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blindmagdalena · 7 months ago

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Guilty Pleasures ( chapter three )

18+ 7.3k homelander x plus size f!reader. workplace harassment, stalking, voyeurism, assault (not perpetrated by HL), violence, smol murder, manipulation/gaslighting, hurt/comfort. nebulously takes place post s1. part 3/4. AO3 link. | Chapter Directory

Homelander will do whatever it takes to convince you that he's the hero you need.

It’s shortly after one o’clock when Homelander knocks a whimsical melody against your office door, deciding he shouldn’t be precisely on time, lest he look as eager as he feels. He can already smell your perfume wafting through the doorway–the same scent he feverishly pumped his cock to the night before–as a teaser of what’s to come.

“Come in,” you call from the other side.

Homelander takes in a deep breath, squaring his shoulders. He screws his eyes shut, pinching his expression in a tight squeeze before he replaces it with a flashy grin, squaring away his anticipation in favor of his showman persona.

“Goooooood afternoon,” he drawls, strolling in with the same feigned level of confidence he’s entered every other moment of your life since stumbling across you, whether you knew it or not. He’s taken aback almost immediately, slowing in how he closes the door behind him.

You look nicer than usual. Your hair is styled with more conscious effort, and he’s been in show business long enough to recognize the makeup on your face. The shine of your blouse is a quality silk blend, and he can’t hear the scrape of cheap cotton underneath it anymore. No, you’re wearing something nice below, too. His lips slowly spread into a self-satisfied smile.

You dressed up for him.

Homelander takes the seat set across from you, sweeping his cape to the side with a flourish. He watches you tuck an empty container–your lunch, presumably–into a side drawer of your desk. His eyes closely track the way you lift your thumb to the corner of your mouth and swipe residue from it, sucking the mess from your digit. A distinct pang of arousal hits him just watching your cheeks hollow.

Imagine what she could do with that mouth.

“And good afternoon to you, Homelander,” you respond, straightening up in your seat. His gaze briefly dips to the swell of your breasts as you adjust yourself, casually dusting away any remnants of your lunch. Saliva gathers on his tongue at the instant memory of you scantily clad in your sleep wear, nothing but a thin sheet of worn fabric between you and his hunger. His eyes snap back up before you can take notice of how they wandered.

Lucky for him, you’re busy splaying out the folder he brought you the day before, scanning over the list of bullet points he’d slapped together for the sake of having enough talking points.

“I wanted to start with your concerns regarding the marketing for your upcoming miniseries,” you say, glancing up at him.

He clicks his tongue. “Wow, alright. Straight to business then,” he says, absently rolling his palms over the ends of the armrests on either side of him.

“I’m very bad at small talk,” you say. Probably to diffuse any notion that you were being rude on purpose.

“Ch’yeah, I’ll say,” he says, smiling thinly. “Lucky that you’re good at your job.”

“Shockingly, I was actually a personality hire. I don’t know what any of this means,” you say, matching his thinly veiled snark while gesturing to the spread of documents in front of you. He snorts softly. You have a knack for using that sharp wit to diffuse, but he doesn’t feel manipulated. You actually are funny. “I was hoping you’d explain your concerns.”

Smooth segue, he thinks, his eyes narrowing appraisingly. He’s worked enough interviews to know when he’s being led, but he takes the bait anyways, widening his smile.

“Sounds great.”

Homelander knows that you’re sharp, good at your job, but he needs to needle you into giving him what he wants. He wants to understand you, and the stack of his films he found hidden in your apartment. What he gets in the meantime is ample taste of your silver tongue, parrying his every jab with an equally sharp counter.

He can’t keep the smile from his face.

Gradually a level of familiarity slips into the air between you. He can see some of that tension in your shoulders easing. He’s steadily wearing down the walls you’ve managed to construct.

“I still think audiences will be confused,” he says, feigning a profound concern, stretching out the time of your little appointment.

“Well, audiences are a lot like celebrities,” you say, the hard candied shell of your professional exterior thinning with every back and forth, poised to crack at any second. “They’re smarter than we think they are.”

“Oohh, ouch,” he purrs. “Nice backhand you got there.”

A twitch at the corner of your mouth. He knows you’re fighting a smile of your own, and pride blooms warmly in his chest. He likes sparring with you, but he likes pleasing you even more.

