, and I don’t ever wanna know details about your sex life and I am not calling you ‘mom,’ but I guess I’ll just say… I get it. You two are oddly similar, and I wouldn’t want to stand in between you and happiness. Because I… you know. I love you.”

“Emma,” Marcus says, his smile turning watery for a moment. 

“Don’t… make a big deal out of it,” she grumbles.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he laughs, and gives her a sweet kiss on the forehead. “I love you too, Emmie.”

He pulls back and looks at you, his eyes sparkling, and you feel your insides start to heat up just from his gaze alone.

Those words are still new, between you–the first time was whispered softly in his ear in the darkness after spending all night wrapped around each other just a couple of months ago. Marcus whispered them back immediately after; he was achingly patient and careful to take his time with you, even though you’d felt that emotion emanating from each of you for months prior.

It was just–you didn’t want to rush things. Love was new to you. Everything was. And if Marcus was going to be your first experience with all of it, you had a feeling that you were going to want to savor it.

You know he feels the same.

Stepping forward, Marcus gently tips your chin up to meet him in a gentle kiss. The shape of his lips are so familiar now, you could probably draw them in your sleep. You know the way they move against yours. You know how it feels when he smiles against your mouth–which he does often, and right now.

“Congratulations,” he murmurs again. This time, the word is dark and full of underlying emotion–love, affection, friendship, pride–and you grin back as you kiss him once more.

“What now?” you ask with a little laugh.

“I have a few ideas,” he husks in your ear, inaudible to anyone else, before pulling back. “But right now?” he shrugs. “Anything you want. Everything.”

“What if I said that all I wanted was you?”

Marcus’s eyes soften. “Well, honey,” he says gently, “you’re in luck, because that’s the one thing I can give you.”

The end.

[mmelionsblog]

Magical [Sam Golbach x Reader]

SIMILIAR to the marriage one shot with Mike, but a bit different.

It was finally time for the first dance of the wedding, starring you and your newly beloved husband Sam. He guided you to the center of the dance floor, his hands gently touching your waist, his fingers fitting perfect on your body. You wrap your arms around his neck, and Magical by Ed Sheeran started to play. “You picked the song?” You giggled out, a smile spreads widely on your face.

He nodded, “Ed Sheeran’s songs scream for weddings, I don’t know it’s just the vibe. Plus, this song is exactly how I feel about you if you listen to the lyrics closely.” He hums the lyrics, his eyes scattering your face. Your cheeks flush, even after all these years he still somehow knows how to make you blush without even trying.

You got comfortable, and by comfortable you placed your head on his chest, your arm resting on the other side as the two of you swayed together. You saw the camera that your cousin was recording on in the corner of the dance floor, waving to it and mouthing a ‘hi’. Your cousin laughed.

“I love you,” you spoke. Sam smiled brightly. “I love you too,” he kissed the top of your forehead. In all of your life time, you never thought you’d get married to someone at all.

You grew up alone, never having the homecoming date, prom date, never having experienced heart break through high school or college, never being the friend that fell in love with any guy they met.

You were the other friend, the friend that stayed in, insecure, never believing a guy would fall for you and who you were deep inside. You knew it would never have happened if your friend, Tara, begged you annoyingly enough to come to the party Sam and Colby created for their five million subscribers award. That was until one night, you met the love of your life five years ago.

The two of you instantly hit it off, talking nonstop after the party. Calling each other, since you lived in Washington due to your job. After a year of talking and being close friends, Sam was the one to make the move to ask you out on a date.

After that said date, more and more dates came when the two of you had free time. Then, he finally asked you to be his girlfriend. You quit your job, moved to L.A to live with him and Colby in their apartment. You’ve never felt so in love with someone before, so you didn’t care if you were doing anything wrong at the time.

Your song came on, and you could hear chuckles and some laughter from your side of the room. Everyone knew you were obsessed with one artist and one artist only ever since you were young, which was Hozier. You’ve always dreamt of using one of his songs in your wedding when it came to he, and this dream was finally happening.

The first beats of work song appeared, and Sam looked down at you. “I should’ve known,” he giggled quietly. “You’ve been singing this one a lot recently. I’ve noticed,” he kissed your nose, “I don’t play him that much…” you rolled out the ‘that’, while Sam gave you a ‘uhuh’ playful look. His lips locked in with yours, swaying slower to the beat. “That’s when my baby found me,” Sam sung softly, and your eyes closed.

You loved Hozier, you do, but when Sam sings his songs it’s like next level type of shit. He always puts you to sleep when he sings whenever you’d have trouble.

“I love you,” you spoke. Sam’s eyes sparkled, “I love you too.”

[jackiequick]

Ben Carter ~ Rebel Just For Kicks | Marvel Studios OC

Full Name: Bennett Sawyer Carter

Nicknames: Ben, Benni, Benji, Sawyer, Scout, Ace

Alias: Oliver Halloway, Jackson Harper, Dean Nolan, James Shepherd, Bellamy Wheeler, Jonathan Hunter, Leon Lance etc

——

Date Of Birth: October 16th, 1984

Place Of Birth: New York City

Place Of Residency: Washington, DC

——

Family: AGENT 13, Sharon [CLASSIFIED] — Sister

—————

“I wanted to be teacher but my father didn’t allow it. So now I live in the shadow of my older sister, but I do this job to protect her.”

“Did you really just challenge me to burger eating contest?”

“Yippee ki yay, mother-oops, sorry, there’s children present..”

“Man, I need a break. Who wants pie?”

————————

Personality: 

He is delightful blend of charm and goofiness, often bringing humor to even the most serious situations. His clumsy nature leads to lighthearted moments, endearing him to those around him. 

Beneath his playful exterior lies a fiercely loyal protector; Ben would selflessly throw himself into harm's way to shield his loved ones, demonstrating an unwavering commitment to their safety. 

With a quick wit and a knack for sarcasm, he deftly navigates tense scenarios, using humor to defuse potential conflicts. Friendly and charismatic, he easily connects with others, making him a beloved figure among friends and allies alike.

-------

Background 📖

Growing up in a family where his sister, Sharon (AGENT 13), was clearly the high achiever, Bennett always felt the pressure to live up to his family’s expectations. 

His dream of becoming a teacher was dismissed by his father, who pushed him toward a path of espionage or government work like his sister. While Sharon excelled, Bennett found solace in humor and developing a carefree persona to cope with the pressure.

—

“I don’t want to be like Sharon or you or even aunt Peg, dad! I want to teach and travel, not go around getting myself into trouble.” Ben replied.

“Son, you will be a fine young agent just like me. Being a teacher is too small of a career and you won’t be paid much.” Michael, his father, add in a stern tone. “You’re a Carter, act like it.”

“But I am not fit for that kinda job…”

“You say that now, but you will be.”

“Dad...”

—

While Ben respected his father and admired Sharon’s achievements, he couldn’t help but feel torn. More than anyone in his family, Aunt Peggy Carter had always fascinated him. She was a legend in her own right, a brilliant strategist, co-founder of S.H.I.E.L.D., and a woman who had helped shape the modern intelligence world. Yet, despite her immense legacy, Ben wondered if Aunt Peggy might have understood his desire to take a different path.

Sometimes, when the pressure became too much, Ben found himself wondering, What would Aunt Peg say if she were here?

Deep down, he believed she would have told him to follow his own path, to be his own person. Unlike his father, Peggy might have recognized that having goals—big or small—was important. But Ben never had the chance to ask her. And that uncertainty gnawed at him.

Would Peggy have supported his choices? Or would she have dismissed his dreams like his father had?

This question haunted Ben, even as he tried to balance his own desires with his family’s expectations. He longed for a mentor who would understand him, someone who wouldn’t see his dreams as "too small."

Though he eventually followed the path set out for him, Ben’s inner struggle never fully disappeared. He carried the question of Peggy’s approval with him, both as a source of strength and as a reminder of what he had given up.

---

-------

—Relationship with Sharon Carter 🛠️

Growing up, Sharon and Bennett shared a close bond. As the older sibling, Sharon was protective of her little brother, often looking out for him when their father’s strict expectations weighed heavily on him. In their early years, they had a lot of fun together—playing games, pulling pranks, and exploring the streets of New York. Sharon was always the more confident and adventurous one, while Ben was more cautious, happy to follow her lead.

But as they got older, the gap between them began to widen. Sharon embraced the world of espionage with determination, diving headfirst into training and missions. She became the perfect soldier in their father’s eyes, the embodiment of the Carter legacy. 

Ben, on the other hand, grew unsure of himself. He admired Sharon’s strength and skill but resented the fact that her success only made him feel more inadequate. Often feeling torn between his personal dreams and the family legacy.

