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foli-vora · 2 years ago

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run to you: chapter five

marcus pike x f!reader

A/N: life is hectic atm but i'm so glad to finally get this out! i swear i'm gonna get around to replying to all of your lovely comments on chapter four. i really appreciate your love and support for this story and i'm forever thanking you, even if i don't get around to replying as quick as i want! so not a lot of marcus and reader in this chapter, like... at all lmao, but the storyline is now picking up and we can fasten our seatbelts for the turbulent ride ahead. enjoy, angels! x

Summary: Following on from ‘Traitor’ and 'You’re Somebody Else’. An unexpected visitor throws you right back into the life you thought you left behind. Working beside the man that put you behind bars is one thing, pretending like you never loved him is another.

Word count: just over 4.5k

Warnings: angst, swearing, the bestest golden retriever himbo bff, talk of crime and undercover operations, mentions of heartache, mentions of jail/being incarcerated, talk of murder/bodies, smutty flashback (18+ only), Patrick Jane, super brief blink-and-you-miss-it Lisbon appearance (poor marcus bb is not doing good rn lmao SUFFER BITCH), and the usual warning: bitter saltiness that only one man brings to life in us

main masterlist | series masterlist

This story will have explicit sexual scenes in the future so 18+ only.

He’s hovering.

At first, it’s almost easy to ignore—you think he’s just watching you paint with a small sense of curiosity and would move away once boredom finds him, but you’ve never been one for people looming over your shoulder for an extended period of time, and so the irritation quickly starts to seep in.

The hand holding the paintbrush drops, and you look expectantly at him while knocking your headphones off of one ear, “Can I help you, agent?”

Jacob leans on the table next to you and tears into the homemade sub in his hands, chewing loudly as a small smearing of mayonnaise gathers at the corner of his lips.

He gives a nod, mumbling around the mouthful of food, “Just makin’ sure you eat.”

You blink in surprise, glancing at the window, “It’s lunchtime already?”

“A bit past,” Jacob replies, moving away now that he has your attention and sits himself on a chair at the table, “but I didn’t want to let you go late without eating. Gotta keep up your energy, Monet—don’t want you running yourself into the ground.”

“Thanks,” you murmur softly, organising your little workstation and rolling your aching shoulders.

The break is surprisingly welcome. You didn’t even realise how long you’d been lost in your work until you stopped, and now the throb in your fingers is all you can focus on. You clench and unclench your hand as you walk to your bag and ready some lunch, careful of the hot food you retrieve from the microwave.

Jacob doesn’t look at you as you seat yourself opposite him, too engrossed in studying the painting hanging on the easel.

“You’re good at this,” Jacob notes, eyeing the almost completed piece waiting to be taken wherever by Marcus’ team, “how’d you get into this stuff? Art school?”

Appetite now gone, you shift in your seat, suddenly far too interested in pushing the rice into small mountains in your glass dish.

Breathe.

He doesn’t know.

“I uh… I actually did it for a living.”

“Oh? Nice.”

There’s no malice in his tone, no mistrust, just pure interest.

He doesn’t glare at you, or pull a face of suspicion. It doesn’t even occur to him that it may have all been under the table and illegal. You feel a little guilty, almost as if you’d been leading him to believe you weren’t a previously convicted criminal. It makes you want to own it, to just speak your truth and let him make his own judgement of your actions.

Maybe it would be best to do so, so he would know where he stands and how he should view you. You’re not a good person, and maybe he deserves to know that. He does deserve to know that.

“It was… it wasn’t legal. That’s how I got caught up in Marcus’ radar,” you admit quietly, briefly letting your eyes meet his and watching the flicker of surprise flash across his features before dropping your gaze again, afraid to watch his warmth and friendliness disappear.

“Oh.”

Nothing is said for a few minutes.

You swear you can feel the seconds trickling by, your nerves picking up and heightening with every silent tick. The small bit of the lunch you’d packed last night and eaten starts to churn uncomfortably in your stomach, swirling with your growing anxiety and threatening to bubble up your throat.

You can’t look at him.

“How’d you get caught?”

“It was a whole thing. Apparently the FBI had been after them—us—for a while… I knew it was big, I wasn’t stupid, but I guess I just tried to ignore the other side of it all. The money was good, and it felt nice. Marcus went undercover—guess they wanted someone on the inside, and I just happened to fall in the trap.”

And fall into the trap you did. You fell good. One look into those warm brown eyes and your walls had crumbled. You still don’t understand how it all happened. If only you could go back and scream at your more naive self, tell her to just walk away and never look back.

God, had you truly been that lonely? To open up so quickly, so easily, with a complete stranger? Would things have played out differently if you had just been stronger and ignored the obvious attraction and turned a cheek to his advances? Would he have just moved on to somebody else for the sake of the case?

It makes you angry, and you don’t have a clue as to why. Maybe it’s because somewhere deep within you, beneath the bitterness and the hurt, you wanted to believe he actually did want you, and not just use you as a means to finish the investigation. You wanted to believe that a part of it, even just a slither of it, was real.

Stupid.

Of course it wasn’t real. None of it was.

Jacob nods in understanding, “So that’s why you hate Pike?”

Hate?

Is that what you feel for him?

The angry side of you says yes. Yes, you hate him and everything he fucking stands for, and that you’d feel this way forever… but it doesn’t sit right, feel right. Maybe you don’t. Maybe hate isn’t what it is. Resentment? Disappointment, perhaps?

“I don’t hate him,” you sigh quietly, giving up on lunch and pushing it away from you, “not… not really. I mean, I did. For months I wished all sorts of horrible shit to happen to him, but I… I don’t know. I guess I just accepted it for what it was after a while. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t like him—at all—but I just want to forget it all happened and move on. I want my fresh start, you know? It’s hard seeing him, being around him again, after all the heartbreak.”

