#i can’t keep being him to my room in in lisbon

[anneowl2803]

I’m really anxious. My parents are considering giving away our cat. I get that the new furniture is really expensive, but we already had a cat before they bought it!

And for the patio too?? That’s where the cat was supposed to live. Now they have him confined to the kitchen because he scratches the sofas. Hello??? We already knew that would happen! Why didn’t they plan ahead knowing we have a cat?

I can’t imagine them giving away our cat! Who knows what kind of family he would go to? My parents aren’t even considering temporarily covering the sofas and training him not to scratch.

I know they work all day, but they could keep him in the kitchen during the work hours and let him out during the night and train him then! My brother could do it if they don’t have time! I’d do it myself if I wasn’t studying away from home…

I’ll never understand why they bought a fabric sofa for our patio. They should have gotten something cheaper and tear resistant. I mean, the outside sofa is more expensive than the living room sofa, make it make sense!

[bullet-prooflove]

LongDistance!Series - Part One: Melina - Manny x Reader

Tagging: @crazy4chickennuggets  @kmc1989  @withakindheartx  @darqchilddaydreamz @theesirenteller @wnbweasley @skyesthebomb @delightfulbelieverwerewolf@redpool @trublu2u @fleureeee @thiashazzywriting @lauraaan182 @hatersaremymotivators @fanfic-n-tabulous @ravennaortiz @just-a-throw-away @yousigned-upforthis @kabloswrld @keyweegirlie @katymae12344 @rampsen @@jaebae

In the months that follow more postcards appear on Manny’s fridge, almost more than he can count because you’re bouncing around from country to country, city to city documenting Tattoo Expos throughout Europe.

Barcelona, Lisbon, Munich, Berlin, Paris, Versailles, Vienna.

You’re getting busier and busier these days and Manny can’t help but wonder when you’ll eventually stop to take a breath.

The two of you have been together almost six months and speak daily over Whatsapp through messages, voice notes or video calls. You send the occasional care package from whichever country you’re visiting, beers from Germany, wine from Spain that he’d put aside for when you returned, a gourmet food hamper from France. He’d shared that with his daughter Melina, one evening. The two of them had dressed in striped shirts with matching berets when they sat down and sampled the delicacies.

“Where did this come from?” She’d asked him as he’d set the wicker basket it had arrived in on the kitchen table.

“My friend sent it.” He tells her as they sample some of the salted butter caramel. “She travels all over the world taking pictures of people’s bodyart. Sometimes she sends me things so I can get a taste of the country she’s in.”

“Can I meet her?” Melina had asked.

He’d paused then because although it’s been on his mind recently, but he hasn’t actually broached the topic. There hasn’t been a woman in his life since his ex-Samantha. He’s fucked other women, girls who hung out at the bar, but he’s never brought them home. The truth is he knows it’s not him that they want, it’s the patch. There’s prestige that comes with being acquainted with the President of the club; it gives a woman status. He doesn’t want to bring a person like that into Melina’s world. His daughter is the most precious thing in his life, he doesn’t want her to be tainted by the darker aspects of his existence. She needs better role models in her life than the women who hang around the club and fuck their way up the hierarchy.

“She’s very far away.” He tells her as he snags a handful of coconut popcorn. “Somewhere called Versailles in France.”

He’d hoped that was the end of it before Melina picked up his cellphone and reminded him how video chat worked. His daughter was too smart for her own good and for his.

It’s later that night when Melina’s gone home that he calls you. It’s past midnight in Yuma, which makes it eight am your time. You’re still in your pyjamas, a pretty silk set that he wishes he was there to help you take off. He imagines his fingertips trailing over the thin strap before he guides it down your shoulders.

“My daughter wants to meet you.” He tells you as he sits with his back against the headboard, the room illuminated by the light from his lamp.

“Is that what you want?” You ask him, cradling a mug of coffee to your chest.

He tips his head back against the wall for a second before considering his next words carefully.

“I think this…” He says gesturing between the phone and himself. “…would be a good introduction, a way of testing the waters moving forward. I’ve spoken to Sam and she’s cool with it.”

He’d had the conversation while Melina was packing up her stuff. Once she’d learned you weren’t one of the club girls she had warmed to the idea significantly, he’d shown her some of your pictures and a couple of your articles.

“The two of you getting serious?” She’d asked in that New York drawl of hers and he hadn’t been able to keep the edges of his mouth from twitching up.

Sam can read every single one of his tells. They’ve known each other for over a decade, she’s seen him at his worst and at his best. It’s the first time she’s seen that look on his face in a while and she’s glad that he’s finally focusing on something that isn’t the club or Melina, that he’s allowing himself to be happy.

“Well, she’s successful, she’s smart, she travels the world. I think you could do a lot worse.” She teases him before nudging his shoulder with her own. “At the very least Melina meets an interesting person.”

He’s taken that on board before he’d called you. Even if this thing between the two of you didn’t work out, you can give his daughter insight into another world, one that she won’t get to see here in Yuma.

“If Sam’s signed off and it’s cool with you then I would love to meet her.” You tell him with a smile before taking a sip from your coffee cup. “However, let’s actually schedule a call so that I’m wearing something a little more appropriate when I meet your daughter.”

“I don’t know Mami, that looks pretty appropriate to me right now.” He says, biting his lower lip as the silk clings to your chest. You aren’t wearing a bra, and he can see the dark shape of your nipples through the fabric. “Maybe you could show me a little more.”

You laugh before setting your coffee cup down on the nightstand. You put the phone in the little wooden stand you usually use for when your video calls with Manny get a little risqué.

“So, tell me Manny,” You say as your thumbs hook underneath the straps of your camisole, drawing them down just a little. “What would you like to see first?”

Love Manny? Don’t miss any of his stories by joining the taglist here.

Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

[skylarmoon71]

Patrick Jane (Mentalist) - Chapter 6

“(L/N), take Jane and head to the country club. Maybe he can help rile up someone into slipping up.”

“I’m sorry Boss I’m still chasing the framing angle. Is it okay if Jane goes with Cho?”

Lisbon nods.

“Of course, I completely forgot about that. Good catch. Cho, take Jane and keep an eye on him.” Cho nods, and you walk out of the room without so much as a glance in Jane’s direction.

“I’ll meet you at the car in five Cho.” Jane calls as he chases after you. It’s no surprise when he sees you footing it to the stairs. You don’t want to take the chance of being stuck in the elevator with him.

��You can’t ignore me forever.”

He jogs down the stairs behind you, but still gets no response.

“Really, the silent treatment. What are we five?”

No reply.

“(Y/N).”

He makes a grab for your hand and you yank it away, spinning around.

“What the hell do you want from me Jane?”

“I know that you’re angry but you need to listen to me. It’s not what you think, trust me.”

“Really? Because it looks to me like you’re psychic too. This whole time I’ve been thinking that I’m crazy, but we have similar abilities. You’ve just been watching me run around like a headless chicken.”

“I’m not psychic.”

“Yeah, then how the hell did you force me out of your head. You threw me five feet away with just your mind. I’m no genius but no regular person can’t do that. You didn’t just nudge me Jane, you threw me out. Do you understand that?”

“I do. But I’m telling you this isn’t what you think, trust me.”

You’d like to believe him, but at this point you can’t differentiate what’s a lie and what isn’t. You can’t read people as well as Jane. You’re a novice at best when it comes to profiling. Jane is a prodigal. He could have been manipulating you this entire time.

Defeated, you take a step back. He must read it before you even say the words, because his eyes fall.

“I don’t trust you.”

“(Y/N).”

“Excuse me, I have to get back to work.”

You turn, heading down the remainder of stairs and Jane watches you leave.

After that you try to go about the week like nothing is wrong. You do your job to the best of your ability and focus your attention on mysteries that can be solved.

When Lisbon calls you into her office, the assumption is that she’s looking for a brief on where you are with the current case.

“I know there’s something going on with you and Jane.”

She says it before you can get a word in. You were taken aback, that’s for sure. But you can’t let her see that.

“Boss, I don’t know what you mean.” Lisbon simply smiles.

“I’m not an idiot. For the last month the both of you have been attached at the hip. You argue like an old married couple. Now you won’t even look at him.”

You really thought you were being subtle.

“Can I ask what happened?”

You’d like to tell her, but there’s no way you can convince someone as logical as Lisbon that Jane has powers. Just thinking about it sounds crazy and you can actually read minds.

“Fine, I don’t need to know the specifics. I just need a guarantee that this won’t affect your work.”

You can’t even make that guarantee. Because the truth if the matter is..

“I..I can’t trust him.” You admit.

You’re ready for the lecture that is to come.

“I understand.”

Your puzzled expression must be hilarious.

“Jane is selfish. He does what he wants when he wants. We all know that. The second he joined the unit I knew it wouldn’t be easy. At first I thought he just enjoyed making my life miserable, but that’s not it. I think in some weird way it’s his penance. He spent so long lying to people that he’s become completely unfiltered. It might constantly get him in trouble, but he’s honest.”

You’d like to deny it, but Lisbon is right. His brutal honesty sort of does make sense now. Especially considering what he went through.

“Whatever it is, I’m sure you both can sort it out.”

She just goes back to her files and you nod, stepping out of the office and closing the door.

There’s a lot of merit to her words, but that nagging in the back of your head won’t leave.

Maybe it’s time to face the problem.

You know exactly where to find him. He’s started hanging out on the roof. When you walk through the door he’s staring at the sky just ahead, blocked by the glass. He finally turns his head when the door closes.

“Let’s talk.”

He straightens, nodding.

“I’ll tell you anything just ask.”

You don’t have to speak, because he already knows. He scratches the back of his head with a laugh.

“I guess I shouldn't be surprised huh.”

“The truth Jane.”

You’re tired of his stalling. From his look you can tell he understands.

“I’m not psychic, that’s the truth.”

You’re about to argue and he shakes his head.

“I did a little research. The web isn’t exactly known for being dependable, but I figured there might be some fact in the fiction. There was an article about some magical abilities over a millennium ago.”

“Jane if this is some kind of trick.”

“It’s not. You know I’m the last one to believe in all this psychic mumbo jumbo, but the moment I saw you evading everyone’s touch like the plague I got suspicious. Then when you grabbed that boy, the look on your face was easy to read. From what I understand you’re not so much psychic, your brain just works differently than most people. So does mine.”

“What does that mean?”

“You’ve seen matilda haven’t you?”

“Matilda, really? That’s your defense.”

“It’s the only thing that makes sense. I’ve always been able to see things that other people can’t. I’m observant to the point that it might almost seem magical to other people. You’re not that different. You and I are somewhat like two sides of a coin. You can hear, I can see. We’re the same but different. I have no doubt that there are other people out there with similar advances. All those witch trials, persecuting people that were different, it couldn’t have been a coincidence. Seeing things they couldn’t comprehend, understand.”

It’s crazy how sometimes he makes sense.

“I never lied to you, I’m trying to help you. I promise.”

When you look at him, you can’t spot a lie. It’s possible that he’s so good at it that he’s learned to mask those tells. You wouldn’t be surprised.

Yet, his eyes look so raw, sincere.

“So your theory is we both just have screwed up brains.”

He laughs.

“That’s one way of putting it.”

When he sees a smile on your face, his body relaxes.

“I’m sorry about what happened before Jane. I shouldn’t have tried to mess around in your head. I was wrong.”

He shrugs it off.

“I get it, you wanted answers. There’s just a lot there that I prefer that people didn’t see.”

You don’t need an explanation, it’s obvious what he’s referring to.

“So are we cool?”

He really is a child sometimes.

You offer your hand and he’s a bit surprised. With a slow smile, he takes it.

“We’re cool.” 

[mycameraandmythings]

Table for one

The door opens and the restaurant seems quite full. It’s just you standing there. A kind face with a gentle smile comes and asks: “table for one person?” 

The uncomfortable question… 

And the answer: “yes, just me”.

“Right this way”.

My best friend says that she could never go to the movies alone. To me, is eating alone. I’ve done it, of course. You’ve got to eat, right? 

My stomach lets me know that we’ve got to bring him some food, so we find a place close by. The tables around me are alive from all the conversations taking place. An old couple enjoying a pizza together, some work colleagues sharing a laugh from their adventures and even a mum cutting the food for their kids, while their dad pours some water on their drink bottles. 

Everyone has someone to talk to. Everyone is listening or being listened. They smile, laugh and they have fun together. At least I’ve always assumed so. Why wouldn’t they have fun together?

When I see these pictures in front of me, I can’t help to feel a little empty to be sitting there alone. I just want to eat and keep going. I actually confess that more than a few times, I’ve chosen to grab something quick that I can easily eat, rather than to sit at a restaurant alone. I even ended up buying McDonald’s to take away and eat it in the hotel room when I’m traveling. Have you ever done something like that?

Whenever I see someone eating alone, I wonder what is going on with their lives. Maybe I wonder if they feel like I do. I wound’t dare to spontaneously speak to this person or eat together, I’m too shy for that. I don’t know, guess it’s just the feeling to say: “hey, me too”. 

Come to think about it, it’s funny how everyone can have a different feeling for the same thing. I know there’s a lot of people who don’t mind eating alone. Steffy doesn’t, for example. 

Well, now that these words are written and are out of my head, I think maybe we are the way we are. Some of you more extroverted, and others like me, a little more reserved. 

I’ve traveled alone, too. And I’ve come to the conclusion that it’s a matter of choice: you stay home alone too, or you see what you want to see and learn to enjoy your own company. When it comes to eating, I’m still working on that, but the rest I don’t mind so much doing by myself.  

This picture is from Lisbon. My first trip alone back in Easter, 2014. I only ate two times in a restaurant in that trip. 

Like I said, it’s a work in progress up to this date.

[thighs-of-betrayal-blog]

Oh my gosh that one where the reader got hurt and Bucky confessed his feelings?!?! 😵

It inspired me! Could you write one where Bucky is in a bad situation, maybe with Sam or someone, and says something along the lines of “I can’t die without her knowing that I love her” and then after he’s rescued he gets the chance to finally be with her?

Not Leaving Without You

A/N: I love this request so much!! Bucky deserves so much love and happiness. Thank you so much for the request and I hope you enjoy!! :)

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Warnings: angst/fluff, violence, weapons

Bucky and Sam are surrounded. A few months after dealing with the Flag Smashers, the duo was called back in to find a small group of super soldiers who are killing individuals in Portugal and they pinpointed their location down to a building in Lisbon. Unfortunately, their arrival was expected and that’s how they got into the situation they’re in now, with seven super soldiers circled around them. 

Bucky and Sam raise their hands in surrender. 

“We just want to talk,” Sam says. 

“Talk, huh?” one of the super soldiers replies. “Seems to me like you were sent by the American Government to capture and take us in.” 

“That may be accurate,” replies Sam, “but, with the extent of this current situation, I feel like a conversation might work better.”

“Ya think?” Bucky says, while giving Sam an exasperated look. 

The former super soldier steps forward. “No, I don’t think there will be any talking here. The only thing that’s going to happen is we are going to kill you. Case closed.”

“Case closed?” Sam asks, looking over at Bucky. “I’ve got three of them, you take four.” 

“Why do I have to take four?” Bucky asks. 

“Because you’re a super soldier!” 

Before Bucky can respond, Sam jolts to the left, catching the three super soldiers by surprise, as he uses his wings to knock them to the ground. 

Bucky jumps into action immediately after, throwing both of his knives, stabbing two super soldiers in the stomach. He then uses his metal arm to punch the other two. 

On the other side of the room, Sam is using a combination of the shield and his wings to continuously knock down the three soldiers. 

He throws the shield into the legs of the soldier closest to him, knocking him to the ground. 

“How’re you doing over there, tin man?” Sam asks. 

“Not good,” Bucky replies. And, he wasn’t lying. He couldn’t keep four super soldiers off him, especially with his only two knives out of reach and two of the super soldiers trying to hold his metal arm down. 

Sam sneaks a peek over at Bucky and sees him pinned down. As Sam is distracted, one of the super soldiers kicks him in the knee, causing him to fall to the ground. The other two soldiers grab each of his wings, ripping them off. 

