#how often... does marcus touch his cheek like that???? | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

forever-rogue · 4 years ago

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Would you be up for writing a SMUT fiction with the one & only, Marcus Moreno? Where Y/N is like 5 years younger then Marcus, but they fall in love anyway. Y/N meets his daughter and they have dinner together, but then she has a sleepover at a friends house and then Marcus and Y/N fuck? 😂 Idk, something like that.

I love Marcus so much, okay? I am weak for this man! Enjoy - this does have spice, the sweetest of spice - 18+ only!

Marcus Moreno x fem!reader; warnings: smut

Pedro Characters Masterlist

»»————-　♡　————-««

Marcus was a man of many things - conviction, steadfast in his ways, kind, selfless, funny, handsome - the list went on and on. But among the many things, he was also incredulous at the fact that someone like you could be smitten with him.

But here you were - his lover, his friend, his partner. So many brilliant things all wrapped into one. He'd been hesitant to approach you, considering himself to be too dorky, too lame, and too old. He was only a few years older, nothing much, but it had never seemed to bother you. As soon as he'd met you and felt that familiar warmth wash over him, he'd felt like an old fool.

More times than you could count had you caught him staring at you with that silly, goofy smile on his face. But he was never going to make a move, no, nope, definitely not. That would have been a sin, practically blasphemous and he would never entertain the notion and he was nervous just thinking about it and -

You had casually strolled him up after a mission, giving him a smile before sitting down next to him and cutting to the chase.

"Do you want to go out with me?" Marcus nearly spit out his coffee as you sat there and watched him a soft smile tugging on the corners of your mouth. Once he calmed down and quit coughing, he opened and closed his mouth a few times, trying to get his bearings.

"Do I...what?" he pushed up his glasses - surely he couldn't have heard you correctly.

"Do you, Marcus Moreno," you pointed at him with a bemused expression, "want to go out with me? And I'll make this super clear, do you want to go out with me on a date, with romantic intentions? I'd like to take you to dinner sometime."

"Me?" he bumbled as a tinge of pink flushed into his cheeks.

"Of course you," you laughed lightly at him and he visibly relaxed at the warm sound, "unless there's another Marcus Moreno around I should know about?"

"I...no..no. Only me."

"I hope not," you insisted as you reached over and straightened his glasses, "because I'm quite fond of this one. You don't have to of course...please tell me if I'm overstepping boundaries since you are technically the boss. And perhaps I flatter myself with thinking you might feel the same."

"I'd love to," he nodded as he relaxed and grinned back around you, "I...ugh...yeah. I'll really like that."

"Great," you beamed at him, making him melt all over again, "its a date."

»»————-　♡　————-««

That had been a few months ago, and some days he still couldn't believe his luck. Then again, neither could you - how you had gotten on lucky as to call Marcus your own you would never know.

Marcus had been nervous about stepping back into the dating field, well you, you were the first and only, but you'd made it so easy. There was never any awkwardness or worry or fear...it all just fell into sweet, blissful place.

The thing he has been most nervous about though was Missy. Her approval meant everything, she was his world after all. But he also wanted you to like her because you were also becoming an increasingly big part of his world.

But his worries had been for naught because you fell in love with the young girl when you'd met her and vice versa. Now the two of you were thick as thieves, often ganging up on him. Not that he minded of course; his heart hadn't felt so full and happy in a long time and that was everything to him.

"Honey?" you put your hand on his shoulder before giving it a gentle squeeze. Marcus had been halfway through stirring a pot of pasta, homemade that afternoon by yourself and Missy, but had completely zoned out. As soon as he felt your gentle touch he seemed to snap back into reality, a small smile crossing his features. You gently tapped the side of his before he leaned in and kissed you, "What's going on up there, Moreno?"

"Nothing," he turned back to the pot and gave it a final stir before putting the lid back on. He reached for you, his hands easily finding purchase on your hips as he tugged your towards him. You made a small sound of surprise before snaking your arms around his neck and carding a hand through his dark locks, "just thinking about how much I love you."

Love. That's what this was. He knew that now, hell, he'd known for some time, but he'd been nervous to admit to it. He never thought he'd be saying those words again, at least not to anyone besides Missy or his mother.

And it had terrified him. It had scared him to death - the idea of loving another again. At first he didn't know how to respond, how to react or what to do. It was overwhelming and all consuming, and yet...it made him happy. So happy. And it was apparent to everyone around him - how filled with life he was again, how the light never faded from his eyes, how his smile was bigger than ever. That's when he knew exactly what it was.

Of course, Marcus being Marcus, was so concerned with when and how to tell that he blurted it out during the middle of sex. It was right when you were both on the precipice of your climaxes, and he couldn't help himself as he nuzzled his face into your shoulder.

It had been slightly unexpected, sure, but you just kissed him and repeated the words back to him sweetly - reverently. You knew too that this wasn't like anything you'd experienced before...this was everything.

"I love you too, Marcus," you whispered as you trailed a few fingers along jaw, touching the patchy stubble that you loved so much, "I-"

"The kitchen is a communal place," Missy groaned at the two of you as he came down the stairs, her backpack and sleepover gear in tow, "I'd appreciate if we kept it that way."

"Very funny," Marcus pulled back from you with a wink as you went over and helped Missy with her stuff, "I'm the adult I make the rules!"

"Whatever Dad," she sassed him as you just laughed, "see you tomorrow. Love you!"

"Love you too kiddo," Marcus offered her a wave as you carried her bag to the door for her.

"Have fun with your friends," you leaned down and gave her a tight hug. She responded in kind before taking her things in hand, "don't get into too much trouble, yeah? And if you need anything, we'll be right here."

"We won't," she insisted with a sly little grin that you couldn't quite believe, "have fun too! See you tomorrow. I love you!"

And just as quick as a flash she was bolting out the door and down the street to her friend's house. It took you a moment to recover as you realized what she had said. You walked back to the kitchen with a grin on your face and your heart feeling like it was going to overflow at any moment.

"What?" Marcus asked as you walked in a daze.

"Missy," your voice was soft as you leaned against the counter, "she said she loved me...its the first time she's said it."

"And why wouldn't she?" he too felt an overwhelming rush of emotion as he realized just how much this meant to him, "you're pretty amazing after all."

"I love her too, so much...I just...I want her to know I love you and her and I want to be a part of your lives but I would ever try to replace her mom," you explained as he nodded in understanding. Marcus moved to stand in front of you, his hands finding either side of your face as he pressed a kiss to your forehead, "how did I get so lucky to find the two of you? I love you both more than you will ever know."

"And so we do," he promised as he leaned in and properly kissed you, "I love you."

Without thinking, you hopped onto the counter and wrapped your legs around his waist before wrapping your arms around his neck. His large, warm hands slowly worked their way from your waist to up and under your shirt, as he skimmed your soft skin.

Your soft kisses quickly turned into hungry, needy ones as you pulled off his glasses and tossed them aside. Marcus went from your lips to your jaw before working his way down your neck, biting and sucking at the delicate skin.

"Marcus," you almost moaned his name as you pressed yourself against the hardness you could already feel in his jeans, "this is a communal space. Keep it clean."

"Don't want to," he huffed with laughter as his hand moved to the button of your jeans and he quickly undid the fly. He lifted you up briefly as he pulled down your jeans and underwear as you reached for his jeans to repeat the process.

Your mouths almost never parted, except for the soft giggles that flowed as you felt more like naughty schoolchildren that could be caught at any second, rather than grown adults.

"Marcus - the food," you suddenly remembered. He shook his head as you paused for a moment.

"Its all off," he promised while cupping your breasts in his hands, earning a delighted moan from you, "it can all wait. Dessert first."

"Then take me," you tugged down just jeans and boxers, pushing them down as he wasted no time in lining himself up at your entrance and slowly pushing in. When he bottomed out, you both groaned in between kisses as he gave you a moment to adjust.

Then there was no rush, and he started to move languidly, setting a gentle pace as he kept on kissing you. It was sweet, sex with Marcus was always something you thoroughly enjoyed, especially times like this. It was so intimate, so loving, it was everything and all consuming at once.

"'m not gonna last," he whispered as he left a trail of fiery kisses along your jaw. You nodded in agreement as you held him close, trying to memorize every touch, every feel.

"'s okay, honey," you promised as you guided him back to your lips, "come with me, please. I love you Marcus, I love you so much."

That was all it took to get him to reach his peak as your walls hugged him and you both came with small moans. Marcus held you tightly as you tried to catch your breath and he stayed buried inside you, peppering you in the most saccharine of kisses, "I love you too. More than you will ever know."

»»————-　♡　————-««

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#marcus moreno #marcus moreno x reader #marcus moreno x you #marcus moreno x fem!reader #wcbh #pedro pascal #pedro pascal x reader #we can be heroes

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knivesareout · 3 years ago

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marcus moreno sfw alphabet

About a week ago, @michaelperry messaged me and asked how I felt about collab’ing because she was having some soft Marcus feels and we’re always feeling soft about this man over here so now we have this! Hope y’all enjoy! Read it on AO3 here.

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A = Affection (How affectionate are they? How do they show affection?)

In both platonic and romantic relationships, Marcus is pretty affectionate. Whether he’s touching your arm reassuringly or offering an ear to listen to your problems, he wants to show you that he loves and cares for you. He sees it very much as coming out of his role as a leader—perhaps he can’t always be the one to fix things for you, but he’s intent on always showing that he supports you. And to his mind, affection is support.

B = Best friend (What would they be like as a best friend? How would the friendship start?)

Friendships with Marcus would probably start out by sharing mutual interests, but he’s also definitely built some relationships out of little things: one-off jokes, being the only two people not in a conversation at a party, things like that. There’s an ease to Marcus that makes it easy to turn those moments of camaraderie into real friendship.

C = Cuddles (Do they like to cuddle? How would they cuddle?)

Marcus is a cuddler, through and through. It’s comforting and warm and gives him a sense of security and peace. A morning cuddle before getting up, one before falling asleep and anytime he can get his arms around you and just hold you. He’s an arms wrapped tightly, nose buried wherever he can find your skin kind of cuddler. And though Missy is grown, he’ll still find her laying her head on his chest and squeezing him tight.

D = Domestic (Do they want to settle down? How are they at cooking and cleaning?)

Marcus is the definition of domestic. Look it up in the dictionary and a picture of this man will be there beside it. Settling down is always something on his mind since his wife passed, craving the routine and feeling of sharing his life with someone. He cooks, cleans, and does laundry like a damn champ: sorting everyone’s clothes by colors and fabrics. He has his bedtime routine down to a science and loves seeing your toothbrush next to his when you finally take that next step.

E = Ending (If they had to break up with their partner, how would they do it?)

If your relationship with Marcus necessitates an actual break-up, things have gotten serious. Lives merging even if there aren’t rings on fingers sort of serious. So because he takes his serious relationships… seriously, he’ll tell you if he starts to feel like the relationship is going downhill. The two of you will be sharing a quiet night in and he’ll just open up and admit that he feels like things aren’t working as well as they used to.

Because of that, though, if he were trying to end things, you’d… know already. Either because things wouldn’t have gotten better, or because perhaps they got worse. And so it is that things would go out not with a bang, but with a whimper—him kinda sadly looking at you across the kitchen one morning and you being like, “Yeah, you’re right.”

F = Fiance(e) (How do they feel about commitment? How quick would they want to get married?)

Marcus is in it to win it when he finds the right one. He hates the idea of wasting his time, your time, when he just knows. The idea of commitment only phases him in the way that he worries for Missy’s sake but he trusts that if something didn’t feel right, she would tell him. Marcus proposes after 6 months but gives you plenty of time to just be engaged, the ring on your finger being enough to tide him over because every time he sees it, he knows you’re his.

G = Gentle (How gentle are they, both physically and emotionally?)

Let’s say that Marcus is gently assertive. Emotionally, he’s not going to steamroll you, but he always wants to make sure you know where he stands. To some degree, he feels like holding back too much is akin to lying, so he’s unafraid to say hard things even knowing that they might knock you over.

He’s plenty assertive physically, too, because in case it’s not clear from his love of cuddling, Marcus loves touch. But as a strange side effect of the Heroics, he’s particularly aware of how he’s touching when he’s not on the job. He’s careful about not wanting to get too intense (unless you want him to).

H = Hugs (Do they like hugs? How often do they do it? What are their hugs like?)

Marcus loves hugs. He loves the simple intimacy of them—from a quick goodbye hug to something more emotional where you just collapse against his chest after a long day. And there is nothing like a hug from Marcus. His strong arms and broad chest envelop you in the safest, most comforting way. He’s warm without being hot, soft but sturdy. He can just tell when you need one too, holding his arms out when you give him a simple look.

I = I love you (How fast do they say the L-word?)

When Marcus knows, he knows. It only takes Marcus a few months to know—after he’s spilled every possible dark, terrible secret he has and you don’t look at him any differently. When he introduces you to Missy and though there’s a bit of hesitation at first, you two catch on like wildfire after the initial awkwardness. It’s when he can see how well you fit into his family, how easy it would be for him to make room in his life for you and he realizes he already has.

He says it after a typical night for the three of you, dinner and a movie that Missy’s picked out because it was her turn. After he’s tucked her into bed and comes down to find you putting on your shoes to head home. He tilts your chin up and says the words so easily, like he’s said them a million times before (and he has, over and over in his head when he looks at you) and asks you to stay.

J = Jealousy (How jealous do they get? What do they do when they’re jealous?)

Because touch is so important to him as a way of expressing his affection and desire for you, Marcus’s jealousy might get stirred a bit when he sees someone put their arms around you or a hand on your shoulder. He’s secure enough in your relationship that he doesn’t see things as a real threat, but yeah, he might let out a low, warning growl and pull you close, maybe kiss you on the cheek.

K = Kisses (What are their kisses like? Where do they like to kiss you? Where do they like to be kissed?)

Marcus is soft and gentle at first, his lips a little chapped. He can’t bother to remember to pack chapstick with him because he’s busy.

He likes to kiss the spot under your ear that makes you shiver, then across your cheek to find your lips. It’s easy to lose yourself in his kisses, passionate and all consuming.

Marcus likes to be kissed right below the hollow of his throat, where a small freckle sits and he’s just a little bit more sensitive there than any other place above his shoulders.

L = Little ones (How are they around children?)

Marcus is great with kids and always has been. He's gentle and patient with them, loves listening to their over the top stories full of gibberish and makes sure to nod in all the right places. Babies quiet their tears when he holds them because his hands are just comforting and strong, making them feel safe. When Missy came into his life, he was wrapped around her finger and she was a total daddy’s girl, reaching for him more than anyone.

M = Morning (How are mornings spent with them?)

Marcus wakes with the early dawn, liking to get in a run before he starts his day. He’s always downstairs before you are, freshly showered and drinking his morning cup of coffee with the paper. He can take a slow morning from time to time but you’re usually shoving him out of bed after 30 minutes or so, his fidgeting annoying. You don’t complain when he pulls you into the shower with him when you can’t manage to fall back asleep.

N = Night (How are nights spent with them?)

Nights are often unpredictable because Marcus’s days are unpredictable: the Heroics aren’t really dictated by “weekday” vs. “weekend.” Some days probably don’t look much different than an office job, but some days he’s having to do big important saving the world things. So the tone of your evening is often spontaneous, with the general sentiment of, “Oh, you didn’t have to save the world today? Hmm maybe we should go out for dinner or a movie.”

That said, finding time of any sort together can be difficult, so the two of you are often content to stay in and just keep things low key. Really enjoy each other’s company.

O = Open (When would they start revealing things about themselves? Do they say everything all at once or wait a while to reveal things slowly?)

You can expect a pretty steady stream of vulnerability from Marcus in the early stages of your relationship in particular. He won’t unload all of his baggage on you, certainly not at once, but he absolutely wants to share everything with you, and in his mind, being open about himself is crucial to showing how serious he is about you. The first cue that he wants you to really know him comes when he opens up about being a widower. It’s difficult, it’s personal and intimate to Marcus, but he also sees it as being inevitably impactful on your relationship, so he feels you need to know. Those are the sorts of things he wants to make sure to share sooner rather than later.

P = Patience (How easily angered are they?)

Marcus Moreno? Legendary leader of a group of superheroes? He’s developed a very cool head from conflict mediation that carries over into most arguments or scenarios where his anger might be provoked.

But all of this goes out the window when Missy is involved. If Missy’s in danger, Marcus immediately jumps into protective dad mode, and his anger comes out full-force in an instant.

Q = Quizzes (How much would they remember about you? Do they remember every little detail you mention in passing, or do they kind of forget everything?)

Marcus is pretty detail-oriented in general, so he’s great at remembering things about you, but he especially internalizes things you share in moments of real vulnerability or while seeking out his advice. He wants to be able to check in about it later, or remember details so that when you bring them up again, he’s immediately on the same page.

R = Remember (What is their favorite moment in your relationship?)

It’s easy for Marcus to remember the first time he really thought, “Wow, this is it. I want this.”

It was a spontaneous trip to the science museum downtown, you mentioning it off hand the night before after seeing a flyer up in the grocery store and Marcus booking the tickets before falling asleep. There was a science fair at school that Missy was dithering over whether or not to apply for and you figured a trip to the museum would give her that final push.

It was about half way through the museum when Marcus had realized he’d lost the two of you and he went searching through a few rooms when he found the both of you, bent over a robot and chatting about it excitedly. He watched you pull Missy into your side, squeezing her tight, and that’s when he knew.

Later that night, when you’re both nestled in bed with your head on his chest, you tell him Missy decided to sign up for the science fair.

He buys a ring the next day.

S = Security (How protective are they? How would they protect you? How would they like to be protected?)

Especially in the honeymoon phase of your relationship, Marcus goes on high-alert whenever you’re in a context that could even possibly be read as dangerous: even out at bars, he’s keeping an eye out for bad guys who might try to hit on you, not really as a jealousy thing but because he wants you to be safe. And God forbid you end up in possible danger because of a threat the Heroics are dealing with; as much as he doesn’t want to, he can’t help fretting over you in particular.

T = Try (How much effort would they put into dates, anniversaries, gifts, everyday tasks?)

Marcus likes to keep things casual unless it’s a special occasion and then he’s pulling out all stops: hotel booked, dinner reservations and a night all about you.

He definitely tries to lessen the burden of everyday tasks for you, or as much as he can manage while still juggling work. He makes sure he’s still pulling his weight and not leaving them to you just because you’re less busy.

Marcus is a random gift giver: I saw this and thought of you kind of gifts are his specialty, and they are always something that’ll make you less stressed. Like, when he overheard you complaining about the lack of storage in the pantry and the next day there was a box full of acrylic storage containers shipped to the house with a note attached that read, “Until I can build you something better, I hope these help.”

U = Ugly (What would be some bad habits of theirs?)

There are a few bad habits of Marcus’s that drive you wild (like leaving the toilet seat up when he’s in a hurry or the sink covered in his beard trimmings when he forgets to lay a towel down), but the absolute worst is when he clips his toenails and leaves the clippings wherever they land.

V = Vanity (How concerned are they with their looks?)

Marcus doesn’t really care what the average person on the street thinks of him, but he cares very much what Missy thinks, and also what you think. With Missy, it’s more that sometimes he enjoys messing with her, just a little bit. Wearing a tacky pair of shoes or a goofy t-shirt if he knows that she’s in a good enough mood to just be giggly and embarrassed about it. You, on the other hand… Well. He wants you to be into him in every way, so he cares. Of course he does.

W = Whole (Would they feel incomplete without you?)

When Marcus became a widower, Missy became his “other half.” He put so much love into her, wanting her to feel safe and supported after their shared loss, and part of that is because he did feel like his wife made him whole. At a time when everything was hard, when he easily could have felt incomplete, being there for Missy meant everything. That was where he allowed himself to feel whole.

But after feeling that ache and that loss for a while, he does start to give himself permission to look for a new kind of wholeness, because while he’s been able to be there for Missy, obviously he needs someone who could support him so completely. And it’s hard and maybe a little frightening at first, when he starts to find that in you, but he also knows that he can’t live scared about really, truly loving again even if that could mean also feeling incomplete again later. Even if he might feel incomplete without you… well. Instead he’ll lean into how fucking much he loves feeling whole with you.

X = Xtra (A random headcanon for them.)

Introducing you to his mother is just as big a step for Marcus as sharing you with Missy for the first time. And look, it’s… honestly, it could have gone better. The two of you had to rush over because Marcus got held up saving the world, and he figured that Anita would understand since obviously she was a part of the Heroics too, in her own way. But wow, was it rough. She was short with you both and whenever you spoke, her responses were short and abrupt. Marcus left that night incredibly perplexed, swearing that wasn’t anything like her.

You had suspicions to the contrary, which are confirmed a few weeks later over your fourth dinner together. Marcus and Missy go into the kitchen together to get dessert sorted, and Anita leans her elbows sternly on the table to ask whether you see things with Marcus as permanent. Besides Marcus, she’s the first person who knows the answer is yes.

The two of you get along wonderfully, after that.

Y = Yuck (What are some things they wouldn’t like, either in general or in a partner?)

Marcus isn’t into big, outward displays of physical affection. He doesn’t mind a kiss to the cheek or a hand around the waist but he detests seeing people make out in public and it makes you laugh every time he sees it happen when you’re out, wrinkling his nose and turning away.

Also big on personal hygiene, he’s big on his morning showers after his run. He’s overly aware of his own body odor, and others’, and likes to make sure he smells good (which he does). It, in turn, makes you more alert to your own so more often than not, you’ll jump in the shower with him just to make sure.

Z = Zzz (What is a sleep habits of theirs?)

Marcus does the morning crossword puzzle from the paper every night in bed, glasses perched low on his nose while you read a book next to him. He sleeps on the right and you sleep on the left. He has to have the ceiling fan running and the temperature set to 65 or lower to be able to sleep comfortably since he runs warm.