“Wait,” Jacob frowns, holding a hand out to stop you from speaking any more, “when you say you ‘fell into the trap’, does that… were you guys a thing? While he was undercover? Was it serious?”

“It was to me,” you admit with a murmur, “even had me picking out a damn wedding dress.”

The laugh that you force from your lips is strained and void of any true humour.

If anything, it’s an attempt to steer the direction of the conversation from diving any deeper into the overwhelming feelings you had for a man that had never existed. It’s humiliating to even think about. Maybe if you laugh about it, the sting of it all won’t hurt as much.

“Oh well,” you breathe, straightening in your seat and twisting your lips to resemble a faint smile, “it’s all in the past. It’s fine. I’m fine.”

Jacob watches you play with your food with a look you can’t quite identify. You don’t want to risk looking at him too much, afraid that he’ll see the clear pain swirling in your eyes. The damage has probably already been done. He’s seen it all, and probably more. He’s a Federal Agent—their job relies on reading people on a daily basis.

“Hey,” he mutters, giving you a small comforting smile when you eventually pull your gaze away from the table to look at him, “for what it's worth, I’m sorry. I can’t imagine how you must’ve felt. It must’ve been really tough, and I’m sorry you had to go through that alone.”

Your features twist into a frown, “Who said I was alone through it?”

He watches you knowingly for a moment, his brows raising ever so slightly as his small smile turns a little sadder, sympathetic. He’s right, and he knows it. You had been alone. It’d been the most alone you’d ever felt, and you’ll spend the rest of your life hoping to never feel that way again.

Swallowing the growing lump in your throat, you give a small shrug and drop your fork with a quiet clatter, “I deserved it.”

“No, you didn’t. Yeah, you’ve made some pretty shit decisions in the past—I’m not debating that, but I like to think of myself as a good judge of character. You’re not a bad person, not like the ones we’re used to.”

“You don’t know that.”

“Yeah, I do.”

There’s nothing but sincerity in his tone. You watch him for a few minutes, eyes darting between his bright green ones and searching for anything that gives you a small feeling of doubt that his words are nothing but a lie.

You find nothing.

A true smile starts to grow along your lips and you dip your head, unable to keep meeting his genuine gaze without feeling the sting of tears in your eyes.

“Thank you, Jacob. I appreciate that.”

“You’re welcome, Kahlo.”

It’s quiet, and you feel like you can bear the sight of food again.

Your shoulders feel lighter, the ache in your chest has dissipated. It’s freeing. You hadn’t yet been able to speak on what had happened without someone focusing on the crime part.

The inmates you had bunked with, the counsellors in jail, the people hiring you once you got out… they all had that pre-judgement of you. The title of criminal followed you throughout every interaction, but not here, not with him.

You pick up your fork and start picking at your food, a small smile playing at the corners of your lips. The slice of Jacob’s sudden huff cuts through the air, and he throws his almost eaten sub onto the table before crossing his arms in obvious irritation.

“God, what a fuckin’ dick.”

—

Heat—it’s everywhere.

It sticks to your skin, it swells in the pit of your stomach, it builds and builds over your flesh with every deep roll of his body over yours. It should be too much, too overwhelming, but your nails still dig into the soft skin of his back in a silent cry for more.

Just when you think he can’t possibly get any closer, he does. He pushes—crushes—you into the mattress, hands cradling the back of your head in an effort to keep you as close as possible. So close, so fucking close, you’re practically breathing in the other, with no room left for oxygen between you and it’s absolute bliss.

He’s breathless against the skin of your throat, nothing but soft whimpers and the hush of sharp exhales filling your ears. Lips press wherever they can reach, trailing paths of fire along your cheeks and the length of your neck until you squirm from the sensation, fighting both the urge to hide from his tender touch and stretch out for more.

“A-Alex,” you breathe, face turning enough to trace the tip of your nose along the shell of his ear.

He exhales sharply, hips faltering ever so slightly. His face briefly falls away from breathing in your skin, dipping his head and hiding his features. Despite the unexpected jolt in his rhythm, he still moves, still rolls his hips in that way he’s fucking mastered, ensuring every upwards roll of his hips has that delicious bit of friction along your clit.

It’s maddening.

It’s perfection.

The ecstasy rolling through your body hits an all time high, and your thighs tighten around his hips, coaxing him to brush harder, push deeper into the wet heat of your pussy until you start to feel that sweet, sweet edge start to creep along the edge of your nerves.

More, more, more—

“Ale–”

He suddenly rears forward, moulding his lips to yours and stealing the very breath from your lungs. It’s always the same. The kiss is urgent, all teeth and tongue and it’s impossible to speak another word. You struggle to keep up with his intensity, too busy focusing on that overwhelming high and the tightening that threatens to give at any second now.

It’s good—it’s so fucking good, you swear you’re going crazy. He does that to you. Though you can’t say it, breathe it, his name is all you hear in your mind, its own soft echo a consistent companion to the sheer pleasure he drowns you in.

Alex, Alex, Alex.

—

It’s been a month.

A month in your new little workspace, a month of painting, a month of successfully avoiding him. Despite it being his investigation, he now keeps his distance from the makeshift art space he had given you. Maybe he finally got the message that you didn’t want to be around him, that the mere thought of even uttering a single word to him made you feel almost nauseous.

You haven’t seen him in weeks.

When you finish a piece, he sends his agents. You know a few by name now, but don’t bother with small talk. They come, give you a friendly hello, take the finished, wrapped painting and leave—that’s it.

That’s all it is.

You don’t have to do anything else, and it’s wonderful. You spend your days painting, relishing in the familiar feel of a brush between your fingers and enjoying the legal money deposited into your account every week.