Despite their differences and the tension that arose from their father’s expectations, Ben and Sharon deeply cared for each other. Sharon was fiercely protective of Ben, even if she didn’t always understand his reluctance to embrace their family’s legacy. Ben, in turn, admired Sharon’s strength and independence, even if he resented the comparisons made between them.

As Ben began to settle into his own role in intelligence work—whether by choice or circumstance—Sharon continued to watch out for him. He didn’t want to live in Sharon’s shadow, but he also didn’t want her to get hurt. Part of his decision to follow the family path came from his desire to protect Sharon—to make sure she never faced the dangers of their work alone.

—

"I do this job for a lot of reasons," Ben once confided in a rare moment of vulnerability. "But mostly? I do it to protect you."

Sharon, uncharacteristically quiet, nodded. "I don’t need protecting, Ben."

"I know," he replied, looking down shaking his head and then looked straight at her. "But I’m still going to try."

——

—-

They weren’t as close as they had been in their childhood, but they had come to respect each other’s choices. 

Sharon continued to work in her career, while Ben had found his own way, even if it wasn’t the life he originally wanted.

————

———————

——

| CARTER — S.H.I.E.L.D. Associate | ⚖️ |

While Bennett initially resisted the idea of following in his family’s footsteps, particularly those of his father and sister, he eventually found a place within S.H.I.E.L.D., albeit on his own terms. He didn’t strive to be a leader or a figurehead, but he knew that protecting those he cared about—and finding his own way to make a difference—was important.

Reluctant Start, Natural Talent

After years of pushing back against his father’s expectations, Bennett’s path eventually led him to S.H.I.E.L.D. He realized that, whether he liked it or not, his family’s legacy wasn’t something he could easily escape. Yet, when he decided to join S.H.I.E.L.D., it wasn’t out of a desire to live up to the Carter name exactly—it was about finding his own purpose. He just wanted to make his mark in a way that felt authentic to him.

Though Ben had always been reluctant to pursue espionage, he discovered he had a natural talent for certain aspects of the job. He wasn’t the best strategist or mastermind like other agents, but he excelled in the physical and tactical elements of the work.

——

"Watch it, Carter. You're like a kid in a candy store," Maria Hill remarked dryly, watching as Ben eagerly examined the array of weaponry laid out in the SHIELD armory.

Ben scoffed, flashing a grin. "Hill, lighten up. It's a wall full of guns, knives, and other weaponry! Look at this," he said, picking up a sleek new handgun and examining it with gleaming eyes. "And ooh, is that a new set of bows and arrows? Bet Clint would love this!"

Hill shook her head, but she couldn’t hide the faint smirk on her face. Ben's enthusiasm, though sometimes overwhelming, was infectious.

——

~ Role within S.H.I.E.L.D. ⚙️

Active S.H.I.E.L.D. Associate: Bennett works as a simple, yet kind field agent, engaging in various missions and tasks for the organization.

Hand-to-Hand Combat: Skilled in close-quarters combat, always eager to improve and test his fighting abilities.

Weaponry Enthusiast: Excited by weapons, particularly guns, rifles, knives, and advanced tech. He enjoys trying out new gear.

Scouting Missions: Loves scouting and reconnaissance missions, especially because they let him travel and explore new places.

Undercover & Surveillance: Although reluctant at first, he secretly enjoys undercover work and surveillance, finding it both challenging and exciting.

——————

———

————————————

—Strengths & Weaknesses 🖥️

Strengths

1. Charisma and Charm

2. Loyalty and Protectiveness

3. Wit and Humor

4. Adaptability

5. Combat Skills

6. Empathy and Understanding

Weakness

1. Self-Doubt

2. Emotional Burden

3. Reluctance to Embrace Leadership

4. Tendency to Avoid Conflict

5. Clumsiness

6. Difficulty Accepting Help

——————————

———

———

Fun Facts & Quirks! 🧲

- Foodie at Heart -> This man loves burgers, pies, ice cream, donuts and etc. Depending on where he is, Ben will find some sort of food to eat.

“Did you seriously go and buy milkshake?” His teammate asked.

He shrugged and pointed, “What? You were takin’ too long. I got hungry.”

- Clumsy Charmer -> He is notoriously clumsy at times, often stumbling on his own feet or bumping into something by accident.

“Who put a damn step there? That wasn’t there before!” He shouted almost tripping over but caught himself quickly.

- Tv & Film Fan -> He is often found quoting a line from his favorites or referencing a form of media. However he doesn’t always like to repeat the same thing, more than twice.

“No more Punzel! If I have to hear Zachary Levi’s voice one more time, I’m done.” He shouts during moving night.

His friend gasps, “How dare you? Flynn Rider is wonderful!”

- Dreamer -> Despite having to cut out being a teacher in his life, he always wondered what he might’ve showned those young minds.

“I could’ve been a History teacher or English..? Not math, I suck at that subject! Hell, I might quit this job and find out..”

- He talks to favorite things -> He will talk to his car, his guns and jacket. You already know if Ben had a pet he will be chatting with that animal too.

He grins seeing his favorite handheld gun and picked it up, “Hello sweetheart, gods, I missed you.”

Other things include: Ben is a music lover, mildly superstitious, enjoys collecting items, fear of heights etc.

————

—————

Additional information | 📬 |

-> Favorite Hero

Bennett will never admit it but he enjoys the heroes he seems on the streets and in his line of world.

You would think because his aunt Peggy association to Captain America, automatically that’s his favorite. He admires and respects Steve Rogers greatly, hell he hopes to have enough goodness in his heart to be like him, but not his favorite.

He actually secretly admires Spider-Man for his wit, willingness to help out, relatability and kindness towards others. He only seen the hero from afar but he can tell why people online like him.

~~~

-> Dating Life

When it comes to dating, Bennett tends to casual date. Nothing serious. He enjoys meeting new people and exploring connections without the pressure of committing or wanting to make they both hit it off well.

He has had serval crushes over the years, nothing notably strong or anything. However he once had a significant crush on a fellow agent, but he never acted on it, fearing it could mess up their professional relationship. He didn’t to push anything.

His flirting style is light-hearted and humorous. He tends to use playful chill banter and finding whatever he can as a simple ice-breaker. His charm is evident in his ability to make others smile, and he often employs self-deprecating humor to put his crushes at ease.

Currently, Bennett is single and he doesn’t mind it actually. Honestly, he thinks no one can compete with his notorious lack of skills and put up with him half the time to his bad jokes. But hey? We might be wrong and there is a certain someone out there for him.

~~~~

~ Hobbies and Interests |🛋️| ~

Cooking: Bennett enjoys experimenting in the kitchen. He loves trying out new recipes, especially when it comes to making burgers and desserts. His friends often joke that he should open a food truck.

- “Who needs a Michelin star when you can make the perfect burger at home?”

Movie Buff & TV Binge-Watcher: Bennett has a soft spot for action flicks, buddy cop movies, and classic comedies. He often spends his free time rewatching old favorites or discovering new series to binge.

Collecting Vintage Memorabilia: Bennett enjoys collecting vintage movie posters, old records, and retro tech. His apartment is littered with relics of the past, from vinyl records to an old-fashioned radio. He particularly loves hunting for rare finds at flea markets and antique shops.

- “You can laugh at my vinyl collection all you want, but there's nothing like listening to the Life Is A Highway on the original record.”

Tinkering with Cars: Bennett inherited a love of cars from his father. He spends weekends tinkering with his car, working on engine repairs, or upgrading parts. He’s not a full-blown gearhead, but he enjoys spending time in his garage fixing up his old, reliable ride.

——

————

-> Fears and Insecurities |🪤| <-

Fear of Failure: Bennett often worries about not living up to his family legacy or his own potential. This fear sometimes holds him back from pursuing more serious relationships or challenges.

- “What if I’m just not cut out for this? What if I let everyone down?”

Insecurity About His Role & Fitting In: Sometimes he can feel like he’s qualified to be an agent, and to overcompensate that with humor.

- “I mean, I’m just a guy who likes burgers and makes a lot of bad jokes… how did I end up here?”

Fear of Not Finding His Own Path: Bennett has always wanted to follow his own dream of being a teacher or traveling, but the weight of family expectations and his current career pulls him in another direction. He’s afraid that he’ll never get the chance to live the life he truly wants, and instead, be stuck in a role he didn’t choose for himself.