#marcus moreno #marcus moreno x reader #marcus moreno x you #pedro pascal #sfw alphabet

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pedros-mustache · 4 years ago

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the rising sun

summary: “be still, sad heart! and cease repining / behind the clouds the sun is still shining.” — henry wadsworth longfellow

word count: 2.8k

warnings: angst, discussion of depression/anxiety, general not-so-happy tone to the whole thing, some fluff thrown in there for good measure

a/n: to be honest, i almost didn’t post this. i’ve not been doing well the last week, and this fic is pretty indicative of my current mental state. i decided to upload it despite my reservations and embarrassment on the hope that this might give someone struggling just like a me a moment of peace. xoxo. ❤️

it’s raining when marcus comes home.

you sit on the living room’s padded window seat, plush blanket tangled around your legs, forehead pressed against the chill windowpane at your side. bloated raindrops slide down the glass, and you watch, halfheartedly willing one raindrop to reach the lip of the window before another.

the narrow street below your window is empty. puddles gather on the red brick sidewalks, and the birch trees planted in small earthen squares along the road tremble with each sharp gust of rainy wind. it’s cold out. you can feel the chill through the window, but you don’t pull away.

you hear the front door shut and marcus toe his shoes off. his keys jingle as they drop to the catch-all bowl on the foyer table, and then he’s hurrying into the kitchen, shouting as he goes. you can’t see him from where you sit, but his voice carries through the small apartment. you blame the high ceilings and exposed brick walls. sound travels too easily in this space, and sometimes it's too much for you to bear. you sink lower on the window seat, shutting your eyes against the sound of his voice.

“hey! sorry i’m late. there was this—this thing at work, and then i had to get the groceries, but then i forgot about dinner—” he sighs heavily, places something on the kitchen island that crinkles. “whatever, it doesn’t matter. i’m home. d’you have a good day?”

you huff in response. the sound gets trapped in the blanket wrapped tight around your shoulders.

“i got chinese.”

he’s close now, his voice dropped to an even timbre. you can feel him, feel the sudden shift of his mood when he enters the living room and sees you, curled up on the window seat like a pillbug caught in a storm. where he was unruffled before, on the verge of relaxing after a long day of work, he is now worried, concern rolling off him in crashing waves.

you hate that you do this to him.

“you okay, bug?”

opening your eyes, you tilt your head over your shoulder to look at him. you manage a weary smile, wavering around the edges, entirely unconvincing and pathetic. “mhm. just tired ‘s all. long day.”

marcus’s brow pinches. he puts his hands in his pockets, and the jacket around his shoulders tightens with the movement. “you’ve been tired a lot the last few days,” he says. his words are slow, calculated, like he’s dancing around the point.

you shrug, dancing around the point with him, a slow-footed, wary sort of dance. “i guess.”

“are you sure you—” he stops talking, removes a hand from his pockets, drags his thumb over his lower lip as he stares at you. his brown eyes are warm, and his stare is intense. it’s as if he’s trying to peel back all of your layers with his eyes alone, each bat of his long eyelashes another layer closer to the most vulnerable places of your heart.

you sit up, suddenly nervous under his scrutinizing gaze. frowning, you brush a stray lock of hair away from your face, teeth tugging at your lower lip. “what? what are you staring at me for?” there’s more than a bite to your tone, and you wince at the harsh sound of your voice.

he doesn’t deserve that.

turning your face away, you return your gaze to the puddle third from left of your front tire. it’s grown bigger, and your car’s reflection seems to flutter as wind pushes across the top of the pool of water.

“can i sit?”

you look from marcus to his outstretched hand to the empty space across from you on the seat. after your timid nod, he sits with another heavy sigh, his second of the night. you wonder how often you are the one to make him sigh like that.

he leans his head against the wall and watches as a bird swoops down from the roof ledge to a tree across the street. he sits in an awkward sort of fold, his legs too long to sit comfortably on the seat with you there as well. twisted at the waist, legs stretched to the side, he folds his hands in his lap and inhales deeply then exhales through his mouth.

your face softens as you wait for him to speak. you inhale too, mirroring the slow rise and fall of his chest with deep breathing of your own. the panic that’s gripped you all day begins to ebb. the blurry edges of your vision clears, and he comes into focus. for a moment, you allow yourself to study the lines of his neck, his sun-kissed skin, and strong jaw. he’s solid and firm in all the places you are not—physically, mentally, emotionally.

your chest tightens again at the thought.

he shifts his gaze away from the cramped georgetown street. “you forget to breathe when you’re anxious.”

ducking your head, you nod. “i know.” with a sigh of your own, you meet his eyes through the tops of your lashes. “i’m sorry.”

“why are you apologizing?”

“well, i don’t… i mean—” you shake your head, caught off guard by his question and the earnest look on his face. why does he have to look at you like that? so open and honest and caring? he shouldn’t look at you like that, not when you’re like this.

you study your knees, pushed tight against your chest. there’s a frayed thread on your pant leg. you pluck it off and drop it to the side. finally, you say, “i’ve been off the last few days, haven’t really been myself. i know i’m not fun when i’m like this…”

“not fun?” marcus scoffs as though offended, and your head snaps up to level him a glare. registering the look on your face, he lifts his hands in surrender. “wait a second—i wasn’t making fun. i just—” he tilts his head to the side. “baby, you don’t have to be fun all the time.”

your shoulders sag. you look away. you can’t look at him too long. he’s too good to you.

in the year and a half you’ve been with marcus, you’ve had your bad days. they come and go. you’ve taken to comparing your bad days to the ice-cream truck which wanders through your neighborhood from time to time. it’s never consistent, always appearing out of the blue after an extended absence, looking more and more worn down upon each new arrival. your bad days are like the neighborhood ice-cream truck.

marcus has seen you in your anxious moments: the afternoons where it hits you and suddenly you can’t breathe or think clearly and everything feels topsy-turvy. those moments you can handle yourself. you know what to do and how to bounce back without causing too much of a fuss.

he’s seen you in your depressed moments too: the evenings where all you want to do is curl in bed and never leave, your thoughts a swirling mess of perceived rejection and bleakness and despair. those moments you prefer to work through on your own, though he makes it abundantly clear he’s only an arm’s reach away. still, you know what to do and how to bounce back without causing too much of a fuss.

you don’t like to cause a fuss.

this week, though—fuck, this week has been bad, and you both know it.

from the moment you wake, it starts: muscle-gripping fear, racing heart, dry mouth, and weary limbs. you stumble through your morning routine, pushing it all down, down, down because you have to go to work. you have to do your job. life doesn’t stop just because you’re anxious.

when you come home in the afternoons, the bed is waiting, cold and unmade. you sleep—sleep the worry away and the fatigue away. it’s all you can do to be ready for marcus to return from the city. he doesn’t need to see you like this, a lump of trembling hands and bone-deep exhaustion.

this isn’t what he signed up for.

for a week you’ve been hanging on by a thread, shoving him and everyone else in your path away because it’s what’s easiest. you can take care of yourself. no one needs the added weight of caring for you, least of all marcus. if you opened the door, let him have a peek inside, he’d know, he’d see—it’s too much. it’s better if you keep this part of yourself to yourself.

“bug?”

you pull your face away from your elbow. “yeah?”

“come here.” he opens his arms, and it’s an invitation you cannot decline.

the transition from your side of the window seat to his is awkward. it’s a tangle of arms and legs in the narrow space, an elbow against his stomach, a grunt of pain, and a hurried whisper of apology. when you settle your back against his chest, his warmth pushes through the chill clinging to your skin. you’ve been sitting by the window too long. you turn your face to press your cheek against his shoulder, winding both of your arms around his bicep. you squeeze tight, inhaling his cologne and the raindrops still clinging to his jacket.

“there.” his chest rumbles beneath you when he speaks. “that’s better.”

“marcus, i—”

he shushes you with a gentle whisper. “hold on. just breathe with me, okay?”

you swallow past the lump in your throat and nod against his arm.

inhale, exhale—you follow his lead.

your eyes drift shut. he feels good, safe and steady.

unbidden, tears prick your eyes, and you are powerless to stop them. you push your face further against his arm to stem the sudden flow of tears. the taste of salt floods your mouth, and you sniff hard, dragging the back of one hand across your cheeks. marcus doesn’t say anything. he just drags his hand over your hair, his own cheek pressed to the crown of your head. he holds you tight, and you surrender to the weight of his arms around you, his body pressed against yours.

when the tears stop, you sit up to wipe your face. marcus drops his hand from your head to your back. his touch is smooth and gentle, and you laugh against the ridiculousness of it all.

“i’m sorry,” you say, dragging your sleeve under your nose. “i know you didn’t come home anticipating this.”

marcus is quiet for a moment. his palm spreads across the width of your lower back. you can feel the warmth of his skin perimate the thin cotton of your sleep shirt. “baby?” you turn your face to him. “you gotta stop apologizing.”

you swallow hard with a nod. “yeah, i know. i’m so—” he quirks an eyebrow, and you laugh despite yourself. “you’re right.”

“come here,” he says again. “lean back.”

you do as you're told, your head nestled against his shoulder. he slides his hands down your arms, a slow drag, until he can fit his fingers between yours and squeeze. he kisses your temple, and the hair on his cheek tickles your skin.

“i love you,” he whispers.

you smile—a genuine smile, small as it is.

inhaling deeply, you decide to lay it all on the table. you love marcus. if he ever asked, you’d marry him in a heartbeat. but you’re tired of running from him when all he’s ever done is proven himself to be a gentleman with a heart of solid gold. he deserves to know the truth, the whole truth and nothing but it. even if it drives him away in the end.

“when i was a freshman in college,” you start, shifting your back against his chest. “i dated this guy. we were together for only a few months, but he was a real asshole.” the way marcus stiffens behind you, his arms tightening reflexively around your middle, warms your cheeks. his subtle display of protectiveness emboldens your story, and you continue with a clearer voice.

“i was really anxious back then, like every day. it was a constant battle between myself and my anxiety, and he hated it. one night we were on the phone and i was telling him about my day and he got really quiet and then he told me, ‘i can’t deal with your anxiety. it’s too much.’ i’ve never forgotten that.”

when marcus says nothing in response, you twist to face him, laying your hand flat against his chest. you can feel his heartbeat beneath your palm. it beats fast, a hurried gallop in his chest. his eyes dart back and forth between yours, his lips parted in something akin to shock. you don’t give him a chance to speak before you continue.

“marcus? please—please tell me you can deal with it. i don’t know what i’d do if you couldn’t.”

marcus’s face crumbles. with tears welling in his eyes, he lifts his hands to cup your face. “oh my god, baby,” he breathes, rolling his forehead over yours. “i’m so sorry.”

he kisses you. it’s short and sweet and perhaps another thread in his apology. you grip his wrist, holding him tight, willing him to stay—stay with you now and forever, until the sun no longer shines and the earth vanishes to dust.

when you break apart, he skims his thumbs over the apples of your cheeks. “what a fucking loser,” he says, and you laugh, tossing your head back at the sheer vitriol lacing his words. it’s not often marcus gets angry. to see a red flush on his cheeks and frustration in his brow, all over some guy you haven’t thought about in years, it makes your heart flutter in the best possible way. “no, i mean it! god, what an asshole.”

he sucks in a breath and catches your eyes. his thumb and forefinger move to grip your chin, a gentle hold but one that leaves you powerless to ignore anything he’s about to say. you steel yourself, lungs tight with anticipation.

“it—this—you.” he shakes his head. “it’s not something i deal with. i don’t deal with it. do you hear me? say you do.”

eyes misty, you nod. “i do. i hear you, marcus.”

“i want to take care of you. that’s why we’re together. we’re a team. teammates rely on one another—”

“marcus, i don’t watch sports.”

he smirks. “just humor me.” releasing his hold on your chin, he smooths his hand down the side of your face. “i want to help you. you don’t need to carry this all by yourself.”

“i just thought that—”

“look, all guys are idiots. if you’re feeling some type of way, you gotta tell me. i can’t read minds. but all guys aren’t assholes. i want to help you.”

you cover the hand on your cheek with your fingers and nuzzle your nose against his palm. “i love you.”

“i love you more. really, i do. more than the stars in the sky and all the—”

you pull your face away with a grimace, holding up your hand to stop him. “okay, please, that’s too much. too sweet, too schmaltzy. try and preserve some of your dignity.”

marcus laughs, a deep, hearty sound that warms you to the center of your being. he winds an arm around the small of your back to draw you close, his lips descending to the curve of your neck. he peppers your skin with kisses—warm ones, wet ones, gentle ones—until you push at his shoulders. he drops back against the wall, chest heaving and eyes glistening with mirth.

you catch your lower lip in your teeth and shake your head. “you hopeless romantic you.”

“guilty as charged.”

sliding out from between his legs, you drop to the floor. “you said you got chinese?”

“yeah, but it might be a little cold by now.”

you offer him your hand. “that’s okay. i’m hungry.”

marcus slides his fingers between yours. “i’ll warm it up then.”

as he leads you to the kitchen, your bare feet padding behind his socked ones, you catch a glimpse of the world outside. it’s no longer raining. the clouds have parted, revealing a bright sun. the sun’s rays drench the street in the warm glow of sunset, all orange and pale yellow and dusky red. you smile and lean against marcus’s arm as he sets about warming dinner in the microwave. he follows your eyeline to the window and throws an arm around your shoulders.

“do you want to go on a walk after dinner?”

looking up, you grin. “yeah, that would be nice.”

“the rain never stays forever.”

he’s not talking about the weather, and you both know it. you squeeze his hand.

“no, i guess it doesn’t.”

#marcus pike #marcus pike x reader #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal fanfiction #pm writes

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alittlextrathatway · 4 years ago

Note

Penelope/Colin: “Give me one reason why I shouldn’t leave.”

YAY SOMETHING BESIDES BRETTSEY. (Not that I don’t love them.) I’ve never written Polin before! I’m excited to play! 🙌🏻 Thank you!

How about a modern AU for this one? Just cause.

******

It all started because of the pandemic.

He’d been perfectly happy traveling. It’s not like he had anything else to occupy his time. He wasn’t particularly talented and he didn’t have any hobbies or interests. Aside from eating but he doubted his mother would approve of him becoming one of those professional hot dog eaters and he didn’t care enough for the piddly portions of fine dining to become a food critic.

The only thing that truly distracts him from his lack of drive or ambition is traveling — learning about the world and it’s many cultures.

He has journal after journal full of his discoveries and experiences. Travel is really his only love.

Which is why he’d stopped and started his studies so many times. He took a year between high school and college to backpack through Europe. Then another year after freshman year to “study abroad”, not that he actually studied. Which is why his mother forced him to come back and finish his third year stateside. After that, he’d set off traveling again. Every year he found another excuse not to come home for any longer than a month or two, allowing him to put off his final year.

It’s not as if he’s getting a degree in anything useful. He’s an English major. And it’s not as if his career isn’t already decided for him. Upon graduation he’ll be given an office at Bridgerton Family Publishing. Doing what? Well, no one knows. Not even him.

So, what’s the rush?

He’d still be gone abroad right now if not for COVID forcing him to return home. God, he hates 2020. What a waste of a year. He came home too late for the spring 2020 term so he’s spent the last several months going absolutely crazy.

He’s a man of the world who is not being allowed to go out and see it. He can’t imagine anything more cruel.

Actually, no, he takes that back. There’s one thing:

Using the time he’s forced to stay in Mayfair to discover he’s completely and stupidly in love with his little sister’s best friend.

The friend who overheard him, last time he was home for any considerable length of time, declaring to his brothers that he would never be interested in her.

Because, of course, Colin Bridgerton is a colossal jackass who doesn’t know a good thing when it’s been staring him in the face his entire life.

There’s laughter coming from the direction of the foyer. Very distinctive laughing. One high and tinkling like a pretty little bell and the other deeper and hoarser. The alto to the other’s soprano. The alto in this case is his younger sister, Eloise, and the soprano is Penelope.

The woman he should have noticed long before now.

He gets up from where he’s lounging on the sofa, mournfully watching the Travel Channel, and takes his plate full of sandwiches with him.

He finds them giggling and applying lipstick in the mirror by the front door. They look dressed to go out. Eloise in her slick tailored pant suit and intricately adorned lace top, in monochromatic lavender. And Penelope in…

Holy shit, what is that?

Apparently, it’s the instrument of his imminent death if the erratic beating of his heart is any indication. He’s going to have some sort of attack and go into cardiac arrest right here in the foyer of his childhood home.

It’s a tight forest green dress that has an off the shoulder neckline. It hugs her curves so perfectly that he thinks someone must have sewn it onto her. It shows the perfect amount of skin along her neck and shoulders, giving just a tiny glimpse of cleavage.

And she’s had a haircut since she was here yesterday. Her ginger locks now rest against her cheeks in a wavy stylish bob. She was beautiful before. He was never blind to that as some other people around Pen have proven to be, but now...

She’s absolutely stunning.

So stunning that other people will surely see what he sees. And he’s grateful for that, truly. She deserves to be seen as she is — brilliant and beautiful — but that means he’s about to have competition while trying to win her over. And he is not grateful for that.

He’s been trying to be more forward with her when they’re alone but that doesn’t happen often and he’s not sure Penelope takes him very seriously. (No one does.) She seems to always be in disbelief when he flirts with her.

“Where are you two off to?” He asks, leaning against the wall opposite the mirror.

“Double date,” Eloise says, fluffing her hair in the mirror. “Pen arranged it. She met someone extremely gorgeous at the library today.”

Penelope blushes and grins demurely. “It’s the magic of a fresh cut,” she says motioning to her new hair. “He was there with his friend and we were all scrambling for resources for our bibliographies together and he asked if I wanted to get dinner and I asked if Eloise could come. No big deal.”

“It doesn’t look as if it’s not a big deal,” Colin observes, his gaze sweeping over Penelope from head to toe.

“His father owns that new super exclusive restaurant Kate’s been begging Anthony to take her too. You know, La Table Gourmande?” Eloise explains.

“The one that told Anthony the next available reservation was in two months? That restaurant?” Colin asks, trying not to scowl.

Really, there was no need for this guy to show off. He seems a bit full of himself.

“That’s the one,” Penelope replies with a nod. “He says he can get us the Chef’s table tonight. I’ve never done anything like that before. It sounds exciting. Might be the closest I ever get to authentic French cuisine. For a while anyway.”

Okay, so now he feels like a heel for wanting to keep her from going out. He knows he’s lucky his family is so well off. It allows him to travel. Penelope’s family, while not destitute, has spent most of their surplus funds putting three daughters, soon to be a fourth, through school. In fact, if not for a distant rich aunt who died they wouldn’t even have been able to afford that.

Any money Penelope used to travel would have to be her own, and he isn’t sure how much of that she has.

“Pen,” Eloise calls, interrupting Colin’s thoughts. “Have you seen my clutch? Did I bring it down?”

“I don’t see it anywhere,” Penelope says with a shake of her head. “Did you leave it on your dresser?”

Eloise groans in irritation, turning toward the main staircase of their massive house. “I guess I did. I’ll be right back.”

Finally, they’re alone. Colin clears his throat and sets the plate of sandwiches he’d been snacking on down on the hall table. He crosses the space until he’s standing mere inches away from her.

“Don’t go out tonight. I can take you somewhere else. Somewhere better,” Colin suggests.

“Better?” Penelope asks skeptically.

He nods. “I have a friend who opened a restaurant here that I met while I was in Nice. It’s smaller than that La Table Gourmand monstrosity and not quite considered fine dining but it’s real. It’s better. It’ll be closer to actually being in France than anything in that obnoxious place.”

“I don’t see why I can’t go with Marcus tonight and then you some other time,” she tells him, lifting one perfect brow and pursing her lips.

“This guy sounds like a prick,” Colin says with a scoff. “Bragging about his father’s connections on the first date? That’s not a good sign, Pen. Trust me, I know these things. I’m a guy.”

“Maybe,” she says with a shrug, a small knowing grin on her lips. “But I think I should decide that for myself. Don’t you?”

That grin…

She knows exactly what he’s trying to do.

She’s being difficult on purpose.

“Give me one reason why I shouldn’t leave,” she challenges him, continuing to grin smugly.

Well, if that’s the game she wants to play then so be it.

“Why waste a night figuring out what I already know when you could just let me take you out instead for what, we both know, would be a better time?” Colin asks, caressing the length of Penelope’s arm with a light tender touch.

She sucks in a breath at the contact, but doesn’t show any weakness in her expression. “Yes, but going out with Marcus would be a date that might actually lead to something. What would be the purpose of ditching a real date for you instead?”

“Oh, you want it to lead to something?” He asks, a smirk growing on his face as he backs her up toward the wall.

“Y—yes,” she stammers, her grin slipping as nerves shine in her eyes.

Her back hits the wall and he brings one hand to her cheek, cupping her face and trailing his thumb along her cheekbone.

He leans down, nearly closing the distance between them but stops just short of kissing her. “Come out with me, Pen, and you can choose where it leads. I’ll give you whatever future I have, even if I have no idea what it is. You set the terms, you call the shots.”

Her eyes widen and her cheeks flush but she instinctively leans into his hand. Call him a cocky bastard, but that’s the moment he knows he’s won. The moment he knows she’ll choose him.

“I set the terms?” She asks, biting her bottom lip while she stares at his.

He nods, waiting for the moment she leans up and kisses him.

“Well, then you know what I think?” She asks, rhetorically while she rests a hand on his chest.

“Tell me,” he pleads.

She smiles wickedly and pushes him away by one step. “I think you could do with some healthy competition.”

She sidesteps him and saunters off to the front door, leaving him gaping at her like a fool.

Like a besotted, astonished, completely smitten fool.

Eloise reappears, patting Colin’s shoulder as she follows after Penelope. “Tell mom we’ll be back late.”

They leave, the door shuts, and all he can think is…

Well played, Penelope Featherington.

But the Bridgertons are famously competitive and this game is only just beginning. He’ll win her over yet.

Wait and see.

#bridgerton #colin bridgerton #penelope featherington #polin #fanfiction #my fic #angellwings writes #fanfiction prompt game #ask prompt #long post #SORRY THIS IS LONG FOR A TUMBLR PROMPT 😬#new ship for me so be gentle 🙏🏻

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writings-of-a-hufflepuff · 4 years ago

Text

The Portrait of Love

Fandom: The Mentalist

Pairing: Marcus Pike x Reader (Reader wears a dress, but other than that no gender sign posts)

Writer: @writings-of-a-hufflepuff aka @hufflepuffing-all-day-long

Rating: G

Warnings: N/A

Requested by @iamburdened: ‘Heart eyes when the other talks, sings, dances, argues, does literally anything especially things which others make fun of them for or find annoying’ with Pike because this baby boy deserves just the absolute best!! Cont.