You get ahead with bills. You buy some new clothes. You feel refreshed, finding a certain needed peace from the sudden financial stability. You know it’s not going to last—Jacob doesn’t talk about the case a whole lot, but you know that the team has made some progress with it, so you put a little money aside for the day the FBI no longer needs you.

He becomes a fast friend, and if you were ever to find it within you to thank Marcus for anything in this world, it would be him. You surely would’ve gone batshit insane if you’d been holed up in that room by yourself day in and day out, probably worse if you had been locked up with Marcus every day.

But not Jacob.

Jacob keeps the air light.

He’s kind, funny, and a bit of an idiot, and you find yourself fondly laughing nearly every day at the little things he would do or say. You thoroughly enjoy his company, and love hearing about his time in school, training to be an agent and the few cases he’s worked on so far.

He asks you questions and seems genuinely interested in getting to know you and of you past, never once making you feel lesser than or lowly for your less than ideal life before this.

“You made a decision, Matisse. Good or bad—own it.”

He keeps to himself whenever you find yourself focused on your work, and only steps in to remind you to take care of yourself. On the odd occasion, he’d join you, content to watch you work with a shine of interest.

You don’t like it, so you shove canvas paper and oil pastels at him to keep him from hovering any longer and it works. It becomes a little activity of sorts, a release for him whenever paperwork starts to push at his patience a little too much.

“They should’ve hired you for this case,” you mumble teasingly around your lunch, grinning at the pride filling his features as he finishes his latest project—his own creation inspired by the Van Gogh you’re currently working on.

It’s pretty, full of bright colours and soft swirling patterns. The Future, he had called it, and apparently—it was all for you.

You need something colourful, Da Vinci, something happy. You’re too sad.

The FBI doesn’t deserve him.

“Hey, I’m proud of this,” he retorts sharply, pointing a finger smudged with colour at you but his tone doesn’t match the bright amusement in his eyes, “belongs in a damn museum. It’s an original Wilson—people will flock to see it. You just wait, Michaelangelo, this will bring a lot of money down the track, mark my words.”

Your chuckle is cut off by the insistent buzz in his pocket, and he stands immediately, answering the call with a swift Wilson and stepping away from the table with his phone pressed to his ear.

It’s Marcus... you know just by the way he positions himself, ensuring to keep a bit of distance and turning away so you don't have to potentially hear his voice from the other end. You quickly lose interest in the conversation, focusing back on the open book you’ve been trying—and failing—to get into the last few days.

The interest in the conversation was lost, until you hear it.

“Understood, sir. We’ll leave now.”

Immediately looking up in question, your brows start to furrow as Jacob wraps up the phone call and strides back to the table quietly. Anxiety begins to build in the pit of your stomach at the sudden serious set of his features, unused to seeing the usually bright and bubbly face now so stoic. It’s Agent Wilson, not Jacob.

“We’re leaving?” you ask in confusion, “but I haven’t even done—”

The frown between his thick brows deepens, and he barely looks at you while he shrugs his navy blue suit jacket on, leaving faint smudges of orange and pink on the lapels.

“Leave it, we need to get to the office.”

The anxiety immediately gives way to dread.

The office? Where Marcus and his team are? Why?

You want to ask if you can stay behind—straight up refuse to go anywhere near that damn building—but the firm set of Jacob’s lips lets you know it’s non-negotiable.

He helps you with your bag, a certain urgency to his movements, and then you’re descending the stairs with him hot on your tail. He ushers you into the car, throwing a wary glance each way down the street before moving around the vehicle and sliding into his seat.

You swear you can feel your heart beating in your throat. He’s clearly in a rush, but you’re at a loss as to why. Has something happened? Is there danger? Are you in danger?

With your mind beginning to hurl possibilities at you, you start to feel more and more nauseous with every swift swerve through traffic Jacob makes.

“Is everything okay?” You ask carefully, fingers fiddling with the straps of your bag as you try to calm the rage of your heart.

He briefly looks away from the traffic and gives you a small reassuring smile, “Of course. There’s just been a big development and I’m needed back at the office for a debriefing, sorry for the rushing.”

“Oh,” you breathe in relief, “okay, I understand. Well, you can drop me home if that’s easier for you.”

“It’s an urgent thing and uh… Pike would like you at the office.”

Your lips press shut and an immediate frown overcomes your expression.

Of course.

If there had been developments in the case, why did you need to be there? It’s not like you're an agent with unlimited access to the available information. Your own folder Marcus had given you was severely lacking any true details of the case beyond what you needed to know, and it’s not like you were involved in anything anymore, so you had very little to contribute further than your creative talents.

You keep quiet for the rest of the quick trip, taking the hint that now is not the time for small talk. The need to chat is nonexistent to you right now anyway, even if Jacob happened to be in a perkier mood. The mere thought of seeing, and talking to, Marcus again does nothing to ease the dread churning in the pit of your gut.

The building is not a welcome sight, yet you hurry to follow Jacob from the brightly lit parking lot and into the home of the FBI. He stays beside you the whole way, through the wide crowded corridors and during the silence of the elevator, giving you one final reassuring smile before he pushes open the door to the Art Crime Department.

It’s busy.

Marcus doesn’t suddenly appear from nowhere and bombard you both at the entrance. You can take a deep breath. The shrill ringing of phones fill the space, and the shuffle of agents near running about with various files and pieces of paper takes you a little off guard.

There’s an uncomfortable tension hanging in the air. You can��t quite put your finger on why it unsettles you so.

You follow Jacob further into the chaos, ensuring to keep out of the way and keeping an eye out for the one man you seem to now be bracing for, steeling your nerves into something harder, something unbreakable. You don’t need to wait long—there he is.