- "Maybe it’s too late to figure out what I want. Maybe this is just who I am now…"

Insecurity About His Intelligence: Though he’s smart and capable, Bennett sometimes feels overshadowed by more academically inclined people, like the tech geniuses or strategists he encounters in SHIELD. He’s more street-smart than book-smart, and while he’s skilled, he occasionally doubts whether he’s as sharp as others around him.

- "Sure, I can shoot straight, but can I crack codes and come up with genius plans? Not so much. Maybe I’m just the muscle here."

~~~~~

-> Signature Style

Bennett tends to dress in casual, comfortable clothing—jeans, graphic tees, sweaters, thick jackets and sneakers.

He has a penchant for customizing his gear and equipment, adding personal touches that reflect his personality, such as stickers or playful designs.

~~~~~~

-> Habits

Midnight Snacker: Bennett has a habit of raiding the fridge late at night, often resulting in humorous situations when caught.

- “Don’t judge me, if my stomach is craving a handful of cereal at 1 in the morning.” He mumbled as he eats the mouthful of Honey-Nut Cheerios.

Movie Marathoner: He loves binge-watching movie series and often tries to convince friends to join him, complete with snacks and drinks. Sometimes he is found watching classic footage he got stored away somewhere while sipping a nice cup of coffee. Such as old race car footage.

Non-Stop Talker: Ben has a real habit of making one handed comments, give a witty compliment or over speaking in a conversation, especially when it’s not needed. Sometimes he can’t help it but spit out a few sentences and split out of the room just as quickly. Or if he gets nervous, he might ramble until someone shuts him up.

Short-Term Memory: He will never admit it but Ben has a tendency to forget things easily or get distracted, which results in issues for himself and others. People need to often repeat what they said a few times or Ben has to write it down somewhere to make sure he did it. He wonders if it’s on-set early Alzheimer like his aunt Peggy has but tries not to think about it too much. 

- “Can you repeat that? I only got caught half of what you said…” He replied looking up at you with a soft smile.

Vintage Fashion Enthusiast: One thing he will never admit nor you will ever except is for Ben to find fashion a causal factor in his life. He has a habit of wearing or finding timeless pieces whenever he went. Either a classic leather jacket, wrist watches, a necklace and or thick sweaters for colder temperatures. They’re simple items but a small part of him gets excited to wear them.

~~~~