Summary: When Marcus takes to you a work gala for the first time, he just expects a nice night chatting with colleagues and being proud to have his partner on his arm. He’s in truth a little bit worried that you’ll get bored hearing him talk about the latest art recoveries, truthfully, there’s nothing you enjoy more than listening to Marcus talk passionately about something.

Notes: Spent about 15 minutes just deciding which painting he should talk about in depth because research is important to me. Every time I write Marcus I just get this deep longing to curl up with him and express my love.

Archiveofourown

“Hey, honey, you ready to go?” He’s straightening his tie in your hallway mirror. Marcus had been predictably early to pick you up for this FBI Gala, but he didn’t mind waiting for you to finish getting ready. It gave him time to straighten out his tie, brush off his suit jacket, and check that his beard wasn’t getting a little too wild now that he’d decided it was staying for the foreseeable future.

The two of you hadn’t been dating long, four months at this point, and he’d never taken you to any of his work parties or events before. But, after a little bit of a pep talk consisting of talking to himself in his bathroom mirror one morning he’d decided to take that leap and invite you further into his life. Even if the possibility of getting hurt again gripped his heart with fear.

The gala was just the usual sort, schmoozing with officials and encouraging interdepartmental cooperation. There’d be alcohol, finger foods, some music, but mostly talking. He didn’t mind them, they usually meant he got to have a chat with friends in other departments and it helped to meet new people who might be helpful on a future case. He wasn’t sure, however, if you’d enjoy yourself at all. You weren’t a big party person, preferring to stay in with him and cuddle on the sofa while watching a movie and eating take-away food, and you didn’t know many people there. Conversation would be work based and he’s not sure how riveting talking about stolen art really is in truth. But, you’d agreed and he was at least proud to know you’d be hanging off his arm tonight. He usually went to these things alone and his team were starting to tease him about this mysterious partner of his that he never brought along, not that he was trying to hide you. He just...he just didn’t want to rush things, that had been his failing in the past.

“Yeah, sorry for making you wait,” You’re fastening the clasp of your necklace as you walk down the hall from your bedroom. When you’re greeted by silence after grabbing your bag off the sofa, you flick your eyes to Marcus.

He’s standing stock still in the hallway, hand still gripping his tie, mouth slightly agape as his lower jaw drops just a fraction of an inch. He’s handsome, always is, but there’s something about a well cut suit and crisp white shirt that looks especially good on his broad shouldered frame. He’s even trimmed his beard, just enough to neaten it up, determined to keep it’s length after you commented on how handsome he was with it one too many times.��

“Marcus? Are you okay, baby?”

“Yeah...yeah, I’m...I’m fine. You just..” He takes a deep breath, stilling himself. C’mon, Marcus, this is your partner for God’s sake. “You look beautiful, wow, really, really good...wow, sweetheart.” He wants to kick himself for how inelegant that was, of all the things he could say and he’s stumbling over how radiant you look, practically effervescent, some sort of ethereal being that he’s lucky enough to call his.

The dress really does look beautiful on you, following the curvature of your body, the soft lines that he’s hugged close more often than not. He’s half tempted to just forgo the gala, grab your hand and tug you back to your bedroom where he can get lost in the shape of you. But, you’ve put so much effort into getting ready and there’s an excitement in your eyes that makes him think you might actually want to go to this thing. He’d never take that opportunity away from you.

You laugh at him, but it doesn’t feel mean or mocking, just the sweet humoured expression of enjoyment at his words. A wide smile, the one he loves the most, twisting at the corners of your lips and crinkling the skin by your eyes. God, he loves you. He’s not ready to say it and he’s sure you’re not ready to hear it. But, he knows he loves you and this time, this time he hopes that it’ll work out.

“Thank you, baby...you look very dashing. The picture of a handsome gentleman.” You walk up to him, hands smoothing out the lapels of his jacket, gentle touches over his shoulders, before easing his hands away from his tie and holding them in your own. The kiss you place on his lips is soft and chaste, but he can feel that warmth in the pit of his stomach, the longing for you that burns brighter whenever you’re around.

He’s sure there’s a hint of redness to his cheeks, he always burns brighter in the face around you too. You have a way of flustering him like he’s 17 years old again and not a fully grown adult with a house, a car and a proper and responsible job.

“C’mon, if we don’t go now we’ll be late and didn’t you say you wanted to talk to Andrews about that case you just finished up?”

“Yeah, yeah I did.” It’s the fact that you remembered something so minute, something so miniscule that has him smiling wider at you and holding your hand as he walks you to his car. Like always he opens the door for you and helps you get in, adjusting the bottom of your dress so that it doesn’t get trapped in the door, before even thinking about getting into the car himself. He’s a gentleman and it’s the thoughtless, unthinking nature of it that makes your heart jump the most. He doesn’t do it to impress you, he doesn’t even realise he’s doing it, he just...does.

-------------------

The gala is enjoyable, it’s not some massively energetic affair but you like that, like that it doesn’t feel too overwhelming, that you can wrap your arm through Marcus’ and not fear losing him in the crowd. That you can chat with his colleagues, get to know the team mates who tease him about you saying ‘Oh, so this is your mystery partner!’, and enjoy the soft instrumental music that plays in the background.

Marcus practically preens every time someone compliments you on your outfit, there’s no jealousy, just pride and it amuses you to see him puff his chest out and stand a little straighter before looking over at you like you’ve got the world in the palm of your hands. You hope he sees you react in much the same way when someone compliments the cut of his suit or the trimmed beard. He’s a handsome man, a kind man, a good man, and everything about him makes you proud to say he’s yours even if you’re only four months into your relationship.

You’re just nibbling on some small pastries of some kind when a booming voice calls over the other people, many of whom turn to look before rolling their eyes as if they should have expected it.

“Pike! How’re you doing?” The man in question is older than Marcus by quite a few years, coiled grey hair and a warm smile on his face as he grabs Marcus’ free hand in a friendly shake.

“Hey, Andrews, not too bad, yourself?” It’s clear from the smile on Marcus’ face that he likes this man, but having heard him talk about Andrews in passing you knew the two were something of work buddies despite being in completely different departments.

“Oh, well given the amount of complimentary booze I’ve been throwing back, pretty good!”

“Andrews, this is my partner, Y/N.”

“Y/N, this is David Andrews he works in the Behaviour Analysis Unit.” Marcus introduces you to him, with an arm around your waist pulling you tight against him. The smile that beams down at you is nothing if not bright and proud to introduce you to his friend and you can’t help but smile back with similar ardor.

“Should I be worried that you’ll psychoanalyse me?”

“I’m a gentleman, Y/N, I’d never profile and tell.” It’s said with a wink, but that sort that’s more humour than flirtation. It puts you at ease and makes him seem more approachable. Unlike, some of the people you’d met tonight who were a bit stiffer in personality and harder to relax around.

“So Marcus, about that last case you mentioned? A Klimt?” You know Marcus has been dying to talk about the case too, always on the verge of bringing it up before telling you that he’s sure you don’t want to hear about it. He always ends up stopping himself and every time something distracts you from forcing the issue because there is nothing boring about Marcus’ work or anything he’s passionate about.

“You really want to know?”

“You know you’re the only one who’ll talk to me about art! Even my wife gets bored of hearing me talk about art and behaviour analysts are more interested in serial killers and their mummy issues!” David Andrews is a warm man and you settle yourself comfortably against Marcus’ side knowing he’s about to finally talk about his most recent case of art theft. You’re not an expert on art, not in the slightest and you’d never call it your calling in life or your major passion, but anything that gets Marcus to talk passionately is something you are enthralled by.

“The Portrait of Adele Bloche-Bauer I, this rich guy bought it a couple years back for $135 million dollars. Big money, big painting, and pretty interesting history too. You know it was stolen by the Nazis during World War Two? Adele had asked her husband in her will to donate the Klimt paintings to the Austrian State Gallery when he died. When the Nazis took over Austria, he had to flee to Switzerland and leave them behind. The Nazis confiscated them and it in 1941.”

You’re sure there are proverbial hearts in your eyes as you watch him, neck craning. His free hand moves as he talks, gesturing with each word and there’s a sparkle in his brown eyes when he talks about art, any art. Even art that he hates he talks about so passionately that you can’t help but enjoy anything he says. You lean your cheek on his shoulder as he talks and you’re sure it’s obvious in that moment how deeply in love you already are, even this early into your relationship.

“Now, this is a painting that’s over 100 years old, early 20th century, commissioned by a Jewish Banker, owned by a Jewish Banker and stolen by Nazis. The granddaughter won a legal suit to get the painting back and then sold it the exact same year.”

David’s listening to Marcus, he really is, but he’s also watching you. If there was ever a time when the expression ‘like sun shines out of his ass’ applied then it was now. You were so clearly in love with Marcus, the soft crinkle of your eyes as you listened to him, the way you wrapped both arms around his waist, the attentive way you listened. You weren’t fawning over him to distract him, you were fawning over him because you enjoyed listening to him. It made the older man smile, Marcus had had it rough and it was clear he was finally on to a winner in the relationship department. He briefly considers starting a betting pool on when Marcus will propose or if you’ll beat him to the punch. Now that would be a surprise.

“So this guy is sitting on this painting, he’s got it up in a gallery and it’s a Klimt, so you can imagine...It’s one of his last ‘golden phase’ paintings so all that gold has people flock to it and it’s a pricey painting too! Now we get a call a few months back saying it’s been stolen and it becomes a wild goose chase from there…” He’s too enthused with the art to really think about whether he’s boring you. It had been one of the most beautiful paintings he’d ever managed to recover and had he been dating you officially at the time he probably would have broken a few rules to let you see it.

The night continues much like that. Marcus tells you and those around you about the cases he’s recently done, the paintings and sculptures he and his team had recovered and the history behind them. His knowledge was bolstered by an Art History degree and personal interest and research. While he does this you spend your time listening, genuinely interested in all the knowledge he displays, curled as close to him as you can be at a formal party, and staring at him like he hung the moon and stars in the sky.

It’s not hard to stare at him like that. In the few months you’d been dating he had proven to be a wonderful boyfriend, the perfect partner. While he had expressed a desire to move slowly because of past failed relationships and clearly had reservations about how far to go with you, what to say, what to withhold, and what was okay and not, he was nothing but loving. He respected you greatly, something easy to see with every action he took and every word he said. He always made sure you were okay with a course of action, asked your opinion regularly and listened when you had something to say. The few times you’d raised issues in your relationship he’d listened and so had you, the two of you working through the teething problems together to come out the other side better and stronger. He was unfailingly kind and considerate to you, there was never a day he didn’t compliment you or send you a good morning text, in return you always let him know you got home safe from work and told him how wonderful he was. He made sure you were okay when you were feeling sick or under the weather, always popping round after a long day of work to care for you. He never made you feel bad for a single thing you did for him, like the time you brought him flowers, nervous he’d hate them because your past boyfriends had been less receptive to the thought of them. He always held doors open for you and offered to carry your bag if it was heavy. He always made sure to leave you with a smile on your lips and never made you feel silly when you were upset or panicked.

He had proven to be a wonderful person and wonderful boyfriend all on top of being so incredibly handsome that you wondered how you’d lucked out to find a man who was quite literally the whole package. If there was ever a man who screamed ‘I’m husband material, take me home to meet your entire family’, it was Marcus. He was mature, responsible, safe, and comforting. He wasn’t boring either, the whole concept of safe as a boring baffled you. There was nothing better than knowing you could rely on Marcus, that if he said he’d be somewhere he would, if he said he would do something then he would, that if he made a mistake or messed up he’d own it and apologise for it, that you could discuss problems and figure them out together. He made it all seem so easy and simple, he made the effort and the energy you put in worth it because it was appreciated and returned in equal measure. You never had to baby him or mother him, he was an adult who could look after himself.

“Did you have a good time, honey? I know I talked a lot...hope you weren’t bored?” It’s asked as your hands are clasped swinging between the two of you on the walk back to his car, footsteps echoing around the quiet car park.

You lean your head on his shoulder, turning your cheek to press a quick kiss there even though he can’t feel it through the layers of clothing. “I had the best time...I love listening to you talk, baby, I don’t think you could ever bore me.” You want him to believe you, to be confident in that. The hesitation to talk to you about his interests bothers you because you love him and his passions, because you don’t want him to ever doubt your desire to listen.

You pull him to a stop, both hands now holding one of his, forcing him to stop and look at you with raised eyebrows and a bemused smile. “I love listening to you talk about the things you’re passionate about, Marcus. Don’t hide it from me. Please.”

“You...you mean that?”

“Yes, I really mean it!” You say it with a laugh on your lips because how could you not love listening to him talk about the things he loves the most, the things he’s interested in. He had said on multiple occasions how much he loved hearing you talk about your interests, so why was it so hard for him to understand that you felt the same way.

There’s something blinding to him about your smile in that moment, about the realisation that you actually want to listen to him, that you enjoy listening to him, that his love of Art history, something that his past partners have had little to no interest in, is something you want to hear about. From him. It...it stuns him a little bit in the best sort of way and for a minute he thinks maybe this was supposed to happen. Maybe his ex-wife, Teresa, all of it was supposed to happen to bring him to you. Where he was supposed to be.

He kisses you because he can’t bring himself to say he loves you yet. He’s scared if he says it, this magic feeling, this peaceful place you’ve found yourselves in will shatter like a dropped mirror. So, the love he feels for you, he pours into a kiss, arms wrapping tightly around you, a hand cupping the base of your head. You open your mouth to his without a second thought, your hands trailing up over his arms and shoulders before diving into dark brown hair that had been combed neatly for the evening. Kissing him always brings a warmth to your chest, a sort of ache that makes you want to cry happy tears. There is something so safe and welcoming about his embrace, something so warming about the gentle slide of tongue against yours and the press of his nose into your cheek. It’s all consuming, all you can think about is his touch, his smell, his presence, his warmth. The outside world fades away and only Marcus exists.

“Can I take you home, Honey?” A large palm slips down low on your back as you pull away from each other, Marcus’ nose grazing against yours with a cheeky little smile and a familiar twinkle in his eye that means trouble.

“Only if you stay.” The twitch of one eyebrow and lopsided grin tell you you’re on the same page as you rush to his car like naughty children about to get in trouble and not fully grown adults.

-------------------

He’s grabbing some shitty coffee from the little kitchenette on his floor the day after the gala, feeling like his heads too fuzzy after a late night with you and the horrible event that was forcing himself out of a warm bed next to a warm body, when David walks by and spots him.

Marcus is sure he probably looks as grumpy as he feels, he just...he really didn’t want to get out of bed this morning. Not with you there all warm, gentle and soft. Bedhead everywhere and a little, little pool of drool underneath your arm, not that he’d tell you about that. It’s easy to get up at his place when he’s alone, there’s no one drawing him back, no warmth calling to him.

“So, how’s the partner? Still hanging on your every word?” The grin of David’s face spells trouble, the sort of trouble that usually ends with Marcus bright red in the face and feeling less put together than he should be as head of a department in the FBI.

“What are you talking about?” The words confuse him...separately and individually they make sense. He knows David’s talking about you, who he left in your bed at 5am this morning to come into work early for a meeting. He knows he’s referring to something but not quite what, something to do with words and...and...did he miss something? He feels like he’s missed a whole chunk of a conversation. Marcus decides it’s far too early for this, especially after a long meeting that didn’t get anywhere.

“Last night.”

“What about last night?” He’s definitely putting more sugar than is healthy in his coffee this morning, mostly to combat the bitter fatigue and maybe the short sugar buzz would make his brain understand what the hell David Andrews was talking about. Though that seemed less likely by the second, maybe he’d call you later...you might know what he was getting at.

“Y/N, you did notice right?” The look he gives Marcus can only be described as shock turning to hilarity, as if Marcus had missed out on some obvious punchline to a joke. For a minute he wonders if he’s fucked up again...have...do you not like him anymore? Was this David’s way of warning him that he’d seen something in your face last night that spelled the end of his relationship? “Wait, you don’t...kid, you’re not seriously telling me you’re that blind?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about, David.” He’s getting a little frustrated at this point. Usually not quick to get angry or annoyed, the thought that maybe you’d given some sign that you were ready to end their relationship was making him more irritable than normal. While he’d accept it if that was the case, he’s not sure his heart would survive another knockout in the love ring.

“The heart eyes Y/N was giving you all night? Hanging on every word you had to say about art? Looking at you like you hung the moon? Not leaving your side for more than a few minutes at a time? Y/N’s in love with you, kid.” The grin on David’s face is so wide that all of his shiny white teeth appear blinding. There’s a panic that begins to grip Marcus’ heart, an instinctive reaction to the pace at which everything suddenly feels like it’s happening.

Once upon a time he would have enjoyed the rush, ran head first into it, but after too many failed relationships, rushed seemed scary, fast was too much. It was too soon, you’d been dating four months, you couldn’t possibly love him. Sure, he loved you but...but he always fell in headfirst, too quickly

“No...no...I mean...it’s too soon, right? We’ve only been dating a few months and...and…” He thinks back to Teresa, their quick, fast paced romance, the ultimate end when she left him for another man. About his ex-wife, how they’d rushed into marriage young, how it hadn’t been enough to keep her attention, he hadn’t been enough. Then he thinks of you. Of your smiling face, the softness with which you trace your fingertips over his shoulders when he stays the night, the way you laugh at all his jokes even the bad one’s...how you said you enjoyed hearing him talk about his passions last night.

“Look, just because you’ve been burnt before doesn’t mean you’re going to get burnt now. Pike, I've seen love and that was love in Y/N’s eyes. Not attraction, not like, not a crush, love. Maybe you’ve finally found someone going at your speed? Think about it.”

He does. Think about it, that is. Takes his coffee back to his office and sits there for ages not looking at the files on his desk or the case work he has to get done, just thinking about you. He can’t really stop himself when he picks up the phone and dials your work number, knowing that you’ll answer, assuming something’s wrong most likely.

“Marcus? Are you okay? Is everything alright?” You’re worried and that worry adds to the pounding of his heart, the ache in his chest. You worry about him. You care about him. You barely let the phone ring before picking it up.

“Yeah, yeah I’m okay, honey...I just…” His eyes drift to the paper weight on his desk, the one shaped like Michelangelo’s David, that you’d bought him on a trip to an Art Gallery. It reminded him of you whenever he looked at it. His free hand scratches across his beard as he leans more comfortably back in his chair.

“Did...did something happen? Baby, are you…? You don’t sound okay?” You’re worried. Marcus doesn’t just call you in the middle of a work day, not unless something has happened. Despite his words he seems off, not his usual self and there’s an anxiety that fills your chest at the thought that something isn’t right, something isn’t like it normally is.

“I’m great I just...I wanted to say I love you. I don’t say it enough...or at all.” He bites the bullet, knows it’ll come out at some point because he very rarely has any sense of patience. He knows the moment David said you might love him, he was a goner, he wasn’t going to be able to contain his own feelings. Because he loves you. Loves you so much that it’s hard on a morning when he actually wakes up beside you not to tell you he loves you. It’s hard not to say it when he leaves for work or when he phones during a rough case.

There’s a pause on your end. He can hear your shaky breathing, the quick inhale of breath at his words. He has to close his eyes tight, just for a second, just to swallow down the feeling of nausea in his stomach at the thought that you might be about to tell him to take a hike.

“You...you love me? Really?” It’s said with a happy little laugh in your voice, the sort that comes from awe, shock, an unexpected happiness that fills your chest. You can see some of your colleagues looking at you funny from the corner of your eye, but don’t really care in that moment.

“Yeah, honey, I love you. So much. I just...it’s okay if you don’t want to say it, I...I don’t want to rush you or ruin what we have.”

“Marcus, how could telling me you love me ever ruin what we have? God, baby, I love you too. So much, so so much!”

He can’t help but laugh, it’s the relieved sort of laugh. You can hear the happiness in the breathy chuckle, can feel a few tears coming to your eyes because he loves you and you love him. Nothing could be better than that, then this feeling.

The two of you stay on the phone for longer than you should considering you’re both at work, but in that moment, revelling in the happiness that only comes from sharing a declaration of love and receiving that love returned, you can’t find it within yourself to care.

#marcus pike x reader #marcus pike #the mentalist reader insert #the mentalist readerinsert #the mentalist #readerinsert #reader insert #gender neutral reader

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pynkhues · 3 years ago

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Top 5 favorite scenes that you wrote in any of your fics

Oh, wow, this is a really tricky one, anon! This will probably change, haha, buuuut today, I'm going with:

5. Rio teases Beth in Summer in the City.

“Was there something else?” she asks, coming to a stop in front of him. She’s not quite as close as they were before, and she’s less surprised than she’d like to admit when he sways in again to close the distance.

“You’re red,” he says, and Beth blinks, gesturing vaguely at the day.

“Yeah, well, it’s hot.”

Rio rolls his eyes, and then reaches for the strap of her bathing suit. He loops two fingers underneath, lying them flush against her skin as he tugs the fabric sideways just enough that they can both see the pale line of skin that was covered and the reddening skin of the rest of her. It’s her who rolls her eyes this time, reaching to pull the strap back, only he hooks his fingers so hard that the tips almost touch his palm, pressing his knuckles lightly into her shoulder.

“How long have you even been out here?” he asks, a grin tugging at his lips, and Beth frowns, squaring her shoulders defensively, unconsciously pushing back into his hand.

“About an hour.”

And that sets him off, a sudden, bright sparking laugh, and Beth can feel herself blush, which can only make her redder. He clocks it, because of course he does, and if it’s possible, he laughs harder.

“Baby, you are white.”

I don't think I'm the best at writing flirty banter, but this interaction was one that was really easy to write. It just seemed to flow right out of me, and I think you can read the ease in that? Or at least I can, haha. It's one I think works well, and I often re-read it when I'm trying to re-capture that sort of ease.

4. Rio stitches Beth up in Why Don't You Do Right?

She’s not sure what she expected, but it’s not Rio tossing her balled up shirt away from them, sitting back down and studiously avoiding looking at anything except her arm. He wasn’t wrong, like this they can both see it better – the deep gauge in her arm, a few inches below her shoulder. Removing her shirt has smeared the blood, thick and almost black across her pale skin, and Rio gently holds her arm in his big hand, turning it slightly to get a better look, and a wave of nausea hits her so hard and so urgently, she thinks briefly, again, that she might faint.