He looks tired.

Marcus appears from a room, presumably his own personal office, raking a hand through his mussed hair and saying a few brief words to a coworker before his eyes zero in on Jacob. He points to the conference room where you’d once sat at the beginning of this, already heading that way with another agent, and Jacob gives a short nod in response.

You try to blend into the background behind Jacob so Marcus doesn’t take much notice of you, but it’s not even a moment later and his eyes are suddenly meeting yours. The feeling of his attention is instant, and the increase of your heart is familiar by now.

Despite the distance between you, you feel how they roam over your face, seemingly searching your expression, but it’s not long until they fall away and you’re left to exhale quietly, now free from his gaze.

He disappears into the conference room, and you swallow down the thick feeling of anxiety building in the back of your throat. He doesn’t seem eager, or interested, in talking to you straight away, and you’re relieved by that—you could mentally and emotionally prepare yourself a little more.

“My desk is over there if you want to sit down,” Jacob offers, turning and walking backwards in order to point you in the right direction, “and I’ve got snacks in the bottom drawer.”

Rolling your eyes, you give a strained huff of amusement and start walking towards it, “Of course you do.”

Your shoulder catches the frame of someone else and you quickly take a step back, wide eyes locking with a pair of vaguely amused blue ones.

He’s dressed sharply, much different to the basic suits the agents around him wear, in a well kept grey toned three piece suit with the simple white collar of his shirt popped open at the base of his throat. His soft blond curls are styled neatly back, and the gentle scent of tea wafts from the cup in his hold.

He’s pretty, by society’s standards, but his eyes are sharp, as if they can see right into the very centre of you.

You don’t like it.

“I’m sorry, sir,” you mumble, “I wasn’t looking where I was going.”

You don’t linger to hear what the agent has to say. You hurry into Jacob’s desk space and throw your bag under it before taking a seat in the simple desk chair, the backrest squeaking as you rest into it.

His desk is as you expected it to look—messy, but organised in his own little chaotic way. The edges of his computer screen are littered with sticky notes of reminders, his ballpoint pens are all missing their lids, he has a bobble head character of a sports player next to his keyboard and a crumpled paper plane lies hidden beneath a thick notebook.

It’s undoubtedly Jacob, end to end.

The wide variety of sweets and chips resting on old files doesn’t surprise you at all when you tug at the stiff drawer, and you immediately zero in on the ones he’s been sharing with you over the past few weeks.

“Jane, stay out of trouble,” a brunette orders sharply as she passes, briefly catching your attention and the man you had previously bumped into comes to a stop just beside you.

“Aye aye, Captain,” he replies dryly with the growings of a smirk, sipping quietly at the tea in his hands and watching the last few agents file into the conference room before the door closes.

Do people still use saucers? He does. He half turns towards you and eyes you curiously as you sway absent-mindedly in Jacob’s desk chair, breaking into the packet of sour candies.

“You’re not an agent.”

You blink up at him and give a small, polite smile, “No, I’m not.”

He makes a low noise of thought to himself and sits on the edge of the desk opposite to Jacob’s, watching you over the rim of the plain white cup he lifts to his lips.

You shift a little under his study, busying yourself with picking a lemon flavoured candy out from the packet and looking over the various little notes decorating the dated computer screen.

Meeting @ 10 Tues. Picasso retrieval daily @ 8. Get bread. Call ma before she has a damn heart attack—

“How long have you been an artist?”

Eyes rolling back to the stranger, you give a slightly confused, “What? How do you know I’m an artist?”

“You have paint on your fingers,” he replies, like it’s the most obvious thing in the room.

Rubbing your fingers together, you feel the tell tale crack of dried paint over your skin and glance down at it in vague interest. He’s got a really good set of eyes. You shift a little in the seat and pinch the ends of your sleeves before pulling them down further over your hands to hide them from him.

“A few years,” you reply vaguely, “you’re rather observant, Agent Jane.”

It comes across more as an accusation rather than a general statement, and it doesn’t seem to bother him in the slightest. He grins, flashing a nice set of pearly white teeth.

“Patrick,” he supplies, “and I’m a consultant.”

“Didn’t even know that was a thing,” you mutter plainly, not liking the way you feel like a fucking open book with this stranger, “well, shouldn’t you be in there, then?”

You nod towards the closed door of the conference room and Patrick makes a low noise of dismissal, a slight scrunch curling his nose.

“I already know everything about the murders—Lisbon can handle it.”

The word cuts through the air and chills you right to the bone.

“Murders? What murders?”

Patrick looks at you, shrugging lightly.

“That’s why we’re here. The fancy little tracker led this bunch down to the meeting point in California, but we found the bodies first. Deal gone wrong, I’m guessing. The buyer probably found the painting to be a fake, and got rid of the delivery men because of it. Very messy.”

Your stomach turns.

The painting? Your painting?

“What was wrong with the piece?” You ask quietly, voice suddenly strained.

“Not sure,” Patrick murmurs, taking an apparent interest in the way you’re reacting to his information and studying you from over his tea, “guess we’ll know soon enough.”

You swallow, a sting of sweat building along the back of your neck. They knew it was a replica? How? You must’ve done something different, there must’ve been something wrong with it. Otherwise how else would they know? They wouldn’t.

Have you made a mistake?

Is that why Marcus wanted you here? Are you in trouble? What would be the ramifications of your mistake? After all, it’s your fault. People had died because you didn’t focus hard enough on your work. The FBI have probably realised how useless you are if you can’t even convince some shady black market dealers that your pieces are real.

You must’ve been distracted. You never made mistakes, and now you’ve made one that cost lives. How many? It doesn’t matter. All that matters is that it happened, and now you have to live with that knowledge.

People have died. People have died because of you.