Bucky has his arms secured behind his back with a zip tie. A gun is pushed against his temple. Sweat starts to run down his forehead. He can’t go out like this. Not yet. 

“Sam!” Bucky yells. 

Sam is lying face down on the ground, both his arms and legs secured, gun pushed against the back of his head. 

“Sam!” Bucky yells again. 

Panic sets in for Sam. “Yeah?” he replies. 

“You were right, I should’ve told them!” 

“Told who, what?”

“Y/N!” Bucky says. “I should’ve told them I love them. I don’t want to die without them knowing how I feel.” 

Sam turns his head to look over at Bucky. “I’m sorry, man. Y/N…”

The doors to the building fling open before Sam can finish his sentence. Torres and 15 other men run in, shooting down all six super soldiers in seconds. 

Bucky lets out a long breath and stands up, ears ringing from the bullets that flew past him. 

He looks over at Sam, who is being helped up by Torres. 

“Well, what’re you doing just standing there, man? Go to Y/N!” Sam says, gesturing towards the door. 

Bucky doesn’t hesitate to run out of the building. 

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

You’re reading a book in your apartment as you hear a loud knock on your front door. Confused, you wonder who it could be. Bucky, as far as you knew, was still in Portugal with Sam, so you didn’t think it could be him. 

Looking through the peephole though, you were surprised to find your favorite super soldier stationed on the other side. You immediately open the door. 

“What’re you doing here, Buck? Not that I’m not happy to see you, but I wasn’t expecting you to be back for another few weeks and…”

Bucky cuts you off. “I almost just died.” 

You look at him in shock. “You what?”

He steps closer to you. “We found the super soldiers and there were more than we expected. They ambushed us and I had a gun to my head and shit, doll, I was so scared that I was never going to be able to tell you about how much I love you.”

“You love me?” you whisper back. 

Bucky grabs your hand. “This was never how I was going to tell you. One day, when I actually got the nerve to, I was going to take you out to a restaurant, buy you some dinner, and tell you how I feel after I walked you back home. Today scared the shit out of me though, doll, and I didn’t want to go another day without letting you know. I was so scared I was going to die there without having the chance to tell you.”

His confession brings tears to your eyes. You immediately pull him into a hug. 

“Well, you’re here, Buck, and I’m here, and I’m not going anywhere.” You pull away to look at him. “I love you too.”

Bucky smiles and pulls you into a kiss, then quickly pulls away. “I’m sorry, Y/N, I should have asked before I kissed you, I…”

You shut him up by putting your lips back onto his. He deepens the kiss, slipping his tongue inside of your mouth. 

You pull away. “Wait, where’s Sam? Is he okay?”

“He’s still in Portugal,” he replies.

“You left him there?!?”

Bucky laughs. “No, he’s with Torres.” He grabs you by the waist. “He’s okay, I promise.”

You give a quick nod of your head and start to think to yourself. 

“Hey,” Bucky grabs your chin, so you’re staring up at him, “Why don’t we go inside? And, talk about things that aren’t Sam related?”

“Sure thing, lover boy,” you laugh, while patting his cheek. 

Bucky picks you up bridal style. “You haven’t seen anything yet, doll.” 

You both laugh as he runs, with you in his arms, into your apartment, slamming the door shut with his foot.

[jedifarmerr]

She’s Just Not That Into You   (Marcus Pike x F!Reader)

Hello everyone!! This is my first try at fan fiction, so please give feedback! This is somewhat based on He’s Just Not That Into You, Alex and Gigi relationship (which I do not own). I have the whole story laid out, and should be around 8 to 10 chapters (if there is interest)

I do not own the mentalist or the picture above (so credit to them)

Summary: After a failed marriage, and the world’s shortest engagement, Marcus is starting to give up on love. One late night, Marcus stumbles into a diner, and meets a young waitress, with whom he develops an unlikely friendship with. 

Warnings: Food, eating, mentions of heartbreak, some sadness, sad!Marcus, no use of Y/N! (If any more let me know)

Rating: M (just to be safe) 18+

Chapter 1: Diner Girl

Seeing Lisbon again had been a punch to Marcus’s gut. He thought it would give him closure, that he would feel better after seeing her. Maybe he hoped she would change her mind once she saw him. That she would be reminded of what they had. Instead, he was hit with the realization that it was really over. She had moved on, and was happy with Jane. He was just a pit stop to her final destination, it was always going to be Jane for her. He needed to accept that. He needed to move on. He just wondered what could Jane offer her that he couldn’t? When would it be his turn to finally have someone? 

Since his return to D.C., he had been in a trance. His thoughts consumed him, stuck in his own self-loathing. Matthew’s voice breaks him from his thoughts reminding him of the meeting starting in a few minutes. He rubs his face,  needing to pull himself together, focus on his job, he’s the leader of this department he needs to get it together. He catches his reflection on the black screen of his laptop, he examines himself noting that his eyes are tired, dark circles underneath them, and his beard really needs a trim. Marcus closes his laptop abruptly, and heads for the conference room. He just hopes this meeting is short so he can head home. 

Marcus’s luck was never great, the meeting ran long, and he was starving. He missed the diners in Austin, missed his regular breakfast places. In between his office and his apartment, there were three breakfast places. He had tried two of them so far, and had been gravely disappointed by both of them. The only one left was Lucy’s Diner, and he was just hoping it was better than the last place. He was scared, and didn’t know if he could face more disappointment. How does a breakfast place mess up pancakes?

Marcus entered the diner, the small bell above the door ringing. The diner was empty, he was guessing since most people aren’t in the mood for pancakes this late at night. He hears a voice from the back telling him to sit wherever he wants. While walking towards the bar top he gazes around the room taking in his surroundings. The diner had fluorescent lights that gave a yellow tint to the dining room, the booths and seats were covered with a teal sparkly leather covering, and a jukebox was in the corner playing Elvis Pressley. Really had the classic diner look down he thought. 

Marcus sits down and opens the menu, when suddenly he is hit with a memory of him with Lisbon on their first date. They had gone to a diner that had the best banana pancakes. He could remember how happy he felt that day, how she laughed at all his jokes, how beautiful she looked in that red leather booth. He could remember going home that night with the biggest smile on his face, and a feeling that she was his future.  A voice breaks him from his thoughts,  painfully reminded that he is here alone. 

-------

You were annoyed at the sound of the small ding. You needed to study for your upcoming test, you had stretched yourself a bit thin this week. Taking extra hours at the diner to help pay for school. You check yourself in the mirror, making sure you look presentable before heading out the swinging door. Before even fully entering the dining room you start on your spiel “Welcome to Lucy’s Diner! What can I get you?” The customer jolts back a bit, startled from his own thoughts. The man’s eyes quickly dart around, lingering for a second on your name tag, then your face. He then looks down to the menu and states his order. Once he finishes, his eyes meet yours for just a few seconds, and you see that his brown eyes are glassy and have dark circles under them. He must be also having a pretty stressful week you think. You give him a quick smile before heading back to get his order in. You start a fresh pot of decaf coffee, unable to give him the stale shit that has been sitting there for hours. He looks like he has had a bad enough day. 

After a few minutes you return to the man with his decaf coffee, “Freshly brewed, sir. Would you like any cream or sugar?” He shakes his head and gives you a quick thank you, while taking a sip of his coffee. The man didn’t seem in the mood to chat, so you leave him alone to sulk in his own thoughts. Not wanting to be a nuisance to the man. 

When in the back room, you can’t help but peek through the little window in the door to spy on him. He looks so sad, so lost in his own mind, he looks like he can hardly hold himself together. He looks like a child lost in a supermarket, and for some reason you want to comfort him. You wonder what he is going through, was it just a bad day at work? Or was it more?  Lenny breaks you from your reverie, letting you know that the order is up. When you pick it up, Lenny gives you a side glance, “I thought you had a test to study for, but seems you got something a little bit more interesting to look at then those books.” You roll your eyes at him, and turn to leave, the kitchen now full of laughter as you walk away. 

Once you set the food down in front of the man, he immediately digs in. He eats like he hasn’t seen food in days, and you are honestly worried for this man’s health. You don’t want to disturb him, but you break his focus anyway to ask how it is tasting and if you can get him anything else. His mouth is full, and he meets your eyes fully for the second time that night. It seems as if the taste of the food has boosted his mood. He smiles, a real smile for the first time that night and his eyes are not as glassy, and you swear you see a glow to them. He lightly chuckles, before replying “This is fantastic. Could I get a little more coffee when you have the chance?” 

You smile at him and motion to the room, “Yeah, I mean we are so busy, but I think I can do that for you.” He lets out a little giggle, while you go to get the pot from the back. You return only a minute later, and find that his plate is almost empty. 

“Wow! You must have really enjoyed those pancakes!” You slap yourself internally for not being able to think of anything better to say to the man. 

“These are the best pancakes I have had in a while, I have tried the other places around here” he says with a smile, “And they are nothing compared to this.”

You return his sweet smile, “I will let Lenny know you enjoyed them! I am glad you liked it.” 

After that, you are met with a bit of awkward silence that you decide to break “So, are you from around here or just visiting?” 

----------

He was trying to chew as fast as he could, this is the second time you have asked him a question mid-chew tonight. “Just moved here a few months ago actually, from Texas. Haven’t been able to explore too much, the new job is keeping me pretty busy.” He meets your eyes, placing one elbow on the table, giving you a small smirk “Do you have any suggestions for a newbie?” 

Your face lights up as you give him a few food suggestions, some hidden gems, and a low down on the days to visit certain monuments and when to avoid them. You continue to converse about local tips, and after a few minutes he checks his watch

 “I didn’t realize how late it was getting. Can I get the check? I am sure you are ready to close down.” 

He senses that you are a bit disappointed with him leaving, guessing you must be bored with the lack of patrons in the establishment. You hand him the check in which he quickly pays, leaving a very generous tip. 

Before reaching the door he hears your voice shout out “Hope to see you again soon!” 

He turns while opening the door giving you a quick smile  “I will definitely be back.”  

[buckybarnesdollface]

Is This A Bad Time?

Summary:  Bucky's so desperate to see his girl after a long mission, he rushes to her place without stopping at the compound to debrief. Poor Steve ends up on the end of a phone call he most definitely didn't want to be on.   

Warnings: Smut, fluff, f/m, embarrassed Steve Rogers, Bucky and reader are both cheeky little shits   

           “Honey, I’m home!”

            I let the dishcloth fall into the sink and then I was running out to the hallway as my heart beat erratically in excitement. He stood in the doorway, still in full tactical gear, dark circles under his blue eyes and a few scrapes on his stubbled face, but a wide grin curved his lips upward when I skidded into the hallway to greet him.

            “Bucky…” I breathed, and when he held open his arms I threw myself into them and pressed my face into his chest. He smelled like smoke and sweat and leather but after three weeks of not seeing him while he was on mission in Lisbon all I cared about was that he was warm and solid and here.

            “Missed you, doll,” he murmured into my hair, arms tightening around me.

            “I missed you, too. Three weeks is too long.”

            Bucky pulled away from me, blue eyes sparkling. “Aw, baby girl, did ya miss me lovin’ on ya every night?” he teased, and I gave him a wicked smirk.

            “Maybe a little,” I taunted. “Good thing I kept that vibrator Nat gave me for the secret Santa last year; it got me through more than a few lonely nights.”

            Just as I’d hoped, I struck the right nerve. Bucky’s eyes narrowed as a low growl rumbled in his chest. “You tellin’ me you’ve been gettin’ yourself off without me, doll?” he said in a low voice, and I shrugged.

            “Like I said, soldier; three weeks is too long.” I winked at him. “Don’t worry; I still screamed your name if that makes you feel better.”

            The next thing I knew, I was pushed up against the wall and his body was pressed against mine. I couldn’t help the little whimper that escaped my lips when he fitted a thick thigh between my legs, and a devilish grin stretched his lips slowly.

            “Oh, baby girl,” he breathed. “I missed the pretty sounds that you make.”

            I fought to keep my composure, but three weeks of living without his touch had me melting against him now. “When did you get back?” I asked him, and he grinned.

            “Just now.”

            My eyes widened. “You didn’t even check in at the compound? Buck, you’re supposed to debrief after every mission, or at least let someone know you’re back,” I scolded.

            “I did let someone know,” he murmured, nose skimming along my jaw as his hands slipped under my shirt and gripped the flesh of my hips. “As soon as I landed I came right to your place to tell you I’m back.”

            I wanted to scold him more, but oh, his hands on me felt so good and his words had my heart fluttering. “Bucky…” I breathed, and he ducked his head to pepper kisses along my throat.

            “Had to see my best girl before I did anything else,” Bucky mumbled into my skin. “Had to show her just how much I’ve missed her the past few weeks.”

            Losing the last of my resolve, I crashed my lips to his, hands fumbling to unzip his leather jacket and slide it from his shoulders. It hit the floor with a soft thud, and then Bucky’s hands were sliding under my thighs and lifting me up as he kissed me hungrily. He carried me to the bedroom and dropped me onto the bed.

            Deft fingers made quick work of the laces of his combat boots, and then he was kicking them off and climbing onto the bed after me. His lips reattached to mine as his hands massaged my breasts over the thin cotton of my t-shirt.

            “Mmm, no bra,” he murmured. “It’s like you knew I was coming home, doll.” I keened when he pinched my nipples between his fingers and thumbs, back arching off the mattress. “So responsive. Can’t believe I went three weeks without this.”

            “Need you, Buck,” I whined shamelessly.

            “Not near as bad as I need you, doll.” Bucky was quick to rid me of my shirt, mouth latching onto a nipple, and I gasped. His flesh hand slid down my body to slip under the waistband of my leggings, and he groaned as his fingers swept through my folds. “Already drippin’ for me, baby doll. Can’t wait to get a taste of this.”

            I shook my head, fingers curling around the front of his Henley. “Later,” I panted. “Right now I just need to feel you inside me.”

            The smug look on Bucky’s face transformed into something darker, and then he was practically tearing the rest of our clothes from our bodies. Lining himself up with my entrance, he slid into me in one forceful thrust. I cried out, nails scratching down his back as his length filled me completely, stretching me until it was almost painful. Bucky groaned, face pressed into my neck as he held still to give me time to readjust to him, his flesh hand kneading the flesh of my hip.

            “Fuck, doll,” he grunted. “You good? ‘Cause I don’t know how much longer I can hold still.”

            In answer I rolled my hips up into his and his fingers on me tightened. I whimpered as he pulled out of me and then thrust back in, slow but forceful, unable to focus on anything but how good it felt to finally have him inside me again after three weeks apart. He didn’t miss a beat, hitting all the spots in me that had me a whiny mess for him in no time.

            “Bucky…” I keened as he delivered a particularly hard thrust, and his lips curved up into a grin.

            “That’s it, baby girl,” he praised. “Let me hear you. God, I missed the pretty noises that mouth of yours makes when I’m inside you.”

            His words sent a fresh flood of arousal to my core, and I had just pulled him in for a searing kiss when all of a sudden his phone began to ring, the sound shrill and harsh in a room that was silent save for our sharp breaths and flesh against flesh.

            I paused, but Bucky’s thrusts didn’t cease. “Aren’t you gonna answer that?” I asked.

            “Nope.”

            “But it could be important –”

            Bucky cut me off as he lifted my hips off the mattress to hook my legs around him, hitting me at a new angle that left me breathless.

            “This is what’s important,” he growled, one hand snaking up my torso to pinch a nipple. I squeaked and he smirked. “I haven’t seen my best girl in three weeks. My top priority right now is making up for those three weeks.”

            Eventually the phone stopped ringing, and with a grin Bucky resumed his movements with more vigor.

            “So good, doll,” he grunted a couple of minutes later, after we’d both fallen back into the previous pace we’d set. My head fell back into the pillows, eyes squeezed shut as I felt the coil tightening in my belly. I was so close…

            The phone ringing sounded even more shrill and annoying the second time. I opened my eyes to give Bucky a pointed look. He pursed his lips and then reached over to the bedside table to pick it up and check the screen.

            “Who is it?” I asked.

            “Steve,” he replied, and then to my shock he shut the phone off and tossed it over his shoulder. It landed with a dull thud on the pile of our discarded clothes on the floor. My eyes widened.