And maybe Rio sees it, the grey tinge to her face, the way her mouth opens, wet and panting with the pain or the shock, she doesn’t know, because then his hand is on her cheek, stroking her hair away from her face.

“How’s Kenny doin’?”

“What?” she asks, surprised by the question, and Rio repeats it, adds:

“He still swimmin’?”

“Yes,” Beth says, ignoring how cold she feels when Rio drops his hand and abruptly stands, rolling up his sleeves and stepping towards the kitchen sink. He washes his hands quickly, then his forearms, in a way she’s only seen doctors and nurses do before pulling babies out of her. “Dean wants him to try out for football instead though. That’s what he did, so.”

“Yeah? That what Kenny wants?”

“He wants to do whatever Dean wants him to do.”

“Boys are like that,” Rio concurs, grabbing a few paper towels from below the sink, dropping back to the chair beside Beth. He takes her arm in his hand, turning it slightly to get a better look at the wound again, and Beth tries to conceal her grimace at the spike of pain at the movement.

“Your son want to be like daddy too?” Beth asks, and can hear the dash of unkindness in her voice that she wishes she could keep out of it, but it doesn’t really seem to bother Rio, who lowers her arm gently and instead makes neat work unpacking the first aid kit. He grabs a bag of antiseptic wipes out, a vial of saline, then tweezers, a bandage, and a small suture pack. Beth can feel her heart quicken.

“Sure thinks he does,” Rio says, still rifling through the kit. “But that ain’t gonna happen. Marcus is gonna be Marcus, you know? My job’s to make him better than me.”

And Marcus. She blinks. She’s never known his name – Rio’s only ever called him ‘pa’ or ‘pop’, and so having this little name to give to that little face startles her.

I'm actually really proud of this fic overall, as it was one of the first really action-heavy things I'd written - - well, ever. A lot of the set-up of a drop that goes horribly wrong was really challenging and invigorating to write, but falling into the intimacy and the warmth of the aftermath with Rio tending to Beth's wounds was especially magic. I love contrasting tension with gentleness and this fic let me do it in spades, making it very fun to write, haha.

3. Beth and Rio in the treasury in What the Sea Wants, the Sea Will Have

The door opens with a gasp, and Tyler steps aside, clearing a path for Beth and the stranger to walk in. Bowing her head gratefully, Beth leads the way, striding forwards through the treasury doorway, only to stop.

To freeze as if she has slipped below the surface of a frosted lake, because the room is - -

It’s empty.

All of it. The wooden shelves are barren, the cabinets cleaned out, the covered paintings, sculptures, vases all gone. The only thing that remains are the cobwebs in the corners and a few meagre boxes, propped beneath the far shelves.

Gone is the gold, the money, the most precious jewellery, her family’s meagre heirlooms, and Dean’s gaudy ones, her father’s and his.

She steps tentatively forwards, willing it a dream, but she knows it’s not one she will ever wake from, hears it in every echo of every footstep. She can barely breathe, the sound coming hoarse as the stranger strides ahead of her, a tightness to his step she can’t decipher, and she feels faint, because if it’s gone from here - - if they’re only being robbed now - - where has it gone? Where has - -

And surely Dean knew, surely he - -

Beth drops a hand, tightens it in the belly of her nightdress, her gaze skirting around them, between them, and the note is still tangled in her other hand, and then she thinks of Dean’s words. No. Doesn’t think them.

They sound.

Loud as a score in her head.

Give him whatever he wants.

But there was nothing here to give, nothing but - -

Suddenly the stranger looks at her, and she sees it in his face, in his darkening look. That he knows it too – what her lord husband had wanted her to do, what he’d wanted her to give to guarantee her family’s safety, and she’s trembling now – some red hot cocktail of fury and fear and shame and it is like her father, marrying her off to someone less than her, no - - worse - - and is this what she was destined to be?

The last card to play of the men who were supposed to love her?

I could cite quite a few scenes from this monster fic, but I do think this scene is my favourie that I've gotten to write so far. There was so much build-up to this moment, and I really wanted it to land, and I think it does! I hope it does for everyone else too.

2. The sex scene in Drive You Mad

He hooks a finger in the edges of her panties, yanking them down over the swell of her ass, swallowin’ her hitched breath too before finally shifting back enough to pull them off the rest of the way. He tosses them to the floor and then he just - -

Looks at her.

Takes in every soft, long, pale, twisting inch of her.

Some Madonna in the mornin’ and a nymph at night, don’t matter, she always leans fey, leans into otherworldly, leans into somethin’ he wants to kneel at the feet of and worship, somethin’ he wants to catch in his hand and lay out in his bed, and fuck, he knows he could lose hours, days, years in the curve of her breast and the crease of her thigh.

Could lose forever in her lips.

Somethin’ more in her cunt.

Not to sound vain or silly, but I think this is one of everyone else's favourite too, haha.

1. Chapter 8 of Cross Your Fingers

They’re quiet again after that, and Beth can’t quite take her eyes off him. Off the deep set to his dark eyes, the sharp lines of his face, of his body, the softness that always surprises her – there in the twist of his plush lower lip, in his nearly-buzzed hair (she hadn’t expected that softness, the first time she’d touched it), and he’s just looking at her too, and she wonders what he’s thinking, but then she thinks - - she thinks there’s something else - -

“I tried, you know. For your son,” she says. “I thought maybe I could send food, or something to play with at the park. I was going to send him money, when I made enough, and I know that wouldn’t - - but I - -” she inhales hoarsely. “And there was nowhere to look, because I know nothing about you.”

She’d even repeated the trip she’d followed him on all those months ago, drunk on grief and guilt, and a little bourbon too – to the park and the little league building and that woman’s house (she’d moved, which was an awkward conversation to have), and even back to his building – not to his loft – never there again, but to his neighbour. Had tried to play it like she’d still been with Christopher, that she’d forgotten where his son went to school, trying to find any scrap of information, but the girl had just looked at her like she was insane, and maybe Beth had been.

Hell, maybe she still was.

“I don’t even know his name,” she says. I don’t know yours she wants to say, not which one is real, if either of them are, and Rio just keeps looking at her, an unreadable expression on his face, and Beth shakes her head suddenly.

“I’m sorry, I don’t know why I told you that,” and she doesn’t. She didn’t want a prize for it, or pity, just - - just wanted him to know she hadn’t forgotten him, hadn’t forgotten any part of him, and just, she blinks, suddenly embarrassed all over again. She swipes at her face, feeling a wayward tear roll down her cheek again, and when Rio starts to talk, it’s not with what she expects.

“It ain’t just about me,” he tells her, then his face twists. “I mean it is, it just - - you ain’t got time for a come up, yeah? You ain’t some gangsta kid, thirteen or fifteen or seventeen, ain’t got debts that can be paid in slingin’ a few dime bags after fourth period, ain’t got the time to pay those dues, or get yourself affiliated.”

“What are you - -” she starts, confused as to where the hell all this is coming from, but Rio doesn’t stop.

“You’re skippin’ steps because you’re comin’ to the game late and because you got those four little mouths to feed, and I don’t know much, but Gretchen went over all those papers on your dumbass ex’s business, and it don’t sound like he had much of a head for it. Don’t imagine that’s put you on firm ground. Only ladies I know robbin’ grocery stores like you are ladies who don’t have a lot of options. So you goin’ to those meetings and you ain’t startin’ out needin’ a few hundred dollars to stop your ma’s water getting’ cut off, you’re needin’ a lot more, and you ain’t got the history or the connections that make a guy like Slav take a chance on you, so you walk in and all these guys see are the steps you skipped and the way you skipped ‘em. That’s what I was sayin’ before, not that you ain’t shit. I’m sayin’ they ain’t gonna see you, not now, not yet.”

For a moment, Beth can hardly breathe, her mouth gaping, her eyes wide, and she shakes her head at him, but Rio keeps talking.

“You’re good at it. I wouldn’t work with you if you weren’t, and that hustle you got at the markets, it’d be a good business if you had the time to build it, but you don’t, and that’s always gonna make you desperate.”

“So what do I do then?” she asks, her voice hoarse, and Rio looks at her.

“So you stick with me,” he tells her, like it’s that simple, and Beth’s breath hitches. “One thing you always got with me is time.”

My favourite monster fic! This one still means the world to me, and being able to write the fallout of 2.13 in such a big, encompassing way was just really fun and personally rewarding. I'm still really proud of Chapter 8 in particular, where it all came to a head, and while we might not have gotten the catharsis on the show, I hope I gave some of it to the people who read this.

My flight has been delayed by eight hours and I’m stuck at the airport, please send me things to rank!

#this was so fun to think about anon!#especially to think about why i liked them #and still felt for them in my head #gg fic #top five meme #beth x rio #nbc good girls #welcome to my ama

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twilightt-fantasy · 4 years ago

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Could I please have 💖 💓 ❤️ with the Aro Caius and marcus? If that's too many then just Caius and marcus please.

Thank you for requesting!

Aro:

💖do they like PDA or are they a private person?

Aro doesn’t mind showing a little PDA but mostly keeps it private. He’ll sometimes give you a kiss on the cheek or forehead and often likes to have a hand on your lower back or intwined with your own.

In private, his kisses and touches linger and he doesn’t hide the fact that he’d rather be kissing you than doing work.

💓how do they act when they realize they’re in love/have a crush?

Aro is wayyyy more clingy when he realizes he’s in love with or has a crush on you. He finds any reason he can to be around you, no matter if its for only a few seconds. He’ll bring you small things that remind him of you, often books or pieces of jewelry.

❤️are they romantic?

Aro loves bringing you gifts. You have so many small items from Aro that you honestly lose track of where some of them are. He will bring you something every single time he leaves the castle, even if it’s something that you will never use. He likes to read to you in his free time or take you out dancing. Since he can see your thoughts, he knows exactly what you’re wanting or needing and he’ll get it to you as soon as he can.

Marcus:

💖do they like PDA or are they a private person?

Marcus is definitely a private person. He’s much more shy about his affection compared to Aro or Caius. Occasionally, he will kiss your knuckles or hold your hand while in public, but he waits to show his more meaningful touches and kisses until the two of you are alone.

💓how do they act when they realize they’re in love/have a crush?

In my opinion, Marcus is very shy about his feelings towards you. He will talk to you more than Caius would, allowing you to rant about anything you need to. He does what he can to make you feel better if you’re having a bad day and will show you small, hidden places in the castle that he thinks you’ll enjoy if you need a break.

❤️are they romantic?

Marcus is the most romantic of the kings. He will do literally anything for you, even if you tell him that it’s not necessary. He likes to take you on trips, making sure that you’re able to travel and see whatever you want. He always brings you little gifts, claiming that the object reminded him of you. If you’re stressed or tired, he likes to have you sit in his lap and he’ll play with your hair and read you books until you’re relaxed.

Caius:

💖do they like PDA or are they a private person?

Caius does not care where he is or who is around - he will kiss or touch you whenever he wants. If you don’t particularly like PDA, he will try and dial it back but not by much. If a trial has made him more angry than usual, he likes to pull you close to him as quickly as he can.

💓how do they act when they realize they’re in love/have a crush?

Caius is usually pretty forward about what he wants but, for some reason, he is always quiet around you. He likes to watch you from the shadows - in the least creepy way as possible - while he tries to work up the courage to talk to you.

❤️are they romantic?

Caius is definitely a closet romantic. He spends a lot of his free time crafting little gifts for you but your favorite thing is when he paints portraits of you. He has an art room full of paintings of you and things that you enjoy. When he can, he likes to take you on trips to be alone with you.

#caius volturi headcannon #marcus volturi headcannon #aro volturi headcannon #aro volturi #Caius Volturi #Marcus Volturi #twilight headcanon #prompt list

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mothandpidgeon · 3 years ago

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Ok but since you are writing a Regency piece...could you imagine having Din Djarin and Marcus Pike fighting over you? Each of them is so different and you can't help it because you're attracted to both of them because Din is the brooding yet kind introverted man that quotes to you poetry and takes you on long boat rides (with someone else of course because he cares about your image) and you're head over heels in love but then Marcus comes along and he's dashing and sweet and a little introverted but mostly talkative whenever he has to be and although he doesn't read to you poetry, he does gush about how none of the Greek and Roman and Etruscan sculptures and Italian works of art come close to your beauty and he takes you on long walks in gardens and even invites you to go to Versailles one time with him and then the three of you run into each other during one of the balls and the two are begging just for a moment with you and you're dancing with no one else but them during the entire night and when you try to go to the garden to get some fresh air, you're bombarded by the two men and they get into a heated argument to the point where they say that they will duel for you but you stop them both because you don't want either of them to get hurt and then...oh my sweet lord...and then, you take each of their hands and kiss their knuckles and fuck you shouldn't be doing this because what if someone sees and your reputation and no no no...but they both grow even more shy and you smile at them and-

"How about you invite us over to your estate Captain Djarin? I'm sure we can all...come to an agreement. Right?"

And the two are so confused but when they look at each other and return their gaze to you, they finally realize what it is you're talking about and they're both appalled by your offer but their shock slowly subsides because they fucking crave you and they nod and you throw each one of them a wink and-

"I'm looking forward to the invitation, good evening gentlemen."

And AHHHHHHHHHHH I DIE!!!!!!!!

Ok, Maggie, you went SO HARD on this one. Phew. You really know how to torment me!!! You are always welcome in my inbox. Considering the tale you wove, I really hope this lives up to it and you’ll have to forgive me I could go on but I was already approaching 1.5k words!!

Also I hope you don’t mind (and apologies to Regency!Din) but the mention of Versailles just screamed late 18th century (an important distinction in my nerd brain) so…

A/N: 18+! This ribbon bit comes from Barry Lyndon so apologies to the ghost of Stanley Kubrick.

It was a shame that Misters Djarin and Pike detested one another so when they had so many similarities. Both of them were kind and sweet and terribly handsome.

Mr. Pike accompanied you to the opera on more than one occasion. In the privacy of your box, he would whisper sweet words into your ear and nudge the soft skin of your neck with his nose. Mr. Djarin was more of an outdoorsman. He took you riding on his estate. When you were far enough on the grounds, he would help you down from the saddle and recite poetry to you beneath a shady tree.

And yet seeing them side by side now in Mr. Djarin’s parlor where you’d just shared a very awkward tea, tension straining the air between them, they couldn’t be more different. Mr. Djarin, so reserved, dark and modest. Mr. Pike, flirtatious and warm, cheek always dimpled with a smile.

You knew it wasn't going to be easy to break the wall between them but you’d been wise enough to plan for it.

“It seems I cannot force an accord between you but I know how men like their sport. I propose a wager. Nothing like a friendly competition to encourage affection,” you said.

Marcus cocked his eyebrow. He had wanted to win you since he’d met you last summer, pursuing you endlessly and yet this other man still stood in his way.

“I wonder which of you is a better hunter,” you said.

“And how would we prove that?” Mr. Pike asked. Din’s brow creased. He didn’t know how hunting had anything to do with your ludacris proposal, the one that they had both scoffed at at the ball. He wouldn’t have agreed to contemplate the thought if he hadn’t been so afraid of losing you.

You rose from your seat and both pairs of brown eyes watched you intently.

“I have devised a test. I’ve hidden a white ribbon somewhere on my person,” you said, trying to bite back your smile. “The better man finds it first.”

Both men looked at you in a stunned silence. Your heart was racing nervously but you were savoring their expressions. Mr. Djarin collected himself first.

“You’ll forgive me for being unfamiliar with the ways in which women amuse themselves but I hardly find such a suggestion to be entertaining,” Mr. Djarin said, his cheeks turning pink.

He couldn’t pretend that the idea of undressing you didn’t make his heart pound but he hated how easily you would give yourself over to Mr. Pike. He disliked the way Pike flirted with you so openly. Of course, he knew some of it was envy— he had never been a charmer.

“I do not speak in jest, sir,” you told him.

“That is what you want?” Mr. Pike asked, his soft eyes already slipping lower. He was already thinking of places to explore.

You watched Mr. Djarin look away from you when he nodded.

“And the better man, does he win something?” Pike asked, enjoying how flustered the other man had become.

“My highest regard,” you answered coyly.

Marcus chuckled.

“Then the lady should get what she wants, don’t you agree?” he asked Mr. Djarin.

Din cleared his throat.

“Very well,” he said.

Pike came to your side and took your hand to escort you to the couch where you sat between him and Mr. Djarin.

“Perhaps you should take the first turn,” you suggested to Mr. Djarin who was looking at you with a mix of fear and yearning in his eye.

He’d been so careful with you, always so cautious not to overstep or do anything at all that might invite scandal save a few soft kisses. And here you were laying yourself out for him. He swallowed dryly and met your eye with a shrug of surrender.

“Is it in your hair?” he asked, eyes darting up to your coiffure.

You smiled at him, nearly reached out to put your hand on his cheek. That protective nature was what drew you to Mr. Djarin in the first place. You knew what he really wanted, you could see it in his eyes, but he was too polite to take what was being offered. Not without convincing.

“I believe this requires a more thorough search, Djarin,” Pike said from over your shoulder.

He cupped your hands and turned them over as in a playful inspection, then lifted both of your arms. “No. Not there.”

You laughed and the noise made his heart jump. He’d found that he would make himself a fool if it put a smile on your face. Marcus was happy to take the opportunity to move in closer, to claim you with his touch. He brushed your neck so gently, his fingers tracing a ljne from your jaw to your shoulder where the bodice of your dress began. Goose pimples broke out on your skin and Marcus put his lips against your earlobe.

“I wonder,” he mused, leaning your back into his chest.

He hooked a finger under the fabric and followed the line down from your shoulder to the swell of your breast and you gasped. He had so often admired the rise and fall of your chest, Marcus couldn’t help but caress your skin with his thumb. Din felt himself stiffen as he listened to the soft moans Pike was drawing from you as he put a kiss on your skin. Watching your lips part, Din was frozen in place.

Marcus moved his hand down the straight front of your bodice and you felt yourself pulsing beneath your skirts.

“Perhaps under here?” he asked.

You allowed him to work the front of your gown open, the silk parting to reveal the creamy ivory stays below. Din felt twin aches in his chest and his groin as he saw the other man slide the bodice off of your shoulders.

Neither had seen you in such a state of undress before. Marcus took a moment to steady himself, admiring the figure below and sliding his hand across your middle. You were hardly naked, still clad in your stays, shift, and skirts but your underthings made his cock twitch.

“Now you see how the game is played and that Mr. Pike has been so far unsuccessful,” you said to Mr. Djarin, your voice more breathless than before. “Would you care to try, Mr. Djarin?”

You encouraged him by bringing your foot to rest beside his knee, leaning back into Mr. Pike. Din licked his lips, staring at the floral pattern on your delicate shoe for what felt like a century. Finally, he gave in to his longing.

He ran his fingers up your ankle over your silk stocking, revealing the smooth line of your leg. His large hands encircled your calf as he inched your skirt up further. You let out a shaking breath, squeezing your thighs together. You could hear Mr. Pike’s jagged breaths in your ear as he watched with anticipation. He had half a mind to release himself from his breeches to relieve the torment building there.

Din was careful not to reveal any of your skin, stopping just above the spot at your knee where your stockings were tied with thick ribbons.

“These are blue,” he said, running his thumb over the bow.

You were looking down at him flushed and breathing heavy and it took everything in his power to stop from taking you then and there.

You leaned to him, putting your lips against his and letting your mouth fall open to invite him in. You heard him whimper and he clutched onto your leg. Then you turned to Mr. Pike who kissed you hungrily, his wide palm kneading at your breasts.

“I’m quite disappointed in the both of you,” you said once you could speak again. Your whole body was thrumming with arousal.

You raised your skirts up around your hips and felt both pairs of eyes lustily watching. There, tied around the thickest part of your thigh was the white ribbon. But they only noticed the slick shining between your thighs.

“We shall call it a draw. But I’m afraid that means you’ll have to share me, gentlemen,” you said.

And from their twin growls, it was clear that they didn’t mind.

#Maggie the magnificent #I’m not sure what this is but I hope it was fun #historical au #regency au #regency!din #din djarin x reader #marcus pike x reader #ask the moth

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jawabear · 4 years ago

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Marcus Moreno fluff alphabet

Not my GIF

A/N: As promised, here is the fluff alphabet for Marcus the super daddy! I hope you enjoy it! Sorry for any mistakes. Stay safe.

Genre: Fluff

Warnings: Fem!Reader, loads of fluff, mentions of self doubt, not much else

Summary: An A-Z of Marcus Moreno’s relationship antics

A = Affection (How affectionate are they? How do they show affection?)

Marcus would show affection in every way in the book. All day, every day if he could. And he will. He just wants you to know how much he loves you and how much you mean to him. He doesn’t feel words are enough.

He’s especially fond of hugging you from behind. That’s his go to for showing you affection as well and kissing behind your ear or the underside of your jaw.

B = Beginning (How would the relationship start?)

He’s pretty out of touch in the dating front. He doesn’t really know how to go about asking you out, so it’s Missy who actually does it. Basically sets the two of you up on a date with out either of you knowing but you both take it in stride and start dating immediately after that.

C = Cuddles (Do they like to cuddle? How would they cuddle?)

He loves to cuddle, yes. But he doesn’t make a habit out of it. You disagree, but he thinks that the more you cuddle the less effect it will have. You understand where he’s coming from but you don’t think it’s true. So really you only cuddle when he finds it absolutely necessary (which is quite often to be honest).

It’s mostly at night in bed or if either of you have had a particularly right day at work.

D = Domestic (Do they want to settle down? How are they at cooking and cleaning?)

He was a single dad for a while so he’s pretty good at that sort of stuff. When he puts his mind to it, he’s a pretty good cook. And he does make sure everything that has a place is in its place.

E = Ending (If they had to break up with their partner, how would they do it?)

He probably wouldn’t have the heart to do it. But if he really had to, he would just tell you that it wasn’t working. But he wouldn’t ever end it with you.

F = Fiancé(e) (How do they feel about commitment? How quick would they want to get married?)

I don’t see Marcus as the type to get married a second time. He’s kind of put off the idea after his first marriage. Although it wasn’t his fault that it ended. But I just don’t think he’d want to get married again...