~~~~~

~~~~~~~~~

Hope you like him! I might consider to continue his story soon hehe 😉

Let me know what you think

Tags: @gaminggirlsstuff @gcthvile @missstrawbs2001 @djs8891 @starkleila @aidanxsophxoxo @mandylove1000 @yetanotherwells @rickb-chaos @topgun-imagines @hardballoonlove @buckysteveloki-me @sherloquestea @ximehs @savemewattpad @theonlyblackcanary @terry-perry @triptuckers @daughter-of-melpomene @superspookyjanelle

[oskea93]

✦ It Had to be You: One ✦

John "Bucky" Egan x OC Gale "Buck Cleven x OC

Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction and not associated with the real people mentioned from the show. This is simply based on the portrayals of the actors playing these characters. Warning for this chapter: Cursing, mentions of sex, depression, rage anger.

● If you would like to be tagged, just comment below ●

⍆⍆⍆⍆⍆⍆⍆⍆⍆⍆⍆⍆⍆⍆⍆⍆⍆⍆⍆⍆⍆⍆⍆⍆⍆⍆⍆⍆⍆⍆⍆⍆⍆⍆⍆⍆

Black had become a staple in my wardrobe.

I used to despise the dark color – opting for more cheerful tones or floral patterns. I didn’t want to walk around looking like a depressive cloud – someone in constant mourning. I didn’t even own a black dress until I got the news – my mother making the journey to the store to buy one. I couldn’t bear to leave the house – not wanting the sympathetic glances of those in town that had learned the news. I can’t even begin to tell you how many letters I had received, those that knew Gale and even from those that didn’t. Each letter praised his heroic actions – thanking him in black ink for his level of service and dedication to the United States. Even received one from President Truman and the men of Washington D.C.

I used to look at women who had received the devastating news with such sorrow and sadness. Wonder how they would survive without their men - their source of comfort and love. I was certain that it would be very difficult to do so – have to learn to fend for yourself and go on without the man you loved. I didn’t realize that I would be in the same boat years later. I was a simple housewife – barely of age when we married. Gale and I were just two kids – two kids that were madly and deeply in love with each other. I had grown up more privileged than Gale or those that we knew. I didn’t know how to clean a house properly or cook a hearty meal that would fill the bellies of my husband and future children. I’ve always had someone do those things for me – my mother more focused on raising a proper lady. If you needed to know which fork went where, I was the girl to ask, but I couldn’t tell you anything domestic. I wanted to be able to learn all those things while he was away – making sure that when he returned home for good, I would be able to care for him like a wife should.

I had met Gale at a dance the local hall was putting on – a sendoff to some of the troops that lived in the area. He had just enlisted– saying that he was a week away from going to boot camp. He was cool as a cucumber – no evidence of fear etched on his beautiful face. He spoke of wanting to fight the good fight – getting up in the air and showing Germany the trouble they were in for. He was a born fighter – a genius when it came to life. We spent most of the night as close as two people could be while sitting upright- both speaking of our life and our dreams. Not to sound cliché but I was smitten as soon as I saw him. His blonde hair was slightly disheveled – his wool trousers fitting his frame nicely. His smile could light up a room – that deep voice causing my insides to quiver with a need that only he could give me.

I longed for him during those weeks he was away – smiling as I read his letters that would come bi-weekly. I could hear his voice as I read the words on paper – the excitement of finally flying and the annoyance he felt towards his roommate. The one true constant that popped up on each letter was the mention of his co-captain. His name was John Egan – Bucky – the nickname he had been given. Gale spoke highly of the man – praising him and saying that he couldn’t wait for us to meet. Gale was soft spoken – a bit reserved – he wasn’t into sports or gambling. He liked to sit outside the house and just listen to the sounds of nature. John Egan was the opposite that Gale needed in his life. He helped Gale open up and Gale helped John stay out of trouble...

Gale finally returned to me after weeks away – our reunion being one spent giving ourselves to one another. We were both virgins but the time away from one another ignited a feeling in both of us that we couldn’t suppress. He asked me to marry him a month after his return – wanting to get married sooner rather than later seeing as the war was ramping up. John Egan stood by Gale’s side as we exchanged vowels – his blue eyes shining bright as he watched us become husband and wife. He was the life of the party at our reception – singing along with the band as those around us danced to the music. I could see why Gale adored him so, but I was still weary.

That feeling came to a head when John convinced Gale that it was time for him to head over to England and join the ranks. He wrote to him about the fun he was having and all the missions they were accomplishing. He made it sound like a thrill ride – something that didn’t involve the chance of dying at any moment. Gale and I spent our last night together – wrapped up in each other – exploring and branding kisses into skin – almost as if we were creating a permanent road map to remember one another. It was the most sensual night we’ve had – that we would ever have.

The movie reel played on repeat in my head as I could still feel his lips on mine as he kissed me goodbye. Tears in both of our eyes as the sound of the car’s engine faded into the distance.

“I’m coming back to you – hell or high water – I will be back.”

He kept waving until his car was out of sight – my knees buckling – my body falling into grass below. A part of my heart left that Spring Day…  

I received his first official letter a couple weeks later – screaming out in joy as I read his chicken scratch penmanship. He spoke of the area they were located – how it felt flying in – the fresh air that surrounded the base. He gushed about the new friends he had made –describing them as if he had known them for years. The most important was how much he missed and loved me – repeating the same words as above – hell or high water.

No letter from Gale would be complete without a mention of John Egan. Gale wrote of how John had taken him under his wing, but also being John’s protector. He wrote of how he’s stopped him from getting into several scuffles with the British soldiers or the townspeople. His writings detailing how much they truly cared for one another – they were like brothers.

As time progressed, his writings became darker – tragic even. He detailed his first mission in graphic detail – expressing his feelings and the slight betrayal that he felt towards Egan. He watched men he had befriended either die in the air in a fiery explosion or pass as they laid on the stretcher in the makeshift hospital on the base. He never wrote of his fear that I’m sure he had – choosing to stay strong and do everything he could for his squadron. He was the main pilot – he had the lives of nine other men to think about – he wanted them to be able to return home safely even if that meant he was the sacrificial lamb...

The last letter that would arrive on time came through the mail on October 10th, 1943. It was shorter than normal, Gale explaining that he was moments away from an important mission. He must’ve written “I love you” about a dozen times before signing off – xo following his name. I had learned about a week later that his plane had went down somewhere outside of Germany. The news articles praised their efforts – telling of how they put a damper into the German’s artillery. That was all well and good, but my husband was missing – the base having no record of his whereabouts or if he was still alive.

Months passed before a battered letter was placed inside the mail slot. The enveloped looked as if it had gone through hell, but Gale’s handwriting could be seen through the grime. He had been placed in a camp for captured soldiers. Many of the men that he had met at the base were there as well. He hadn’t been injured – keeping quiet and under the radar of the German soldiers. I fell to the floor after reading that letter – my heart shattering at the thoughts of what might happen. Tears fell on the paper as I replied – simply begging him to come back to me…

“Sweetheart?” I looked up from the mattress as my mother entered the room. “It’s nearing one in the afternoon, darling.” She threw open the curtains – the bright sunlight beaming into the once darkened room. “You need to get yourself together and get dressed.”

My mother had never seen me in such a state – not even recognizing the person I had become. Long gone was the smile and laughter – replaced by tears and screams of anger. I was angry at everyone – my parents, my friends, God.

Oh, I was especially mad at God.

Countless times I would ask why Gale – why was it his turn to be taken? Was he needed for greater things? Why wasn’t I granted more time with him? Just why?

Growing up in the church, it was frowned upon to ask why for anything, more so for why God chose those that he did.  You never asked why – you just learned to accept the outcome. I was long past that – I wanted an answer – I demanded a Goddamn answer.

Sighing, I slowly moved to a sitting position as she laid the black dress and heels next to me. My eyes boring holes into the clothing – hoping that with another energy they would magically combust into flames, burning me alive with them. “I’ll do your hair when you get out of the bath.”

Our eyes connected, “I’m not taking a bath.”

Mother let out an exhausted sigh as her heels clicked on the hardwood floor. I watched as she walked to the window, her upper body jerking slightly as she wiped away the tears that started to fall. She never liked anyone to see her cry.

I started to speak, stopping before the first syllable could come out. I wanted to tell her not to cry but I didn’t have that right. She loved Gale too – she had been smitten by him from the get-go. We all held out hope that he would return to us – just not in a flag draped pine box.

A soft knock on the bedroom door caught both of our attention as my dad entered the room. His once bright face was downcast as he took in my appearance. “The car will be here soon, darling.” His voice soft as he exchanged glances with my mother.

The reality that I was an hour away from burying my only love hadn’t set in yet – just fog – fog that felt like it would never lift to clear skies. I fisted the black material, stepping over the kitten heels as I trudged towards the bathroom. The figure in the mirror was a stranger – someone who’s been through more things than a human is supposed to. Dark circles and pale skin stared back at me – my hair in a tangled mess – not even a comb could get through at this point. Gaunt would be the best word to describe this version of Carolina. I hadn’t bathed in several days – to numb to even remove myself from the bed at times. I barely made it to the bathroom to relieve myself, almost just wanting to go on myself so I wouldn’t have to get up.

Looking around, I noticed everything laid out by my mother. Toothbrush, toothpaste, the expensive makeup that I had collected over the years sitting on the vanity. I was supposed to look put together – still grieving – but have the attributes of a Hollywood starlet.

A guttural scream roared through my body as the vanity contents crashed to the floor – the glass bottles of perfume shattering as the liquid splashed in the air. I could feel the glass stabbing into my bare feet, the blood mixing with the perfume on the floor. I didn’t even register that my father had burst into the room until his arm wrapped around my waist, my back hitting his tailored chest. I thrashed against his hold like a wild animal trapped in a cage.