            “Bucky!” I cried. “You can’t just do that!”

            “I can,” he murmured, trailing open-mouthed kisses along my jaw, “and I did.” His hands roamed my curves as he rutted into me. “Like I said, doll; you’re my priority right now. Everything else can wait until later.”

            I wanted to argue with him – I had told myself when we’d first started seeing each other that I wouldn’t let myself get between him and his work. Being an Avenger meant he had responsibilities that often had to come before anything else, and I respected that. But god, the way he felt on top of me and inside me right now…He could tell me he planned on stealing the Mona Lisa and I wouldn’t care as long as he kept making me feel this good.

            In one swift move Bucky rolled over, putting me on top. His hands on my hips were firm as he rocked me against him, and the moan that escaped my lips was obscene. Bucky smirked, but that smirk quickly turned into a sinful groan when I bent down to suck lightly on the pulse point at his throat. His hands slid from my hips to my ass, kneading the flesh and then delivering a quick but sharp slap that had me crying out his name and adding more heat to my already-flooded core. Just a few more well-placed thrusts and I would be…

            “Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Bucky snarled as we were interrupted for a third time. This time it was my phone, and for a second Bucky looked like he was contemplating throwing it against the wall across the room.

            “Don’t even think about it, Barnes,” I warned, and with a roll of his eyes and an exaggerated sigh he reached across the bed to answer the call and put it on speakerphone. I made to slide off of him, but the vibranium hand still on my hip held me firmly in place.

            “I swear to god, Rogers, the world better be fucking ending right now or I’m gonna kill you,” Bucky growled, and I arched an eyebrow at him, which he only returned with a shrug.

            “I knew you were at (Y/N)’s,” Steve replied accusingly over the speaker. “That explains why you’ve been ignoring my calls.”

            “Yeah, of course I’m at (Y/N)’s,” Bucky retorted. “I haven’t seen my girl in three weeks; where else would I be?”

            “How about in your debriefing meeting? You know the protocol, Buck. We debrief before we do anything else. Tony is pissed.”

            “Tony can suck it,” Bucky muttered. I stifled a snort and Steve sighed.

            “Not to mention the fact that you didn’t even let anyone know you had returned. What if something had happened to you, jerk? We’d have no idea.”

            “Stop being such a punk, Steve. The quinjets all have GPS on them, you knew I was back in New York.”

            “Can you just get to the compound ASAP so we can do this debriefing? If you hurry up, we can get it done and over with.”

            “Can’t, Stevie, I’m a little busy right now. The debriefing can wait till later; nothing’s gonna change.” As he said this, his fingertips traced the dips and swells of my body with the lightest of touches, raising goosebumps on my skin and having me involuntarily rocking my hips against his. Caught off-guard, Bucky let out a grunt and we both froze, our eyes wide.

            “What was that?” Steve asked, and I watched as the flush crept up Bucky’s neck to his cheeks.

            “I, uh…tripped,” Bucky lied, “over (Y/N)’s cat.”

            I had to bite down on my hand to keep from laughing. Bucky glared at me, but there was a mischievous glint in his blue eyes.

            “You tripped over a cat,” Steve deadpanned, clearly not buying it. “Mhmm. Since when are you clumsy enough to trip over a cat?”

            “Since I just spent three weeks on a mission in Lisbon,” Bucky replied. “I’m exhausted.”

            His voice was tight, but not because he was annoyed with Steve. I had started rolling my hips against his, growing impatient with this phone call. Bucky’s eyes widened, and his jaw clenched as he fought to control his breathing. He narrowed his eyes at me, but I only smiled sweetly.

            “I get that you’re tired, Bucky,” Steve sighed on the other end of the line, “but we’ve got responsibilities. Let’s just get this debriefing over with. It’ll take twenty minutes, and then you can spend the next two weeks with (Y/N) if you want to.”

            A wicked grin on my face, I traded in grinding my hips into his for bouncing up and down, his cock sliding in and out of me deliciously. Bucky’s jaw went slack, and then he was sucking in a deep breath before speaking. “I told you, Steve, I’m…Fuck.” His eyes fluttered shut and his head hit the pillows as I picked up the pace. He waited until his breathing evened out before continuing. “I’m busy,” he finished, and I smirked as he shot me a look that screamed, “You’re in trouble.”

            “Busy doing what?” Steve demanded, his voice rising. “What the hell is going on over there that has you disregarding protocol?”

            With a devilish grin, Bucky lifted his vibranium hand to where we were joined and pressed his thumb to my clit. He began to rub circles on it with increasing pressure, and even though I fought hard to contain myself I was so tightly wound by this point that even the slightest pressure had me wrecked. I let out a sound between a whine and a moan, and Bucky looked triumphant as I fell forward until our chests were pressed together. He thrusted up into me slowly and I held my breath, knowing there was no way Steve hadn’t heard me.

            Things were silent for a moment, and then a cough came from Steve’s end. “Are you…Are you guys…?” he choked, unable to finish the question. My cheeks were flaming and I buried my face against Bucky’s shoulder; to hide my embarrassment or to keep from laughing I wasn’t even sure. Bucky was full-on laughing, his chest rumbling beneath me.

            “I told you I was busy, Stevie,” he chuckled pointedly. “Maybe you should have just left me alone.”

            Just imagining the flustered look on Steve’s face was enough to send me into a fit of giggles, and then Bucky and I were both laughing. Steve finally cut us off, his tone clipped.

            “You two are both disturbed individuals,” he said. “Just…” He stopped, as if to shake his head. “I expect you to be here in an hour.”

            Bucky smirked. “Aye, aye, Captain,” he taunted, and then he hung up the phone before Steve could say anything else. We both burst into fresh fits of laughter.

            “Poor Stevie,” I breathed. “I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to face him again.”

            “Maybe he should have minded his own business, then.” Bucky’s hands grabbed onto my ass and squeezed playfully. “Now, where were we? We still have at least half an hour before I have to leave and there are so many things I want to do to you in that time.”

            As he spoke, he thrusted up into me hard, and my gasp quickly turned into a wicked grin. I was so glad to have him home.

[niennavalier]

AC: Rogue - Second Chances

Summary: He's not an Assassin anymore - Shay has no doubts about that. He's less sure where that leaves him in the world, or in the context of this centuries-long war between Assassins and Templars. But when he's presented with a second chance - from a Templar, no less - he has to question all that he's done in the past. And all that he'll do in the future.

Character study set during AC: Rogue Sequence 3-1 "The Color of Right".

(Also posted on AO3)

*****

Shay isn’t sure what he’d been expecting. There’s little he remembers of the moment after being shot, aside from perhaps accepting his fate, knowing that, at the very least, he’d stopped the Assassins from leveling more cities. But he hadn’t expected to wake up at all, much less in a comfortable home and cared for by a kindly couple.

He’d not thought that he could be surprised by much else, but then Mrs. Finnegan - Cassidy - had handed him some clothing, and now, dressing himself, he can’t help but think.

They were our son's . Those words - they keep circling through his head as he readjusts the coat, finishes tightening his belt. Because he can't keep the thought from his mind.

The Finnegans' son - he'd been a Templar.

He'd not wanted to believe it at first, seeing the crosses at his shoulders, telling himself it was something else, something he'd seen elsewhere. It wasn't the Templar cross, and the couple who'd taken him in and cared for him as their own - they weren't Templars. They weren’t the same people he’d spent years fighting.

But pulling the strap for his rifle over his shoulder, the other cross settling on top of his heart, it’s not something he can deny. Somehow, he’s certain of it; whether the Finnegans are Templars themselves, their son had been.

And now he’s wearing the lad’s clothes. It’s something that makes him all the more aware of the hidden blades at his wrists - nothing feels quite right about any of this. Not that he can do much about it.

Sighing and shaking the thoughts from his head for now, he takes the time to tie his hair away from his face and happens to catch a glimpse of himself in the mirror. Looking as he does, he has no doubt his younger self would've thought him a Templar himself, some fanatic obsessed with order. With his weapons returned, he looks every bit a man ready to fight for all that he’d once fought against . Though it's not like he has much choice; he doubts his old clothes had survived the ordeal.

He's not mourning their loss, though. It's a sudden realization, and one he wasn’t expecting to have, but he hadn't been eager to don the hood again. And he still isn't, perhaps would never be. Stranger still, it's not a thought he can bring himself to regret.

Wearing the uniform of the people he’d called enemies is unsettling, but as his last memories of the Homestead flash through his mind - all those he’d called friends, called family , suddenly turned against him - he’s certain that wearing his own robes would’ve been worse.

As he steps back into the main room, though, it’s like none of that even matters. The way Cassidy’s eyes light up - “Oh, well don’t you look a right gentleman!” - it fills him with something warm that he can’t remember when he last felt. Warmth. Family. Feeling like he doesn’t have to work to earn affection, the way he suspects it feels to have parents, despite never properly knowing his own.

Perhaps it shouldn’t feel as novel as it does, but he can’t help freezing on the spot. How is he meant to respond to that?

So he doesn't respond, at least, not directly. He asks about the Manuscript - lost, apparently, and some mix of relief and anger flares in his chest. Good, better that no one can get their hands on the damned thing. Good-hearted folk like these - they wouldn't be caught in the crossfire ever again. He'd see to that.

***

He's not expecting it when a man approaches him from behind, the cross on his sash - a Templar cross, it must be - the first and only thing Shay sees. His hand is reaching back for his pistols before he even realizes it - trust isn't something he's keen on having in spades for now.

"Be at ease, Master Cormac, we are friends.” Doubtful. But the man does know his name, somehow, even if Shay can’t guess why. Does he also know -? He must. This dance they’re doing - it’s too familiar. Both of them know what the other is (or rather, was , Shay supposes). He’d have to tread carefully; he has no idea what this Templar wants with him. “The Finnegans were worried you might take matters into your own hands. I am Colonel George Monro.”

Shay nods, the safest thing he can think to do. “Colonel.” The Finnegans, he’s willing to trust, and the Colonel knowing them might have meant something had their son not also been a Templar. As it stands, the connection means little.

“I came to help, but it seems I am late. Thank you for dealing with these foul criminals.” He eyes the gang leader (the Assassin-trained gang leader) Shay had killed just minutes earlier. “They were a blight on New York.”

The words are quick to rub him wrong. “What do you care?” For all Shay might agree about the gangs, he’d yet to meet a British officer who gave a damn about the colonists. Much less one who was a Templar, besides. “You Redcoats are nothing but landlords. The townsfolk here are grinding away, trying to make a living.” And for what, really?

“I cannot blame you for having that impression.” Of course he can’t. It’s true, and Shay had seen it himself. The restrictions keeping merchants from trading as they pleased, the dangers and hardships braved by the colonists only for their earnings to line the pockets of the Crown. It’s the truth, not just an impression. “Some of my comrades have been less than helpful. But I take a different approach.”

“And what is that?” The words are bitter on his tongue.

“I care. I want to see these colonists safe and prosperous.” Years of training are screaming in his head not to trust this man. That he's just another Templar snake who's willing to say anything if it gets him his way. There's no way for Shay to know if he means any of the things coming out of his mouth.

"Noble words." But were any of them true? He’d naively thought others as righteous as the Colonel made himself out to be, and they’d all proven otherwise.

"Perhaps actions will convince you otherwise, Master Cormac." The Colonel gestures for him to lead the way, and he hesitates for a moment - it's a trick, it has to be - before thinking deeper on it. Betrayal still lingers in his mind, learning that the people he’d called his family cared more about ancient artifacts than they did him, or the thousands of innocent lives on the line. He knows now that they must have lied to him all along, and, really, were they all that different from the Templars? Now, he’s not an Assassin anymore, and that’s not enough to change any of what he believes about the Templars, but it’s enough to make him think.

Perhaps he could hear the Colonel out, if nothing else. At worst, his beliefs would be confirmed yet again. At best…

He's not ready yet to think there can be a better outcome.

***

“You can do great things for this city and its citizens. After all, a man needs purpose.” Those are the last words he hears from the Colonel before the man takes his leave, and they cut into him deeper than he'd like to admit. Though it's not for a bad reason of any sort. The way he explains himself - Shay can't help but feel like he can trust him. Perhaps because it sounds like the Colonel trusts him in return, despite having never met, and the two of them having stood on opposite sides. There's more than a chance that it should worry him, but instead it makes him think of something else - the orders and harsh reprimands from the Assassins. He'd known none of them (save maybe Liam) had ever really trusted him or his skills, but he'd not thought that much of it at the time. Assumed it was normal, being that he'd been the newest one there, but now, the way the Colonel was talking to him, he's starting to rethink that. Perhaps starting to resent that, too, whether he likes it or not.

It’s a selfish reason to make any kind of decision, and he knows as much, refreshing as all of it might feel. It’s not something he’d act on alone - he’s already seen what blind faith and desperation can do, and who can pay the price of death and destruction as a result. Lisbon flashes through his mind, as clear as if it’d happened yesterday. Screams of pain and terror still ring in his ears as smoke and sulfur make his eyes and nose sting, heat from the flames burning his cheeks. His rib smarts, and for a moment, he thinks it’s from tumbling through a crumbling building, crashing against walls and floors and furniture, not from falling off a cliff at the Homestead.

He forces himself to breathe and shakes the memories from his mind. That’s what he can’t let happen again. That’s what he has to make right, no matter what it takes.

And so he can't help but feel drawn in by all the things Colonel Monro said, about just doing right by the people. Making their lives better, not through freedom or control - not through the Assassins or Templars - but just by helping where they can.

As badly as he wants to remain skeptical, he can’t find a problem in that, at least.

But he still stands and watches for some time after that, wanting to see for himself. He stays along the sidelines as the citizens of New York wander by, their eyes turning bright as they hear that the old building is to be restored. From their conversations, he learns that the place had once been a church, left to disrepair now with the threat of war hanging over them. And seeing it ready to be restored - it visibly fills them with hope, and that lights something warm in his chest. Something that he's not sure when he felt last.

It reminds him of the way he’d felt when he’d first joined the Assassins, hopeful, and like he was finally sure of what he was doing. But he’d been a fool, then - he knows that, now - and hadn’t known that he’d hurt far more people than he’d help.

He can't say where he stands when it comes to the Assassins and Templars, to the endless war he'd fought in without ever really understanding it, but he's always trusted himself to know what's right. And this - seeing the lives of normal, everyday folk made easier - he can feel is right.

And for now, perhaps that would be enough.

He can accept that much, and knows he should head back to the Finnegans - all else aside, he trusts them. But as he winds through the familiar streets of his home, he can't help but think on the Colonel's offer. The man may be a Templar, but what he's offering - this way to just help people - it feels like a second chance. Like a way to start atoning for all the lives lost in Lisbon. Exactly what the Assassins wouldn't allow him to do.

Perhaps… perhaps this is the way forward. He may not be fully ready to trust the man yet, for all that he seems honorable, but doing some good for the people of the city, protecting them against those who would do them harm - that much, he would do.

[yespolkadotkitty]

Conference Room B

A little smutty fix-it for poor darling Marcus Pike, who really got shafted in The Mentalist. I wanted to give him a treat. Special thanks to @alldatalost​ for cheerleading.

Warning: shamelessly fluffy smut.

You stare at your computer screen, willing something to change, so you can leave already. You adore the team here, in many ways they’ve become your family, but you were meant to have been in DC with Marcus for eight days already - well, okay, so he wouldn’t have been there yet, but you could have slept in the sheets that smelled of him and started to organise your home together. Instead, a new murder case dropped and swallowed the lives of everyone. But you’re nearly there, you’re all so close you can taste it. Even Jane is antsy.

You miss Marcus. No, that doesn’t seem enough. You long for him. Marcus’ new job seemed to come with some hefty, dangerous undercover work, and while he’d been on the job, you hadn’t been able to video call, so for six weeks your relationship had been maintained via whispered voice calls and texts at random times.

Sometimes, late at night, you hadn’t seen his face for so long that you wondered if you’d made him up, inside your heart.

Agent Cho drops by your desk, tapping the corner to get your attention. “Agent Pike is in the building.”