G = Gentle (How gentle are they, both physically and emotionally?)

He is a very gentle man. He knows exactly what to do in any situation. He knows how to comfort you. He himself is pretty sensitive and can get quite emotional. But he is an excellent support blanket for you.

Physically, he’s super gentle. He knows how to touch you to make you feel better. He has the most comforting touch.

H = Hugs (Do they like hugs? How often do they do it? What are their hugs like?)

As mentioned, he loves to hug you from behind. It’s just a more comforting hold he finds. This is mainly in the mornings. You would be making breakfast or something and he would appear behind you, wrapping his arms around you and resting his chin on your shoulder before gently swaying you side to side as he told you how much he loved you.

I = I love you (How fast do they say the L-word?)

The time in between him realising he loves you and saying it is quite long. He’s scared of telling you because he’s scare you’ll leave him.

So he waits for you to say it first. And when you do, he doesn’t stop saying it back.

J = Jealousy (How jealous do they get? What do they do when they’re jealous?)

Marcus does get jealous quite easily, this comes with his protective nature, but he is good at not acting on it. At least not in an overbearing way.

If someone is flirting with you, he casually slide up beside you and wrap his arms around your waist, pulling you close to him and kissing your cheek to make sure who ever it is that had tried it on you gets the message that you are unavailable.

K = Kisses (What are their kisses like? Where do they like to kiss you? Where do they like to be kissed?)

Because he loves to hug you from behind so much, he loves to kiss behind your ear or the nape of your neck. Or even just the back of your head. He loves to bury his nose in your hair and just breath in your smell.

His kisses are all sweet and full of purpose and love. He never kisses you just for the sake of it. He kisses you to tell you how much he loves you.

L = Little ones (How are they around children?)

Clearly he’s an excellent dad and clearly he’s good with kids. But he doesn’t really know if he wants another one. Of course he’d love to have one with you, so you can have something that it both of yours, but he’s a little on the fence about it for reasons he doesn’t even know. Perhaps he feels he’s getting too old to take care of a baby...

M = Morning (How are mornings spent with them?)

Marcus is usually up before you so it’s not that often that you’ll get to cuddle in bed, even on weekends his up with the sun. But that doesn’t matter. You’ll go down stairs and see him making a coffee or something so you’ll take it upon your self to initiate morning cuddles before Missy wakes up, not that that would stop you anyway.

But on the rare occasion you get a lazy day with him, that is what it is. I’m talking not getting out of bed until lunch time. Just laying in bed, in each other’s arms. (Maybe doing some other stuff). Just overall being soft.

N = Night (How are nights spent with them?)

Nights are more tender than the soft mornings. It will usually be that you’ll be laying in bed facing each other, just looking at each other. He will lift his hand to gently stroke over your cheek. And you will do the same. There are no words needed in the night. These small actions are enough.

O = Open (When would they start revealing things about themselves? Do they say everything all at once or wait a while to reveal things slowly?)

Marcus is a pretty open person I feel. I don’t think there is much he would hide from you. Besides, life as a hero means he’s pretty exposed anyway. But he wants to be straight forward with you, he doesn’t want to keep anything from you so he knows that you really do love him for him and not for who he pretends to be.

P = Patience (How easily angered are they?)

Marcus is very patient. He has been trained to keep his cool no matter what. And dealing with the Heroics has made him build up a pretty high tolerance for messing about. It take a lot for Marcus to get angry. So much so, that you’ve never seen him properly angry.

But you’ve heard stories. When he gets angry, he gets angry.

Q = Quizzes (How much would they remember about you? Do they remember every little detail you mention in passing, or do they kind of forget everything?)

I get the feeling that Marcus would remember absolutely everything that’s ever happened in your relationship. He probably remembers everything you’ve ever said or done. He probably knows more about you than your own parents.

R = Remember (What is their favorite moment in your relationship?)

The first time he hear you say “I love you” and meaning it is probably his favourite. You had said it a few times, but he got the feeling you had only said it to get him to say it back.

But there was one night where you were together, just being together and you looked into his eyes for a moment. You just looked at him and he looked right back at you. And then you said it. You whispered it. And he could hear the amount of truth sown into every letter. He would never forget that night.

S = Security (How protective are they? How would they protect you? How would they like to be protected?)

Marcus is very protective. He has to know you’re safe. It drives him crazy if he doesn’t know where you are. But he’s not controlling. He just needs to know your okay. As long as he knows where you are and that you’re safe, he’s fine.

Should you ever end up in danger, who better to protect you than the leader of the Heroics?! To be honest, most people would be too scared to even think about hurting you if they knew that Marcus was your boyfriend. No one would want to go up against him in a fight.

T = Try (How much effort would they put into dates, anniversaries, gifts, everyday tasks?)

Marcus always tried his best, he may not always succeed but he always tries. He wants to make sure you’re 100% happy. What he doesn’t understand is, just being with him makes you 100% happy.

U = Ugly (What would be some bad habits of theirs?)

He has a habit of doubting himself over the smallest things. He always worries that something is going to go wrong. He’s quite easily panicked and slightly paranoid. But that’s all a result of his job. It’s not something he can easily fix, but you try and help him as best you can.

V = Vanity (How concerned are they with their looks? Do your looks bother them?)

Looks on his partner doesn’t bother him. It’s not that he’s looking for. He just wants someone he can be with.

But he is very self conscious about that way he looks. Seeing himself on TV daily has caused this. He doesn’t do it to look good for anyone in particular (besides you), he does it so that seeing himself on the screen is a little more bearable.

W = Whole (Would they feel incomplete without you?)

If he really thought about it, no. He wouldn’t feel incomplete as such. It’s hard for him to explain. He wouldn’t feel right with out you, but he has got Missy who has been his heart since she was born. You understand that. Regardless of how much he loves you, Missy will always come first for him. Granted, this has lead to a few complications in your relationship but you managed to get over it pretty quickly.

But he wouldn’t want to be with out you. He needs you in his life.

X = Xtra (A random headcanon for them.

Marcus loves how easily you mix in with his family. He knows that perhaps having a kid can put people off. But he was so happy that it didn’t put you off. And he loves how good you are with Missy. How playful and helpful you are. How you’re always willing to join in, even though he knows how anxious you are about it. He just loves what you add to his family. What you add to his life. He just loves you.

Y = Yuck (What are some things they wouldn’t like, either in general or in a partner?)

He wouldn’t really like really tall girls. As I said, he loves to hug you from behind and bury his nose in your hair. This would be a little bit difficult if his partner was taller than him. But it’s not completely a no. He doesn’t really care about something like that. He’ll find a way to get it done should his partner be taller than him.

Z = Zzz (What is a sleep habit of theirs? Does it change around a partner?)

Marcus struggles to sleep. He hasn’t really slept soundly since he was a kid. He’s a light sleeper so even when he is sleeping, he’s not really resting.

But he does find it easier to get to sleep when he’s got you by his side, you bring a comfort with you that relaxes him.

10/01/21

Taglist: @linkpk88 @phoenixhalliwell @lunaserenade

#marcus moreno #marcus moreno x reader #marcus moreno fanfic #we can be heroes #fluff #pedro pascal #fanfic

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f0rever15elf · 4 years ago

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Oof I would love some HC's on the boys and how they'd react if you told them your family didn't really want you. My whole family rejected me when I needed them the most, through my severe depression and suicidal thoughts, etc. I'd just like to know how the boys would help me through this time of mine. (sorry for the trigger I just need the boys to tell me I'm wanted I guess)

I’m so sorry my darling. No one would have to deal with something like that and my inbox is always open for you. I hope this is to your liking my dear. <3

Whiskey: For once in his life, Jack has no words. His eyes go wide as saucers as those words slip past your lips. Your hands are in his and he’s squeezing them in that comforting way that only he can. After several moments of stunned silence, Jack would pull you into his arms and just... hold you. He’d be pressing gentle kisses to your forehead and temple and his hands run up and down your body as he holds you. “I’ve got you, Sugar. I’ll always have you and I’ll always want you. With me, you always have a home, sure as shootin’.”

Frankie: He bristles with anger at first, but almost immediately deflates as he pulls you to him. “How can I help?” will be the first words out of his mouth as he holds you. He would offer to call your family, to try and fix things. That’s what Frankie does, he fixes things. He wants so desperately to fix this. If you tell him no, he would switch his focus. “What do you need? What do you want? What can I do?” That’s how he shows he cares for you, acts of service. Whatever you need, he does, no questions asked.

Javi: Javi says something in Spanish, and you’re pretty sure it’s swearing of some kind based on how it sounds. After he calms down, he sits with you and tells you that he’s putting in for time off. He’s going to take you home to his parents, to his family. He tells you they’re going to take you in, that they’ll be that stability that you need. In the mean time, he’s gong to spend the night with you, whispering sweet things to you, some in Spanish, some in English for as long as you need, even long after you fall asleep.

Ezra: He immediately starts listing off all of the amazing things about you, physical, mental, emotional, spiritual... You’re his muse and he will be sure you know this. He’s no stranger to feeling alone, especially while dealing with demons of the mind, and he wants you to know that so you know you can talk to him about whatever it is that haunts you thoughts. He knows what it is to feel alone, and he wants you to know that even if those who should always be there for you have turned their backs, that he’s there. He will always and forever be there for you, the safe place for you to come to. He’s never leaving and he will not stop his ramblings until he’s POSITIVE that you know this.

Oberyn: Oberyn loves his family. Adores them. Even if his daughters are bastards, he loves them all the same. So the fact that your family has turned their backs on you, it just boggles his mind. It doesn’t compute for him. It also makes him angry, but he refuses to let you see that side of him, especially when he can tell you’re feeling vulnerable. And he can always tell. But when he holds you, it’s like you’re the most precious of gems. He coos to you how beautiful and perfect and amazing you are. How here with him you will always have a home and you will always be wanted and loved and treasured. Anything you may need, and he does mean anything, he will get for you. he’s a prince after all. And he makes sure you know that as he takes your hand and leads you to your shared chamber.

Din: As I said before, family is the crux of Mandalorian culture. But for them, family extends so far beyond blood. He’s taken you as his, meaning you’re a part of his clan and therefor you will always have a home with him, anywhere in the galaxy. He would tell you stories of how the Mandalorians took him in, and how they’ll take you in same as they did him. He’d explain how now that you’re a part of his clan, you’ll never be alone again, you’ll never need to fear being turned away. And as you open up more and more to him, he will shower you with the gentle affections that he knows you like. He struggles to put how he feels into words sometimes, so he’ll show you physically. He’ll show you how home is with each other.

Pero: Pero hasn’t had a family in a very, very long time. He’s been on his own for as long as he can remember. The closest he’s come to having a family was in William. That is, until he met you. He doesn’t say much, he’s always been a man of few words, but he does know that you’re hurting. And that can’t be allowed to stand. Pero is like Frankie in that he is a man of action. He does things. He fixes things. So while he may not say much, he absolutely will not give you the chance to feel alone. He’ll be by your side as often as he can, physically surround you as often as possible to comfort you in the way that he knows best. You’ll always feel safe and protected, especially when you feel vulnerable.

Max: “No Max, you can’t eat my family.” He doesn’t see why he can’t but he’ll sigh oh so dramatically before picking you up an taking you upstairs and , ehem, distracting you until all you can think about him and how you’re totally surrounded by him. And honey, he can go all night if he needs to. When you’re thoroughly spent and laying sleepily besides him, his touches are super tender. “You know I love you right? That I’ll never leave you?” You know it’s true, but you ask him to tell you again because you need to hear it, and he obliges again and again until you’re snoring next to him.

Maxwell: It... takes him a minute to really comprehend why this is bothering you so much, and you’ll need to do a little bit more explaining than with the others to get him to see why you’re hurting so. But when you do, he tries to shower you with gifts to have a physical reminder of how much he treasures you. If he sees that that’s not exactly what you need, he’ll sit down and talk to you, asking what it is he can do to help. Do you need him to buy you something? To take you somewhere? Ask and it’s yours. And if all you say is “hold me and tell me you want and need me,” then that’s what he’ll do. He’ll be awkward at first, but when you relax against him, he’ll relax too, holding you and comforting you as long as you need.

Marcus: Poor, sweet, beautiful Marcus. He’s gobsmacked and on the verge of tears. You’re so wonderful and amazing, how could someone turn their back on someone so utterly perfect? He’s going full koala. He’s going to hold you and not let you go. Even once you’re asleep, it’s going to be in his arms. When you wake up, he’s going to have a very serious conversation about what you need as far as your mental health goes, and he’s going to promise that he’s going to do everything in his power to get you the help you need. Then he’d go to cup your cheeks and in a voice more sincere than you’ve ever heard before he’s going to make you the promise that you will always, always have a home with him, no matter how hard things get.

#hcs #tw: neglect #marcus pike #agent whiskey #maxwell lord #max phillips #oberyn martell #din djarin #pero tovar #frankie morales #ezra #javier pena #Anonymous

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holycrapharry · 4 years ago

Text

Hot Noodles

Y/N takes out her extremely hot container of noodles out of the microwave and hurries over to the break room table. Her body collides with another and the cup of noodles goes flying, landing on Marcus’ feet. “Nice one, Harry. Could you watch where you’re going and not bump into people for once?” Y/N rolls her eyes at him and brings her attention to Harry, who unfortunately has a stray noodle dangling from his glasses.

“I’m so sorry, are you alright? Like did I burn you?” He shakes his head and sheepishly grins. “You sure you’re alright?” She stands and reaches for some paper towels.

He brushes off the noodles and he even laughs at the one hanging from the frames of his glasses. “Yeah, I keep spare shirts in my car. When you’re clumsy like me, you have to be prepared.” He helps her clean up the mess and even offers to get her more noodles. He was sweet.

She always found Harry cute, she never understood why the other women in the office or labs didn’t think so. He was so smart and witty. He even knew how to laugh at himself. He had big dimples and nice hands and, “Harry, do you have a tattoo?” She has no idea why she never noticed before. He had this habit of spinning his mug around while he read, she had watched him so many times and never noticed.

He looks down at his hand and unbuttons the wrist of his sleeve, rolling it upwards. “I have a lot actually. The hand one is a bit hard to hide.” He looks back at Y/N and sees that she’s either confused or maybe even intrigued. “Not a lot of people know that I have them, work attire and all that keeps them covered.”

She blinks and looks back at his face, still not understanding the things the woman in the place say about him. “I would’ve never have guessed.”

He pushes the glasses up the bridge of his nose, “Guessed I had tattoos?” She nods and he smirks at her, “I bet a lot of people here wouldn’t either.” She stares at him for a few moments and he clicks his tongue, “Well, I’m gonna go get that shirt. Um, I’m sorry about your noodles.”

As Harry leaves, Lilly walks in and takes a glance and his wet shirt. “What happened? Did Harry spill his food again.”

Y/N rolls her eyes for the second time, “No, I accidentally ran into him with my lunch.” She opens a yogurt and sits at the table with Lilly. She doesn’t know why but the thought of Harry covered in tattoos makes her smile.

“Do you have the hots for Harry?” She refuses to answer and Lilly laughs, “Oh my god, do you?” Y/N just looks at her and eats her yogurt. “Y/N, he’s not exactly dating material.”

She snorts and gives her a glare, “Why not? Why do people think he’s like this, this weirdo?”

Her gossip loving coworker scoots her chair closer and begins to whisper. “Do you not know about his little run in with Maya?” She shakes her head ‘no’ and Lilly continues, “Well, she knew Harry in college and said that his sister would always bring him to parties. You know, to like, get him to go out and stuff. She saw him at a party one night and one thing leads to another and they ended up in one of the rooms.” Y/N suddenly is no longer interested in the story but there’s no stopping Lilly when she gets started, “She said that Harry had no idea what he was doing so she grabbed his hand and put it down her pants. He apparently didn’t have a clue what was what and she ended up leaving him in the room all hard and stuff.” Lilly takes a sip of her coffee as if the story was the usual business conversation.

Y/N licks the spoon and furrows her brows, “So, the people in this office are forming their opinion because of a party hook up gone bad?” Lilly shrugs and adds more sugar to her drink.

“I guess but I mean, his clumsiness and constant talk about chemical evaporation don’t help.” She leaves Y/N alone at the table and waves a quick bye so she can hurry back to her files, or talk someone else’s ear off.

For the rest of the work day, she can’t stop herself from thinking about Harry and his tattoos. Does he have more? Does he still not know what’s what down there? Who cares? She can teach him, she could show him so many – “Hey, Y/N.” She jumps from her thoughts and almost knocks her cup of pencils over, “Oh, sorry.” Harry’s face is his classic look of guilt and it makes her sad. He’s always so nice and no one ever really talks to him.

“Um, it’s fine. Is- is there something you need?” He leans against the door frame and flips through a notebook and lands on his desired page.

“I was told that you could help me look up these files. They don’t authorize us to access to the journals anymore.” She knows if he did, he would stay up all night, reading and soaking up all the knowledge he could.

She smiles and holds her hand out for the notebook, “Do you need them right away or do you want me to give them to you at other time? It could take a bit depending when they’re from.”

He straightens his posture and fiddles with his watch, “I don’t want to make you rush. I just need them by Next Wednesday.”

“I’ll have them on Monday.” They both smile and He thanks her awkwardly lingering before he leaves.

Later that evening Y/N joins a few friends for a much needed night out. Her hair is down and her legs are bare. She feels good and you know what, she’s lookin’ pretty good too. “You know that the bartender hasn’t stopped looking at you ever since we got here?”

She looks at her friend, Niall, and back at the bar, trying to spot him. “Well, I can’t see him. Maybe he’s looking at you and thought the tip you left him was you bein’ a flirt.” Niall rolls his eyes and takes a gulp of his beer.

“If I was into guys, I don’t think he’d be my type. I’m not a fan of tattoos, you know?” Y/N’s almost chokes on her drink and Niall laughs at her, “Too much at once, love?”

She takes another look at the bar but can only see the top of the bartender’s head, “Does the bartender have glasses?” He shakes his head as he eyes a girl who walks by. He turns back to Y/N and she waves him off, “Go ahead you animal.” She plays with her straw and keeps her eye on the bar, hoping to catch a glimpse of him. There’s no way it could be Harry, why on earth would it be? Millions of people have tattoos and Harry, in a place like this? No way. She takes another sip of her drink but is greeted by that annoying slurping sound.

For some reason, she argues with herself to walk over to the bar. ‘This is so silly’, she thinks to herself. She moves through the crowd and finds herself and empty stool. She messes around her clutch for cash and gets ready to order another drink. The elusive bartender’s back is turned to her but she can see a few tattoos on the back of his arm, a skull, two hands shaking and some words but she can’t make out what they say.

She looks back over to the tables and tries to see if she can spot Niall, she’s sure he’s off at that girl’s apartment by now. When she turns back, she sees that the bartender is walking towards her but his head is down, fiddling with a hand towel. When he looks up, her heart flutters and she’s certain she might as well have been drooling. “Hi.” It really was Harry but he just doesn’t look like harry. He’s not wearing glasses, he’s not wearing a button up, his hair isn’t even fixed like it usually is. He’s wearing a white T-shirt, thin enough to see that he really is covered in tattoos and these tight as hell black jeans. When she doesn’t respond he coughs and asks, “Do you want another?”

Her cheeks flush and she looks back to his face. “Um, yeah. The same, please.” He grabs a new glass and eyes the crowd.

“Just the one drink, then?” Y/N tilts her head, confused as to why she needs a third drink when she hasn’t even finished making her second. “For the guy you’re with.”

“Oh, no. He’s just one of my friends I came out with tonight.” Harry tries to suppress a smile as he mixes her drink. “So, I have to ask. Why is Harry Styles, the cute clumsy chemist, working at a bar?”

Her question takes him by surprise, he’s not often complimented. He hands her the fruity drink and leans forward on the bar, looking all over her face but her eyes. “My sister and her husband own it and the tips don’t hurt.” She notices that he seems nervous and he’s trying to hide the fact that he’s blushing.

“Harry, do you ever ask out the people you see here?” He shakes his head no and begins to pick at the thread of the towel and she tries her hardest to make him more comfortable. “Can I ask you a question? You can say no, I won’t be offended but, um, do you wanna come home with me?”

His eyes finally find hers and he almost drops the towel. He looks down the bar and sees that the others have the rest of the customers handled. “I-I’m off at midnight.”

She smiles and is a lot more excited than she meant to be, “Is that a yes?” Harry nods and smiles at her. That smile is enough to kill her.

Once Harry is free, he calls them a cab and argues with Y/N that he’s paying for it. When they arrive at her house, he rubs his eyes and sniffles, “You have so many flowers.” She pulls out her key and also a handkerchief. She hands him the embroidered cloth and smiles. “You’re the only woman under 60 I’ve ever seen with a hanky.”

“I’m just always prepared. Pippy get down!” Y/N pats a little fluffy dogs head and Harry immediately picks her up, letting her lick his face.

“So, your names Pippy, eh? You’re cute and tiny. Like a little walking pillow, yes.” Y/N laughs at him and he’s brought back to reality. “Oh, sorry. I can’t have pets at my apartment.” He lets Pippy scamper off and stands awkwardly by the front door.

“Um, let’s just sit. There’s good stuff on HBO this month if you wanna watch something.” Harry follows her to the couch and she kicks off her shoes, making herself more comfortable. She smiles at him and scoots closer, grabbing his arm and resting a hand on it. “I didn’t know you had this many tattoos.”

He grins and shows his dimples, “I like people not knowing something about me.”

Y/N whispers to herself, “You’re so cute.”

“What?” He touches the bridge of his nose, undoubtedly a habit he has from wearing his glasses.

Crap. “Oh, I said you were cute but I didn’t mean for you to hear it.”

“I think you’re cute but I want you to hear it.”

Y/N sighs and nods her head, “Alright.” She swings her leg over his lap and puts her hands on his shoulders. “I have to kiss you or you might say something great and I’ll die or something.”

He doesn’t hesitate to respond, “Okay.” He surprises her with a very passionate kiss. His tongue slips between her lips and her body almost goes limp. His lips are so soft and she can taste a hint of alcohol. She has no idea how long they were kissing but she can feel him harden under her, which turns her on even more. Her hand grips the front of his shirt, pulling the neck down some and reveals a bird.