You fucked up.

tags: @maievdenoir, @javier-pena, @lv7867, @dihra-vesa, @katronautt, @radiowallet, @januarystears, @missminkylove, @beskarprincessjenny, @mswarriorbabe80, @danidrabbles, @amneris21, @eri16, @absurdthirst, @hnt-escape, @acourtofsnakes, @ezrasbirdie, @mstgsmy66, @lovesbiggerthanpride, @coaaster, @sherala007, @greeneyedblondie44, @wyn-n-tonic, @you-got-me-starry-eyed, @shirks-all-responsibilities, @withasideofmeg, @harriedandharassed, @andruxx, @buckybarneshairpullingkink, @spideysimpossiblegirl, @prostitute-robot-from-the-future, @tanzthompson, @mad-girl-without-a-box, @hope-for-the-best-98, @fangirl-316, @christina-loves, @jediknight122, @hallway5, @xoxabs88xox, @nicolethered, @churchill356, @massivecolorspygiant, @just-here-for-the-moment, @gracie7209, @pinkie289, @lavenderluna10, @goodgriefitsawildworld

#marcus pike x reader #marcus pike x f!reader #marcus pike x you #marcus pike #pedro pascal x reader #the mentalist fic #run to you

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kiefbowl · 8 months ago

Note

What’s your opinion on mayonnaise?

I just made homemade mayo for the first time a couple weeks ago, it was easy and yummy. then I made potato salad with that mayo and it was unbelievable out of this world.

So I'm big on it

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sirowsky-stories · 6 months ago

Text

Bird Men

Summary: You've entered a cooking competition and your competitors are all intimidating, but also secretly sweet, men.

Requested by @bilibiche

Rating: General/Everyone Warnings: Multiple Pedro Characters (Joel Miller, Javi Gutierrez, Marcus Pike, Frankie Morales, and Jack Daniels), two mild bad words, obviously a bit of competition stress, but overall this is just lighthearted fun. Word Count: 1790

You’ve all been tasked with making the perfect roast chicken, something you’ve never really gotten right before, so you’re nervous as you run back and forth in your little kitchen, trying to keep the timeframe you’ve set up for yourself within the one hour and forty-five-minute deadline. Filets are easy, you can do those perfect with your eyes closed, but an entire bird for whatever reason is your weak point. It never comes out just juicy enough. And to add to your stress, all five of your competitors seem perfectly at ease.

It’s not a professional competition, you’re all amateur cooks, but it’s high profile enough that there are cameras present, and a rather large crowd gathered around the outdoor competition area. Part of a local festival, the cook-off is one of dozens of different contests which will take place over a weekend, and the entire town is in attendance.

You entered because of a dare you lost on a particularly wet night at the pub, most of which you can’t remember that clearly, but you do remember the promise to enter the cook-off if you lost a game of pool. So, here you are, entirely out of your league and yet too damned stubborn not to at least try to win.

The other competitors are all men, which is already enough to make you wanna beat them, but even more annoying is the fact that they’re all amazingly good-looking, but somehow, you’ve never seen any one of them before. In a city this small, that seems impossible. Still, you all had to give your addresses when you signed up, at which point you took the liberty of reading theirs, and they’re all locals.

Once you’ve got the chicken in the oven, you set to work with the sides, and after about a minute, the guy in the kitchen behind you says something to you, but you’re not expecting anyone to talk, so you don’t catch it.

“Huh?” you ask, glancing over your shoulder at him.

His name’s Javi and he has the most gorgeous hair you’ve ever seen on a guy. He’s tanned and wearing a silky soft shirt in pale pink, which suits him perfectly.

“You forgot to start the timer,” he repeats with a smile and a tiny wink, and you’re momentarily distracted by how lovely his eyes are.

“Oh, crap… Thanks,” you throw back, suddenly feeling terribly disheveled in your already stained blue t-shirt with a glittery silver unicorn on the front, and your hair tangled in the little beads of sweat around your face.

“No problem. You got this, chica,” he whispers encouragingly, and for whatever reason, his words really move you.

All at once, breathing gets a little easier and the worst of your stress seems to evaporate.

You’ve been squaring up against guys for most of your life, being the kid who stood up for your friends at school, fighting the bullies that they never dared to even talk back to, or having to play football with the boys because there weren’t enough girls for a team of your own. But not once in your life can you recall ever getting support or encouragement from any guy. Well, except for your dad, who is arguably your biggest supporter in all things.

Feeling a smile spread across your cheeks, you set the timer and then continue with the potatoes, carrots and broccoli, soon disappearing into your own little world as your focus narrows with the task. A sudden clanging draws your attention to the left, where another contestant, you believe his name is Jack, has just dropped a big bowl of homemade mayonnaise on the floor, and is staring at the mess with raised brows.

“Well, that w’nt part o’ the plan…” he drawls in a deep Texan accent, before he shrugs and carries on like nothing happened, cleaning up the mess in no time and setting to work on making a new batch.

And since you’re still grateful for the encouragement from Javi, you decide to pay it forward.

“Don’t worry about it, Jack. There’s plenty of time,” you say, smiling at him when he looks up at you.

“Why, thank you, sweetheart,” he replies with a nod and respectful touch to the brim of his bespoke cowboy hat.

Then, as if the few polite comments at the three kitchens in the front have unlocked the tense silence you’ve all submitted to, despite there being no rules against talking, the remaining three contestants begin to join in as well.

“Am I the only one sweating like I’m running a marathon?” the guy behind Jack says, and a peek at his nametag reminds you his name’s Frankie.

“Not used to competing?” one of the two at the back, Marcus, asks, and he does look perfectly calm as he cleans off a few tools in between tasks.

“Nope,” Frankie replies. “But I’m guessing you are.”