“Carolina, please!” My mother bawled as she took in my state. “Please, darling calm down before you hurt yourself!”

Another voice was added to the chaos – a deeper voice than that of my father. He was dressed in a black suit – his tall figure looming over my parents. His hands replaced my father’s – his grip on my waist tight and firm. “Calm down, Lina.” His hot breath hitting my ear as the world started to spin around me. My body was running on fumes – the last of those turning into smoke as my brain finally had enough, shutting down before any more damage could be done.

[john-laurens-hamilton]

Quick summary of John Laurens' life

John Laurens was born to Henry and Eleanor Laurens on October 28th, 1754. With sparkling blue eyes and hair described to be the color of honey, since his teens, he had no trouble attracting company. At the tender age of 13 years old, he was already as tall as his father. In a letter to his friend, he says that he was too immersed in his studies to pay attention to any of the girls who swarmed around him. At the start, this was assumed to be a testimony of Laurens' maturity in his career.

In 1771, he moved to London shortly before his 17th birthday, then, quickly to Ginebra, the next year, to incourse in Law studies. Since his childhood, everyone noticed the young boy had a great interest in medicine, Botanics, and arts; but Henry decided it would be best for his son to stay in the family path of politics.

In Geneva, Laurens met Francis Kinloch, assumed to be his first love. Kinloch was also from South Carolina, one year younger. John desired to stay in Geneva with him, but his departure to London to finish his studies lends us a glance at their relationship through their letters. I highlight one excerpt that would be similar to future letters: "Adieu, kiss all the pretty Genevoises from me, and don't delay writing to your affectionate Laurens." (these are translated to Spanish in my notes and then back to English in the process of writing.)

Laurens and Kinloch, despite their homoerotic relationship, disagreed in political matters. This would ultimately be the point of breaking their relationship; while Laurens was an ardent patriot, Kinloch leaned toward loyalism. At the start, this didn't make their bond break, as John says in a letter from April 12, 1776: "You and I may differ, my Dear Kinloch, in our political sentiments, but I shall always love you for the knowledge I have of your heart." Francis' answer to this letter is what many consider their breakup: "If you see any I know from upon the Carolinians of your acquaintance, give them my regards: I won't be thought of forgetting them or my country. Be sure I shall never forget you."

Almost immediately after this letter was delivered, John saw himself involved in his first and only affair with a woman: Martha Manning. Their relationship was friendly before this incident, and during it, it was purely sexual. In an incredible strike of bad luck, Martha got pregnant with Laurens' child. Five months after their daughter's conception, they got married, on the 26th of October, 1776. Laurens wrote to his uncle: "Pity has obliged me to marry." Then, in an egoistical move, he sailed to the Colonies and presented himself as a volunteer aide-de-camp to General Washington. There was no turning back; Laurens never saw his wife or his daughter, Frances Laurens, again.

In 1777, he met his last and most prominent love: Alexander Hamilton. Described with reddish hair, slightly freckled, and "deep azure eyes, eminently beautiful, without the slightest trace of hardness or severity." They are theorized to have fallen in love with each other, and this maintained itself until his death day. Possibly the most romantic letter opens this way, surely known by everyone who has looked into the subject:

"Cold in my professions, warm in my friendships, I wish, my dear Laurens, by actions rather than words, to convince you that I love you." In this letter, many instances let us see into the nature of them, maybe the following worth highlighting:

"I mind you do justice to the length of my nose, and don't forget that I _____"

After, there are five words crossed out, probably by J. C. Hamilton, looking to protect his father's legacy. There are many theories and analyses of what those words might be. One of them is very convincing, well-founded and probably accurate, but out of respect for the owner of this theory, I won't use. In any way, considering the context—the size of one's nose was an euphemism for the size of the penis—it insinuates Laurens knew what Hamilon's penis looked like.

Laurens pushed Alexander to get married; that way, he might get rid of his unholy desires for men. In 1780, Hamilton married Eliza Schuyler, and wrote how his marriage wouldn't change the devotion toward him. Noneteheless, in 1782, Laurens wrote his last letter to Hamilton, signed as: "you knows the unalterable sentiments of your affectionate Laurens."

Hamilton answered, asking John to drop his sword and put on a toga: "come to congress, my friend, the war is over," and signed it as "yours forever." Twelve days later, John died in Tuesday the 27th of August, 1782. We'll never know wether he read that letter.

[strangerquinns]

Deadly Reunion | Chapter 6

Eddie Munson x female!reader // a stranger things apocalypse au

summary: You and Eddie have been best friends since childhood. But when the outbreak happened five years ago, you were torn from one another in the chaos. but now you’re left alone, after your group was killed by another radical crew, leaving you to seek out what was once home. // zombie apocalypse Hawkins set in 1993

warnings: angst + adult themes w/ descriptions of violence, blood, torture + other zombie apocalypse related issues

word count:  3.4k+

⪻ previous chapter | next chapter ⪼ | stranger things masterlist

March 24th, 1988 - Hawkins, Indiana

“How’s everything going out there? I haven’t heard from you in a while,” You spoke into the phone, which was pressed between your shoulder and your ear.

        Your eyes looked out the window and scanned along the slightly busy streets of downtown Hawkins. It was a warmer, sunny day in the small town, the signs of spring and warmer weather showing more and more each day. But even with the town being a little busier than usual, the small bookstore that you worked at was void of any customers. Which didn’t bother you much. Gave more time to clean, read and call Sarah whenever you wanted.

“Everything is going well! Boys are always working late at the studio, so I’ve been left to my own devices on finding stuff to do around here.” Sarah giggled lightly.

“You gettin’ into trouble?” You laughed breathily as you continued to people watch.

“Maybe,” You could hear the smile in Sarah’s voice.

        In the background, you could hear a few voices along with some commotion. Your heart leaped slightly as you heard a deeper, familiar voice in the background. Your body couldn’t help but react and sit up straighter. It was like it was its natural reaction.

        You hadn’t talked to him since the day outside his trailer. They left the weekend after that fight and Eddie never reached back out to you. Not like you did either. You were too hurt and too scared. Eddie had never yelled at you like that, and he had a beautifully sick way of making his words cut deep when he wanted them to. So instead, you let him go. No matter how much it hurt.

        Sarah seemed to pause for a moment and you were thankful. Able to hear his laugh as he joked with whomever else was there. You didn’t miss how your heart raced either.

“Boys are back from the studio,” Sarah spoke after a while.

“How is he?” You asked softly, turning your eyes away from the window. Instead facing the empty bookstore and staring off toward the dark wooden shelves.

Your hand moved up and began to fidget with the red and black pick that hung from your neck. Even after six months, you couldn’t bring yourself to take it off.

Sarah sighed deeply, “He’s…Eddie. I don’t understand why you just don’t talk to him. I can tell he misses you.”

“Yeah, well, he could call as well.”

“He’s a bit of a jackass in that department. His ego won’t let him, even when he knows that he’s wrong.” Sarah scoffed. “Just call him. Ok?”

“Yeah, yeah.” You sighed deeply and felt a heavy sadness come over you. “Be careful ok? News is getting scarier lately with those reports coming in from Russia. That…what was it? Virus?”

“Something like that. You’re sounding like my dad. We’re gonna be ok. But you stay safe too. This shit sounds serious.”

“We will. I love you, Sarah.”

“Awe, I love you too.”

        The two of you hang up and you were left along with your thoughts in the silence of the store. You grabbed the remote sitting beside you and turned the TV you’d muted earlier back up. The News was playing with the same story that had been running all day.

New Virus Outbreak reporting in Russia. 2 New Cases reported in D.C.

“…reporting the spreading of the virus is unknown, but it is acting fast. The two cases reported in Washington D.C. are now in the hospital and under surveillance. Doctors are unable to find a cure at this time.”

“Jesus Christ…” You muttered, just as a customer walked through the door.

        The rest of your day was uneventful if only filled with the news and sitting by as customers came in and out of the store. Once you were locked up and closed, you headed back home. The town was silent as night fell over it, the sunshine from before now replaced with darkness and chilly air. The lights of your living room were on, and the curtains opened, allowing the yellow glow to spill over into the front lawn. You saw the shape of your mother as she seemed to be pacing through the home.

        When you walked into the home you could hear the sounds of the radio playing in the kitchen, from what was being said, it was a news broadcast.

“…new cases now popping up in New York, Detroit, Atlanta, and Los Angeles. Reported 1,000 reported dead nationwide and more coming in on the hour…”

“Oh, thank god, you’re home.” Your mother spoke, rushing toward you slightly with a worried and frantic look in her eyes. She was trying to cover it with a shaky smile. But it wasn’t working.

        It was then you noticed the bags and suitcases piled in the doorway of the living room. Your brows pinched together in confusion as you tried to figure out what was going on.

“W-We going on a trip I forgot about?” You asked.

“Baby, I need you to go upstairs and pack essentials.” Your mother spoke frantically, the mask she tried to have on slipping quickly. “We need to get out of here.”

“Get out? Why?”

“Cause I’m not sitting here like a waiting duck for shit to hit the fan,” Your mother pushed you lightly toward the stairs as she spoke. “The hospital was a mess today with worries of this new virus spreading, and it’s only a matter of time before it hits us. We’re too close to the city for it not to. And we’re not gonna be here when it happens.” You stood there and stared at her like she was crazy, “Go! Now!”

        You gasped lightly awake as you heard the door opening to the room you were being kept in. You weren’t sure how much time had passed since it was a windowless room. But with the stomach pains you were having from the lack of food, it had to have been a long time. You sprang up quickly at the sound of the door but paused only for a second when Eddie came into view.

        He was cleaned up and showered it seemed from the last time you saw him. His curls appeared to be only slightly damp as they hung around his face and down along his shoulders. Stubble decorated his jawline and cheeks, something you hadn’t really seen him with before.