“I disagree about market confusion. Your diehard audience will already be up to speed, your broader target audience will show up for anything with your face on it, and anyone more casual than that likely won’t have seen the miniseries anyways, so there’s nothing to confuse it with,” you say, scanning down through one of the pages of the document he gave you.

Perfect opening.

“And which audience is it you fall into, exactly?” He asks, cocking his head a degree. “I mean, given your position, I have to imagine you’ve seen my range of film and television.”

“I’ve done my due diligence,” you say vaguely. You’re good at answering without answering. Normally it would irritate him, but your forced aloofness combined with your closely guarded–and inexplicably secret–veneration of him makes it into tantalizing bait begging for the sharp sink of his teeth.

“So you’ve seen all my movies, then?” He extrapolates, setting a line of his own.

You chuckle, gaze flickering to him before back down to the pages. Too brief a glance to even come close to satisfying his hunger. “I didn’t say that.”

He scoffs lightly. “But you’re a fan of mine?”

“I definitely didn’t say that.” He can sense he’s hit a vein, and like any good predator would, he’s eager to bite into it.

“C’mon. Don’t tell me you’re shy,” he continues to prod, leaning forward slightly in his seat.

You inhale a breath that you barely prevent from sounding too obviously irritated. His grin remains untarnished by the scrutiny of your unwavering stare. There it is, that’s what he wants. The weight of your gaze upon him, evaluating, taking him in fully. He doesn’t care how he gets it, he just knows he wants it.

“You are shy,” he accuses, knowing you aren’t.

“I’m not shy, I’m a professional,” you say curtly, the scratch of your pen scathing while you write notations on the document.

Good, he thinks. More likely to slip up now.

“Jeeze,” he laughs. “You’re wound up tighter than my fictional manager in Darkest Day.”

“You didn’t have a manager in Darkest Day, that was Origins,” you correct. After a beat, your hand stills.

Homelander’s gaze slowly slides to meet yours. He watches your face fall and clicks his tongue. He positively relishes how your mask of indifference slips into subtle dismay at your misstep. Such a simple bit of trivia, and yet it spoke volumes.

Got’cha.

“You do watch my movies,” he said, tone dropping to a near whisper. He revels in the quiet way you groan, leaning back in your chair.

“Only the ones I was paid to,” you say, straightening up in your chair, but he can hear the defeat in your voice.

“Liar,” he says through his perpetual grin. “Don’t be embarrassed. How long have you been a fan?”

“Stop,” you say, burying your face in your hands. Oh, this is good. Was he your first crush? Your favorite hero? He must be still, judging by the flush of heat moving through you. All that pretense, all that haughty glowering, and beneath it all you’re a fan girl. He almost laughs at the thought of the face you’d make if he called you that.

“Which was your favorite?” He asks, burying the knife deeper, eager to cut through flesh and muscle and bone to get to the heart of truth beneath. “Bright World? Rise of a Hero? Justice Dawning?”

“I despise you,” you say melodramatically, digging your thumbs into your temples. “Also, Justice Dawning was cheesy, I’m offended you’d even offer it.” You try not to smile, but it happens anyway, and as soon as that secret little smile sneaks onto your lips it brightens Homelander’s eyes, reflecting your amusement back to you. Not just that, but amplifying it.

“You’ll learn to love me,” he tells you with confidence. You drop your hands, looking at him with subtle surprise. He holds your gaze. The earnestness of his words seems to dispel your mortification and replaces it with something more difficult to define, but he likes the shine it brings to your eyes.

The taste of your defeat is sumptuous. He’d prefer licking it straight from your tongue, but he’ll settle for this for the time being. An easiness settles into the air between you, deeper even than before your hackles rose with the lurking reality of your hidden opinion of him. It’s like a bubble has popped, dissipating uncomfortable tension, replacing it with something warmer.

He has every intention of turning up the heat even further.

The meeting moves forward. You work your way through his folder, and during a natural lull in conversation, he finally broaches the topic that’s been plaguing him since he stepped into your office.

“So,” he begins, interlacing his gloved fingers in his lap. “Gonna tell me what you’re all dressed up for?” He asks, wearing the same smile and speaking in the same tone he had when he baited you into admitting your secret love affair with his cinema.

He wants to hear you say that it’s for him, but he’ll settle for a flustered deflection. They’re as good as the same.