“I’m a cop,” Marcus explains, and the rest of you all groan, because if anyone’s gonna hold up under pressure, it’ll be the law-enforcer.

While you’re turned back, you take a moment to observe the men, noting that the other guy at the back, you didn’t catch his name and you can’t see his tag, is having trouble with a blender.

“Hey, need a hand with that?” you ask, and after a moment he looks up, realizing you’re talking to him.

“Uh… Never used one of these before,” he admits, and before you’ve had a chance to step in, Javi turns around from his position between you.

“Yeah, these are a bit complicated. Ignore all those buttons with the funny symbols and just use the power one. Here,” he quickly shows the man, and when he turns back to his kitchen, you see that the other man’s name is Joel.

“How stupid are we, helpin’ out the competition,” Jack chuckles from the front, but his grin is of the heartfelt kind, clearly enjoying the lighter mood which has developed with the lack of silence.

“More fun to win an even fight,” Marcus chips in.

“Easy for the stress-free dumbass to say,” Frankie grumbles, making everyone laugh.

“How does being stress-free make me a dumbass?”

“Oh, you know, the same way that being a cop makes you more attractive. It’s all in the eyes of the beholder.”

“So, in other words, because you think I look like an ass, I am an ass.”

“Bingo!” Frankie concludes, clicking his tongue in approval, and Marcus just huffs bemusedly and continues working.

It’s quiet for about three seconds after that, and then a deep rumbling voice sounds from the third kitchen on your side, just as you’re taking a bite of your potatoes to make sure the seasoning turned out right.

“By that logic, I’d say Frankie’s a dick,” Joel summarizes without even looking up from his cutting board, and the bite you were chewing comes flying out of your mouth with how hard you cackle.

All six of you end up giggling for a good while after that, and so does most of the crowd. But then the bell rings, signaling you’ve only got thirty minutes left, and suddenly you’re all back to sharp focus. It is still a contest after all.

You can’t sample the chicken before it’s served, so all you can do is try and present it as appetizingly as possible, and you’re quite pleased with the presentation you’ve come up with. But as all six birds are put next to each other on the display table before the judges, your confidence wavers. All the boys have an eye for esthetics, it seems.

As always, the ruling takes forever, since every judge has to cleanse their pallet before trying the next dish, and of course, take lots of dramatic pauses to extend the spectacle as long as possible for the waiting crowd. But in the end, the cowboy takes the prize. You guess there’s just no competing with the deep appreciation of meat and its preparation in the south, where Jack obviously grew up.

Surprisingly though, he’s a much humbler winner than you’d expected, and quietly suggests you should all celebrate together at a local bar, on his treat, since the prize is five hundred dollars in cash. Having nothing better to do, and no reason to turn down free drinks, you all agree, and head off to the city center together as soon as the cameras are done with you.

And to your absolute delight, the moment the pressure’s gone and there’s no rivalry between you anymore, all the guys turn out to be real sweethearts. Not once during the course of the evening do you feel in any way unsafe around them. Contrarily, they actually protect you from the other drunks, even after they’ve all gotten plenty inebriated themselves, which just makes you laugh.

“You know, it was a bet I lost over a game of pool that made me enter the contest,” you explain to Javi after having lost a game to Marcus and turning down a rematch, which the attractive cop had wanted to bet on.

“Really?” Javi smiles, and then raises his glass to you. “In that case, I’d like to propose a toast to whomever bet against you, because without them, we would never have met you and this evening would have been a lot less wonderful.”

“Javi… are you hitting on me?” you say with an unserious accusation in your tone, and yet he immediately puts his hands up in surrender.

“Not at all. You’re just a lovely person, and I’m happy to get to know you.”

Before you can answer that, Jack turns up with a fresh round of drinks, this time an expensive whiskey for each of you.

“Are you sure you wanna spend the entire winnings on booze?” Joel asks while smelling the liquid with an appreciative set to his jaw.

“Well, partner,” the cowboy starts, somehow sounding even more steadfast and reliable the drunker he gets. “If there’s one thing I’ve learned in this life, it’s that good friends are way more valuable than cash. And I gotta say, as easy and comfortable as this evenin’s felt, I’m hopin’ it means I’ve gained some good ones.”

No one says anything in response, you just look at each other with soft little smiles on your faces, then you raise your glasses and tip your heads at each other, silently agreeing that this day is only the beginning of what will likely become lifelong relationships. Who would’ve thought when you’d gotten out of bed that morning, moaning about how you didn’t even wanna go, you’d end up having the best day of your life, all thanks to some grilled fucking chicken.

THE END

#sirowsky's birthday writing challenge 2024 #happy birthday to me #multiple pedro characters #joel miller #javi gutierrez #marcus pike #frankie morales #jack daniels #tuwomt fanfiction #the mentalist fanfiction #the last of us fanfiction #triple frontier fanfiction #kingsman fanfiction #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal character fanfiction #sirowsky stories

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leggeteconme · 1 year ago

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Reasons you need this herby pea soup and pesto-ham grilled cheese in your life:

1. It’s delicious. The combination of flavors is unreal.

2. It’s cheap. No fancy produce or expensive ingredients required. Everything can be bought for very little cost.

3. It’s quick and easy. Unlike most soups I make, there’s no roasting or anything that takes a lot of time. Sauté and blend. That’s about it.

4. It’s packed with protein. I use bone broth to bulk out the protein from the peas, and the ham and cheese give you even more. And it’s balanced with fats, carbs, and produce, giving you the perfect hearty and well-balanced meal for the end of a long day.