Your pulse jumps. “Thanks. But-”

Cho just arches a brow and smiles.

Your heartbeat rockets as you stare at the lifts opposite the bank of desks you work in. What would he smell like, after this time apart? Why was he here now?

“What if I fuck it up?” you whisper to Cho. “What if he’s changed his mind?”

Kimble smiles at you, and his usual calm, stoic demeanour works its magic on your nerves. “If he’d changed his mind, would he be here?” He gives you a little nod, and then swaggers off, no doubt to impart his even-keel advice on someone else who needs it.

You spend a few fruitless moments trying to get back into work, and failing. Lisbon meets your gaze from her own computer and gives you a sympathetic smile. You guess they all know.

And then the elevator doors open and actually, nothing else matters when you see him.

His hair’s grown out, and it curls over his forehead, flicks up at his collar. It looks so soft; you want to sink your fingers into it. And his top lip and jaw are scruffy and the new, patchy beard really suits him. His posture is great as usual - he’s not arrogant, but he won’t apologise for being confident. He wears a suit well; always has, the lines cut sharp, his white shirt striped with grey, cut in half by the wine red tie.

He is a big, tall drink of water, and you want him more than your next breath. He scans the room and you stand up, and your eyes meet. His are that bottomless, dark chocolate brown, and his face lights up when he sees you, that big, goofy, no-holds-barred grin, and you make yourself calm down and try and remember you’re at work, rounding your desk and walking to him slowly across the carpet.

“Hey,” he says softly, and his voice is deep and sexy and everything you’ve ever wanted. Your hands itch with the urge to touch all that soft hair and his scruffy beard.

“Hey.” You search his gaze. He looks thrilled to see you, his expression soft and sweet and tender and unguarded, and your heart aches for all the nights you’ve missed him. “I love the beard.”

Marcus rubs a hand over it. “Thanks. It’s for the undercover thing. It ended last night, and - well. I know it’s sudden, but I had to see you.” He glances around the office, and you turn around to see Cho, Lisbon and the rest of the team quickly duck their heads, pretending to be super engrossed in other stuff.

“Wow,” you mutter. “We’re supposed to be good at subterfuge.”

Marcus chuckles, and takes your hand. Just that simple touch sends licks of want and need up your arm. “Is there… somewhere we can talk?”

Your stomach drops. Is he.. Ending things? “Sure.” You keep his fingers linked with yours, and lead him down the hall to a small, unoccupied conference room. You gesture and he precedes you in, dropping your hand, as you close and lock the door, and release the blinds, so you’re totally alone.

“Marcus, is everything-” your words get swallowed up as he’s on you in a heartbeat, kissing you like a man desperate for air after a lifetime underwater. His tongue traces your lips and you open eagerly, sliding your hands up his chest and into his newly grown hair, and it’s as soft as you imagined. He smells of his habitual black pepper and vanilla cologne and fresh coffee and clean soap, and it’s heady and you could breathe him in forever. He tugs you as close as possible, folding your body into his larger one, his hands running over your back like he’s re-learning you after over a month apart. You fist your hand in his hair hungrily, licking into his mouth. His moustache tickles your skin and it’s decadent and delicious, like a favourite cake with a new flavour added.

He releases you, making this low groan of need in his throat, and you think if he isn’t inside you in the next thirty seconds, you might die.

“Sorry,” he mutters, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck. “Couldn’t do that to you out there. And I had to - I had to.  Sometimes I’ve wanted you so much, I couldn’t sleep.”

“Me too,” you whisper, cupping his dear face, tracing your thumb along his scruffy jaw. He feels so good. “Is it wrong to get frisky on FBI property?”

Marcus winces. “Most definitely, but…” He pulls you close again, and you thrill to the evidence of his want for you pressing hot and heavy against your belly. “ Fuck, I want you. We’ll have to wait until you get home from work.”

“For what I really want, yes, but… not for everything.” You back him up against the door, kiss him breathless, drinking in his addictive taste, and slide one hand down to his fly, unzipping his suit pants.

“What are you-” Marcus asks, and then footsteps sound on the other side of the door.

You kiss his scruffy cheek and whisper into his ear; “You’ll have to be quiet. Anyone could come past.”

He swallows audibly but doesn’t say anything to the contrary. You nip at his earlobe as you use your other hand to play, too, sliding open the slit of his boxers and drawing him out, palming his length and soaking up the little growl in his throat that’s just barely audible.

“Oh my God , have I missed you,” you murmur, licking at the scruff on his jaw. “And you show up looking hotter than a Laredo night.”

Marcus’ hands clench on the small of your back as you continue to stroke and tease him. He’s steel in velvet, and your hands become slick as you begin to draw an orgasm up his spine, one eager touch at a time. When you pull back to look up into his face, he’s wrecked, pupils blown with lust, teeth sunk into his lower lip in an attempt not to make any sound.

He’s a fantasy wrapped in a Bureau-issue suit, everything you want in a tanned, voice-made-for-sex package - kind, smart, patient, soft, and he’s yours. “Marcus,” you murmur, your head full of love with him, and you slide down his body and take him in your mouth.

A strangled sound escapes his lips just as voices pass the door, and you hear him mutter “ Jesus fucking Christ,” as you start to lick him the way you’ve been fantasizing about for six weeks. One of his hands curls into your hair as you work him steadily close to a blinding climax. He’s slumped against the door now, desperately trying not to let his knees give in, as his hips move incrementally, exercising extreme restraint in not fucking your mouth.

You take him as deep as you can and he makes that sexy little growl again, and your name falls from his tongue, the syllables deep and gravelly, a warning, and you squeeze the hand he’s fisted at his hip, letting him know it’s okay.

A litany of curses barely reaches your ears as he comes like a freight train, his whole body tensing for a moment that seems to stretch to forever, and you drink down everything he gives you, afterwards gently tucking him back into his boxers and zipping his smart suit trousers.

Marcus rubs a hand over his face, and you see his wrist tremble. “Fuck. That was…. Probably not legal.”

You kiss a smile on to his sweet lips, hug him tight, and he pulls you into him, burying his face in the crook of your neck. “Thank you,” he rasps, low and sweet in his perfect drawl. “You can’t imagine how many times I’ve come in my hand in the last six weeks, wishing it was you.”

“About the same number of times I’ve imagined you in my bed,” you say, resting your forehead against his. “That’ll have to hold us until I finish for tonight. Do you still have your key? Wait for me at my place?”

Marcus pats his pocket, dark eyes shining. “I will.”

You take time to adjust your clothes before leaving the conference room. The coast is clear and you walk Marcus back to the elevators.

Jane passes with a cup of coffee in hand. “Glad you had time to come, Pike,” he says genially, and you follow Marcus into the elevator, and when the doors close, you laugh in each other’s arms until you’re weak.

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[f0rever15elf]

I’m Sorry

Pairing: Marcus Pike x f!reader Rating: T Word count: 1,961 Warnings: Alcohol mention, swearing, drinking/getting drunk alone, angst, verbal fighting, no beta

Summary: All couples fight eventually, but this time leaves you questioning your relationship with Marcus

A/N: This is a fic for the following anonymous request: “ Hi!! I was wondering if your Pedro requests are still open? Cause if they are I’d like to request a Marcus Pike or Frankie Morales piece, where they like get into an argument with you and it’s like super angsty, but y’all make up in the end ((: “ I hope you enjoy it dear!

Masterlist |  Ao3

“You absolute CHILD!” you shriek as you slam the door open, storming into the home you shared with Marcus.

“Oh, I’m the child?! You’re the one throwing a temper tantrum!” Marcus slams the door closed with just as much force as you slammed it open.

“Yes, Pike. You’re the child! I cannot believe you right now.” You wheel on him, stabbing your finger against his chest as you glare up at him. “Do you even realize how fucking embarrassed I am right now? I’m never going to be able to show my face at a work function ever again all because you decided to turn into a little green-eyed monster! Child!” Marcus snarls, grabbing your wrist to pull it away from his chest. His grip was firm, but even in the heat of the anger and jealousy you could see bubbling in his eyes, he was still gentle enough to not hurt you.

“And what would you have had me do, huh?! Just let your ex sit there and cozy up to you like that? He had his hands on you and his eyes hadn’t left you all freaking night!”

You yank your wrist from his grasp, absolutely seething. “We’re coworkers! We have an image to upkeep as far as being cordial with each other, especially in front of share holders! Marcus, there were investors there, and your little outburst has put every single deal involving them in jeopardy!” You rip your shoes off, the uncomfortable heels not aiding your mood in the slightest. “All because you got jealous of my ex. All because you couldn’t stand to see me being friendly with someone who use to be in my life. I have never done something like that to you! Not when your high school sweetheart left you flowers. Not when Lisbon sauntered her happy ass into your office, perched herself on you desk, and FIXED YOUR FUCKING HAIR!” Marcus’ nostrils flare as he towers over you, his voice low when he speaks again.

“Don’t bring them into this, this isn’t about them.”

“Oh like hell it isn’t! You know why I didn’t care about those two? Cause I was confident you wouldn’t do anything to hurt or betray me. Because I fucking love you and trust you! But apparently you don’t feel the same way, if your self confidence is so low that you can’t stand to see me laughing with my ex without deciding it’s an appropriate time to throw hands!” That was a low blow, and you knew it, but you were so angry the words were out of your mouth before you could stop them. The two of you stand there in the living room, shoulders heaving as you pant for air. You could hear a pin drop, and the tension was so thick it felt suffocating. Slowly, the anger fades from Marcus’ eyes, replaced only with pain as his expression shifts. You cut him deep with that comment, you know you did, and it hurt to see that pain in his gentle eyes.

“M...Marcus…” Your voice is much softer now as you reach for his hand, but he takes a step back out of your reach, shaking his head.

“Don’t,” he whispers, turning and grabbing the car keys from the bowl as he all but runs from the house. You stand there frozen, hand outstretched as you listen to the sound of the car engine starting followed by the tires squealing as he tears out of the driveway. Tears brim in your eyes, spilling over as you begin to tremble.

What have you done?

The minutes turn into hours as you sit in the dark of your living room, waiting on your Marcus to return. An empty wine bottle sits on the coffee table next to a second nearly empty one. You swirl the pale liquid in your glass before bringing it to your lips to down the rest of it. Your once manicured nails have been bitten down to the nail bed, a nasty habit of yours when your anxiety gets the better of you. A habit that hadn’t reared its ugly head since the day you met Marcus… Two in the morning and he still isn’t home and you’re getting worried. You had messed up, and big time. You know how much Marcus struggles with his own confidence after how Lisbon had treated him. You know that, and you still felt the need to fling it in his face. Words said out of anger, words you didn’t mean...you couldn’t take them back now, no matter how much you wished you could.

A fresh round of sobs bubble from your throat as your hand flies to your mouth in an attempt to hold them back. Marcus is the best thing to have ever happened to you, how the hell could you do something like this to him, no matter how angry you were. You rub your eyes, looking like a raccoon from the smeared makeup, before you stagger to your feet. You wanted Marcus. You needed him. You needed him here, at home, where you could apologize until your voice goes hoarse and it still wouldn’t be enough.

The world spins around you, the two bottles of wine catching up to you as you stagger through the living room before falling to your knees. You cradle your face in your hands, sobs wracking your chest. Please come home Marcus, please come home. You don’t hear the key in the lock over the sound of your sobs, but when you feel the rush of air from the door opening, your head snaps up, bleary eyes searching desperately for the love of your life.

“Marcus?” you whimper, barely audible.

“Oh, love...what did you do?” he murmurs as he shuts the door before coming to your side, cradling your cheek gently. Desperate hands reach out to grab his shirt, now wrinkled and untucked from his pants, his jacket missing and sleeves rolled to the elbows.

“I-I’m s-s-sorry Marcus!” you wail, collapsing against him. His gentle arms wrap around you and he sighs, resting his head on top of yours. “I s-shouldn’t h-ha-have said wh-what I did! I was wr-wrong and c-cruel! P-please d-don’t leave m-me!” you plead, trembling against him.

“Leave you? Darling, I wouldn’t do that to you.” He leans back and tilts your chin up to look at him, paying no mind to the black splotches your makeup leaves against his once crisp white button down. His thumb traces along your chin before his hand moves to cup your face, running his thumb along your cheek bone. “You smell like wine...how much have you had?” You shake your head, ignoring the question as you continue to cling to him, your sobs slowing.

“I love you and I d-din’t mean what I said,” you whimper. “Don go again, p-please don g-go again.”

“Sweetheart, I’m not going anywhere, I just needed to cool down. Calm down, you’re going to make yourself sick.” He brushes your hair from your face as best he can before pulling you back against his chest, slowly rocking you in the middle of the floor. His hand pets your hair gently, soothingly as the remaining cries slowly abate. “Let’s get you to bed, love. Alright? We can discuss this more in the morning.” You mumble something unintelligible against his chest as he helps you stagger to your feet, guiding you to the bedroom. He carefully sits you on the bed, helping you undress down to your bra and underwear, removing your jewelry before going to get a warm cloth, helping to wipe your face. Finally, he hands you a glass of water which you stubbornly refuse at first. “Baby, please? For me?” You crumble, taking the glass and chugging it. He smiles and takes the glass back before gently laying you down so you’re slightly elevated.

When he joins you in bed you roll to snuggle against him, soaking in his warmth as he wraps his arms around you. The last words from your lips before you slip into unconsciousness are a very slurred I’m sorry.

The light of the day streaking across your face is what wakes you in the morning, and you groan as you come around, your head absolutely pounding. Your eyes feel like they’re full of sand and you can barely open them. Every joint in your body hurts and your mouth tastes like sandpaper. Slowly sitting up, you see a glass of water sitting on the nightstand next to two pain pills which you quickly take, downing the whole glass. As you dig the heels of your palms into your eyes in an attempt to dull the ache, last night comes rushing back to you and a wave of intense shame washes over you. A quiet rustling draws your attention to the door, and you seem Marcus peeking in. He gives you his gorgeous smile, one you feel you don’t deserve as he comes in.

“Good morning beautiful,” he whispers, knowing your head is probably killing you.

“Hi, Marcus…” He takes a seat on the bed next to you, taking your hand.

“How are you feeling?”

“Like shit...for a few reasons.” You look down at your connected hands, yours fitting so perfectly into his. “I’m sorry.”

“Want to elaborate on that?” He asks gently, lifting your face to look at him. There is a pained light in his eyes still that grows when he sees the shame and sadness in your own.

“For everything. For yelling, for that low blow, for...for getting drunk alone, for accusing you of bullshit and...and I…” you begin to tremble, his hand on your face the only thing keeping the tears at bay. “And I was so terrible to you and I’m so sorry, Marcus, I’m so fucking sorry.” Your voice is barely above a whisper as his hand leaves your face to place on the back of your head, pulling you against him. He smells as he always does, like cinnamon and coffee and his fresh aftershave and you use that smell to ground yourself.

“I’m sorry too, love of my life. I shouldn’t have behaved that way at the banquet, and I’ve already taken measures to mitigate what damage I may have done.” You shake your head, pulling back to look up at him.

“Screw the deals. They’re temporary.” You reach up to cup his cheek, your heart swelling as he leans into your touch. “You’re the one I’m in love with, the one I want to spend forever with. Everything else can burn to the ground, I just need you. I’ll always need you.” He smiles at you, that pain in his eyes fading as he watches you for a moment before leaning in to press his lips gently to yours. When he pulls back, he brushes your hair from your face before pressing his forehead to yours.

“We both acted like a couple of fools last night. Let’s put it behind us, ok? We’ll move forward and be better.” He takes your hand and places it over his heart. “It’s yours, completely and totally. I trust and love you with everything I am. I’ll be better, for you. For us.” Your eyes prickle with tears and you sniffle before leaning up to kiss him again.

“I love you too Marcus, so much. You’re my everything. I’ll be better for you, because you only deserve the best.”

He grins, placing a kiss on your nose. “Hey, that’s my line.”