“Can I take off your shirt?” He whispers a yes and raises his arms. When the shirt is removed she’s welcomed with a butterfly just as beautiful as he is. Her fingers trace the wings and she kisses each one of the birds on his collar bones. “When did you get them done?”

“I started getting them right at 18. The birds were some of the firsts. This is the newest one,” He points to his right forearm and she examines it like a piece of art. “You like them?” He makes his first bold move and plays with the hem of her dress that’s bunched on over her thighs. He knows that if he were to bring a hand around her back, that her bottom would be fully exposed.

She smiles and cutely lifts his left arm, looking at the ones hidden under his bicep, she giggles when she notices more on his rib cage, running her finger along those as well. He shifts a little and bites his lip, “How on earth did you get these if you’re ticklish?”

His hands rests around her hips now, so comfortable in their conversation that neither of them even notice at first, “I don’t know. It’s a weird feeling, it hurts but kind of feels good.” She didn’t expect that kind of answer but is definitely pleased with it. “Do you want any?”

Y/N laughs and pokes at his dimple, “I already have one.”

“Oh, you do? Where?” He suddenly moves her arms up, and almost pulls her dress up out of excitement but he stops himself. He doesn’t want her to think he’s just interested in seeing her body.

“Just do whatever you feel like, ok?” Harry swallows and nods. His heart begins to beat fast and he slowly pulls the dress over her head. The way her hair falls back and the softness of her skin is almost enough for him to burst out of his shorts. Her bra is gray and her underwear is a pale pink. His hands gently graze her hips, then her waist. “Move your left hand up about two inches.” He obliges and looks at her when she says nothing else. “Congratulations, young man! Move your hand to find your prize!” He wishes that everyone was a little bit like her. She’s sweet and goofy, and certainly doesn’t judge people by what others say. Harry moves his hand and cranes his neck to see her tattoo.

He brushes his thumb on her inked skin, “A light bulb?” His touch gives her visible goosebumps and he hopes taking the dress off didn’t make her cold, he hopes that it’s all him. “Can I know why?”

She moves further up his lap and rests her hand on the back of his neck, making his cheek involuntarily lean against her arm. “When I was a little girl, my dad bought me one of those kits where you could turn on a light bulb with a potato. Seeing that light go off, made the little light in my head go off, I guess.” Harry watches her face and just like that he feels something bubble up inside him. “After that, I couldn’t stop taking things about and my parents go so mad at me. On my 15th birthday, they let me build my own computer. And that’s that, really, a little light bulb made me obsessed with computers.”

He polity waits until she’s finished to kiss her arm, “Please, kiss me.” Y/N grasps the sides of his face and she kisses him softly. His hands roam her back and linger over the fabric of her bra. He wasn’t exactly experienced but he knows that there’s supposed to be a clasp there.

Her hands get lost in hair while she moves away from his mouth and leaves kisses on his neck. He can’t seem to open his eyes and becomes painfully aware of how hard he is. “The clasp is in the front.”

Harry brings his hands to her front, grazing her breasts along the way to the clasp, He feels the warm skin spring free against his hands and everything becomes fuzzy. Harry has this beautiful girl on top of him and she wants him just as much as he wants her. She then sits up straight, giving him a full view of her topless self. She grabs his hands and places them where his eyes are glued. The moment he feels her hard nipples on his palms, his dick jumps underneath her. “M’sorry.” Her hands make a squeezing motion atop of his, letting him know that he’s free to explore.

“You don’t have to be sorry for how your body responds.” Her hands slide down to his wrists, his arms, then fall to his stomach to give her leverage to rock her hips. He lets out a small moan and she does it again. “The point of it all is to make each other feel good, don’t hold back.”

Harrys hand fall and come around her backside, pulling her harder against him and allowing her chest to fall in front of his face. He kisses her nipple and before sucking it into his mouth, he whispers, “I won’t.” His sucking is gentle but wet. The tight grip he has he her ass makes both of them wish they were naked. He’s never been so forward but her body, and just everything about her as more intriguing than anyone else’s. He wanted to please her, he wanted her to feel so good and he wasn’t nervous if he wasn’t very good. She would show him; she would show him how she wanted it. His mouth leaves her chest but her hands never leave his hair, “Where’s your room?” If it were possible, her heart would beat even faster. His arms hook her thighs and he gets up from the couch, carrying her down a hall. “Which is it?”

She answers him through kisses, “The last one on the right.” He arrives in her bedroom, smiling as he lays her on the bed. He settles on her side and his finger runs up and down between her breasts. “I have two questions.” His palm rests flat against her tummy, waiting for her question. “One, how come you don’t wear your glasses at the bar?”

Harry shrugs and taps his fingers against her skin, “it’s easier to make the drink when you don’t have glasses to clean. What’s the other?”

Y/N leans up on her elbows, looking much more serious than before, “Is that thing about Maya true?” She feels like an ass for asking the question but is taken by surprise when his body moves on top of hers.

“In a sense.” He moves a stray hair away from her eyes and kisses her cheek, “That night was the first time I ever drank, and the first time a girl ever gave me attention other than helping her study. I was buzzed and what Maya left out about the story was that she had gotten her period and I didn’t know what to say to her. So she left me there and told everyone I didn’t know what I was doing.” His hand travels down her belly and into her underwear to dip a finger into her wet folds. “Let’s find out if I do,” he nuzzles her ear and groans, “Please, how do you like it?”

Her mouth is suddenly very dry and she feels like she’s floating. Not once has a man asked her that and she’s not sure if she knows how to answer it. “Just move slowly. I like it up and down.” He watches her as his middle finger rubs her. Her lips are parted and her eyes are closed, her skin is flushed as well.

“Y/N, I think you’re beautiful.” His sweet whisper is just as good as the workings of his finger. “I think you’re one of the most beautiful creations that I’ve ever had the pleasure of studying.” Something about that makes her body tingle.

“God, Harry. I have a-another question.” He only nods and she takes a moment to continue. “How far have you gotten with a girl?” His kisses halt but his finger continues.

“I’m not a virgin if that’s what you’re asking.” She wouldn’t believe him if he said he was.

Now it’s her turn to avoid eye contact, “Then how longs it been?”

“More than I care to say.”

“Was it the one time?” He fails to answer and she turns her head to meet his, “I’m sorry if I’m embarrassing you. I just, I like you and I’m curious. Why isn’t happening to you all the time? You’re so smart. You’re sweet and so gorgeous that I could just fucking explode right now. I don’t understand how people don’t want to get in your bed every night.”

“I don’t mind it. It got me a close to you. It let me know you more, let me see that you’re even more beautiful than I thought.” He shows off his dimples again.

“Jesus Christ, people are idiots.” He removes his hand from her underwear and kisses her, very passionately at that. He ends up between her legs and enjoys the feeling of her thighs against his waist. The slightest bit of pressure on his cock causes him to wince and Y/N takes notice. “Do you need to take your pants off? I mean, they’re insanely tight, you can’t be comfortable.” He takes a deep breath and stands, wiggling out of his jeans. When he climbs back on the bed, he springs free and she literally throbs. “Are you for real?”

Harry looks around the room and back to her, “What?”

She whispers like she shouldn’t even say it out loud, “You have a big dick.”

He whispers back, “Thanks. I was born with it.” She narrows her eyes at him and he smiles at her. “Why are we whispering?” She only shrugs. He continues his whispering tone and moves close to her, “I want to touch you again.” His fingertips rest at the top of her underwear and he can see her skin pebble, “I want to see what you taste like.”

Y/N lets out something close to a whimper and sighs, “Oh my god.”

“Is that a ‘yes’ oh my god or a ‘no thanks’ oh my god?” his fingers still linger above the hem of the thin fabric and it’s enough to make her scream.

She exhales and can’t help but feel a bit faint, “Its oh my god, yes.” She can’t get it through her mind that Harry was this, this polite brilliant man who is somehow not good with ladies, but he is good with ladies because he’s making her feel like she’s all he wanted and he opened her up on Christmas morning. It doesn’t make sense.

Harry clears his throat and slides down to her stomach, pausing just below her belly button. He positions himself between her legs and stops once again, “Should I, uh, take these off or just move them to the side?”

“Whatever you want.” He hooks his fingers into the band and tugs them off. He finally gets a full few of her. She’s wet and he can tell that she’s swollen. He’s only attempted to do this one other time but it didn’t work out. She got cold feet cause her roommate would be home soon and ‘I don’t want you to know we do things.’ He figures that Y/N has had someone do this for her, why wouldn’t they, look at her.

He bumps his nose against her clit by accident but he doesn’t apologize because the way she just gripped the blanket lets him know it was good. He’s too nervous to use his actual tongue at first, so he begins kissing her. He places small kisses onto her slit, feeling the wetness underneath his lips. He ends up getting her so worked up with kisses alone that her hips rise a bit. “Can you put this leg on my shoulder? I can… Get to you more, I think.” Her thigh rests on his shoulder and his hand caresses it while he continues. He keeps kissing her but his time, he kisses her like they kissed on the couch. His tongue starts off soft and feels the little nub. His lips open wider and those gentle pecks become more aggressive, assertive.

He flattens his tongue on her clit and makes a movement that she can’t describe, “Fuck, do that again.” He does and wants to smile at her reaction. He then licks deeper and much harder than previously. She catches his head moving and sees his wet tongue working magic on her. She moans and even says his name. “Harry, Harry are you sure you’re not lying about being good with girls because Jesus fucking Christ if they knew you could do this.”

He doesn’t want to stop but he wants to see her face, he wants to feel how fast her heart is beating. He drags himself up to her face and kisses her before she can even say anything. He wonders if she likes the way she tastes in the same way he does but can’t be bothered to ask. “I don’t care if they know. I’m with you right now.” Y/N smiles and kisses him.

“I wanna do something for you.” He makes a ‘Hmmph’ sound while he kisses her more. “Do you want me to touch you?” He halts his mouth and actually looks into her eyes. “I could touch you, I could use my mouth, we could, we could have sex.” How does Harry make her this way and no one else? They’re blind.

He inhales and bites his lip. How do you answer a question like that? He looks at her with these big green sad eyes and closes them. “What if I- what if you don’t get to finish?”

Her hand soothes Harry’s doubt with a hand in his hair, “If it helps, you already got me close with your mouth, it won’t take much for me to come.” She kisses his forehead and continues, “I just want to make you feel good, Harry.” She tells him to reach over to her nightstand and get a condom.

He takes off his shorts and rolls it on himself. He lingers between her legs for a moment but feels comforted once again by her delicate hands in his hair. He slowly enters her and his mouth falls open. Her grip on his shoulder tightens and she loses her breath. “Are you alright, love?”

If her lower half wasn’t so overwhelmed at the moment she would’ve swooned at the sweet nickname. She nods and feels him go deeper. She’s already pulsing from the excitement and she groans loudly with her head back. “Get on your back, I wanna make you come.” With Harry on his back, she places his hands on her hips and her nails dig into his chest. She begins to rock on top of him, feeling him hit every spot. “You feel so good.” Y/N seems to be talking to herself rather than to him. She moves faster and he begins to pant beneath her.

He moans and pulls her chest flush against him, matching her thrusts. He’s taken her by delightful surprise and she feels her orgasm almost instantly. “Put your hands in my hair again.” Her hands fly to his wild hair and her breasts give him the perfect opportunity to suck on them.

He bites into her skin and it makes her squeeze around him, “I’m gonna come.” He flips her on her back and gives it all he has. With a hand on the headboard and the older on her hip, he goes as deep and hard as he can. He watches her unravel under him. “Harry.” Her voice is shaky and quiet but it’s music to his ears.

“Just give me a little more. God, please.” Her legs wrap around his waist and a little ‘uh’ escapes her mouth each time he brings his hips into her. She’s completely wrapped around him and he doesn’t think anything has ever felt so good. “Do that thing.” She squeaks to question him and he kisses her forehead, “Squeeze around me.” She clenches and his head falls to her neck. She can feel him pulse inside her and his hand is so tight on her hip that it’s sure to be red after. Harry makes a grunting sound and a part of him doesn’t want to move. “That’s surely to kill me next time.” He hears her giggle and faces her, “What?”

“You wanna have a next time?” He matches her smirk and lays his head on her chest. Her fingers twirl the short hair on his head and Harry can’t stop smiling to himself.

He sweetly kisses the warm skin below her collar bones and says, “I wanna have a lot of next times with you.“

Part Two

The alarm clock goes off and Y/N nudges Harry with her foot, making him groan. “Hit snooze!” He throws the pillow over his head and pokes her back.

“I already hit snooze, we have to go to work.” He rolls over and swings his arm and leg over her. “Nooo. Don’t dead monkey me.” She hated this but loved it at the same time. He would put his dead weight on her and she would have to kiss him back to life until he made monkey sounds. “H, I mean it. We don’t have time. I’ll kiss you all you want when we get home.”

Harry removes his limbs from her and pinches her hip, “Oh, give me something to look forward to, love.” She heads to the kitchen and he walks to the shower. They’ve fallen into their own routine, her showering at night and him in the morning. Y/N puts the coffee on and puts cream cheese on a bagel for Harry.

“Y/N!” He shouts from the bathroom and she knows he’s forgotten his towel. He always gets a bad case of the (forgetful) Mondays. Sure enough, she finds Harry peeking behind the shower curtain. “I’m gonna put a post it on your forehead every morning to tell you to get a towel.”

He kisses her cheek and steps out, slipping a little but not falling. “Thanks.” They both brush their teeth at the sink and Harry gets a little too cute as she begins to put her make up on. Still towel-clad, he rests his chin on her shoulder and his arms swing around her. “I hate Mondays, means I can’t stay in bed with you all morning until Saturday.”

If she could pull off that towel and take him back to bed she would, god, she would. “Put some clothes on before I quit my job.” He whips the towel off and swats her butt with it.

The morning goes as it usually does, a kiss in the car and sneaky glances until lunch. In the breakroom, Harry can’t find his sandwich, he just has two fruit cups and one of the cookies Y/N made over the weekend. He sits down at the table and states, “I forgot my sandwich.” Lilly snorts, because to her, Harry can’t even seem to get his own lunch under control. Y/N laughs and pulls the missing lunch out of her little lunch tote, “Oh, thanks, Baby.” Lilly gasps and both of their heads snap up. Shit.

“Lilly, you cannot tell anyone! We haven’t gone to HR yet and we don’t want people here to know.” She just stares back and forth between the two until she starts talking again. “I mean it. Harry’s got a lot of projects going on don’t ruin it for him.” Harrys heart flutters that she was more concerned about him than herself.

After a long day of signing papers and awkward conversations, they make their way back to the car. “Tomorrow’s gonna be a real doozy, huh?” Y/N nods and dramatically flings her head back to the car seat.

“You owe me kisses.” He wiggles his eyebrows and adjusts his glasses. She landed one cute dork. She can tell he’s eager to get home and decides to mess with him. Her hand caresses his thigh, moving upward. “Y/N, we’re five minutes from home. I really don’t wanna die from a hand job when I’m five minutes away from bending you over the couch.” Her mouth hangs open and her hand pulls back. He was never so straight forward but she could feel herself get all flushed. She swallows hard and shuffles in her seat.

Harry pulls into the driveway and lets Y/N walk ahead of him. He’s been frustrated all day and wonders if she has been too. He wonders if she thought about his face between her legs last night and had to squeeze her thighs together. He waits for her to let Pippy in the backyard and as she walks through the kitchen he pushes her forward on the counter, lifting her skirt up as he pulls her underwear down. He wastes no time in teasing her folds, “I’ve been thinking about you all day. I’ve wanted to bend you over and feel how wet you are.” He moves her hair away from the back of her neck and gives her small pecks, “Do you want to stay here or on the couch?”

She kicks off her undies and turns to face him, “The couch.” He sits on the couch first and pulls her on top of him, helping her undress. “S’not fair. I always get naked first, take it off, Styles.”

Harry smirks at Y/N and takes his shirt off, “Can’t take my pants off, there’s a naked girl in my lap.” She swings her leg back over, biting her lip as he exposes himself. He returns to the couch and taps her leg. “M’I getting more than kisses?” In the blink of an eye she’s lowering herself onto his hips. “You think of me today? You think about fucking me while you were workin?”

Over the past few months, Harry has gotten much more comfortable with talking dirty during sex. And he was good at it. “Mhmm, yeah.” He palms the flesh of her backside and squeezes every so often. “Always make me feel so good.”

Y/N speeds up and her hands grab those stupidly attractive shoulders, “I love when you ride me, feels so good to have your pussy around me.” Her eyes close and she tries to keep her rhythm steady. “I could barely concentrate today. I kept thinking about your legs around my head and then I thought about your legs around my waist.” He wraps both arms around her and flips her on her back. “And I couldn’t stop thinking about how wet you get for me.” He kisses her and thrusts so hard that she gasps into his mouth.

“Oh!” He moves even faster and he feels her legs shake around him. Her arms are around his neck and he sucks on her ear.

“I can feel it. I know you’re almost there.” He nibbles and she whimpers for him. “The feeling of my hair against your clit drives you wild, doesn’t it? You can get so sensitive, fuckin’ remarkable.” He returns to kiss her lips and she accidentally bites his lip.

He pulls away with his eyes closed and she can’t even tell him she’s sorry because he pounding into her. “I-shit. Harder, I’m gonna come. Please, harder.”

Harry pushes his knee into the cushion and balances himself so he has hold of her hips, “Like that?” Her hands are pulling all the cushions and she practically yelling for him. “So pretty when you scream my name, you know?” He feels that familiar squeeze that he loves but does let up his pace. “So pretty you make me wanna come.”

He falls forward and she sucks on his neck, “I wanna feel it.” This time, his hips slow but don’t stop. She couldn’t mean what he thinks she means; she had gone on the pill but He always pulled out. No, no she didn’t mean that. “Baby, come in me.” Fuck.

The thought makes his dick jump and he almost loses his words, “Are you sure? If you’re not you need to tell me like, right now.” She nods her hair and his forehead rests on hers as he releases. “Jesus. I think you broke me.”

Y/N’s tired laugh makes his body feel warm all over again. “I know how to fix you but give me like 15 minutes.”

“Oh yeah? Let’s go get cleaned up and fix me.” His dimples pop and carries her to the shower. He stops short and notices Pippy on the bed, chewing something. “Pippy that better not be my tie.” Y/N hops out of his arms and disappears into the bathroom. Harry walks over to the mischievous dog and fights with whatever she’s chewing on but ends up ripping it. He holds what was once a part of Y/N’s underwear in his hand and looks at the fluff ball, “This stays between up, Pip.”

#can’t access old blogs #Nerd harry #nerd harry styles #harry styles fan fic #Harry styles smut #harrysbunshun #harry styles writing #holycrapharry

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mxndoscyarika · 4 years ago

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Honeydew (Marcus Pike/Moreno x OC) | Chapter 5

Summary: Erin He moves to DC after working for the FBI in Texas and runs into a hero in disguise; Marcus Moreno. Something about him is familiar, too familiar, yet different in a way that she can’t quite place. Although confused, she can’t deny her feelings for him; perhaps, after years of regret, she finally found the one.

Warnings: winter, food/drink, fluff

Ao3

Honeydew masterlist

Like my writing? Here’s my masterlist.

Author’s Note: Thing are happeninggggggg 👀 Enjoy!

“This place is beautiful, Marcus,” Erin mused, eyes wandering around the restaurant. Like most upscale places, hardwood and chandeliers were the stars of the interior. Perhaps she was a little old-fashioned for liking it, but the atmosphere of dim lights and dark wood was comforting.

“Do you like it?” he asked, a shy smile adorning his face. He didn’t have time to change after work, opting to stay in his button-down shirt and dark pants. Ideally, he would’ve gone home and changed into something a little nicer, just for her, but work had ended later than he anticipated. Thankfully, he wasn’t too underdressed–Erin wore a simple outfit of a dark shirt and skirt, some boots, and a long coat.

Marcus found himself glancing down at her glossy lips as she praised him for picking such a cozy place for their date. There was still a decent amount of snow on the ground, so they didn’t want to travel far. The local steakhouse had seemed like a good option.

Something about the way she spoke, the way she seemed to glow in the soft light of the restaurant, made his heart flutter in his chest. He loved the way her voice soaked into his being, how soothing her tone was. He’d missed that. He’d missed her.

After that day with her and Missy, he couldn’t stop thinking of what a future would be like with her in it. Being in her apartment felt like stepping back in time. It felt like he was being given another chance, another chance to do right by her and show her his l-

“Marcus?”

He blinked, his thoughts slipping to the background. Rubbing his hand along her back soothingly, he asked, “Yes, honey?”

Erin let out a breathy laugh and tilted her head towards the host. “Aren’t you going to let them know we’re here? You said you made a reservation.”

If they were in broad daylight, she would’ve seen his cheeks redden just slightly, Thankfully, she couldn’t. Kissing her forehead, he answered. “Yes, let’s go.”

They were brought to a table situated towards the back of the dining area, menus and glasses of water already waiting. Once again, Marcus slipped past her and pulled out her chair first, making sure she was comfortable before sitting down.

Erin shivered as his hand brushed her shoulder, reminding her of that night in the kitchen.

They quickly fell into conversation, their voices just above an intimate hum. It was nice to have that time with him. She loved having Missy over at her apartment, but she also wanted moments for just herself and Marcus. Maybe it was a tinge of jealousy that remained, or a remnant of fear that he only liked her because she was good with Missy. The thought hadn’t occurred to her until the day after, when one of her parent’s sayings crept back into her mind. But since it had, she couldn’t shake it off.

What if he didn’t really want her? What if he just wanted friendship, or a role model for his daughter? She had no problem with being the latter–every girl deserves to have a role model–but it was the former that she worried about. What if he didn’t want her, and she was going to watch him slip away just like last time?

As she and Marcus sat there, eating and talking about everything and nothing, she felt the coil of insecurity tighten. He told her about his life both before and after becoming a single dad, and how his late wife had encouraged him to pursue his current job.

“And what’s that?” she asked, a small smile on her lips. “You never told me, Mr. Moreno.”

He was about to answer when his phone rang, cutting him off. Frowning, he apologized and told her it was from the headquarters. They rarely called him after hours; normally they reached out to the others. He knew it wasn’t polite to answer during a date, that it was often a sign of disinterest, but Erin insisted that he took the call. Between her time in the FBI and her knowledge of the Heroics, she knew some things couldn’t be ignored.