Now the recipe ^^

Pea soup ingredients:

• Olive oil

• Chicken bone broth

• As much butter as you want

• Herbs of your choice (fresh or dried, pretty much everything goes with peas so pick what you like)

• Salt and black pepper

• Onion of your choice (I always go for yellow onion and shallot)

• Lots of garlic (I use a whole bulb because I have problems)

• A lot of peas (~6 cups)

Step 1: Chop your garlic and onion (save the scraps for vegetable stock!), and sauté in a generous drizzle of olive oil over medium high heat.

Step 2: Season garlic and onion with salt, pepper, and herbs to taste. Add peas and butter, and cook until heated through. Cover with broth and blend until smooth.

Grilled cheese ingredients:

• Good white bread (doesn’t have to be fancy, this loaf was $1.99, but fresh baked goes such a long way)

• More butter

• Mayonnaise

• Pesto (homemade is best, but my basil plants haven’t recovered enough from the last batch for me to make more, so store-bought is just fine!)

• Two types of shredded cheese: one for flavor and one for meltiness (I’m a diehard swiss and mozzarella girl)

• Smoked ham slices

Spread a little mayo and a generous bit of pesto on one side of each of two slices of bread. Add one type of cheese to each slice and a few slices of ham to one side. Cook in melted butter over medium heat until the cheese melts, flip the sandwich together, and cook until golden on both sides.

Cut that sandwich in half, ladle up the soup, and dive in :)

#food #healthy food #cooking #recipe #soup and sandwich #pea soup #grilled cheese

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remembertoeat · 1 year ago

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Dinner Recipe: Chicken Salad

TIME: ★★★★

PRICE: ★★★★

EASE: ★★★★

CLEANUP: ★★★★

I love homemade chicken salad. A lot. Despite my mayo aversion which I will address later. This is one of those recipes that fires on all cylinders. It's so quick to make once you have the cooked chicken- only about 10 minutes. You can use pre-cooked chicken or just cook your own chicken breast (it takes about 15-20 minutes for me.) Other than that, it's literally just mixing everything in a bowl. You don't have to separate everything into little bowls like I did here. I just did that so you could see the ingredients. 1 bowl (+ whatever you cooked your chicken in.) Bam. Easy cleanup.

It's great on bread (we like croissants when we're feeling fancy,) and just like... putting a big spoonful on some greens? Delicious. And even 1 big chicken breast makes TONS of leftovers. Tips: -Chill the chicken salad after mixing if you've just cooked the chicken breast. It's way better cold. -You could totally add apples or dried cranberries- things like that. It adds nice, sweet pops of flavor! -I've made this with almonds, walnuts, and pecans. It's all great. -I never make this with tarragon. Nothing against tarragon, I just ALWAYS forget to get it. -My spouse loves eating this as a dip with corn chips. I don't get it, but he swears by it, so maybe you'll like it! - A brief aside about Mayo: OKAY HEAR ME OUT I do not like mayonnaise. I've always had problems with it. But I love this dish. HERE are the things I do to bypass my mayo squick: -I get avocado oil mayo. I KNOW it's effectively the same thing, but it tricks my dumb stupid brain. -I cut the mayo with greek yogurt or sour cream. YMMV but you can play around with it based on what flavor you like. -I just use a little less mayo/binder.

Ultimate Chicken Salad (Downshiftology)

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askwhatsforlunch · 5 months ago

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Toast Skagen

A refreshing but also indulgent entrée, this delicious Toast Skagen takes me back to warm Summer nights in Stockholm! Happy Friday!

Ingredients (serves 1):

1 heaped tablespoon Mayonnaise

1 fluffy sprig Garden Dill + a Dill flower, for garnish (optional)

1 thin slice red onion

1/2 teaspoon caster sugar

1/2 teaspoon apple cider vinegar

half a dozen beautiful prawns, cooked (boiled or seamed) and cooled

a slice Soft White Bread

4 beautiful lettuce leaves, rinsed and dried

1/4 cucumber

1/2 small lemon

Spoon Mayonnaise in a small bowl.

Finely chop Garden Dill and red onion, and add to the Mayonnaise. Give a good stir until well-combined.

Then, stir in sugar and apple cider vinegar until well-blended. Set aside.

Peel the prawns and cut them into small chunks, saving one or two of the smallest whole.

Stir prawns into the Mayonnaise mixture, mixing well to coat evenly. Cover with cling film, and chill in the refrigerator, at least an hour.

Toast Soft White Bread, and allow to cool.

Arrange lettuce leaves onto serving plate.

Cut cucumber into thin slices and halve them.

Cut one or two very thin slices off the lemon halve.

Place toasted Soft White Bread slice onto the lettuce.

Top with prawn mixture, and garnish with a few cucumber slices, arranging the rest of them onto the lettuce, lemon slices, and Dill flower, if using.

Enjoy Toast Skagen immediately, with a glass of chilled dry white wine, like Chardonnay.

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gildedpanic · 3 months ago

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Now that I have my own kitchen, I've been cooking more. I made donuts (and various other foodstuffs)!

More of this week's recipes below the cut :-)

~~Donuts~~

Dough (⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️): https://www.biggerbolderbaking.com/no-yeast-homemade-donuts/#wprm-recipe-container-18314

Glaze (⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️): 1 cup powdered sugar, 1 tsp vanilla extract, 3 tbsp water. For the chocolate I added some unsweetened cocoa powder.

Notes: I used Bobs Red Mill Egg Replacer, storebrand vegan butter, and water instead of the buttermilk because I accidentally left my milk out and had to throw it away. I made my own powdered sugar by combining granulated sugar and cornstarch in a blender.

~~Bread~~

Recipe (⭐️⭐️⭐️): https://anitalianinmykitchen.com/no-yeast-bread/

Notes: I've been using this recipe for years. It's super simple and easy if you just want something quick. I've found it to be better for more savory recipes if you add in some Italian seasoning to the dry ingredients and brush it with olive oil so the crust is a little crispier. Although, my sister loves the recipe as is and often eats it with just jam/butter.