You giggle softly, cuddling into him as he lays you back down to get a few more hours of rest. It’s all ok, you think. It’s all going to be ok. You still have your Marcus, and that is all that matters.

~~~~~

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[dindjarindiaries]

Bittersweet - Chapter 3: Flirting With the Enemy

summary: As Marcus pursues Lisbon, you try to think of a way to prevent his heartbreak, and even consider teaming up with an unlikely ally.

warnings: angst, guns, food, i don’t remember all the details of this episode and i didn’t want to rewatch it so i tried my best okay

rating: T

word count: 3.896k

previous part ⟸ masterlist ⟹ next part

chapter 3: flirting with the enemy

Your morning routine is filled with nothing but strings of curses and wild rushing, feeling relieved that you at least don’t have to dress up as per usual—or at least, that’s the text you woke up to from Marcus. Probably because it’s a day you’re not supposed to be working. But, according to the homicide team, you’ll finally be getting your thieves, and somehow proving the murder in the process. That’s still the last thing on your mind as you realize that, thanks to your late-night grieving session with Andy, you woke up much later than you wanted to.

You don’t even get to eat breakfast—again—as you arrive to work, praying that the elevator moves faster somehow as you ascend up to your floor. You practically toss your stuff onto your chair when you get to your desk, leaning your hands on top of it and taking a deep breath before you turn around to find your partner.

Yet, he’s already found you, extending both a cup of coffee and a granola bar out to you as he raises an eyebrow. “Tough morning, Sunny?” Marcus asks, chuckling a bit when you eagerly accept both things from him.

“Yeah,” you agree with a huff, breaking into the granola bar with relief, “I guess you could say that.”

Marcus shakes his head and he’s about to say something, but your focus has gone haywire because your tired brain can only think about how the hell he looks so handsome today when he’s only wearing a casual t-shirt, jacket, and jeans instead of his usual suit. You practically rip off a piece of the granola bar in frustration—whether it’s towards him or yourself, you don’t know. Marcus continues with whatever he was about to say as he furrows his brow. “That’s two days in a row, partner. Is everything okay?”

Your exhausted and exasperated mind is so close to telling him the truth, to confessing that you’ve been in love with him for longer than you can keep track of and the idea of him pursuing a woman that’s in love with another man makes you want to go absolutely batshit crazy, but you swallow the words back with the bite of your granola bar as you manage a smile. “I’m fine, Pike. Thanks for the concern, though. Let’s just say it’s… personal.”

Marcus purses his lips and nods knowingly. “Ah. It’s Andy-related? You’re sworn to secrecy?”

You shrug. He’s given you the perfect lie to run with. “You know how it is.”

Marcus smiles and lightly punches your shoulder. “What a good friend, always giving advice at the expense of your own sanity and sleep—myself included.”

You try not to let your smile falter, but damn. Being put in that friendzone is just the cherry on top of this crazy morning. “Yep. You know me.” You force an awkward chuckle with the words. You hope Marcus can accost your strange behavior to your lack of sleep.

He takes a deep breath, gesturing with his head out towards the place where Wiley works at the computer. “Well, Sunny, I hope the coffee helps, because we’ve got quite the stunt to pull today.”

You raise an eyebrow as you finish off the granola bar and toss the wrapper inside your garbage can, reaching for your coffee and starting to follow Marcus to Wiley’s desk. “What do you mean? I thought we were just catching them.”

“Oh, we are.” Marcus lowers his voice as he goes on, making sure only you can hear him. “But, I guess Jane’s got some elaborate plan to lead us to his lair and prove he killed that man. I don’t know.”

You roll your eyes and take a sip of your coffee. “Of course.” You keep your voice hushed just like Marcus did as you continue. “They obviously don’t know how we keep things short and to the point in the art theft department.”

Marcus chuckles. “Whatever works for them, I guess.”

“Well, whatever you pick up from this—,” you gesture with your arms to the homicide team’s space you’re now entering, “—please don’t bring it to our cases. It’s way too complicated.”

“Alright, Sunny. I won’t.”

You give Marcus a grateful smile that he returns, making you pray that you don’t get weak in the knees as you arrive behind Wiley’s desk. He fills you in on the progress so far this morning, trying to explain at least part of Jane’s wild plan and how you both fit into it. He’s got footage of the two of them pulled up on his computer and you have to restrain yourself from bristling at the way Marcus looks at Lisbon. This is still your job, and a dangerous one at that, and you can’t afford to be distracted all the time by your love life—or, lack thereof.

As if the morning wasn’t already crazy enough, you soon find yourselves en route to the house Jane and Lisbon have been in, your handgun in tow as Marcus drives the both of you there.

“So, why are they sending two art theft officers after a murderer?” you ask Marcus, causing him to snicker with a shrug as he makes a turn.

“I stopped asking questions,” he confesses, looking over at you with amusement. “But as far as I know, we’re just supposed to detain the thief from last night.”

You scrunch up your nose. “The one who hit on Fischer?” Marcus nods, and you make a noise of disgust. “Perfect.”

“Don’t worry, I won’t let him do anything to you, Sunny,” Marcus assures you sweetly—just as he always does. He’s so kind to a fault and it never fails to make you smile, though you know the danger of that. You know how people like to take advantage of it. You know that you’re watching it happen before your very eyes with Lisbon, even if she’s not conscious of how she’s doing it. “The rest of the team’s going after the leader.”

“They can have whatever action they want. I just want our art and our thieves.”

Marcus hums in agreement, but you watch his eyes widen as he pulls up to the house. “Shit, they’re already here,” Marcus mutters, gesturing to the white van that’s parked just beside the house.

Adrenaline rushes through you as you tighten your hold on your gun. You and Marcus share a look as you reach for your door handle. “I don’t like this, Pike.”

Marcus grimaces as he looks at the house. “I’m sure it’s fine.” He’s worried more than usual—and you know why. He knows who’s in that house and so do you. You wonder if he’d be just as worried if you were the one who was in there.

The car full of the rest of the homicide team pulls up next to you, and both you and Marcus step out of the car once they do. You look to each other before following them inside, both your hands bracing themselves on your gun as you enter. One of the thieves is already there holding Lisbon at gunpoint, but she quickly gets the upper hand on him by reaching for her own gun, and he turns around to realize he’s been compromised.

“Where’s the other guy?” you whisper to Marcus, still holding tight to your gun with both hands. “The one we talked about earlier.”

He gestures with his head towards the tall, spiraling staircase. “My guess is upstairs. We’ll probably be the ones to greet and trap him down here.”

You nod, getting a better grip on your weapon as you wait behind one of the pristine white walls with the others to keep yourself hidden from view. Marcus’ focus in the moment seems to be entirely on the task at hand, which means yours is, too. Your heart races in your chest as you wait for the sound of footsteps on the stairs, your arm nearly brushing against Marcus’ as you lean against the wall.

When the sound comes, you’re quick to jump out with Marcus, aiming your weapons and managing to keep your adrenaline-fueled trembling to a minimum. You and Marcus share yet another look as the thief seems to give in, offering up the bag he’s carrying and letting himself be cuffed. You tuck your gun into your pants as the threats seem to dwindle, looking to Marcus to see him also looking at you.

“Now what?” you ask him, raising an eyebrow.

“I think they’ve got it from here,” Marcus tells you. “We just have to rendezvous back at headquarters and interrogate these guys.” He gestures to the two men who are already cuffed.

“Are we supposed to transport them?”

Marcus twists his lips. “I hope not. I don’t want them in the back of my car.”

You chuckle and shake your head at the craziness of it all. The art theft department’s never been one to be sporadic on the scene of a sting, so running around with the homicide department who’s more complicated in their work makes things much different than you’re used to.

Eventually, everyone ends up back at headquarters, and after a round of interrogations and a feast of pizza, everyone begins to settle in the break room. You’re beside Marcus and you can’t help noticing—as usual—that he keeps looking over in Lisbon’s direction, who’s sitting at a table by herself. You’re trying to absorb yourself in this piece of pizza to block it out, but as soon as he speaks, you realize it’s unavoidable.

“I think I’m gonna go talk to her,” Marcus whispers to you, and you look over at him as you swallow a bite of pizza to see his dark eyes glittering nervously at you.

No, you want to exclaim to him, don’t break your heart again! Can’t you tell she’s in love with someone else? Can’t you realize I’m standing right here? Instead, you give him a reassuring nod. “Go for it, Pike!” you whisper-shout, surprised with how well you’re able to fake your enthusiasm as you take another bite of pizza. “Now’s a better time than ever.”

Marcus exhales deeply, nodding as he looks back in her direction. “You’re right. I can do this.”

You pat his shoulder with your hand that’s not supporting your paper plate. “You can do this.” Even if I can’t.

Marcus starts to walk off in that direction, but he stops himself, turning back to you to place a hand upon your shoulder. “Thank you, Sunny,” he murmurs genuinely. “No matter what happens.”

You smile wide at him, hoping he doesn’t hear the crackling of your heart as it begins to fall apart in your chest. “You’re welcome, Marcus—no matter what happens. I’ll always be here.”

Marcus smiles at that, giving your shoulder a pat before he keeps walking off towards Lisbon. You look at the scene with longing, the pieces of your broken heart sinking into your stomach like rocks as you watch it all happen. Of course, he’d taken your last few words in the context of a friend, even though you’d meant so much more. How could he know that? Marcus may be damn good at his job, but he can also be so clueless—and you just hope it won’t lead him to getting his heart broken once again.

You’re not creepy enough to listen in to their conversation, but it must be going well, because you see them laugh together a few times and soon, they’re making a move to get up and leave. Marcus lets her go first, and before he leaves, he turns to look at you and give you an excited thumbs up. You return it, hoping that your own smile is still convincing as he leaves with her. You finish off your pizza with a vicious tug of a piece of crust, throwing the plate into the trash can with a little more vigor than you should.

As soon as you leave the break room, you see Jane held up with Marcus and Lisbon, who seem to be having a rather awkward exchange before Marcus and Lisbon continue towards the elevator. You can see the way Jane takes a deep breath, his shoulders sagging ever so slightly in the same way yours probably did upon watching Marcus leave. Then, his eyes meet yours, and you can see the same thing you feel reflected in him.

You don’t know what possesses you, but you make your way over to him, raising an eyebrow. “Looks like you could use some coffee,” you tell him, swinging your car keys in your fingers as you speak. He raises his brow back at you. “There’s a twenty-four hour café down the street if you want some.”

Jane hums in interest, and you try to read him for something more—but you can’t. You figure he must be the most terrifying person to be interrogated by. When he speaks, his voice is as calculated as ever. “Interesting. I could’ve sworn you didn’t like me.”

You resist the urge to roll your eyes as you tighten your hold on your keys. “I’m not asking you on a date, Jane. I’m just trying to be nice.”

Jane narrows his eyes at you and you don’t like the feeling of being read so easily. Whatever mind game he’s trying to play, you won’t give in. “Hmm. Alright. I’ll meet you there. What’s it called?”

You give him the name, and he nods to confirm it as you head to your car. Before you take off, you pull out your phone, chewing on your lower lip nervously as you write out a text to Andy.

me: andy... i think i’m about to do something very, very bad… 🥴

You send it and lock your phone again, heading to the street and thankfully getting a spot on the street just in front of the café, thanks to the later hours of the night. You see that you’ve gotten a response already when you pick your phone back up.

andy💞: ma’am! what are you doing? whatever it is, stop it and call me. right now.

You sigh as you look up and see Jane pulling in right in front of you.

me: too late. i’ll call you later.

You pocket your phone and get out of your car, leading the way for you and Jane inside as you order—paying for Jane’s coffee as you’d said before—and sitting down at a table far away from the windows, just in case someone from work happened to walk or drive by. There’s only a few other people in the café, causing you to keep your voice lower than usual as you speak.

“So, I, uh—,” you attempt to begin.

“You’re in love with Pike.” Jane’s words are short, sweet, and to-the-point, causing you to choke on air as you sputter for something to say. Jane simply chuckles and takes a sip of his drink before continuing. “I know. I ‘read minds.’ Remember?”

“Okay. Whatever.” You take a quick sip of your coffee to try to prove that you’re not as flourished as you actually are. “You’re in love with Lisbon.” Jane shrugs, and you scoff as you lean forward on your elbows. “Oh, please. Don’t try to deny it. I mean, can’t you tell that she feels the same way?”

Jane shakes his head. “It doesn’t matter.”

“‘It doesn’t matter?’” You huff as you lean back in your chair, crossing your arms aggressively. “So, it doesn’t matter that you know you both have requited feelings for each other, and you’re not doing anything about it? You’re letting her go off with some guy she doesn’t even have true feelings for?”

“She does have feelings for him.” Jane takes a thoughtful sip of his drink, and the way he’s staying so calm right now is infuriating to you. “Even if she loves me. It’s possible to be torn between two men, you know.”

“Yeah, but tonight is their first date. If you just told her your feelings now, she’d stop this altogether.”

Jane remains silent for a moment, sipping and tapping his finger against his cardboard cup. You have to try yet again not to roll your eyes as you sit there, waiting for him to say something. When he speaks, he leans forward on the table, looking at you with a raised brow. “It seems to me that you’re only doing this to have Pike for yourself.”

“No. I’m doing this because, by you staying silent on all of this, you’re setting an innocent man up for failure and heartbreak when she realizes further down the road that you’re the one she wants.”

“You mean, the same heartbreak you’re feeling right now?”

You lean forward as you’d done before, failing to hide your frustration as you widen your eyes at him. “This isn’t about me. This is about you hurting someone else just because you won’t open your damn mouth.”

Jane smiles—yes, the bastard smiles—at your words. “Really? Because it seems like both of us would be at fault here, should that be the case.” You raise an eyebrow, but before you can question him further, he goes on. “I’m not the only one holding back secrets, Agent. Why don’t you tell Pike how you feel?”

You finally give in to the act of rolling your eyes as you draw a sip from your drink. “Because, Jane, I told you. This isn’t about me. Me telling him about my feelings won’t do anything because he doesn’t feel the same way. He’ll still stay with Lisbon and get his heart broken.”

Jane narrows his eyes at you. “Are you so sure he doesn’t feel the same way?”

You think back on the embarrassingly obvious friendzoning from earlier today. “Yes. I am.”

Jane shrugs. “I don’t know. He looked at you an awful lot today.”

You hate the flicker of hope his words give you, knowing he’s just looking for excuses to get you to stop putting him in such a tight spot. “That’s not the point.” You take a deep breath and recenter yourself, both your hands slipping around your cup as you look at him. “Listen, I’m not asking you to confess your long-time feelings to Lisbon right now. I guess I’m just…” you trail off, trying to think of how to say it.

“Proposing that we scheme together until one of us confesses?” Jane finishes for you, and surprisingly, it’s rather close to what you’re thinking.

“Sure. Put it that way.” You reach into your pocket for your phone as you sigh lightly. “I’ll need your phone number just so we can talk about this.”

Jane chuckles with obvious amusement. “Buying me coffee and asking for my number? And I thought you said this wasn’t a date.”

“It’s not.” Your response is quick and curt, void of all amusement—though Jane’s eyes still twinkle with that emotion. You hand him a blank contact. “For business purposes only.”

“For business… purposes… only.” Jane repeats the words as he types out his information in your phone, smiling almost smugly as he hands it back to you. He then rises from his chair and extends a hand towards you. “Pleasure doing business with you, Agent.”

You accept his hand in a shake as you grimace slightly. “This is highly confidential, Jane. I mean it.”

“Don’t worry. I won’t let Pike know you’re inserting yourself into his love life.” Jane nods before he leaves the café, and you sigh as you sit back down and open Andy’s contact, instantly calling her as you prop your phone up with your hand.

“Bitch!” Andy greets you with an incredulous exclamation. “What the hell are you up to? Where are you?”

“Hello to you too, Andy,” you scoff, looking around to make sure no one heard your best friend speak like a sailor. “I’m at the café down the street from work.”

Andy raises an eyebrow at you. “Alone?”

“Now I am, yeah.” You’re too ashamed to admit who you’d been with before.

Her dark eyes narrow at you. “Girl… who were you with?”

You look down at your cup for the moment, which suddenly seems very interesting as you squeak out your answer. “Remember the guy who Lisbon’s in love with? Well, I—.”

“You did not.” Andy leans closer to her camera as she looks at you with disbelief. “Please tell me you’re not scheming with that guy.”