Hopefully it was just an update.

Then, Marcus’s eyes widened. “I’ll be right there.”

Erin’s brows furrowed at that. “What’s wrong? Is everything okay? Do we need to get Missy?”

Letting out a sigh, he shook his head and fished out his credit card. “The boss called; there’s an emergency and I need to be there as soon as possible.” He stood up and came around to her. Placing his card in her hand, he said, “I’m sorry, honey. This isn’t how I wanted tonight to go. Stay here. I’ll come back for you, alright? I promise I’ll make it up to you.”

“W-wait, why do you have to go?” she asked, heart sinking. “Isn’t there someone else?”

Marcus’s heart broke as he realized what this looked like. He sighed softly and kissed her forehead gently. “I’m the leader of the Heroics, honeydew. I have to.”

Their eyes met, and he hadn’t seen her as sad since the night he left for DC.

“Okay,” she said quietly, letting go of his arm. “Be safe.”

“I’ll come back for you,” he promised. Then he turned on his heel and jogged out of the restaurant.

---

“Erin?”

At the sound of her name, she looked up from her phone. She let out a sigh of relief when she saw Marcus walking towards her, still in his clothes from earlier, though he looked a bit frazzled. Did he not have a suit to change into?

“Marcus,” she breathed, pulling him into a hug. Tucking her face against his neck, she murmured, “I was so worried.”

His arms immediately wrapped around her, enveloping her with warmth. She felt his lips pressing against her temple as he replied, “I’m so sorry, honey. I’m here now. We got everyone out, and the responders are handling the rest.”

“I’m just glad you’re alright. Though I must say, I never pegged you for a superhero,” she said, smiling as he rocked her back and forth. “Though I wish you’d told me earlier during our date. Were you ever going to tell me?”

He cringed. “About that…. I’m sorry our date was interrupted. I know we’ve been looking forward to this for a while, and I shouldn’t have run out on you like that-” “It’s alright,” she interrupted, her voice smooth. Ice-cold air nipped her skin as she pulled away from him. “It wasn’t your fault. I would’ve probably ditched you if there was an emergency at the office.” A soft laugh. “I guess that means we aren’t so different, huh?”

A soft chuckle left his lips. “Yeah, I guess so.”

Those words echoed in his being. Something about holding her in his arms felt right. He never realized how much he missed her touch until she was right there, in his arms, looking up at him with those beautiful eyes. It had been a long time since he felt that warmth in his chest. For a while, since the passing of his wife, he wasn’t sure he would ever feel it again.

He leaned forward just enough that their foreheads touched. “Erin?”

“Yeah?”

It took everything in him to not close the gap between their lips. “I’d like to see you again sometime. Another date, with no interruptions. How does that sound?”

She paused, her breath caught in her throat. Of course she wanted to see him again. Her sweet Marcus, who treated her better in the few weeks they’d known each other than all her past boyfriends and girlfriends combined. Her sweetheart, who came back for her.

A shiver ran down her spine. Her Marcus. How could she forget? Even after nearly a decade, she missed him. And maybe she always would. But, maybe, it was time to let go and leave it all in the past.

Marcus’s voice pulled her out of her thoughts. “Honey?”

She smiled. “It sounds perfect. I just....It’s been a long since I’ve felt anything like this. I told you I don’t have very good luck with love, and…the last time I loved someone, I never told him, and he disappeared before I could.”

“I’m sorry you had to go through that,” he murmured, his breath warm against her cheeks. “We can take things as slow as you want, or not even try at all. But I want to try this with you, Erin. Do you?”

Erin nodded, smiling. “I do.”

“Perfect,” he said, kissing her forehead. “Are you ready to go home?”

“Only if it’s with you.”

The drive back to her apartment was short, the inside of the car nice and toasty in comparison to the brisk winter air. Erin could barely keep a smile off her face when Marcus reached over to hold her hand as he drove.

When she looked over to his side, she noticed the absence of a ring on his left ring finger.

He walked her to her door, a warm hand settled snugly against her back. Their voices echoed through the hallway, soft and oddly familiar.

“Do you want to come inside?”

The door was propped open by her foot, her keys still dangling from her fingers. He nodded, and smiled at the way her face lit up.

“Sorry about the mess,” she began sheepishly, gathering the papers strewn on the dining table into a pile. “I have an undercover op that I need to take care of in a couple weeks, so I was familiarizing myself with the case.”

His brows furrowed as he came up next to her, a hand coming around to rest on her waist. Indeed, the files were maps and profiles. “I thought you didn’t go out in the field anymore.”

She sighed. “I don’t, this was a special request from my boss. I have the most experience, and a leader leads by example, right?” Placing the papers into a folder, she continued, “I still need a partner, though.” “What’s the case?” he asked. Even back in his FBI days, he didn’t like seeing Erin dressed for an operation. It wasn’t that she didn’t look good–she always looked beautiful–it was that he worried about her. She was capable, strong, and quick on her feet, but accidents could happen. There was no way he was going to risk losing her again; not now, after they finally could be together.

“It’s pretty low-key,” she began, pulling out an overview of the operation. Snuggling closer to him, she explained, “It’s for evidence against an art collector that’s suspected of dealing in the black market. He’s throwing a party on his private island to celebrate the upcoming marriage of his friends. My job is to get in, download some data from his computer, and get out. My plus-one to the wedding festivities is supposed to make things more convincing.”

“Doesn’t sound too bad. I can go with you,” he suggested, his arm tightening around her waist protectively. “If you want. The Heroics don’t need to get involved, it can just be the two of us.”

She turned to face him, eyes wide. “You’d do that for me?”

“Of course,” he answered, holding her close. “Even leaders need some help sometimes.”

“Cheesy,” she teased, leaning in just slightly. Her gaze flickered down to his lips as she turned to face him, the papers forgotten. They looked soft, plush and pink.

His hand came up to cup her cheek.

“Just for you,” he responded, finally bridging the gap between their lips.

His lips were just as soft as they looked.

They melted into each other’s arms, Erin’s arms coming up to wrap around his neck and pull him closer. Her body pressed up against his as their lips molded against each other. Golden calligraphy spelled out their unspoken words as they kissed, gleaming and sparkling.

Erin smiled against his lips when he let out a soft moan, arching into his touch. His large hands roamed across her back, leaving fire in their wake.

He gently coaxed her onto the dining table, settling between her legs. “I’ve been wanting to do this for a very long time.”

“Me too,” she answered breathlessly. “But now we’re together.”

“Yes,” he murmured, kissing her deeply. A shiver ran down his spine as she whimpered into his mouth, so quiet he nearly missed it. He wanted to hear her again. He wanted to hear how his name would sound on her tongue, how she’d sound at her peak, but it was too soon for that. No, he wanted more time with her; he wanted to show her just how much he loved her before taking things to the next level.

His tongue was tracing the seam of her lips when his phone started ringing again. This time, it was an alarm; the babysitter‘s shift was ending soon, which meant he needed to head home–his other home.

Erin let out a small sound of protest as he pulled away, chasing his lips with her own.

Unable to resist, he returned to her. “I’m sorry,” he said, leaning in for another kiss; one that she gladly granted him. His hands came up to cup her face gently, a thumb caressing her bottom lip. Heat surged through him as her lips parted just slightly, allowing the tip of his thumb to catch in the small opening. “I have to go back to Missy, the babysitter needs to leave soon and I don’t want her in the house all alone.”

The mention of Missy brought her back to reality. She didn’t want him to go–not so soon. But his priority was Missy; they could always continue later. Erin nodded understandingly. “It’s okay, Marcus. We’ll find more time soon.”

“Yes,” he agreed, pecking her on the lips. “Soon, I promise.”

---

A long, hot shower was just what she needed after being out in the cold. Erin exited the bathroom, her phone and watch in hand. She was dressed in a black camisole and sweatpants, hair cascading down her back.

As she set her clothes into the hamper, a glint from her nightstand caught her eye. Upon closer inspection, she realized it was the ring. She’d left it at home for the date, slipping it off her finger as she got ready.

The ring was a memory, a promise. A promise to herself that she would never forget her best friend, her former love. She’d spent countless hours defending it, justifying the purchase and the clear message it sent to people. She’d wanted to tell the world that she’d given her heart away, and that nothing could replace him.

But maybe she didn’t need the ring to remember her Marcus. She knew he’d want her to find someone that made her happy, even if it wasn’t him. He was always sweet like that, supportive and confident. A part of her wondered if he would’ve liked Marcus Moreno. They were both kind, loyal, caring….they were everything she ever wanted. They were patient, understanding. She always longed to have someone–anyone–who would understand her fully. Or even just someone who cared about Erin He, rather than the supervisor He.

Maybe it was time to let Marcus Pike rest in the past. He wasn’t coming back. Even if he was still alive, he never came back for her. He was gone, and no matter how much she missed him, he wasn’t going to come back. No, not in the way she wished for. Only in memories, memories of late-night pancakes and sunny beach trips.

He’d want her to live her life to the fullest, and give and receive love freely.

A small smile on her face, Erin placed the ring back inside it’s velvet box and closed it.

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hypnoticwinter · 4 years ago

Text

Down the Rabbit Hole part 35

Just looking at Makado makes me realize how incredibly tired I am. “Makado,” I say, trying to put a little bit of that weariness into my voice, “please, I just want to get Elena out of here.”

“I don’t give a fuck,” Makado tells me. “Take your helmet off.”

“Makado,” I start, but she raises the gun and coaxes a threatening-sounding click out of it.

“Jesus Christ,” I mutter, and reach up and pop the helmet open.

“Now take it off slowly and drop it.”

The helmet thuds to the floor with a dull clunk. I keep my hands open, bent at the elbows, roughly shoulder-height. I guess it’s a testament to how often this has happened to me lately that I’m not particularly panicked or flustered, even though she has a gun on me. I look into her eyes; they’re about as kind as a brick wall, a far cry from the Makado I knew - well, that I thought I knew. I don’t think she’ll shoot me but I don’t want to push her.

“Makado,” I try again, speaking softly, “I know that you’re upset, but -“

“Upset?” she laughs. “That is a big understatement, Roan.”

“As if you have any right to be upset at me,” I snort. Makado’s eyes flash but I press onwards anyway. “You’re the one who was trying to literally fucking frame me for all the illegal shit you were doing -“

“You got Peter killed,” she says. My mind goes blank for a moment before I nearly laugh. I choke it back down; if I started laughing, either out of terror or nerves or just pure exasperation, I know I’d never stop, and I know Makado would probably shoot me.

“Makado,” I say, stammering a little bit, “I didn’t - there was nothing I could have -“

“Then how come you lived and he died, huh?” she says. I think I hear a crack in her icy demeanor and I look at her - really look at her. She glances away after a moment or two, and when her gaze swings back and hits mine whatever I thought I might have seen, whatever small vulnerability, has already faded away. “How come you lived?” she asks.

The barrel of the gun trembles gently.

“Mak,” I start. I want terribly to be angry at her but something about the way she’s acting is just making me sad instead.

“Don’t call me that!” she yells. She slips her finger inside the gun’s trigger guard and I feel my breath catch. Maybe she really will shoot me; if she’s mad enough, if she thinks that somehow I caused Pete to get…to get leeched, or whatever the hell…

“Peter was the only one who ever called me that,” she murmurs. I know I’ve called her ‘Mak’ before and she never made a fuss about it but I guess this is special circumstances.

“Pete is - was - a fully trained ranger with dozens of expeditions under his belt, he might have - “ Makado licks her lips and tries again - “he might have gone a little downhill after 2007 but he was still sharp. He would have gotten out of there no problem. But he dies and you live?”

“Was that the plan?” I ask. If I can keep her talking maybe I’ll be able to pull something, but deep down I doubt it. “You send me down there hoping I’d die in an accident or something?”

“Of course not,” she says. “But if I had to choose between you and Peter…”

“That’s cold,” I tell her. She starts to say something, but I continue before she can. “But I get it. You loved him, huh?”

“Of course I loved him,” she says, sounding mildly scandalized. “You wouldn’t understand, I’m sure.”

“Why, because I - ? Oh, whatever,” I grunt. “Whatever, Makado. Just shoot me and get it over with.”

“I don’t want to shoot you.”

“Right, of course,” I snarl, putting as much venom into my words as I can. “You want to hand me over to the feds so I can suffer for your sins, right? That’s the endgame here, right?”

She has the good graces to flinch, at least. “I don’t -“ she starts, but I shake my head.

“Whatever,” I tell her. “What happened to Elena?”

Makado looks round, her eyes resting briefly on the wreckage of the autodoctor unit. “I don’t know,” she says. “When I got down here it was like this, and Elena was gone. I was going to -“

“Kidnap her so you’d have some leverage?”

“Bitch, will you stop fucking assuming the goddam worst of me? I was planning on tracking her down and getting her out of here.”

“I don’t believe you,” I tell her, my voice flat. “How did you even know she was here?”

“Because I heard the two of you sopping all over each other on the radio,” she tells me, her voice hard-edged with disdain. “Soon as I heard she was here in DUSA, I split off from my team and rushed up here. Guess I was too late.”

“Goddam it,” I mutter. My cheeks are burning a little from the knowledge that we’d been overhead; I guess I could have assumed, but it still had felt like it had been something private, something special we had shared. Maybe I wouldn’t have broken down quite so hard if I’d known Makado had been listening in. “It must have been the Leechman,” I mutter, glaring at the gaping hunk of metal torn away from DUSA’s hull. My eyes are stinging and I wipe them hurriedly, not thinking, and when I take my hands down Makado is glaring at me very seriously over the sights of the pistol, and I realize that the quick motion nearly made her shoot me. My stomach does a backflip and I stammer out the beginning of an apology before she mutters a curse and takes a length of rope from her suit pocket.

“Hands together,” she orders me, and with a sigh I slap my wrists together and hold them out to her. She comes to me with the rope and hesitates for a moment; I know it’s because she’s only just realizing that she will have to put the gun away to tie me up.

“I’ll hold that for you,” I offer, and in spite of herself she laughs.

“Turn around,” she says. “Hands behind your back.”

My heart is thumping heavily in my chest as I do. I am trying very hard not to imagine the Leechman bursting into here like a demon straight out of a horror movie and swallowing Elena up into its swollen leechy body. I can feel my hands trembling as Makado takes my wrists and lashes them tightly together. The rough synthetic fiber cuts into my wrists and I grunt. Makado steps away from me and I flex my hands experimentally but it’s no use, she’s tied me tightly enough that I’d never be able to free myself unless I had a knife. She’s already taken mine from the sheath on my belt and tossed it casually to the dusty, oily floor.

Elena’s dead. I can’t stop the thought from echoing around my skull, increasing in severity with each impact. She’s dead, she’s gone, I was too late. If I had just been a little quicker, if I hadn’t stopped to sleep, if I hadn’t…

“Hey, what are you - oh, Jesus Christ,” Makado grumbles. I sniff and look away from her. I try to keep it down but a quiet sob bubbles out of my throat.

“Goddam it,” I mumble. I can’t even wipe my eyes. My shoulders are shaking with the weight of it, with the weight of knowing that -

Makado sighs behind me. “You didn’t kill her,” she says. “If she’s even dead. We don’t know.”

I let out a terribly mirthless laugh. “You didn’t kill him,” Makado continues, begrudgingly. “I know you didn’t, it’s not like you put a gun to his head and shot him. I just…”

“Don’t want him to be gone,” I suggest, and out of the corner of my eye, through a veil of tears, I can see her nod.

I feel as though I might rip in two the next time someone touches me, but in spite of everything I do want to reach out and touch her, brush my thumb along the knobby edge of her wrist, feel her warmth near to me. Maybe it’s pathetic and stupid, maybe I should be spitting and cursing and swearing revenge but I can’t bring myself to. I want to just curl into a little ball and cry.

Makado is rustling around behind me, and then I hear the click and crackle of a radio. “Peterson, Rodriguez,” she says, enunciating clearly. “Status check, over.”

A moment passes and then the response comes burbling up through the airwaves. “Peterson, checking in. I’ve got Rodriguez here with me but he’s carrying the crystal so he couldn’t call himself. Everything’s good down here. ETA 20 minutes to DUSA. Over.”

“Thanks. You were able to disable the specimen? Over.”

“Hard to say. It backed off but Emmanuel is hurt pretty bad. One of those leeches, it got into her suit and chewed the hell out of her leg. We’ve got her on a stretcher and we’re bringing her back but I don’t know if she’ll make it. Is the autodoc functional? Over.”

“Negative,” Makado says. Her voice is tight and fraying. “Negative, it’s smashed. It looks like the Leechman got here before we did. Over.”

“Shit. Well, Emmanuel is fucked, then. Do we have support from topside? Over.”

I hear Makado mutter a quiet curse below her breath. “Give me a second,” she says. “Out.”

I sniff hard and duck my head down into my shoulder, try and wipe my eyes against the rubber of the ranger suit. Makado is tapping at the pad in the arm of her ranger suit; she’s put the gun away at this point, tucking it into her holster at her hip. I could make a run for it, I reflect. Instead I fold my legs beneath me and sink into a huddle on the floor a little like a gazelle bedding down for the night. Makado glances over at me and then back at her screen. “Who’s Emmanuel?” I ask. My voice creaks partway through it, and when I clear my throat it comes back thick and congested.

“None of your business,” she tells me, a little absently. “You’d better stop crying,” she adds.

“Fuck you,” I tell her, but I can’t put much heart into it. “Fuck you for trying to walk all over everything and try to do it your way. You walked all over me, you walked all over the team, you walked all over Peter -“

Makado looms over me, ruddy bolts of fury sparkling behind her eyes. “You have no idea, you have no idea -“ she starts, but I roll my eyes at her.

“Do you have any idea how many people are dead because of you?”

That catches her, and I get a vicious little thrill out of seeing how it impacts, how she absorbs it, how her eyes grow even wearier. She starts to say something but I start listing off names.

“The Sergeant. Peter. Slate. Erica and Marcus. Klaus. Crookshank. Euler. Ellis. Emmanuel, whoever that is. And El - Elena,” I say. I have to swallow hard to get that last name out but I manage it. “They’re all your fault, Makado. If you hadn’t gone off the deep end because of this stupid fucking crystal none of this would ever have happened. Does it really matter? Does it really matter this much? Is it worth it? Tell me. Please. Do you even know?”

“They knew the risks,” Makado tries to say, but she isn’t meeting my gaze. “You wouldn’t understand,” she says, a little bit of strength returning to her voice. “You don’t know what it’s like to -“

“To have an obsession take over your life?” I finish, and she blows a breath out.

“I’m the only one trying!” she yells. “I’m the only one fucking trying to stop all of this! That crystal is the only thing that we have that we know can shut down the Pit if it wakes up again. Getting it back should be our top priority -“

“And the last time one of those crystals was used,” I point out, “it infected - I’m sorry, how many people? - with a fucking personality-destroying disease that spreads when you feel emotions and forces you to crawl into the Pit to die.”

“We know better now,” she says, hands on her hips. “We know what we did wrong. If we don’t shatter the crystals -“

“How do you even know? Aren’t you just guessing?”

“You have no right to tell me how to do my job,” she tells me. I can see her knuckles whiten with rage. “I’m doing what needs to be done. If the Pit woke up and became fully ambulatory, it’d be the end of the world as we know it. If you think that isn’t something worth stopping by any means necessary, then you’re either stupid or insane. Maybe both. If I -“

“Okay, Makado. Whatever,” I tell her. I feel as though if I shut my eyes I’d be able to fall asleep in about a minute. My heart hurts.

Makado glares at me and for a moment, just a moment, I think she might be about to draw her leg back and slam the hard edge of her boot into my gut, but instead she spins on her heel and walks away, fishing the radio out of its holster on her belt and talking quietly into it.

I think for a while about struggling to my feet and just walking out. I don’t think Makado would shoot me, I really don’t. I think she wouldn’t have the heart for it. Maybe she’d just let me go.

Elena’s dead. You haven’t seen the body, a little voice whispers in the back of my mind, but I don’t need to see the body. If the Leechman got her, I’m not sure I want to see the body. I would want my memory of her to remain clean. I want to remember her in the tent smiling down at me, I want to remember her hands on my body, the way her lips felt when she kissed me, the way my heart felt when she kissed me.

I spend the next twenty minutes or so agonizing myself before the clunk and hiss of heavy machinery, burbles glutinously up from outside the rent in DUSA’s hull. With a little difficulty I manage to sit up and look outwards, and I see three orange figures in ranger suits marching up out of one of the vents leading to this organelle. Two of them are carrying a fourth on a stretcher, and the third…

My mouth drops open. The third is incredibly bulky, far more so than a normal person in a suit, and as they come closer and step into range of DUSA’s flickering floodlights, I realize that they are wearing something like a white enameled arthropod over their arms and legs, a squat mechanical spider perched on their back like a backpack. Its limbs extend along the ranger’s arms and fill out into armored gauntlets encompassing their hands.

And in their hands, hefted with an assurance and strength borne, I imagine, solely from their armor’s assistance, is the crystal, green and spiky and menacing, with an ugly luminosity flaring somewhere deep inside of it. I think again that I can see something moving within its murky depths.

Makado rushes out to meet them, leaving me forgotten, and again I consider getting up and just walking away. I think I’ve missed my chance, though; if it was just Makado, she might let me go. With everyone else here, all of these other rangers, there’s no way I’d be able to get away with it. And who knows if she’d have any compunctions about letting someone else shoot me.

Makado, to her credit, only paused briefly to tell the ranger with the crystal where to set it down before rushing to the ranger on the stretcher. Even from a distance I can tell that she’s hurt badly; her orange suit is splattered with blood and there is an enormous hole in her side. I think I can see teeth marks. One of the rangers shows something to Makado; it looks a little like a very thick, dark length of rope, and I realize with a horrible twist in my gut that it’s a dead leech. It looks to be about three or four feet long; it’s head has been torn off and it trails a thick, foul-smelling ichor behind it in a long oozing trail.

The huddled conversation over the wounded ranger continues a while longer before the group breaks apart. The ranger with the exoskeleton carries the crystal into DUSA, moving with almost exaggerated care through the hole in the wall. He looks down at me as he passes, craning his neck around the crystal to make sure he isn’t going to bump into me. “You alright?” he asks. He has a thick Texan accent that makes me smile in spite of myself.