Eddie’s lips tugged up with a wary smile as he moved to stand in the doorway. Even in an apocalypse, it seemed Eddie was still himself. Black jeans with a chain hanging from two of the loops on his belt, black tshirt with the sleeves torn off and frayed at the edges. With the sleeves gone, you were able to see more tattoos decorating his arms, arms that were bigger. You didn’t miss the definition in his arms as he moved to cross them at his chest.

“Joyce said you were asking for me?”

        You just sat there pressed against the wall of the bed with your eyes looking at him wearily. It was then that it hit you, though you knew Eddie all your life. This person in front of you was a stranger.

        Eddie's brows pulled together tightly for a moment as he looked at you. Noticing how stiff you were along with the widened fear in your eyes as you looked at him. He relaxed a little more and rose his hands up so you’d be able to see, before sidestepping into the room slowly.

“I don’t have anything on me…promise,” Eddie spoke slowly as he moved toward the seat at the corner of the room. “…just wanted to come and make sure you were ok.”

“I-I’m fine…” You spoke, your eyes never leaving his. “…she tell you I’m cleared…not Flayed?”

Eddie nodded “Yeah, though I believed you when you said. Don’t think that would be something that you’d lie about.”

        You nodded your head and relaxed slightly as you moved to sit on the edge of the bed. Eddie took that chance to grab the chair and move it closer to you.

“Said they were bringing me food…” You looked around for evidence of anything being brought down when you were asleep.

“And I’m sure they still are,” Eddie nodded and leaned forward on his knees. “How are you feeling?”

“I-I don’t know…I feel like I’m dreaming…didn’t think I was gonna make it back here,” You spoke “Or see you, for that matter.”

        Flashes of the last words he spoke to you came through your mind. But a part of you didn’t care. Not anymore, not after all this time.

        Not after so much loss.

“I didn’t think I was ever gonna see you again either, sweetheart.” Eddie chuckled, almost like he himself couldn’t believe you were sitting in front of him. “Felt like I was lookin’ at a ghost.”

        A silence fell over the two of you. No one knows what to say to the other. No one wants to say the wrong thing.

        But after a few long, awkward pauses, you were the first to speak.

“Is Sarah here?” You asked, Eddie’s head popping up and his dark eyes widening slightly. “I figured if you’re here, that she would’ve come back too. And Gareth? Jeff?”

“Uh…shit…” Eddie reached a hand up and rubbed his hand along his jawline. “…can’t be shocked Hopper didn’t say anything.”

        A hardened sickening feeling dropped into your stomach as you watched him. A cold chill rolled through your body as your eyes watered quickly with the familiar burning in your eyes.

“…no, no…” You shook your head and dropped your face into your hands.

“Fuck…” Eddie spoke and quickly abandoned the chair he was sitting in to move toward you. His arm came around your shoulder and your body began to shake as you cried. “…she came back with us, that much is true. She…She was killed… a few weeks ago by some raiders on a run.”

        Weeks. It had been weeks. It hit hard in your chest to know you’d missed seeing her within weeks. Somehow that made it worse. Like if only you had left earlier then you would’ve gotten to say goodbye. Eddie kept his arms around you as you quietly cried. You turned toward him more at one point finding comfort in him. Once the tears stopped, you pulled away and wiped at your face. You sat there for a few minutes and let this new thing add itself to the grief that was already settled in your body.

“…at least she got to come back,” You spoke after a moment, trying to find a semblance of happiness in the dark truth.

“She did. Sarah helped get this place together with her dad, make a haven for people that didn’t have anywhere else to go.”

        Eddie decided to swallow down the fact that it was his fault, at least to himself, that Sarah was gone. Scared if you knew the whole story you’d only confirm his guilt more.

Also kept it down that he and Sarah were together the last few years.

“ Sadly Jeff didn’t make it out of LA. We joined a caravan group to get back to Hawkins. One night a hoard of Flayed came through, he was protecting Sarah when one got him.” Eddie frowned “She wasn’t…really the same after that.”

“Fuck,” You cursed low under your breath. “And Gareth?”

“Upstairs somewhere,” Eddie spoke with a slight smile. “He helps in the med clinic wing. Likes being able to help people. He knows you’re back and is a little anxious to see you.”

“Oh, good. Good. Fuck, thought maybe everyone…” You shook your head, “I can’t believe Sarah…goddamn it.”

“I know, sweetheart, I know.” Eddie moved and rubbed your back gently.

Eddie let you sit there in silence again for a long moment. Someone came down and slid a tray through the door for you. He had to stop himself from laughing at how fast you moved toward it. You’d snatched it off the floor and barely made it to the small table before you were shoving the food into your mouth. You’d fisted the burger between your hands and took a bite, moaning at the taste of a real meal. The sound of laughing drew your attention back to the man you’d left sitting on your bed. You glared at him as he sat there and chuckled at you.

“What are you laughing at? Hmm?” You spoke, words muffled by the half bitten food in your mouth.

“Nothing,” Eddie chuckled slightly. “Just funny…how something doesn’t change.”

You rolled your eyes and moved the chair he’d taken back toward the table. You continued to eat in silence and soon your stomach ached from too much food, not used to a full meal.

“Been a long time since I’d eaten anything outside of canned fruits and vegetables and jerky.” You sighed and reached back against the seat, pushing the tray away from you.

Eddie frowned, “How long?” You looked over at him with a slightly confused look. “How long were you on your own?”

“A while, I told you.” You spoke.

Eddie whispered your name softly, but you’d heard it. “Come on, I just…I just wanna know. I thought you were dead this entire time.”

“Did you look for me?” You asked, not able to look at him as you asked the question. “Did you care? Was I one of the first people on your mind when you crossed into town.”

        Your tone is void of emotion. It was stiff and cold as you sat there with your back facing him more. Eddie hated that he couldn’t get a read on you. Moments ago, you were crying into his shoulder and now you were treating him like a stranger again. Deep down he understood why. Things weren’t the same as they used to and the last time he’d seen you weren’t a happy one. A moment that had been haunting him for the past six or so years.

“Of course, you were on my mind. The whole reason we came back was to make sure the people we loved were ok.” Eddie spoke, conveying his words with conviction in his tone. “LA was one of the first cities to go, and I knew we’d be fucked if we were there for long. It took us months to get here but you were on my mind the entire time. I couldn’t call and make sure that you were alive. And when we got here…after seeing Wayne was safe, your house was the next one after…and seeing…and…”

        Eddie felt his throat tighten at the memory of coming across your house for the first time.

        The streets were quiet as he traveled down the street with Gareth beside him. Most of the town had been cleared out for any of the Flayed, but that didn’t mean they weren’t vigilant. Wayne had taken them to the small camp that had formed right outside of town and that’s where they were settled after their long travel from California. But being back in Hawkins didn’t give Eddie the kind of hope and safety that he was hoping for. Not when he searched through the camp and didn’t see a sign of you.

“No one’s seen or heard from them since everything happened,” Wayne spoke with heavy sadness. “Chief and I went there, and it was crawling with some of those that fell sick. She wasn’t there, son.”

        Eddie wasn’t just gonna take his Uncle’s word for it, sadly, he needed to see for himself. He and Gareth stepped over the bodies of the dead – both Flayed and Civilian. It brought sickness to his stomach, and it was never something one could get used to. Seeing the decrepit blackened bodies of those that were infected.

“Shit,” Gareth spoke as your family home finally came into view.

        The front window was broken and smashed with some of the sidings starting to fall apart. It had been almost a year since the first day the virus hit the states and slowly overtook everything. It took only four days for the entire country, and the world, to fall apart. And in the year since, nature was slowly taking back what was once hers. Homes were falling apart from lack of maintenance. Lawns were overgrown with weeds and tall grass. Cracks showing more and more on the streets and sidewalks. Your family home was no different.

        A hole had caved in at the roof, and part of it caved back into the home. His eyes traveled up to your bedroom window and saw as the wind caused the lace curtains through the opened window. Eddie moved quickly up the lawn no longer vigilant to any danger. He didn’t care. He needed to know if you were ok. Even though he logically knew you weren’t here.

        The front door was propped open, either from looters or from when you left, he wasn’t sure. The floor creaked loudly as Eddie walked through the front doors. Since the front window was smashed in, bits of nature were slowly starting to grow into the home. Sprouts of grass, plants, and mold finding purchase in the rugs, couches, and walls.

        Eddie slowly walked toward and saw that some of your family photos sat on the wall. He grabbed a small frame that held your high school graduation photo. Eddie didn’t hesitate to pocket it and toss it into one of the pockets of his bag. From behind him, Eddie heard Gareth walk in through the front door.

“Looks like they up and left,” He spoke, looking around and seeing everything was ripped apart. Drawers opened with the contents spilled out and scattered on the floor.

“Or someone came in here after a while and noticed no one was coming back.” Eddie sighed, “You know how fucking desperate people became lookin’ for supplies.”

Gareth nodded his head and sighed, “I know. I don’t think you’re gonna find what you’re lookin’ for man. She's obviously gone.”

        Eddie ignored him and headed toward the stairs that would take him to the second floor. Some of the stairs were caved and broken, so he had to skip up a few to make it. When he got to the hallway, the only sign it’s been a while since anyone had been there was the dust sitting on top of tables and along the railing. Slowly, almost as if he was scared, Eddie walked toward your bedroom. The door was closed.

        And as he approached the door, a part of him felt like he was invading your privacy. Like he was gonna crack open a mausoleum and disturb the dead. But after a few silent moments, his hand encased around the door knob before stepping inside. The room smelled of mold when he walked in, thanks to the open window. It looked like the first floor he’d seen. Posters still decorated the wall, though some sun damaged and ruined from the mold. It still brought a smile to his face. The bed was still made, the hamper filled with dirty clothes, and a book sat on your bedside table. He felt a hit to his chest when he saw the faded title, The Hobbit.