“Listen, we’re not…” you trail off, sighing as you remember exactly what you both shook on. “Okay, maybe we are. Maybe.”

“Ma’am!” Andy groans and falls back in her seat. “What the hell are you doing? What happened to seeing what happened and letting Marcus be happy?”

“He’s taking her on a date tonight!” you try to defend yourself. “I just—I can’t watch this happen in front of my eyes, Andy! He’s gonna get hurt again!”

“And he’s gonna get hurt even more when he finds out you’re meddling in his love life!”

You groan with frustration as you realize she’s right. You slap a hand to your forehead and drag it down your face. “Look, we’re not gonna do anything crazy. I’m just trying to convince Jane to confess his feelings to Lisbon so we can avoid Marcus’ heartbreak in the first place.”

Andy tuts and shakes her head. “I don’t think this is a good idea, girl.”

You feel a pit in your stomach, but there’s nothing you can do about it now. “I know. But… I just, I can’t sit by idly and let him get hurt again, Andy. I have to at least try to help him.”

Andy sighs and raises an eyebrow at you. “I understand, Miss Thing. You have a big heart and right now it’s bleeding for Marcus.” You nod to agree with that. “But, girl, he cannot find out you’re doing this.”

“I know.” You can’t imagine what it would be like if Marcus realized you were doing something like this. Any potential to have a friendship with him in the future would be gone—and a relationship would be completely out of the question. “We’re keeping it confidential.”

“You better.” Andy still releases another breath, one of her hands toying with her jet black hair as she stares at you. “Be careful. I’m serious. You’re dealing with a lot of people’s hearts, here.”

“I will,” you assure her, smiling bittersweetly as you give her a nod. “I promise.”

“Alright. Keep me updated, girl.”

“As always.”

Andy smiles at that. “Love ya’.”

“Love you too, Andy. Bye.”

With that, you hang up, heaving out a sigh as you hold your head in your hands. You know you’re going in way too deep, now, but it’s too late to turn back. All you can hope for is that you can save both your and Marcus’ hearts in the process and not ruin something you haven’t even gotten to start yet.

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marcus pike tag list: @opheliaelysia​

[chuckaf]

this is me trying | a chuck/sarah fic

summary: Set not long post-series. After leaving to find herself, Sarah returns home, realizing that all the answers she sought were in a little apartment in Echo Park all along.

i know i've already posted a few anniversary things today lol, but since i just posted this fic over on ffn and it's short enough to post in full here which is rare for me lol, i figured i'd share it too. just a little post-series thought or two, inspired by taylor swift, ofc.

ffn link

I've been having a hard time adjusting I had the shiniest wheels, now they're rusting I didn't know if you'd care if I came back I have a lot of regrets about that Pulled the car off the road to the lookout Could've followed my fears all the way down And maybe I don't quite know what to say But I'm here in your doorway

I just wanted you to know That this is me trying I just wanted you to know That this is me trying

The courtyard is familiar to her, somehow. Safe. The only memories she has of it are from the brief, painful time she was here those months ago, but there's an inherent sense within her mind, a comfort, as she steps onto the stone. The fountain, the trellises, the flowers all around- they are known, to her.

Something being known is a sensation she's very unfamiliar with, after all this time.

Months ago, she'd kissed her husband on a cold January day, on a very important beach, the wind whipping around them with all their desperate hopes. She'd felt him pour everything into the embrace, try with all his might to pass his memories onto her through just his lips, all his softness and his heat and his love. And despite every logical rational thought within her, as Chuck had tried out his friend's silly, thoughtful idea, a tiny bit of hope had sparked in Sarah's chest that maybe, maybe the kiss would work.

It hadn't.

And, more hurt by that than she'd wanted to admit, she'd repeated to Chuck that she needed to go. To find herself, to readjust, work out who she is, was, what her place could be in this world. A world she barely knew. She'd had the perfect, complicated, real and loving life, and Sarah Walker, assassin, enforcer, couldn't figure out how she was meant to be in it anymore. The square peg did not fit.

Chuck didn't even ask her to stay. He didn't plea, didn't beg, didn't soothe her with platitudes they both knew would be false and left wanting. He just nodded, broken and understanding as ever, and he let her go, to maybe see her again, maybe never. At the time, she wasn't sure which of those it would be, either.

With recent memories torn from her, she'd followed the things she could recall, from before all this. She suppresses a snort as she rounds the courtyard fountain, thinking on her woefully unsuccessful travels.

First, she'd gone to Paris, for scattered thoughts about her Red Test as well as the knowledge Chuck had given her about the new memories there. The same street as that awful night she can at least recall, the gun in her hand, jewelry on the ground. The bridge by the cathedral where one Agent Shaw had fallen to what they'd thought was his death. Chuck had killed him: his first kill, first true shot with a real bullet. And it had been to save her. They'd fallen in love years before, Chuck had told her, but they'd fallen once more in that city.

Then to Saint-Tropez, with a call to an old friend always game for a party. They'd danced and drank and reminisced, but Sarah had seen throughout it all the sadness in her friend's eyes, the sympathy. She'd felt like she was some blatant, visible scar, something someone can't help but look on with sad acknowledgement, even from her lightest, eternally easy-going friend. She hadn't known Carina had been a bridesmaid at her wedding until the other woman had admitted it, in the middle of a club, and said she couldn't pretend things were fine any longer.

To Lisbon, next, and thoughts of Bryce. Bryce, the cause of all this, the lynchpin of the last five years. Or perhaps the fulcrum. The center of it, the key piece in both her and Chuck's lives that brought them together, those years ago. Bryce, who thought of others but always through himself, never consulting those he made choices for. He didn't trust her- she'd thought he'd gone rogue. Chuck had told her it had been an assignment, told her how Bryce truly died just a few years later. How his old friend had once more been the reason Chuck had downloaded the Intersect, a second time, because Bryce simply couldn't. He'd bled out on a white room floor.

To D.C., home of headquarters, secret offices and bland boardrooms, home of the apartment she'd once owned and tried to live in between missions, never able to settle, always waiting for a call from Graham to send her god knows where. Graham, who recruited her as a child. Graham, killed in another white room. The same kind of room she'd pulled a gun on her husband in, threatened Morgan in, almost killed them all in.

Sarah doesn't think she'll trust the color white again.

And then to her mother, her arms soft and comforting. To the baby, Molly, a whole person now, a bright, wonderful child with a wicked skill at Mario Kart. And to yet more sadness behind the eyes, the sympathy at all Sarah has lost. Her mother sent her best regards for Chuck, muttered an off-hand thought that she must visit him soon, that Molly misses him.

In every place, every stop, every desperate attempt to find who she is, what her life is, was, could be, all Sarah thought about was Chuck. And as her mother offered her thoughts to her son-in-law, the spy, the enforcer, the wife, had realized something; after all the travelling, all the searching, it had hit her.

She was wrong.

Finding herself, trying to work out who she is, that was simply running from the problem, the real issue at hand. The real hurt. Which is her husband, still in LA, in the same old apartment, with the same old courtyard and the same old fountain, holding all those missing memories.

After leaving her Mom, Sarah had gotten a car, driven straight to Echo Park. While she felt the pull to lose herself in all this, drown herself in sorrow, in questions, in self-doubt and self-flagellation for her actions, she'd known one thing above all. She needs to see Chuck.

And so here she is.

Swallowing, she finishes the walk up to the door. Once more, it's familiar, somehow. Known. Just a regular old door, behind which waits her whole world.

She raises a hand. Knocks. Thinks absentmindedly that she should've called.

But then the door is opening and there he stands. In jeans, a t-shirt, a striped hoodie over it, Converse on his feet. His hair's a little longer than she last saw it, curling at the edges at the front. That sort of sight is known, too, a distant hazy recollection. Maybe she once brushed a curl from his forehead in this very courtyard.

"Sarah..." he breathes, and she meets his eyes, sees the disbelief there, the grief, the shock. "I... Your mom called and said you might come here, I- I didn't know..."

"I should've called." she says, repeating the thought, that she shouldn't have let her mother be an early-warning for them both, but Chuck shakes his head quickly, roughly, taking a step closer.

"No, no, it's okay."

She swallows, nods a little, and he lifts the corners of his lips in what she can tell is a desperate try at a smile. The sight simply makes her fold her arms over her chest, tug on the cuffs of the sleeves of her shirt.

"I..." Although she's here, although she's started, she suddenly realizes she has no idea what to say. "I... was wrong."

It's a start. Chuck raises an eyebrow, says nothing, and his still-listening silence encourages her more than she thinks he knows.

"I didn't... I thought that leaving would let me find myself, but... Being out there, it felt just as foreign to me as being here did. I can't- I don't know who I am, anywhere, anymore."

He frowns, brow furrowing, but she sees his eyes glisten more, his lip tremble a little. It tugs on something innate within her, a need to comfort him. She holds back, for now.

"Okay." he says, accepting her admission. She keeps going.

"I traveled, a lot. Went to some places you'd told me about, some others I remembered. I'd hoped something would feel like home. But nothing..." Shaking her head, she takes a deep breath. Forces herself to look at him, really look at him, take him in. Her husband. "I realized that I wouldn't find home out there. Because I know now that, no matter where I go, if it's not with you it's never going to be home. It took me months to figure it out, but you're my home, Chuck."

He blinks. And then his face crumbles, stray tears falling from his eyes; she feels the tug again. Watching, she sees him pull himself together, bark out a wet laugh and brush the tears away swiftly with the backs of his hands.

"You've, uh, you've said that before," he murmurs, and she frowns. That he'd remember it so strongly, just four words, lets her know it was something important. She can't help but wonder what led her to realize and say such a thing once, after it took so long to dawn on her, to muster up the courage this time around. But before she can ask, he keeps going. "So... what are you doing here, what are you gonna do, now you know that?"

And that is the real question. The whole reason she's here. She tugs on her sleeve cuffs again, straightens her spine.

"I don't know if you would even want me here, but-" Tears bloom in her own eyes, suddenly, thickening her throat, blurring her vision, and she forces herself to keep going. "But I'm trying. This, here, me being here right now, this is me trying, for us. For me to be here, home, with you."

In front of her, on his doorstep, he simply looks at her. She is laid bare, her soul out there before him. She knows she's asking a lot, asking everything. To try, for him to let her try, with them. She may never remember. They may always have this pain hanging over them. She may mess up, hurt him, struggle relying so completely on him, being so constantly open and married and real- she's sure she will, even. It's a huge ask.

But she's trying.

She waits, wondering what he'll say, god, if he'll just tell her no, it's too hard, it's been too long, and she'll have to walk back out of this familiar courtyard and return to a strange, blurred world, with eyes of sympathy and sadness and a mind always thinking of him. But then he nods, lip trembling once more.

"Of course I want you," he presses out, sounding so choked, like he can't say much else, but he manages one more thing. "C'mere."

He opens his arms.

And she falls into him, falls into his love and embrace and his grace, and she lets him hold her as they weep, in their doorway. Just being there in his arms, she knows she's home.

[bitchin-beskar]

Requested by @ryleyrooroo: Can I please get some gingerbread with my soft boi Marcus Pike? 🥺

I am so so so very sorry for how long this took to be completed. But, I wanted to go back and rewatch Pedro’s scenes in The Mentalist, and I wasn’t able to until recently. So, here it is, very late... I hope you like it!!!

Nutmeg, Cinnamon, and Gingerbread

Rating: T

Word Count: 2.6k

A/N: So, while re-watching The Mentalist, I felt a strong resurgence of my hate for Patrick Jane. I don’t know why, but I’ve never liked his character. And ever since Lisbon did poor Marcus dirty like that, I’ve not really liked her either. So, that definitely came out while I was writing, oops... And yes, I know it rarely snows in Sacramento, but it did snow on December 7th in 2009, so it’s definitely possible. Just go with it. 

Requested: Gingerbread - holiday kisses- under the mistletoe or in front of a roaring fire, their lips taste of nutmeg and gingerbread and holiday cheer

You were late, goddammit. 

Everything had fit together so perfectly, so of course something had to go wrong at the last minute.

Your boyfriend was working a case in Sacramento, and had been for a few months now. You’d been sad that the two of you wouldn’t be able to spend Christmas together, but then it was like the stars had aligned, and an unsub had popped up a few counties over, in Santa Clara, and your team was on their way. You’d managed to get your bosses to agree that so long as you took a commercial flight back, and that you’d be home before New Years, you could have a few days off to celebrate with your boyfriend.

Your case had been solved relatively quickly, within two weeks, just one day before Christmas Eve, and you’d immediately begun the drive from Santa Clara up to Sacramento. God, your boyfriend had been so excited.

“Hey, baby! Guess what?” 

You’d called him only minutes after getting on the road, too excited to try and keep him in suspense.

“Don’t tell me–”

“Yes! We finished the case! I’ve got…” you trailed off, glancing at the GPS. “About two hours before I reach Sacramento!”

There was a gasp through the speakers before a whoop of excitement rang through the car. “Sweetheart that’s amazing! I was beginning to lose hope!” 

You smiled at the clear and obvious joy in your significant other’s voice. “Me too, babe. I’m so excited to get to spend Christmas with you. I can’t wait to get to your hotel and just crash.”

“I can’t wait either, I–” A loud groan suddenly rang out. “Shit, I completely forgot. There’s a Christmas party tonight and the boss wants me there for ‘team bonding’ or something, and I probably won’t get back until late.”

You were quiet for a moment, and he must have assumed that you were upset with him. “Sweetheart I’m so sorry, I was so looking forward to seeing you, and now I’m gonna have to ditch you tonight for people I really don’t want to be around and–” you cut him off quickly. 

“Babe, babe no, Marcus, baby, listen to me.” You waited for him to stop before you continued. “It’s not a big deal. What if I come with you?”

There’s a pause for a moment, before your boyfriend lets out a small huff of laughter. “That… That might actually work. I can’t imagine the brass complaining about you coming to a Christmas party, especially when you technically work for the same company.”

You rolled your eyes, but really, he was right. He worked in the Art Theft Program for the FBI, and you worked for the BAU, also for the FBI. The brass was fine with your relationship since you weren’t technically colleagues, so why would they have a problem with you coming to a party?

After getting the details from Marcus, you said goodbye, already anxious for the drive to be over. You had some dressier clothes packed in your bag from the case you’d just worked, so you were going to swing by his hotel and change before meeting him at the CBI headquarters. With your ETA being what it was, you’d be right on time for the start of the party. 

At least, that had been the plan. 

There had been a car accident right in front of you while you were on your way from Marcus’ hotel room to the CBI Headquarters, and of course, you being the Good Samaritan that you were, stopped to wait for the police. You’d given your statement, but one of the officers would not stop flirting and inviting you out to dinner, no matter how much you insisted you had somewhere to be.

When you finally managed to get him off your back, you were running thirty minutes late, meaning the party was in full swing, and your boyfriend was alone, surrounded by people he didn’t like all that much. 

Marcus never really talked about the first time he’d worked with CBI, but you knew enough. You knew that he’d fallen in love with an agent, and that she’d agreed to marry him, only to break up with him and get together with an absolute ass of a man. Marcus had been left in Washington DC, with no explanation and a broken heart. 

You’d crossed paths with him maybe... six months after that? It was practically love at first sight for you, and although it took him longer to admit it–you know, due to trust and intimacy issues that were extremely valid–Marcus had felt the same. This had led to the two of you getting together on Christmas of all days, and the two of you would have a year of dating under your belts this upcoming December 25th. 

Now, you were about to meet the woman who’d broken Marcus’ heart and the man she’d chosen instead of him, and while honestly, you couldn’t be too upset, since Marcus was now dating you, you could still be mad at her on principle. 

As you walked into the building’s lobby, where the party was being held, and saw Marcus, you felt your breath hitch. It had been so goddamn long since you’d seen him, and there he was, only a few feet from you for the first time in over three months. His back was to you, and he seemed to be talking to two people, although you could tell by his posture that he was not enjoying the conversation. 