“Oh,” you huff with an airy little laugh, the sound like silver bells chiming. “I have a date tonight.”

You say something else, but Homelander doesn’t hear it over the tidal-like rush in his ears. He watches your pretty lips form words that he can’t understand. Everything falls out of focus as he tightly reins in the white hot rush of furious jealousy that floods his gut and erupts up the back of his throat like bile. He swallows the burn of it, jaw tight, and manages a tense smile.

“Great,” he barks, not realizing–or perhaps not caring–that he interrupted you. “First date?”

“First date,” you confirm, your tone less conversational than it had been a beat ago. The walls are going back up, but he’s too fixated on what feels like a stabbing betrayal.

“Exciting,” he says, adjusting his tone and mannerisms until they once more resemble something genuine. Something civil, despite the hostility in his gut. “Someone you know? Going anywhere special?”

“No, and not really,” you say evasively. He loathes how withdrawn you’ve become. You should be pleased he’s put off. Gloating even. It’s proof he cares, isn’t it? “It was his suggestion.” His. The leather of Homelander’s glove creaks subtly in the fist he makes. “I forget the name of the place,” you say, avoiding his gaze.

His right cheek tics. Liar, liar, pants on fire. People always underestimate his ability to read them.

You’ll learn not to lie to him.

“But you have an out if you need it, don’t you? Someone to bail you out in case he turns out to be some kind of freak,” he says, huffing the word with a lick of venom. It takes significant effort to keep the disdain from his face to imagine you as you are now sitting across from some nobody schmuck, lit by candlelight and smiling sweetly for them instead of for him.

“I always do,” you say, smiling thinly. He curates his own tone often enough to hear it in yours, and it pierces his ears like a thistle. He taps his fingers on his thigh, scrounging for something, anything else to needle you for, but your responses don’t give him much to work with.

“Well. If you did need someone–”

“I’m a big girl,” you interrupt, surprising him. He’s rarely interrupted. “I can take care of myself.”

At that, a thought strikes him. The slack line of his lips curls into a thin smile, and his hands relax on the armrests of the chair.

“I’m sure you can.”

Shaking off the aftermath of your one-on-one with Homelander proves to be more difficult than you’d anticipated. You replay it nearly moment for moment in your mind while freshening up after work.

Homelander has an uncanny knack for moving through demeanors as though he’s trying hats, determining which one best suits the situation. One moment he’s a slick carnivore licking his chops in anticipation of his meal to come, and the next he’s every ounce the hero they market him as. He’d been relentlessly charming during the meeting, his charismatic smile becoming one you’d wanted to earn again and again.

Then came the news of your date, and all at once Homelander possessed the ominous calm of a sentient statue. The moment still sends an eerie chill down your spine, even in recollection. How radically his appearance can change with mood or thought alone. You’d hate to ever see him truly angry.

“Get a hold of yourself,” you say to the bathroom mirror. You have a date tonight, and the last thing you need is to bring this kind of nervous energy to it. Powers or not, the commonality of man is easy to rely on, and you’ve developed the tactical mindset of an aloof cat. Never beg for what can be given freely. Never give more than you get. Never settle. “Be the cat,” you tell yourself affirmatively.

A directive which, unfortunately, winds up being exceedingly easy to follow through the course of your date. James, bless his heart, struggles to wring more than the occasional piteous chuckle from you. Conversation with him is akin to drinking seltzer water–he is neither offensive nor particularly exciting, being only a step above plain water.

Perhaps James’ blandness isn’t entirely his own fault, but rather the basis of comparison he is subjected to. Throughout the night, you find yourself critical of the way he looks at you–or rather, the way he fails to look at you. Your thoughts keep drifting back to your meeting with Homelander and the way he looks at you. The intense ocean-blue caress of his eyes summons a blush to your cheeks even in hindsight.

He looks at you in a way that no one else does. It's as if he's trying to memorize the smallest details in your skin, to uncover every secret trapped behind your guarded gaze. He has a stare determined to lay you entirely bare to him.

James’ wine dulled ogling could hardly hold a candle to that. Looking into his eyes, you see only the planning for whatever dullard comment he was going to make next.