        Eddie sat down on the bed and just sat there in silence. Needing to feel he was surrounded by you in some way. Seeing how your bedroom was left was what he needed to believe. Believe that you were gone. Believe he was most likely never seeing you again. Believe that you simply weren’t just hiding away from him. The feelings and hope he held onto to get back to Hawkins finally cracked and took over his body as it turned to an acidic sadness.

        He crumbled as the tears moved down his cheeks and mourned you.

 “You went to my house?” You asked, finally turning to face him. “After all everyone told you?”

“I didn’t believe them,” Eddie spoke tensely. “I also needed to see for myself…I-I couldn’t…I didn’t wanna think of the possibilities that everyone was lying.”

“Why would you think they’d lie about that?” You asked.

“Because of how we left things. I thought you hated me…I-I thought you’d never wanna see me again.”

A deep frown formed on your lips, “Guess I proved you wrong on that, huh.”

“Guess you did,” Eddie nodded.

“So now what?” You asked after another long moment.

“I don’t know. But I do know one thing, I’m not letting you out of my sight ever again.” Eddie spoke firmly.  

reblog + like if you enjoyed

So, more Eddie and Reader like some of ya'll wanted. I hope you liked it! Getting more into how the outbreak happened and Eddie coming back to see Reader was gone. Please let me know your thoughts. I love the comments/replies you guys leave please keep 'em coming! They are an inspiration.

Also trying tagging again - if the list isn't there read this. It explains why.

[akiwitch]

✨Writblr Intro✨

Hi there! I’m A. Lawrence but you can call me Aki! I’m a disabled nonbinary author (and artist). I write supernatural, horror, comedy, dark fantasy, and cozy fantasy!

Ghost Punch (supernatural with a side of comedy)

A fun night of ghost hunting in a small Idaho town turns deadly when Shay discovers that not only are ghosts very real, but she has the power to touch them. She’ll have to face deadly supernatural threats with the help of her annoying brother, best friend, an anxious witch, and an amnesiac ghost with a hole in his chest. The first two books are out!

Ghost Punch: Grim Reflection

Ghost Punch: That’s the Spirit

Last Light(dark fantasy sapphic romance)

A witch, a vampire, and a werewolf walking into a living library. Can they break a centuries old curse covering the land in darkness, or will they be killed by whatever still lurks in a library that has been gone for nearly as long? Featuring a very small toad.

You can buy it here!

Shadowcast (gaslamp fantasy romance)

Emery's small town is besieged by shadow monsters. He meets a knight named Lucas, and they have an instant connection. But not everything is as it seems, and shadows are always darkest when the light is brightest.

(Rewriting)

Summoning Trouble (cozy modern day fantasy) David and Wallace are a team that solve magical mysteries. Hiring a third person seems simple enough, but their first case as a trio ends up being a lot more than they bargained for. Features a cute moth dragon.

(In edits with my agent) Thief and Guard (high fantasy heist romcom) He was a thief, he was a guard, can I make it any more obvious? After stealing an ancient, probably evil relic from the Vault of Magical Artifacts, Stefan is forced to help the (former) captain of the guard steal it back.

(back burnered)

Strange Paths (creature feature horror)

Aggie is a vlogger looking for cryptids. When she's invited to a small town in Washington, she thinks she might have found the real deal. It's too bad she's right.

(on submission)

I have various other wips I poke at like Bury You Twice (horror comedy with zombies and shovels), Crashing Into You (cozy contemporary supernatural romcom??), Tracked (gaslamp horror), The Witches of Whisper Hill (gaslamp fantasy...horror?) and a fantasy series currently called Forest Books. Feel free to ask about any of them!

[strangersteddierthings]

Daily Ficlet 3

I'm challenging myself to write a little ficlet every day, using the prompts from this list. Today's prompt is foggy mornings.

-

"Do you miss it?" El says as she pulls her legs up under her and leans more into Dustin's side as she sips at her hot chocolate.

Dustin takes a sip of his coffee before asking, "miss what?"

"Being a superhero. Saving the world."

Dustin snorts at that because he was never the superhero. Just a kid, friends with another kid who'd gone missing, and life was never the same after that. But, even not being the superhero, he can't help but admit, "kind of. You think that makes me a bad person?"

"No. I miss it, too," El confesses in a whisper.

He switches his coffee mug from his right hand to his left so he can slither his arm out from under El and around her shoulders. She snuggles in closer and they both let out matching sighs before deeply breathing in the morning air. The hotel balcony looks over the foggy sea, and it's a little chilly, but that's just fine. Maine is chilly this time of year. More reasons to sit so close and share their warmth.

"I think we miss it for the same reason," El continues, "and it is not a bad one. We were all together, back then."

She's certainly got a point. None of them ended up in the same college, much less the same state. Then getting jobs didn't exactly bring them together again. Will's in San Fransisco, Lucas and Max are in Florida, Erica is Washington, and Mike isn't even in America anymore (a semester abroad in Italy stole him away and he only returns for holidays occasionally). Dustin's fallen out of touch with Nancy, Jonathan, and Argyle, so he's no clue where they are these days. Steve would be able to tell him.

Steve's still in Indiana, though it's Indianapolis now instead of Hawkins. Speaking of Steve and everyone being scattered, the last time they were all together was for Steve and Robin's lavender marriage two years ago. Robin got better school loans (she's going for that doctorate now) being married and Steve was happy to help. It was more a 'Congrats on Your Cheaper Education' party than a wedding.

Robin even convinced Eddie to get his band to do covers of wedding songs.

"Yeah. I miss everyone," Dustin agrees, turning to plant a kiss to the side of El's forehead. He gets a mouthful of hair for his trouble but it's worth it to hear her contented hum.

"Well. Good news is that we can probably get everyone together again next year," she says.

"You know something I don't?" Dustin asks.

"Spoke with Max last night. She is going to proposing to Lucas on Thanksgiving if he has not done it yet. She said I could tell you."

"Did she now?"

"Yes. She said 'go ahead and tell Dustin, since I know you can't keep a secret' so I am telling you."

Dustin smiles to himself as they fall into silence and listen to the ocean waves. He likes the ocean, and so does El. It's why they picked Maine for their vacation spot. They would have stayed in Boston but Dustin's been there four years now, and El for two, so they've seen most of the sights. They didn't want to drive all the way to a warmer climate.

He thinks they both prefer the colder weather anyway.

His thoughts turn back to Max and Lucas and their pending wedding. He would like to say he always knew they'd get married, but they were broken up for four years after high school, and managed to just find their way back to each other.

"Do you think you'll ever want to get married one day?" Dustin asks. he feels El's head shift and turns to meet her gaze.

"One day. Yes. I would like that," she smiles at him, and Dustin can't help but return it.

He thinks about the ring he has stashed in his underwear drawer back home. He's had it for almost four months now, but knows in his heart it's not something he can spring on El. No matter how sure he is that he wants to spend the rest of his life with her. He's taking his time. This won't be the last time he'll ask her if she wants to be married one day; just the first.

Dustin thinks he knows her pretty well after all these years. He'll know when her answer means 'I do' without her needing to say it. And right now, it's just a maybe. He can live with that, so long as he gets to share her warmth on chilly mornings.

[elfven-blog]

All the damn vampires (3)

Leon Kennedy x F!Reader A series based on the 1987 film 'The Lost Boys'

CW: MDNI (18+ series), no smut this chapter!

Word count: 2.1k

I'm sorry for how long this took!!

After that night on the road with Leon, you had returned home having been able to catch Claire before she left hers and told her you weren’t feeling the best but would make it up to the two of them. Which is what brought you back to the boardwalk.

You’d paid for their food, and now the three of you were walking to the seaside rides while you ate ice cream. The girls had been grilling you on the life you had before moving, and on why you had moved. Claire had shrugged her shoulders arms spread as she declared how excited she was to get out of ‘this dumb fucking town and its dumb fucking missing posters’...clearly excited to go away to her Washington college.

Rebecca shook her head as she listened, a smile on her face “I dunno, I like it here. Having the sea so close is a nice perk.” Claire made a disgusted noise, pretending to gag at Rebecca’s words and drawing a laugh out of you. You had also told your new friends about the blonde constantly occupying your thoughts, and they had given you warnings about him.

“You should be careful, David’s gang are..trouble”.

“There’s just somethin’ wrong about them”. “Honestly! My brother says there’s always complaints about them at the station!” “Just don’t do anything dumb okay? We don't want you banned from the boardwalk too”.

All those warnings seemed to just go in one ear and out the other as they spoke to them, you nodded along and responded when they said them but you’d already made your mind up about the blonde biker. 

It wasn’t until later in the night that your opinion on him would shift more in line to that of your friends.

The three of you had spent the rest of the evening and some of the night on the boardwalk, you’d even managed to win a teddy from a game. Most of the games were aimed at you losing your money, not that it mattered while you were having fun with your new friends. As you were walking back towards the merry-go-round, your attention was on the silly photos the three of you had taken. Claire had large glasses on, and Rebecca had a tiny hat, the three of you posing in stupid ways. 

As you weren’t paying attention, you didn’t notice the familiar leather jacket making its way into your vision until an arm swung around your shoulder and pulled you into a cold side. A voice rumbling into your ear “Well hello there sweetheart” the pace of your heart sped up at the sound. 

A grin took over your mouth as you looked over at him, and something you couldn’t place flashed in his eyes as his hand slid lower to your waist instead. “Hey! How have you been?” you’re not really sure how to speak to him. Not after what happened when you last saw him. His blonde brow arches up, his head tilting and causing his hair to shift so that he blows it away.

���Really pretty girl?” He shakes his head, pitching his voice up as he mocks you, “How have you been?” your face goes red with embarrassment as you try to shake him off but his grip tightens and he pulls you closer to his side. “No no, I’m sorry doll, I’m sorry! C’mon don’t ruin the fun” 

His breath fans over your neck as he leans in close, his teeth scraping against the skin. And you swear they feel sharper than normal teeth but as you turn to look at him, his teeth are well, normal. You run a hand over your face, maybe all those rumours are starting to get to you.

Instead you roll your eyes at Leon, and smirks before pressing his lips to your ear. It’s like he can’t keep his hands to himself, or any other part of his body as his tongue dips to lick along the shell of your ear. “Let’s go and have some fun” comes that honey-soaked voice in your ear, and he’s easily able to pull you away from where you were going. Claire and Rebecca slip from your mind completely.