“Yeah,” I tell him. “Do you think you could untie me?”

He pauses. “You’re tied up?”

“Yes,” I say, rolling halfway over and waggling my fingers at him. “See?”

“Why are you tied up?”

“It’s a long story.”

“You’re Dzilenski, aren’t you?”

“I, uh. No.”

“No? What’s your name, then? I haven’t seen you around before.”

The weight of the crystal doesn’t seem to be troubling him at all. He cocks his head at me.

“Merriweather,” I tell him. “I’m new.”

He waggles a finger at me; the servos of the exoskeleton make little whining noises as he does. “Nice try,” he tells me, but I can tell from the shape of his voice that he’s grinning. I shake my head a little and give him a halfhearted smile.

“Can’t blame a girl for trying,” I suggest, and he laughs as he stomps off towards the stairwell, the crystal glowing malevolently in his arms.

A few moments later someone is taking me roughly beneath my armpits and hauling me to my feet. I stagger a little but keep my balance. I look over and see Makado glaring at me from a few inches away, but it seems as though her temper has died a little; there isn’t quite as much venom in her gaze as before. Without uttering a word to me she marches me out of DUSA and towards one of the rangers, standing on a small, bulgy lump of flesh with their hands on their hips. I feel a spike of fear in my stomach. “What are you going to do with me?” I ask her.

I can see Makado’s lip curl out of the corner of my eye. “I’m not going to kill you,” she tells me. “Peterson there is just going to take you up to the surface and give you back to the feds, that’s all. Then this whole stupid thing can be over and done with.”

“So that’s it, huh?” I ask, breaking out of her grasp and turning to face her. “You’re just going to throw me to the wolves? You really think that you can get away with this?”

“Roan,” she groans. “Do you think I want to fuck you over? Do you think I want to do this?”

“Well, from the way you’re acting -“

“This thing is bigger than you or me,” she says. “And I’m - I’m sorry,” she tells me. To my immense surprise I actually believe her. “I’m sorry, and I don’t want to ruin your life like I know I’m going to, but I - I have to do this. I’m sorry.”

Before I can say anything Peterson takes me firmly by the arm. Makado swallows hard and nods to him. “Take her up. There should be a contingent of FBI agents somewhere up there, I know it’s a mess but they should still be hanging around, probably yelling at Admin. Let them know she’s Roan Dzilenski, they’ll take it from there.”

“Right,” he says. “Come on, then.”

I stare back at Makado all the way over to the vent leading up to the passage out of here; she refuses to meet my gaze.

“I’m sorry about all this,” Peterson mentions, adjusting his grip on me to push a hanging fold of flesh out of the way.

“If you’re so sorry, let me go,” I tell him. He has a quiet, apologetic tone.

“I’m not that sorry,” he explains, and I can’t help but roll my eyes. “Look on the bright side,” he suggests. “You’ll be out of here soon. I’m sure that will be a relief.”

“Yeah,” I snap, “I’m sure that -“

Something falls onto my shoulder and I let out a shriek. It rolls off and slaps onto the ground with a wet, meaty thump and slithers away.

“Are you okay?” Peterson is asking. “What was that?”

I look up, knowing what I’ll see, but the Leechman actually comes at us from the side, the leeches boiling out of the fleshy wall with a noise like a million hungry mouths gnashing and chewing and slurping simultaneously, leaving the wall pockmarked and collapsing. Peterson blurts out a surprised curse and lets me go, his hands darting to his holster, but the Leechman is faster. It reaches out with a massive, dripping, writhing paw and fixes it around his head, lifting him bodily off the ground. Rodriguez screams and I hear commotion from behind, in the main organ housing DUSA, but his screams quickly become muffled and gurgly and thick. His hands and legs are shuddering and jolting like he were being electrocuted, and then my stupid, shell-shocked nerves finally, finally kick into motion and I stagger backwards. My foot catches on something and I fall; the ground comes slamming upwards to meet me and the breath whooshes out of my lungs just as the Leechman drops Peterson. The helmet of his suit is bent and crushed and although he lands on his feet, his body sways gently back and forth like a wind were catching it. The Leechman stomps past me and I cringe away from it, but it ignores me entirely. Its footsteps resound through the meaty floor and rattle my teeth in my jaws.

I am so scared I think I might throw up. Every fiber in my body is screaming at me to get up and run away, but I can’t force myself to move. “Hey,” I whisper, as the Leechman ducks its broad, wormy head and pushes into the organ. “Hey, uh, Peterson, are you okay?”

Rodriguez turns and looks at me and I scream. His face has been eaten away to nothing and his jaw is hanging from a few stringy tendons on the left-hand side of his skull. He shambles towards me and I scream again, and I hear my screams echoed from back behind me in DUSA’s chamber. It’s only a few moments later that the gunfire begins.

I kick my feet and try and push myself away from Rodriguez’s corpse. As I watch a leech crawls out of his mouth and plunges its snub-nosed head into the wreckage of his eye. The body lurches closer to me and into the light and I get a better look at him; my stomach nearly turns. I scream again and try to kick at him but he just catches my leg and drags me closer. The bone of his skull and the scraps of meat and flesh on his face are stained a dark, inky black with a dripping, noxious ichor. Without any preamble the body straddles me and shoves its fingers into my mouth. I choke and cough and try to kick and bite but it’s simply too strong. My eyes are filling with tears but I can still see the body’s cavernous mouth yawning and yawning and the body of an enormous leech slowly struggling up Rodriguez’s pitted, masticated throat. Though it has no eyes or face I imagine it leering at me, and though I redouble my efforts to get away, my throat convulsing in anticipatory terror, I can do absolutely nothing to stop what is about to happen to me. At the very last my courage fails me and I just squeeze my eyes shut and wait for the leech to barrel down my throat, wait with an anticipatory cringe to feel its needle-sharp teeth dig into my insides.

Instead I feel more than hear a horrific, bone-shuddering crunch from just ahead of me, and when I snap my eyes open it takes me a moment to comprehend what I’m seeing. Jutting from Rodriguez’s chest amid a thorny cluster of broken ribs is a bulky mechanical hand absolutely slick with gore and ichor. With a harsh mechanical whine it makes a fist and withdraws from the grapefruit-sized hole it made in Rodriguez’s chest and then seizes the body and flings it off of me. The body lands against the side wall of the vent with a wet crunch and then flops to the floor and lays still.

“Joker,” I breathe. The robot’s blocky, flat-panelled head is staring down at me with what I imagine to be a rather odd expression. It’s pitted and stained and rusted and every couple of seconds sparks burst from its torn left arm socket. Its armored torso is battered and dented and it moves with difficulty, but it still leans down over me and with incredible gentleness tucks its blood-drenched hand beneath me and brings me lightly to my feet. A moment later it has untied my hands and I can feel the blood rushing back into them with a clustering ache of pins and needles.

I can scarcely breathe I am so relieved but I still manage to reach up and put my hand on the machine’s metallic chest. “Jesus Christ,” I tell it. “I am so fucking happy to see you.”

But before I get any more out, a tall, blonde-haired blur slams into me and wraps me up in long, strong arms and lifts me off of my feet and nuzzles her face against mine. “Oh god,” Elena says, and before she can say any more my greedy, bruised lips find hers and for a moment, just a moment, amid the gunfire and the screams, I feel completely okay.

* * *

When we finally break apart and Elena sets me down on my wobbly, weak-kneed legs, I reach up and take her face in my hands. I still can’t quite believe that she’s here, that she’s alive, that she’s okay. My heart is beating so quickly that I almost feel nauseous and I don’t trust myself to speak. Elena’s eyes are wide and slatey; they flicker over me, dancing like roulette balls, just as she runs her hands over my arms, my legs, my sides and back. “Are you okay?” she asks. Her voice is shaky. I try to speak a few times but I can’t get any words out so instead I just nod. Elena leans in and kisses me again, briefly this time, and then, with her lips brushing my ear she murmurs, “I was so scared, Roan, I was so scared that I had lost you, I thought -“

“It’s okay,” I tell her. There’s another scream from DUSA and we both jump. I grab onto her desperately as she starts to pull away. “Listen, are you alright? The gunshot -“

“I’m okay,” she tells me. “I promise I’m okay. Jesus Christ I thought I lost you. Let’s get out of here.”

Next to her, Joker shifts on his damaged heels and creaks forward further down the vent, towards DUSA. Elena curses. “Hey, wait. Stop. We have to go.”

Joker ignores her. “Elena,” I ask, “what the hell happened? Why is Joker -“

“Whatever the Leechman did to him down in the barrows jarred something loose or damaged him somehow, he’s operating completely autonomously.”

I stare at Elena. “You’re not controlling him?”

“No,” she says. “He - I think he heard our conversation on the radio, that’s how he knew to come to DUSA to get me. It’s a good thing he did or Makado would have gotten me. He burst right in through the wall, it was fucking terrifying.”

“Joker did that? I thought it was the Leechman, I thought you were dead -“

“No, no, it was Joker! Oh, god, baby you must have been so scared -“

“I’m just glad you’re okay. Where did he take you?”

Joker looks back at us, then returns his gaze to the scene inside the organ ahead. The screams have largely died down now, but I can hear Makado shouting something, and a high-pitched electric whine that sets my teeth on edge.

Elena shakes her head. “He must have been monitoring Makado’s transmissions, I think he has to have a radio receiver in there somewhere. He grabbed me and brought me down to a little organelle maybe a mile away and we just sort of hunkered down there for a while.”

“Did he hurt you? If he -“

“No, no, he didn’t, it’s okay, I’m okay. Joker!” she yells. “We have to go!”

Joker ignores her. There is a curious sense of animation about its pose and its motions, quick and precise and birdlike. As I watch, its fingers flex tightly enough to dig deeply into the fleshy wall it rests against. Again its head swivels and glances back at us and I think I can feel its nonexistent gaze resting on me. “Elena, if you’re not controlling it, then who is?”

“I don’t know,” she says, glancing over at me. “I think nobody.”

“But how could it -“

“Roan, listen, forget about that for a moment.” Her lips are tugging upwards in an irrepressible smile and I can’t help but mirror her. I want to hold her and kiss her and - “there was something I needed to tell you, something I needed to tell you face to face,” she says. My stomach swoops upwards in a surge of delight and I reach out, take her hand in mine.

“Yes?” I ask, trying to sound innocent and oblivious.

“Roan, I -“ she starts, but before she can get more than a few words out, there is a whipcrack of thunder in DUSA’s chamber, and Joker bolts forward like a sprinter off the starting line, and we both scramble into action and chase after him.

DUSA’s wet, fleshy cavern is in utter disarray. Dead leeches are littered everywhere and there are massive stains of ichor and blood splattered all across the cavern, as though someone upended buckets of paint and flung them. A crushed, distended corpse in a black-stained suit has been driven so deeply into the flesh of the floor that it has nearly been snapped in two. Of the Leechman there is no sign, but as we watch, Makado and three other rangers come storming out of the other vent and take up defensive positions around it, hunkering down and training their weapons on DUSA’s hull. Makado is carrying a long grey brick of a rifle, bulky and supremely un-ergodynamic, with what looks like a lens in place of a barrel. I wonder about it for a moment before a sickly green glow floats into view and the Leechman emerges from DUSA, ducking its titanic head, with the crystal beneath one of its arms, held as casually as one might carry a basketball. It pauses there for a moment, peering out at the four small figures opposing it.

Makado looks scared; her face has paled to a sickly white and I can see the rifle shuddering in her trembling hands.

I can’t see where Joker’s gone; I catch Elena’s eye and frown, but she nods upwards a little, and I see the robot just above us, clinging to the ceiling like a monkey. It seems content to wait for someone to make the first move.

Behind the Leechman an orange-suited figure takes a juddering, unsteady step into the light, and I can see the limp exoskeleton clinging to its limbs like a length of sodden rope. Another figure follows, and then another, and even in the dim half-light, lit by strobes and flashlights and headlamps, I can see their bodies bulging and throbbing with the gallons and gallons of leeches seething beneath their skin.

My stomach betrays me and I bend double and vomit, trying furiously to wipe the image from my mind, but I can still see the man’s distended belly glistening beneath the orange ranger suit, pregnant with its load of parasitic cargo, and the thought sends a wave of furious revulsion scurrying up my limbs, coaxing rank, cold sweat out of my pores.

The Leechman takes a deliberate step forward and Makado pulls the trigger on her rifle. A coruscating lance of blinding white light jolts from the barrel with the same deafening whip-crack we’d heard before and spears the Leechman through the core of its body, blowing a meter-wide hole open clean through it and filling the air with the smell of burning leeches. The Leechman staggers back a step or two and reaches out to steady itself, dropping the crystal; it clunks to the floor with a strangely musical tinkle and I can see a few of the spikes shatter and fall to pieces.

Makado rises to her feet, a little color returning to her cheeks, and fires again. This bolt catches the Leechman through the head and forces it down to its knees. It puts one massive hand forward to catch itself and Makado burns it off. She advances on the Leechman, firing again and again until the thing is just a pile of writhing, dying leeches, slowly burrowing into the ground and the walls and the ceiling, trying to escape. The bodies of the parasitized rangers shudder and twitch but they hesitate, standing still as though bereft of any governing intelligence.

Finally Makado pulls the trigger and the gun hisses a loud, screeching complaint and vents an enormous gasp of steam from recessed ports in its side; through them I can see the gun’s innards glowing white-hot, and Makado tosses it aside after glaring down at it in disgust. She draws her pistol from her holster and trains it one-handed on one of the rangers, squeezing one eye shut and glaring down the sights.

I open my mouth to suggest to Elena that it might be time to leave, but before I can get a word out the Leechman charges past us, out of the mouth of our vent, forcing a shriek from my mouth, and bowls into Makado headlong, sending her flying. She slams into the wall on the far side of the organ so hard that I can see a Mak-shaped bruise forming in the Pit’s flesh when she flops to the floor, limp and helpless, either stunned or unconscious or dead.

The rangers open up on the Leechman but if the laser wasn’t enough to kill it, bullets clearly aren’t going to be enough either. The three parasitized rangers surge forwards as well, wading into the fray, but the Leechman is doing the heavy lifting. I cringe back against Elena as I watch it pick up a hapless, screaming ranger and pull him in half, a spray of gore and guts flooding from the man’s cleft torso and legs. I clutch at Elena, trying desperately to get my legs beneath me, and she pulls me up and steadies me.

“We have to go,” she says. I can hear a note of hysteria in her voice. I take a shaky step backwards into the vent and feel a leech writhe and squirm beneath my cleats. Another one leaps at me and thuds into my back. I can feel its jaws working to pierce the thick latex of the ranger suit, and I hop frantically, trying to reach backwards and dislodge it. Elena brushes it off of me and crushes it beneath her boot just as the Leechman vomits a tidal wave of blunt, wriggling bodies into the pried-open chest of another ranger, struggling weakly in the creature’s squirming grip.

More leeches patter against us, driving us unwillingly out of the vent as we crawl and duck and dodge, trying to avoid them. A nerveless, exoskeletoned paw swipes at me clumsily and I scream and throw myself out of the way. From my vantage point on the ground I see Elena shove the infested ranger back and unload the entire magazine of her pistol into his gut, but the body staggers towards us still. I can see Elena’s teeth bared, a mad glint in her eyes, and I know that she is about to charge the thing and I know that it will kill her, but I haven’t enough breath to tell her not to.

Deeper in the chamber, the Leechman plucks the head off of a ranger’s pinioned, struggling body as easily as separating an apple from a tree and fling the chunk away like a bloody comet. It slaps wetly to the ground only a few feet away from me and I roll back from it, nearly mad with terror. I can see the Leechman slowly turning towards us and I am so afraid I think I might die just from fear alone.

“El - El - El - “ I try, again and again, but I can’t breathe, I can’t speak, I can’t think -

Joker drops from the ceiling directly onto the parasitized ranger, landing with a sickening crunch and a whine of servos. Its head snaps upwards and regards the Leechman with a calculating stare, and the Leechman, impossibly, stops. It seems to cock its head at Joker, and then it takes a step forward, heavy and inevitable and menacing, but before it can go any further Joker launches itself at it with a scream of straining metal and whining pistons. I struggle to my knees and brush the leeches off of Elena, checking her suit for holes or punctures.

Joker is losing. The Leechman has torn its other arm off and tossed it aside, and now it’s yanking at Joker’s leg. Joker is lurching spasmodically back and forth, trying to get free, but the Leechman has too strong a grip on it. The leeches are flowing over the robot’s metal form and in a few more moments it looks as though it’ll be enveloped entirely. I can see Joker’s head turn with what seems like a titanic effort and peer back at us, and then it disappears beneath the surface of the Leechman.

I tug Elena to her feet and take a few faltering steps back towards the vent before there is a colossal wave of sound and light and heat from behind that bowls me over and knocks me face-down in the sopping, bloodstained flesh. Elena falls over me with a scream and for a while all we can do is cling to each other and pray that whatever the hell happened is over quickly.

A moment passes, then another. I roll over and, with more than a little trepidation, sit up.

It looks as though a bomb has gone off. There is a bloody, charred crater in the floor, and all that remains of Joker are a few metal fragments, embedded like shrapnel in the floor and walls and ceiling. The parasitized rangers have all been cut down, most of them separated into small pieces of flesh, both leech, and human, smeared across DUSA and the organelle like daubs of lumpy paint.

Of the Leechman there is no sign, and when I glance over at it, I realize that the crystal is gone as well.

After another few minutes of utter stillness, Elena and I look at each other. “Are you okay?” she asks, and I glance down at myself.

“Somehow,” I say, “I think I am. Are you?”

She pats at herself cautiously, peers down at her legs, wiggles her foot. “I think so. Did Joker - ?”

I point to the crater. “He must have exploded. Either there was some kind of self-destruct or whatever engine or motor it used was damaged, or…”

“Jesus,” Elena breathes, getting shakily to her feet. She offers me a hand and helps me up and for a little while all we can do is survey the carnage. I feel as though I want to cry and laugh and throw up all at the same time.

I squeeze Elena’s hand. “What were you going to tell me?” I ask.

“Is now really the time?” she smiles, and I bite my lip to keep myself from grinning back at her.

“At this rate, if you don’t say it now you’re never going to.”

“Roan,” she says, putting a hand on my cheek, “I -“

There is a groan from across the cavern and we both snap around. Over there, on the far side of the wall, Makado is starting to sit up. She looks shaky and shell-shocked and terrified. She sees us and tries to get to her feet, but her leg buckles beneath her and she falls back to the ground. Elena’s eyes narrow and she lets me go, starting towards Makado, her hands curling into fists. I have a knot in my stomach.

“Elena, wait,” I call after her. She spins and stares at me and then shakes her head.

“Don’t look,” she tells me, and for a moment, just a moment, I think of going after her and stopping her from - from doing whatever she’s about to do.

But instead the coward in me wins out and I avert my gaze, squeezing my eyes shut, my insides tensing in anticipation of a gunshot. I hear Makado cry out weakly, and I shudder.

There is a loud, satisfying smack, as of fist on jaw, and then a flopping sound. I look up and see Elena wringing her hand, cursing beneath her breath, before she flips an insensate Makado onto her stomach and, folding the woman’s hands behind her, begins to lash her wrists together with a length of paracord. She looks up and sees me staring, registers the expression on my face and gives me a laugh.

“You thought I was going to kill her?” she asks, and I blow a breath out and try to calm myself before I answer.

“I didn’t know what you were going to do,” I say, truthfully.

“I’m not a killer,” Elena tells me, hefting Makado’s slim frame onto her shoulders in a fireman’s carry. “Jesus Christ,” she adds, adjusting her load a little. “This little shit is heavy.”

I kick at a piece of wreckage, a folded metal panel, bent from the force of the blast, and then reach down and with difficulty pull Joker’s battered torso out of the crater. Elena sets Makado down none too gently and comes over and squats beside me.

There’s something that looks a little like a car battery, jammed into a slot in the torso. I tug at it, using my foot to hold the hunk of metal steady, and it breaks free with a hiss like a seal being broken. “What is that?” Elena asks. I shake my head.

“BCPU - Property of Anodyne Berlin,” I read. “Mind Impulse Unit - B. Walken.”

“Walken?” Elena asks, incredulous.

“No,” I say, “this can’t - no, that’s ridiculous.”

“What is?”

“Burt Walken was Erica’s husband,” I tell her. “B. Walken, Burt Walken. She told me he died from the psychic illness from 2007, that Anodyne had never returned his body.”

The top of the box is translucent plastic, but it’s too dark to see inside. Elena reaches down and grabs her flashlight and shines it onto the box, and we both squint at it. When I comprehend what I’m seeing I nearly drop it - for there inside the box, soaking in a briny, gelatinous fluid, festooned with wires and covered in metal electrodes and circuits, are the ridges and folds of a clearly human brain.

* * *

“What were you going to tell me?” I ask Elena again once she gets off the radio. She’s spent the last fifteen minutes begging and cajoling and cursing someone on the surface to try and get them to send someone down to get us and finally, finally gotten a begrudging affirmative. I can slowly feel my spirits rising, and Elena even gives me a secret little smile as she comes to sit next to me, sinking down against the wall of the vent with a groan of relief. I lean my head on her shoulder and she kisses me gently on the forehead. A wash of warmth floods down my arms and legs and I have to restrain myself from seizing her and clutching her to me.

“You sure I shouldn’t just leave it a mystery at this point?” she asks, and I elbow her lightly in the ribs.

“Tell me,” I insist.

Elena leans back and takes my chin gently in her hand, inclining my face upwards to her. I can see her studying me, see her pupils dilate as they flick from my eyes to my cheeks to my nose to my lips. “I love you,” she says, and my heart jumps in my chest as though struck by lightning. I can feel myself grinning madly, and then our lips brush and then fit together as though they were made to do so.

And then, when our breath has finally grown short enough to force us to break apart, we slowly rise, Elena’s hand in mine, scarcely daring to tear our eyes from each other, and begin to gather our things for the long journey up.

Continue with the Epilogue

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#mystery flesh pit #Down the rabbit hole #writing #writeblr #alt lit #mystery #fiction #Novel #Michael Crichton #caving #disaster #the end

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