~~Chickpea Concoction~~

Main(⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️): https://www.youtube.com/shorts/hgCPzx1u478

Flatbread (⭐️⭐️⭐️): https://www.youtube.com/shorts/RYvU-25g-Ow

Notes: I didn't have a chili or red pepper, but I added a bunch of spinach for the extra iron. I also forgot to buy turmeric last week so I had to do without that. It was obviously pretty bland at first, so I just kept adding spices/seasoning until it tasted right. This recipe came out really good, but I honestly couldn't tell you how to replicate it yourself. The base is a good start, so just follow your cooking instincts and believe in yourself? The flatbread was nothing special; used a tiny bit of maple syrup in place of the honey and it came out fine. (PS. There's rice beneath the chickpeas) (PPS. Save the aquafaba! You can do a bunch with it, including making homemade mayonnaise)

~~Seitan~~

Recipe (⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️): https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yxNaThLDrsk&t=204s

Notes: Second time making this recipe. I didn't have sage but I added a tiny bit of Italian seasoning. Used sriracha instead of the sweet chili sauce and left out the garlic because I ran out. I think I accidentally added too much oil to the pan, so watch out for that. ALSO: Make super duper sure you are not cooking this too fast. I didn't add the sauce while it was in the pan because, again, way too much oil. I should honestly give this recipe 5 stars for how easy this seitan was compared to literally every other recipe. Would go well with some broccoli.

~~Bannocks~~

Recipe (⭐️⭐️⭐️):https://www.scotchandscones.com/scottish-bannocks/

Notes: Really good use of oats if you're someone (like me) who hates the texture of oatmeal. Only blended the oats 3/4 of the way so there were still some full bits. Added ~0.5 scoop of vanilla protein powder and used vegan butter. The chocolate topping is just peanut butter mixed with a bit of cocoa powder. I baked it for a little longer than the recipe said to. Pretty good, but next time I would probably add some more stuff like cinnamon/maple syrup/apples/etc. Also you could definitely add some vital wheat gluten in there if you are looking to get better macros as the baking powder should get rid of any strange taste.

~~Microwave Red Beans and Rice~~

Recipe (⭐️⭐️⭐️): Rice, canned red beans, canned diced tomatoes, and a buttload of cajun seasoning.

Notes: When my mom went away to college she complained about missing my grandma's red beans and rice, so my grandpa bought her a dozen cans of kidney beans to eat raw out of the can. This is a half-step up from that. It takes like three minutes. It’s just some cooked rice out of the fridge, add ~1/4 can tomatoes + ~1/2 can beans, microwave for 1.5 minutes, and dump in the seasoning.

~~Crab Sushi~~

Recipe(⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️): https://www.youtube.com/shorts/XiN-QyUWt8c

Notes: Okay, I know it looks gross. But! This crab salad is very very good. I've made it 3 times now (or 4? When I made it the second time my mom ended up eating all the crab salad before I could roll it up and I had to make a whole new batch). My sisters like it even though they hate sushi. My dad likes it even though he dislikes veganism. When I made it this week I didn't even have any cucumber or avocado but it still tasted /okay/. I would recommend julienning some carrots if you have any extra, but that's just because I like my maki to have some crunch. Also, if you make a lot of sushi please make your life easier and pick up some Mizkan Sushi Seasoning.

~~"Arepas"~~

Recipe: 2 parts corn meal/flour, 1 part AP flour, some salt and oil/butter. Pour in warm water until it forms a dough, then fill with some beans and mozzarella and fry.

Notes: Please no one get mad at me for calling them arepas. Good with avocado if you have it.

~~Macaroni and Seitan Nougats~~

Macaroni(⭐️⭐️⭐️): https://theeburgerdude.com/vegan-instant-mac-cheese/#recipe

Seitan(⭐️): https://www.sixvegansisters.com/2018/08/24/seitan-fried-chicken/

Notes: The mac was super easy, and TheeBurgerDude has never led me astray so I suspect the recipe would be at least four stars if I wasn't missing literally half the ingredients. I didn't have mushroom seasoning, lactic acid, or msg, but I added some extra salt and nooch yeast. I also still didn't have milk so I mixed flour and cornstarch with water and used that for both the mac and nougats, along with some extra butter. The seitan was pretty gross, but I think that was mostly my fault. From what I can tell, I may not have kneaded the dough for long enough, my chicken broth:water ratio was off, I simmered the seitan at too high of a heat, and I fried it too quickly. Glad I only made a half batch. Maybe would have tasted better with a thick layer of breadcrumbs?

~~Seitan Nougats 2: Electric Boogaloo~~

Recipe(⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️): https://www.stephsunshine.com/vegan-life/crispy-fried-tofu/

Notes: I've used this recipe a ton and it works well with regular and lentil burmese tofu. I usually add some extra spices to it, but this time I only added some paprika to get it kinda similar to what the original seitan recipe called for. I used the leftover seitan dough from the previous recipe (boiled, but not yet fried) and pressed the pieces into very flat discs because the seitan puffs up while frying. It came out much better, maybe 3.5 stars. Did not pair well with the macaroni though. The end result oddly reminded me more of tempura than anything else, so it might work well with that sorta stuff? If you were making it from scratch, I would replace the chicken broth with vegetable broth. Relatively cheap and filling, though (this photo is ~$1.87, 823 kal, 46g protein, 115g carbs, 31g fat. Two servings of mac + One serving seitan)!

#I just bought four pounds of vital wheat gluten so I am in dire need of new recipes #It occurs to me that I may need to eat more vegetables #my posts #vegan #vegan recipes #cooking

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