Getting closer, you realized that the couple talking to your boyfriend had to be Patrick Jane and Teresa Lisbon. For one, Jane looked as though he thought he was God’s gift to mankind, and judging by the smirk on his face, he thought himself to be above everyone in the room. And Lisbon looked simultaneously smug and upset, and you guessed she was probably smug that Marcus didn’t seem to have anyone–you knew he hadn’t told the CBI team about your relationship, as he felt it was none of their business–and that she was probably upset that Marcus didn’t look more broken up about her being here with Jane. 

God, it made you sick. Those two had played with Marcus, toyed with his heart, and he didn’t deserve it. Your sweet, loving boyfriend didn’t deserve this, to be stuck on a team with the two people who’d made him so miserable for months on end, and you were glad that, at least for tonight, you could be his buffer. 

As you approached the trio, Jane’s eyes locked onto you, and you saw a look of confusion on his face at the way you were marching over there like a woman on a mission. Clearly Marcus must’ve noticed Jane’s look, because he turned around just in time to catch you in his arms.

You didn’t even have time to look at Jane or Lisbon before Marcus’ lips were on yours. His arm held your waist tight against his, his other hand buried in your hair as he kissed you desperately. You knew it was probably a mix of missing you, and frustration with the two CBI agents–well, one CBI agent and one ‘consultant’–but Marcus kissed you as if the world was ending.

His lips tasted like nutmeg and cinnamon and gingerbread, and it brought you back to when he’d first kissed you, almost a year ago.

***

“Agent Pike, you may have a lot of experience, especially when it comes to catching art thieves, but I’m afraid your experience in gingerbread-house making is sorely lacking.”

The look the agent in question gave you was so reminiscent of a kicked puppy that you wished you had your phone with you to take a picture. He had gingerbread batter all over his hands and smeared on his apron, and he’d somehow managed to get flour and butter into his hair, making it stick up slightly in one spot. He had a little bit of frosting on his cheek, and he had a small nutmeg mustache just under his real one. 

If you had known what a disaster it would be to invite the special agent into your home to make gingerbread on Christmas Day, you wouldn’t have done it.

…

No.

That was a lie.

No matter how disheveled and disastrous this impromptu get together turned out to be, you knew you wouldn’t regret it. 

You’d met him on a case a couple months ago, and ever since, the cute art thief investigator from D.C. just wouldn’t get out of your head. So, when you’d run into him unexpectedly on Christmas Eve, you’d impulsively invited him over the next day when he’d mentioned not having any Christmas plans. 

And boy were you glad you had. 

He was so funny and cute and instead of getting over your crush–like you’d intended–it had only grown. He knew how to make you laugh, and he was a perfect gentleman, and he didn’t judge you for not wanting to settle down and be a homemaker like your mom, and he got along with your cat–which was an honest-to-god miracle, the little bastard didn’t like anyone–and he was perfectly perfect in every single way. 

And the way he was looking at you right now made you want to kiss him. 

Before you could begin to rationalize–whether you’d be rationalizing for or against kissing him you weren’t sure–his eyes flickered up to something above your head and then he looked back at you and before you knew it he was leaning in to press a soft, chaste kiss to your lips. 

It was warm and soft and perfect and fleeting and before you knew it, he was pulling away, a guilty look on his face.

“I’m sorry,” he said softly, looking down at his hands. “There was mistletoe and you just looked so pretty, and I–”

You cut him off, placing your hands on his cheeks and pulling his lips back to yours, licking at his lips to taste the mix of nutmeg, cinnamon, and gingerbread. His arms hesitantly wrapped around your waist, as though afraid you were going to bolt, but when you bit gently on his bottom lip, he suddenly crushed you against his chest, bending you back slightly as he devoured you. 

As you stood kissing in your kitchen, covered in baking ingredients, you found yourself deliriously happy for the sprig of mistletoe hanging above your head.

***

Marcus had always been gently intimate, sweet and soft and loving in a way you’d never experienced before. But this… this kiss was different. His lips pressed hard against yours, and you were suddenly thankful that you weren’t wearing any lipstick because it would have been smudged so thoroughly beyond repair if he kept kissing you like this.

It took you longer than you’d like to admit to remember that you had an audience, but when you tried to pull away–reluctantly, you might add–Marcus didn’t let you go. He used his grip on your hair to tilt your head to the side and deepen the kiss. Your hands were clenched in his suit jacket, letting him control the pace. He slid his tongue into your mouth, and you were lost. He was turning you on with his possessiveness–honestly there really wasn’t any other word for it–and you almost whimpered when he finally pulled away.

“Hi baby,” he said breathlessly, his voice much deeper than usual. “How was the drive?” His hand slid out of your hair, only to cup your cheek, running his thumb over your spit-slicked and swollen bottom lip.

It took you a minute to answer, your brain still trying to reboot after that mind-blowingly perfect kiss. His arm was still around your waist, his thumb rubbing against your side in the way you knew he liked, to remind himself that you were there, next to him. 

“Longer than I wanted, I’m sorry I’m late.” He laughed softly, his eyes as bright as stars. 

“You’re fine, darling. I’m just so glad you’re here.” He leaned forward to press a fleeting kiss against your lips, pulling away before either of you lost yourselves again. “Let me introduce you.”

You turned, finally acknowledging the couple standing in front of you. Lisbon was staring at you, a slight frown on her lips, eyes narrowed in confusion and… jealousy? Wow, she had some nerve if she thought she was allowed to be jealous after what she did.

Jane, on the other hand, was less composed, a little slack-jawed as his eyes flickered rapidly between the two of you. 

Being a profiler and working with multiple other profilers on a constant basis made it so that you had a pretty good radar for when someone was analyzing you, and the fact that this man thought he had the right to try and analyze your and Marcus’ relationship pissed you off. 

He started to open his mouth, and you could tell from the look in his eyes it wasn’t going to be nice, so you decided to mess with him. 

“Hi! You must be… Preston? Is it Preston? Oh no, Patrick, I remember!” You felt so damn smug wiping that stupid smirk off his stupid face. “And you! You must be Teresa! Oh, it’s so nice to meet you!” You shook her hand firmly, watching as she just blinked at you.

“Um… I’m sorry, I don’t know your name, Marcus never mentioned you?” 

You could tell what she was trying to do, and you weren’t gonna have it. “Oh, Marcus and I don’t advertise our relationship very much. My boss’s wife was killed by the Boston Reaper, and it’s made me a little paranoid that someone might go after him just to get to me.” You knew it was kind of a low blow, but Teresa-fucking-Lisbon broke Marcus’ heart and you were not letting her off easy. “But, that’s the life of a BAU profiler, right?” 

She nodded slowly, clearly thrown off guard by your little display. Marcus’ arm was tight around your waist, and you were pleased to see her eyes drop slightly to his hand on your waist, only to quickly look back up when she saw it. 

“I really hate to be rude, and I know I just got here, but I’ve not seen Marcus in person in over three months, and you can only do so much over the phone, you know?” You heard someone choke on their drink behind you, but you couldn’t care less. “Maybe I’ll see the two of you later?”

Without giving them a chance to respond, you turned on your heel, walking back out the doors and into the parking lot, Marcus in step next to you. The two of you didn’t speak until you arrived at his car, only for him to use his arm around your waist to push you against the side of his SUV.

It was dark out, but you could clearly see Marcus’ eyes peering down at you, swimming with emotion. “Baby, what was that in there?”

You smirked, wrapping one of your hands around his tie. “I wasn’t about to let Jane start talking shit about you, or me, or what he thought our relationship was. And I saw how Lisbon was eyeing you.” You pulled him down to your level, whispering against his lips. “I had to show her I meant business.”

Marcus huffed out a small laugh, and the gust of air caressed your lips. “Sweetheart, that was so sexy.”

You brushed your lips ever so softly against his. “Teresa Lisbon had her chance. You’re mine, now and forever.” You kissed him harder, and as snow began to fall in the CBI parking lot, two days before Christmas, you whispered one more admission against his lips. “And I’m yours.”

[skylarmoon71]

Patrick Jane (Mentalist) - Chapter 8

It’s expected that some days are slower than usual. You know for a fact that Lisbon appreciates the quiet.

The last few cases have been a bit of a trip.

Mostly because of Jane.

That’s not new.

Today most of the team is pretty much catching up on paperwork. You have a bit more than the others due to your unexpected leave when you first came. You’d done some major procrastination when you were trying to sort through the whole psychic situation.

It was nearly close to ten and people were starting to pack up to leave. You hadn’t truly noticed. A half an hour later you finally look up from your desk. Jane was the only one in the room. He was laying on the couch just staring at the ceiling.

“What time is it?”

“Ten-thirty. I was starting to think you fell asleep at your desk.”

“Do you know what kind of neck pain I’d have to deal with if I did that?”

“Probably the same as staring down at the desk all day.”

Well, he has a point.

“Let me get a quick nap on your couch then.”

“No-uh, this is mine. Get your own couch.”

You smirk, standing as you run over to the couch with the intention to jump on him.

“HEY!!”

You try to push him off, but he fights back, laughing as you pull at his arm.

“Come on, stop being so stingy!!”

“It’s my couch!!”

“I don’t see your name on it Jane, move over.”

“No!!”

Since that tactic isn’t working, you just throw yourself on him and he grunts.

“That’s not fair!”

You’re trying to force him off the couch and he’s still battling. The constant battle causes the both of you to fall onto the ground. Your groans echo. Jane had landed right on top of you, wearing a similarly pained expression. You laugh, despite the wind being knocked out of you.

“And they say I’m childish.” He complains.

You’re still wearing a grin, ready for him to move and help you up. His hands are pressed into the floor, you assume to stand, but he has yet to make a move. His features begin to soften, and you look a bit puzzled by the change. He licks his lips briefly. There’s something tender in his gaze.

“Jane?”

He blinks, and then bows his head, finally standing.

“Sorry about that.” He mumbles.

His hand is extended and you take it.

“My couch.”

You laugh at his thoughts.

“Stop whining Jane, you should learn to share.”

Once you’re upright you release his hand, dusting your pants.

“Well I’ve had my fun, see you tomorrow Jane.”

You head to your desk to pack up your stuff and he just stares. He is grateful that he’s able to shelter certain thoughts from you. Because his mind as of late has been in a bit of disarray and you’re to blame.

He’s become more aware of things. Like the fact that your perfume smells like a flower that he can’t place, or the way your frazzled expression after tackling a suspect brings a particular thrill in his chest. Maybe it’s the serious look you tend to wear when you’re going through case files to stop a killer.

There’s too many areas that he can point out. He’s always been an observant person. But this is the first time he wishes to turn it off. If nothing but to keep a handle on his feelings that he’s come to recognize.

“Jane.”

He redirects his attention. You’re standing at the entrance with your bag.

“Don’t stay back too late. Get some sleep.”

That subtle hint of adoration and worry is almost like the fatal blow.

If he wasn’t enamored before, he sure is now.

“Don’t worry, I won’t.”

You give a little nod as you wave at him, tapping the wall as you walk away.

“I’m in trouble.”

He really is.

[ragingbookdragon]

Before You Go, Was I Someone You Loved? PT. 1

A Shay Cormac x Reader Story

Word Count: 2,042 Warnings: Mentions of Death, Explicit Language, Violence

Author’s Note: Holy shit this is the first time I’ve written something this long in a while that wasn’t for a class! Admire the growth I’ve made! Y’all take Fiction Writing in school if y’all can! THE GROWTH! AND ANGST! ENJOY! -Thorne

“Shay?”

           He looked up from the aimless lines he’d been drawing in the snow to see her standing before him, a frown etched onto her face. He blinked in shock, surprised to see her. “(Y/N)?”

           She took a step towards him and sat down on the log next to him, closer than she’d been in the past few months. “I heard,” she started, but lowered her voice, “about Lisbon…and about this evening.”

           Shay swallowed the sigh and looked back down at his feet. “Come to tell me that I’m a murderer?”

           He didn’t need to see her face to know that there was disappointment written across it. “If that’s what you think I’m here to do, then the few nights we spent together taught you nothing about me.”

           Glancing up, he caught her eyes. “I figured you’d never talk to me again after threatening to shoot me.”

           (Y/N) nudged her elbow into his ribs. “I still could if you want.” It did the work, and she watched a small smile cross his lips. She leaned her head onto his shoulder, curling her right arm around his left bicep. Her fingers felt cold against the bare side of his wrist. “I’m so sorry about Lisbon, Shay.”

           This time, he let the sigh leave him and he allowed himself to feel her comfort, resting his head on hers. “It wasn’t your fault, (Y/N).”

           She nodded. “I know…but neither was it yours.”

           The thorn that had stuck itself in his heart since he left Portugal dug a little deeper and he countered, “But it was. I moved the piece…I caused the earthquake.”

           He knew she had no idea about the Precursor artifacts, but she still tried to understand. “You may have moved it, but it wasn’t your fault. You were merely the instrument used by the Brotherhood. The fault lies with them.”

           Shay looked off into the distance. “Misplacing the blame won’t bring the dead back.”

           “No,” she murmured, “no it won’t.”

           They fell into a silence for some time, watching the snow fall around them, their breaths coming out in pale, airy wisps. “Shay?”

           “Hmm?”

           “What…what are you going to do?”

           He looked down at her, confusion swimming with suspicion. “Why?”

           (Y/N) met his gaze. “I know you well enough Shay Cormac. You’re going to do something about all this.”

           Shay knew it was useless to hide from her when her eyes saw straight through him; he sighed. “I can’t let them keep going. They’ll kill millions if I don’t stop them.”

           She was quiet, then she reached into her pocket and pulled out an old iron key. (Y/N) held it out for him. “Achilles has the items stowed in the desk upstairs. You’ll need this to get into the house and second bedroom.”

           He stared in shock at the key and then at her. “Why would you do this for me?”

           (Y/N) smiled. “What you considered a few nights of fun, I considered it to be something deeper.” She folded the key into his palm then rose, standing before him. “You know my feelings for you, Shay. And I know that you wouldn’t go against the Brotherhood if you didn’t think it was the right thing to do.” (Y/N) bent down and pressed a chilled kiss to his lips, whispering, “I’ll always be on your side, Shay. No matter the cost.” She pulled back and smiled sadly, then turned to leave.

           He stood and called out, “(Y/N)?” She spun on her heel and waited. Thousands of thoughts ran through his mind, but he simply said, “Thank you.”

           She nodded with a small smile. “Please be careful, Shay.”

***

           (Y/N) held the hem of her skirt in one hand, the other pressed to her chest, fear dripping down her spine at the sight of Shay standing but a few feet from the cliff edge. She watched Hope take a step forward.

           “Give back the manuscript, Shay!” The assassin shouted. “I’m sure Achilles—”

           Shay shoved a hand out towards them, voice cracking as he countered, “I cannot. I will not let this happen again.” He shook his head. “All those souls lost…” He met (Y/N)’s eyes and she mouthed his name in terror. Shay lowered his head and declared, “One more hardly matters.”

***

           She didn’t know who fired the shot, but it felt all the same in her heart as she sprinted after him. “Shay!” Her scream tore through her throat and before she could get to the edge, someone’s arms wrapped around her waist. She thrashed wildly like a mountain lion caught in a steel trap. “Let go of me! Shay!”

           “Enough (Y/N)! He’s gone!” She realized it was Liam who had her by the waist.

           (Y/N) spun on him, pounding her fists to his chest, borderline hysteric. “How could you?! He was your best friend!” Liam let her hit him. “Answer me!”

           He grabbed her hands, but before he could speak, Chevalier snorted, “The cabbage farmer betrayed the Brotherhood. He’s better off at Davy Jones Locker.”

           Her eyes drifted to the smoke clearing from his gun and as if another shot had gone off, she was throwing herself at him, and had Liam not had her, she’d have clawed the Frenchman’s eyes out. “You arrogant bastard!” Fury mingled with her pain. “That man was more of an assassin than you’ll ever hope to be!” She spat at him. “You will reap what you sow!” Her eyes drifted to Hope and Achilles, to all of the assassins standing behind them. “You all will! You all—” Finally, (Y/N)’s legs gave out beneath her and she hit the ground, sobs ripping through her chest.

           Liam sighed behind her. “Easy (Y/N).”

           She sucked in a breath, grabbing his hands as if anchoring herself would take it all away. “How could you?” Her voice was quieter, but certainly harsher. “How could you let this happen to him?”

           He frowned and clenched his jaw. “I don’t know (Y/N)…I…don’t know.”