The blonde pulls you over to where his friends are, and the four of them seem to be terrorising the poor boardwalk guard as he tries to get them off the carousel. But once they see Leon, they walk away from their prey immediately, cheering and teasing the young man as they approach the both of you. And nerves fill your entire body, thrumming with electricity as the boys surround you as you wonder what they have planned.

You know you probably shouldn’t feel like this, especially when your friends had literally just warned you about the band of no-good doers but there seemed to be some kind of pull as the now six of you started walking towards where the band was playing on the seafront. Leon took your wrist, his cold fingers against your warm skin as he pulled you into the crowd and you saw one of the boys, Marko, wriggle his eyebrows at you causing you to blush before they were gone from sight.

Leon kept you close to him, grinning at you with that pretty smile as you danced together. The world falling apart around you until it was just the two of you, everybody else disappearing as your hands wandered against each other’s sides and your own trailed down his chest. It felt like you were in a trance as you swayed with almost no space between you, the scent of lemon and rust filling your nose before it was gone just as you’d registered it. You stumble as someone bumps into you, causing you to press against Leon’s sturdy chest, his hands settling on your waist and you watch as he glares at the other person. You swear you see his eyes change colour but as he looks to ask if you’re okay, you only see the blue.

With a shake of your head to clear your thoughts you give him the okay, and Leon snarls at the other person causing them to stumble back in shock you assume. The pair of you move away from the dancing, Leon’s grip feels tight on you making sure you don’t get lost. 

It’s towards the others that you head in the direction of, they’re all sitting around their bikes, the laughter filling the air now that you’re away from the music that made your ears pound. You give them a polite smile, shifting on your feet awkwardly and feeling like an outside until Paul slings an arm around your shoulder and makes a joke about the newbie on the beach needing to learn about the real Santa Carla and what the natives do for fun.

It seems to set the others off as they all pile towards getting on their bikes, Leon immediately tugging you onto his own. Your eyes widen as you straddle the vehicle, unsure how to sit or where to put your hands until the blonde snickers and pulls your hands to wrap around his waist “Hold tight, sweetheart” he whispers to you as the bike comes to life under you causing you to jump at the feeling of the vibrations and you push yourself closer to him. The grin never left his face as he felt you almost crush him to not fall off. None of the boys seem to care as they go faster and faster, some of them howling as their hair whips around them.

The sight of them having fun starts to quell the fear in you and it doesn’t take long until you’re joining Marko and Dwayne in their hooting and yowling. Leon turns his head to look at you, something gleaming in his eyes before he turns back to the road and speeds his bike up more. He easily catches up to David who laughs at the sight of you and decides to start racing Leon which causes you to hold onto him tighter. 

Your heart races as they accelerate around the twists and turns that take them up the hills, your knuckles almost white from clenching at Leon’s jacket, the leather turning warm from your palms. The wind bites at your face turning it red and your breath pants against Leon’s ear, adrenaline rushes your veins and you can swear in that moment you could fly. Your head tilts back, your eyes closing as you enjoy the rush. You don’t notice the way the others look at you, their smiles turning to mirth and their gazes filled with delight at the sight of you.

The bikes eventually slow to a stop and you hear the shrill whistle of a train nearby. Your brow furrows as they stop their bikes and get off, the man you cling to pats your leg to signal that you need to get off too, so you do. Confusion still fogs your mind as they lead you to a train bridge. Leon squeezes your hand as you stand among the wooden slats of the track, your eyes widening at the sight of nothing below you. Your body starts to shake but the comforting feeling of his cool thumb soothed over the back of your hand, and you swallowed the thick saliva that had been building in your mouth.

“What are we doing?” you’d never heard your own voice tremble so much when asking a question, and David laughs which makes everyone else laugh, You turn to look at Leon only to find him avoiding your gaze and his hand finally drops your own as he makes his way over to the gang. 

“She wants to know what’s going on! Marco, she wants to know” his grin turns devilish as he looks at you, his head tilting and something flashes in his eyes that you’ve never seen before. Your eyes shift to Marco as he shrugs his shoulders before jumping, disappearing below the bridge and even though you can hear his laughter below you somewhere, your heart still pounds as terror seems to grip at your heart and squeeze it.

You try to speak but no words leave your mouth, your eyes wide as your expression resembles that of a goldfish. “C’mon, it’s fun” rumbles out of Paul's mouth before he and Dwayne also disappear into that fog, and their howling becomes louder. David straightens up as he looks at Leon, his face suddenly serious as he arches an eyebrow at his fellow blonde. Leon just shrugs his shoulders at the silent question causing the bleach blonde to sigh and shake his head.

“Join us” is all he says before he’s below the tracks, and the whistle of the train is unexpectedly loud as the track shakes slightly while the machine creeps ever closer.

Leon looks at you expectedly, his hand held out to touch yours before he drops it. Worry sparks through his blue gaze before it’s gone. His tongue darting out to wet his lips, and his shoulders move with his own sigh “Join us, you gotta join us, doll” his low voice pleads like a broken record. You watch as he jumps with no fear, and you hear his voice join the others as they cajole you down below into joining their merry band.

And with a deep breath you do.

You smile at the blonde as you stand at his bike, one of his hands settled in its place against your hip while your own are on his cool leather jacket. He quickly tugs you down, his soft lips pressed to your own and he quickly commands your mouth to part so he can press his tongue inside. The muscle exploring in that path you're familiar with now as it runs over your teeth, seemingly paying attention to your canines before it gently coaxes your own tongue into his mouth too.

It seems like forever as you stand in that awkward position that makes your back ache but you don’t dare move. His hand bruises at your hip. And it isn’t until your lungs burn for oxygen that the biker pulls away from you by only inches so that you can gulp oxygen down. It seems like the kiss doesn’t make him as breathless even though you can feel his soft breaths on your lips, you are the only one left panting from your shared kiss.

His hand squeezes your hip one final time before he pats your thigh and tilts his head so that the blonde hair hangs down, and his lip shows that grin he loves to carry around you “Best go inside now, sweetheart, I’ll see ya tomorrow ‘kay?” and you nod at him but don’t actually move until he practically growls at you. You blink and back away, as if coming out of a trance after clearing your throat and beginning to walk inside your house.

You blush as you hear him rev his engine and let out a low whistle before he rides away.

[dreaminginthedeepsouth]

LETTERS FROM AN AMERICAN

January 14, 2024

HEATHER COX RICHARDSON

You hear sometimes, now that we know the sordid details of the lives of some of our leading figures, that America has no heroes left.

When I was writing a book about the Wounded Knee Massacre, where heroism was pretty thin on the ground, I gave that a lot of thought. And I came to believe that heroism is neither being perfect, nor doing something spectacular. In fact, it’s just the opposite: it’s regular, flawed human beings choosing to put others before themselves, even at great cost, even if no one will ever know, even as they realize the walls might be closing in around them.

It means sitting down the night before D-Day and writing a letter praising the troops and taking all the blame for the next day’s failure upon yourself, in case things went wrong, as General Dwight D. Eisenhower did.

It means writing in your diary that you “still believe that people are really good at heart,” even while you are hiding in an attic from the men who are soon going to kill you, as Anne Frank did.

It means signing your name to the bottom of the Declaration of Independence in bold print, even though you know you are signing your own death warrant should the British capture you, as John Hancock did.

It means defending your people’s right to practice a religion you don’t share, even though you know you are becoming a dangerously visible target, as Sitting Bull did.

Sometimes it just means sitting down, even when you are told to stand up, as Rosa Parks did.

None of those people woke up one morning and said to themselves that they were about to do something heroic. It’s just that, when they had to, they did what was right.

On April 3, 1968, the night before the Reverend Doctor Martin Luther King Jr. was assassinated by a white supremacist, he gave a speech in support of sanitation workers in Memphis, Tennessee. Since 1966, King had tried to broaden the Civil Rights Movement for racial equality into a larger movement for economic justice. He joined the sanitation workers in Memphis, who were on strike after years of bad pay and such dangerous conditions that two men had been crushed to death in garbage compactors.

After his friend Ralph Abernathy introduced him to the crowd, King had something to say about heroes: “As I listened to Ralph Abernathy and his eloquent and generous introduction and then thought about myself, I wondered who he was talking about.”

Dr. King told the audience that, if God had let him choose any era in which to live, he would have chosen the one in which he had landed. “Now, that’s a strange statement to make,” King went on, “because the world is all messed up. The nation is sick. Trouble is in the land; confusion all around…. But I know, somehow, that only when it is dark enough, can you see the stars.” Dr. King said that he felt blessed to live in an era when people had finally woken up and were working together for freedom and economic justice.

He knew he was in danger as he worked for a racially and economically just America. “I don’t know what will happen now. We’ve got some difficult days ahead. But it doesn't matter…because I’ve been to the mountaintop…. Like anybody, I would like to live a long life…. But I’m not concerned about that now. I just want to do God’s will. And He’s allowed me to go up to the mountain. And I’ve looked over. And I’ve seen the promised land. I may not get there with you. But I want you to know tonight, that we, as a people, will get to the promised land!”

People are wrong to say that we have no heroes left.

Just as they have always been, they are all around us, choosing to do the right thing, no matter what.

Wishing you all a day of peace for Martin Luther King Jr. Day 2024.

[Image of the Martin Luther King Jr. Memorial in Washington, D.C., by Buddy Poland.]

LETTERS FROM AN AMERICAN

HEATHER COX RICHARDSON