***Two Years Later***

           She barely kept the tears at bay as she stumbled through the New York streets. Mid-afternoon, but it felt so much busier than it usually was, and she felt as though everyone’s eyes were on her, watching her with pity. Another failed attempt at earning a job. She frowned and drifted into the garden of a home, collapsing onto the bench just outside it. She vaguely hoped that whoever owned the property wouldn’t chase her off in her apparent moment of breakdown. She brought a hand up to her face, wiping the tears from her face before sucking in a breath, then she heard, “Dear?” Her head shot up and she saw an older woman standing with a basket of clothes under her hip.

           Quickly, she stood to her feet and the words poured from her mouth before she could stop them. “I’m so sorry ma’am.” She thrust a hand back at the house. “You own this home, don’t you?” She brought her hand to her middle and bowed her head. “Forgive me, I’ll leave.”

           The woman huffed and shook her head. “Nonsense dear. I’d be a wretched woman to leave a young lady like yourself to cry your heart out.” She stepped forward and curled an arm around her. “Come now, inside for some tea and we’ll see what’s wrong.” The older woman smiled. “My name is Cassidy Finnegan. What’s yours?”

           She offered a wobbly smile to Cassidy—It’d been some time since someone had showed her such kindness—she hoped it would last a bit longer. “I’m (Y/N) (L/N).” Cassidy ushered her inside and she couldn’t help but marvel at the interior. “Your home is beautiful, Miss Finnegan.”

           “Oh, call me Cassidy, (Y/N).”

           “Okay then, Cassidy.” The two smiled at one another and the woman set the basket of clothes down on the desk, ushering her to follow. (Y/N) found herself in the kitchen, sitting on a stool as Cassidy handed her a cold, wet rag.

           “Here,” she said. “Wipe those tears away. They don’t suit a face as pretty as yours.”

           (Y/N) felt her cheeks warm and she did so, feeling as if a years’ worth of dirt and grime had come off. “Thank you, Cassidy.”

           The older woman shuffled across from her towards the open fire pit, hanging a tea kettle on the rack. “Want to tell me why you were crying outside?”

           “I—” (Y/N) started, but faltered, afraid to offer all her knowledge. Eventually, she settled for, “I used to work for a man as a maid, but some of the things he was doing got the man I cared for killed.” She thought of Shay’s smiling face, then to that night when the pain, but determination was written across it. “I refused to work for the man anymore but…well, he has connections all over the colonies.” (Y/N) met Cassidy’s gaze. “I’ve essentially been blacklisted from any workplace I could go.”

           “Oh no.” Cassidy’s voice was full of sympathy. “You’ve been on your own for all this time?”

           (Y/N) shrugged. “I’ve been fortunate to work in some places before they figured out who I was. I’ve been working at taverns here and there.” She looked away. “I’ve been lucky to not end up in a brothel yet. But…I fear I’m beginning to lose options.”

           “I’ll not have you working in a place like that!” Her head shot up at Cassidy, who had her hands placed on her hips. “You’ll stay here and look for a job!”

           Before (Y/N) could get a word in, a man stepped through the doorway, griping, “What are you screamin’ at Cass?” He looked between his wife and (Y/N) then sighed. “Another one?”

           Cassidy shushed him. “Hush, Barry.” She gestured between them. “Barry, this is (Y/N). (Y/N), this is my husband, Barry.”

           (Y/N) waved and smiled as best she could despite the man’s frown. “Pleasure to meet you, Mister Finnegan.”

           He harrumphed. “At least this one has decent manners.” Cass scowled at her husband and he turned, waving them off. “I’m going to take a nap.”

           “Oaf,” Cassidy hissed, and (Y/N) couldn’t help but giggle.

           “He seems like a good man, Cassidy.”

           “He is,” she agreed. “When he’s not being rude.” She turned. “You wouldn’t mind helping with dinner, would you? I’ll need to go ready your room.”

           “Oh, please, let me do it! You can go sit and relax!” Cassidy was about to counter, but (Y/N) begged, “Please, if you’re going to let me stay here for free, you’ll have to let me pull my weight.”

           Cassidy watched her then offered, “How about you go fold the clothes in that basket and start dinner, and I’ll take care of the room.”

           (Y/N) nodded and after grabbing the basket of clothes, she found herself standing in the master bedroom, quietly folding the clothes as to not wake Barry. A warm smile spread across her face as a sense of security filled her veins. She’d certainly not been the assassin’s target, but her fleeing was obviously an offense against them either way. She had no doubts that Hope had been the one to spread the rumors of terrible work ethic throughout the elite in New York—the assassin had the power and connections to do so. (Y/N) shook her head and put away the clothes then headed towards the door but stopped when she felt something in her pocket. She pulled out a coin and flipped it over, seeing the Celtic shield of luck imprinted into it. A sad smile crossed her lips as she ran her thumb in a routine manner. His words came back to her.

           “Here (Y/N).” She looked up from his chest to see him handing something to her.

           Her brows furrowed as she stared at it. “What is that?”

            Shay brought his free hand up behind his head, resting on it. “A Celtic shield of luck.”

           (Y/N) couldn’t help but snort. “I think you need this more than I, Shay Cormac.”

           He chuckled and pressed the coin into her hand. “What are you talking about, lass? I make my own luck.”

           (Y/N) inhaled deeply and shoved the coin back in her pocket, gazing out the window. The sun was beginning to set, but for the first time in two years, she felt hopeful. “I make my own luck.” She whispered and descended the stairs to start dinner.

[june-louise]

Our Kind of Love

A short story of Elizabeth and Philip's struggle throughout Philip's royal tour in season two of The Crown. What if the adultery scandal never happened then? Rated M.

Since I have been inspired lately and created a few drabbles about Elizabeth and Philip set after 2x03 when Philip’s away on the royal tour, I have decided to combine them into a short story.

Some of you may have already read the first chapters. They are now edited though to fit the story better. Feel free to re-read, and stay tuned for next chapter which will be the reunion in Lisbon.

Chapter 1 - The First Telephone Call

Elizabeth sat on the sofa; one leg crossed over the other as she listened to the reports coming from the television a few metres in front of her. Her mother was as per usual having her dinner next to her, joined by Margaret sitting across from them. Elizabeth had already had dinner, for once having shared the meal with the children who were now in bed.

Ever since Philip had left for the Royal tour, she had felt the need to spend more time with the children, surely to compensate for sending their father away for months on end. Philip had always been the more natural parent of the two, the one spending more time and playing with them. To Elizabeth, playing with the children had never been her favourite activity and with all her work she rarely spent much time with them during the weekdays.

Of course, she loved her children more than anything, but she had never felt like a natural mother as other women seemed to. With Philip gone though, she had felt the connection with Charles and Anne to be something of a comfort personally while she very much wanted them both to be happy and content. So, she had made it into a habit to join them in the playing room, listen to their talks and share more meals with them and help put them to bed. She even read books for them and tried to do silly voices as Charles called it. Because Philip usually did, and the children loved it.

“Your Majesty,” a voice said and interrupted her thoughts. She looked up to see the court martial approach her. “A telephone call for you, ma’am. The Duke of Edinburgh.”

Elizabeth raised her eyebrow in surprise and felt the eyes of her mother and sister on her, they obviously surprised as well. She felt a smile spread on her face and could not help the excitement building in her stomach. She had felt quite low lately, finding herself missing the company of her husband more than she had thought she would. Ever since Philip’s speech on Christmas and the film from Antarctica, the emptiness she felt had grown worse. Laying eyes on him after so many weeks and reading his handwriting had made her heart ache for him, and it had not stopped since.

Quickly shrugging the surprise off of her, she spoke to the man. “Thank you.” Standing up, Elizabeth turned to the other women and excused herself. She tried best she could to not let the other two see her vulnerability, holding herself together and making an effort to contain her smile. She knew they both loved Philip, but they had never quite understood him like she did. And her feelings for him had therefore also many times made Elizabeth feel misunderstood, and she had found she sometimes had to act down on them in order to keep their comments to a minimum.

Walking toward her study, she felt the tightness and nervousness grow in her chest. She knew it was a slight anguish she felt, a fear of him not being there on the other line. The last time Philip called the reception had been bad and the line was broken before she had a chance to speak to him. She tried to prepare herself for the disappointment that it would happen again.

“Hello,” she said into the phone, clearing her throat and taking a deep breath to calm herself. She saw the doble doors close behind her and as she finally heard the voice of her husband on the other side of the line, she beamed.

“Hello, darling,” Philip said, and she could almost hear his smirk and tried to picture him there on the other side of the world.

“Oh, it’s working,” she let out in surprise.

“Yes,” he said in his sleek voice and she imagined he was leaning against some kind of furniture where he was, making himself more comfortable. She did the same and rested against the wooden desk. “These bloody telephones actually do work from time to time.” He laughed and she chuckled, feeling herself relax.

“It’s so good to hear your voice,” she said and got somehow more serious, feeling her eyes water slightly. This small gesture, a phone call, had her feeling as if there was a huge weight lifted from her shoulders, warming her heart.

“Are you admitting to actually missing me,” Philip said in a lighter voice, always the one to lift the mood. Elizabeth did love that about him, how he could make her smile and how life was far from boring when Philip was with. Many times, people around them showed their annoyance at his sarcastic comments, and she sometimes felt that way also, but deep down she knew she could never live without any of it. And she had missed hearing his voice immensely lately, finding herself imagining in her head what his replies would be and smiling to herself while everybody around her was oblivious.

“What if I am,” she replied and soared as she felt their familiar banter come alive. “And what about you, having the time of your life in all corners of the world?” She asked the question in a somewhat playful voice, but also felt nervous about the actual answer.

Ever since Philip had left, she had not heard much from him at all. A failed telephone call, a few telegrams mostly including updates on their whereabouts and well-wishes for the children, but not more than that. Except from the footage from Antarctica, where he had been surprisingly heartfelt.

Philip sighed. “Well, even though parts of the tour is surprisingly interesting and the places we’ve been has been quite incredible, I, too, must admit to missing my wife.” He paused, and she desperately wished she could see the look on his face. “Lately, a bit more than I imagined, actually,” he admitted truthfully.  

“You have,” Elizabeth asked, her voice quite emotional revealing more vulnerability than she was comfortable with.

“Yes,” Philip started in a determined voice, “are you that surprised?”

“I don’t know. Maybe, but mostly happy to hear that I am not the only one feeling that way. Five months is incredibly long when all you want if for them to pass by, really. Did you get my letter,” she continued in an attempt to change the subject.  

“Oh, yes.” She could hear him smile into the phone. “Made me think that I should grow a beard more often,” he chuckled.

Elizbeth blushed and cleared her throat, finding herself feel a bit embarrassed. “Really? I wonder what the reactions would be it you came home like that,” she said with a smile as she imagined the scenario. Her mother would be beside herself; Margaret would find it incredibly funny and Michael would uncomfortably try to work out how best to convince Philip to shave. “They were all quite surprised to see it, whereas I thought you looked like an explorer.” She smiled and added, “a very handsome explorer.”

“Five months really is a long time,” Philip sighed, and she felt her fingers go to the pearls around her neck. His words made the conversation shift, and she felt her chest tighten, her pulse quicken. “Trust me, it’s not only the sharing of bed I miss, but I’d really do anything to be with you right now.”

“Philip,” she said in a surprised voice, while blushing more, suddenly very aware of her most private parts. She shifted on the desk, leaning one leg over the other.

“What,” he said innocently. “Can’t a husband share his desires for his wife? I am alone here, aren’t you?”

“Yes, yes,” she quickly said, voice shaky. “I’m alone.”

“That’s it then, good, no worries. Wouldn’t want anyone overhearing this conversation, now would we,” he smirked.

“Philip,” she whispered and felt the need to sit down. Her breathing quickened and she pressed her legs together as she sat on the chair by the desk.

“You sound tense, darling. If I was there, I’d give you a big smooch, but since I’m not, what can I do?”

Elizabeth swallowed, “Philip, we can’t.”

“Why not?”

Her eyes searched the room, even though she knew no one was there. “You know why not. And besides, I can’t.”

“You can,” he reassured her, like he so often had done when she needed help to escape her up tightness. “Now, if it’ll make it easier,” Philip said, and she could not help but roll her eyes at his determination. “Tell me where you are” he started. “And what you are wearing,” he added before, she imagined, leaning back into his seat and with amusement waiting for her reply.

Her face felt hot and she was sure there was a visible blush on her neck. Though she gave in. “I’m in my office,” she started and looked around at the familiar surroundings. She spent much of her time in here, and often had different people come to her with various notifications.  She sincerely hoped that no one would get the idea to enter anytime soon, hoping the call from the Duke would keep them out until she gave them a sign that she was finished. She continued to play with the pearls around her neck, a nervous habit she had. “And I’m wearing my usual clothes, in blue.” As she spoke the words, she felt quite dull. Not much surprise there.

“Oh, blue, one of my favourite colours on you,” Philip said, seemingly not finding her dull at all, and she relaxed a bit. Philip always made her feel more comfortable, somewhat making her feel sexy through her shyness and sometimes up tight behaviour. “Like those gorgeous eyes I adore.”

Elizabeth shifted in her seat and felt a bit braver. “And you? Where is that handsome husband of mine?” She raised her eyebrow and wettened her lips, eager to hear his reply.

“Well, I’ve abandoned the suit onboard Britannia where the bloody phone does not work. Now in the Falkland Islands, we have loaned a quite nice house with a big garden. I’m in my room, supposed to rest after a whole day of shaking people’s hands and cutting ribbons.”

Elizabeth chuckled and then questioned, intrigued. “And what are you wearing?”

Philip laughed and spoke with playfulness in his voice. “I am wearing my robe, sitting in bed.” She imagined he knew he was teasing her, knowing how she was one of the people who knew he secretly preferred to sleep naked, even though he rarely did it at home in Buckingham palace anymore.

“And you just decided to give me a call before going to bed?”

“I did have a dream about you, actually. And have been thinking about it the whole day.”

“Yeah, what about?” Elizabeth felt warm inside, happy to hear that she had been in his thoughts.

“Traveling together. Yesterday we were greeted into this house and I was reminded of the house we stayed at in Kenya, before your father’s passing. Where we visited Treetops.”

Elizabeth smiled, remembering the wonderful time they had had there. Before their whole world changed. “That was a wonderful trip, before, you know. I was so happy and so in love with you.”

“Me, too. It was just us there, our own special place of the world.”

“It was.” Elizabeth suddenly laughed. “Remember when you saved me from that elephant?”

Philip joined her laugher. “I did do that. It was quite terrifying.”

“It was,” Elizabeth concluded, and gave a sigh. “I miss that time.”

“Yes,” Philip agreed, and a quiet understanding consumed them both. It had been a time before life as they knew it now, with duty and obligations – a time where they could be more of a normal couple. As normal as they could be anyway, given their circumstances. Elizabeth still remembered the incredible loss she had felt, and guilt, for taking away her and Philip’s wonderful life even though she knew it had not been her fault. She seldom let herself think about the what if’s, or imagine what their life could have been. It was not constructive. And there was no going back. They had both signed up for this life together, and in many ways, it was also an incredible life. Only different.

“Philip,” Elizabeth said after a while, interrupting their walk down memory lane, and when he made a sound to let her know he was listening, she continued. “I know I don’t say it much, but I do still love you very much, adore you even. But you must know that, right?”

She thought she could hear his smile over the phone. “Yes, I know,” Philip said, his voice soft and reassuring. Elizabet had never doubted her love and adoration for her husband, she did not remember a time not loving him. The love had never been the problem, even though it might seem like it for anyone else. Maybe she should say it more often, she thought. Yet they were both not very emotional people, and they rarely exchanged words of affection. So, Elizabeth was glad he knew how she felt about him.

Philip continued, maybe also finding that the distance of the telephone made the words come easier. “I feel the same way. Even though I sometimes act like an idiot, I have always loved you, Lilibet. And I believe that it is my destiny that I always will.”