Still, it’s not until the end of your date–an exceptionally long two and a half hours thanks to a mishap with your order–that James displays a behavior unsavory enough to elicit a truly unpleasant feeling in you. He’s quite clingy after a few too many glasses of wine. He walks you out of the restaurant with an arm around your waist, and more than once you have to bat his hand away from the seam where your blouse is tucked into your skirt.

“You in the parking garage or the back lot?” He asks, smiling in a way he must mean to be salacious, eyes half-lidded like he’s lost control of them.

“The back lot.” Parking was a nightmare with how late you arrived after work. “Is that where you are?” You ask, hoping it isn’t.

“No, no, I actually took an Uber in,” he says, and you know immediately by the way he starts tapping your hip with his index finger why he chose to do that.

“Want me to wait for you here until your Uber arrives, then?” You ask, turning out of his grasp to stand face to face with him outside of the restaurant. It’s late enough now that the streets have calmed some, at least by New York’s standards.

James’ expression falters, but he tries for a recovery with a hopeful smile. “Well, you know, I was sort of hoping we might continue this elsewhere,” he says, slipping his hands into his pockets. Is he trying to look suave?

“Oh, no,” you say, putting forth your very best sympathetic head tilt, matched with a well placed brow furrow. “No thank you.”

This time his expression doesn’t recover. His hands lift from his pocket and he makes a helpless gesture with them, very nearly pleading. “Really? I thought we were having a nice time.”

“And I’m so glad for that,” you say, and even you can hear the corporate edge sliding into your tone, which doesn’t seem to soothe him any. “But it’s for the best that we part ways here, James. Thanks for your time.”

“But–” Your inarguable dismissal staggers him. He gropes for recourse. “I paid,” he blurts out, which proves to be his final mistake.

Your polite facade drops. “For what?“ His booze addled panic shifts into confusion. “F…For dinner, but I didn’t mean–”

“And that entitles you to fuck me?” No sense in mincing words now.

His expression morphs again, this time into mortification. “No! No, but–”

“You thought this would be a transaction? God, and here I was thinking your gravest flaw would be how mind-numbingly boring you are. But to be boring and stupid?” You scoff, waving a dismissive hand. “Goodnight, James,” you say, the kindest dismissal you can muster. You turn on your heel before he can sour the evening any further, and luckily for him, he doesn’t pursue you further.

Unbelievable. As if you hadn’t offered to split the check. As if he expected it to be a transaction that he cashed in your bed. As if the cost of dinner was worth anything more than a polite smile from you. As if.

New York doesn’t sleep, but it does grow very, very dark. You’re on a narrow street, not an alley exactly, but not a main road, either. Still riled up, you bring up the parking app on your phone as you walk, swiping through to get ready to pay for your crummy back lot space. A clatter brings your attention up, and that’s when you see them—two men. One wearing a black leather jacket, the other with a kerchief slung around his throat.

You stop walking, caught between turning around, which would mean putting your back to the men up ahead, or continuing forward, which would mean passing within arm’s reach. They haven’t noticed you yet, or at least they’re pretending not to, but now they look right at you and smile.

The men don’t look dangerous, not like they do in the movies, but you know that means nothing—plenty of the worst people in the world looked safe. Yet the longer you stay put, the more you sense the ill intent wafting off of them like cheap cologne. “Hey, baby,” says one of them, moving toward you. “You lost?”

“No,” you say curtly, taking a step back. “Not lost. Excuse me.”

“You sure? We’re real good with directions,” says the second man, leering. Your eyes snap between them, phone clutched tight in your hand. “Y’look like you could use some.”

“No,” you say again, louder. How loud would you need to be for anyone to hear you over the sounds of the streets? Panic swells in your throat.

You don’t know how they got so close so quickly, but as you turn to run, a hand catches your collar. The guy in the leather jacket wrenches you back against him, one arm wrapping around your shoulders. Your phone clatters to the ground.

“Hey now, what’s the rush?” He asks, yanking you backwards. “Get off me,” you snarl, but he’s squeezing you tightly across the chest, making it hard to think, let alone breathe. You struggle until you feel something hard dig into your hip. A knife? No. You realize coldly that it’s a gun, the handle of it jutting out from his waistband and digging into you. In a desperate bid, you twist in his grip, trying to grab it.

“Careful,” says the other one, moving in front of you, closing in. “She’s got spirit.”

You kick out at the other guy but he jumps back, laughing at you. They’re both laughing, relishing in your fear. Your fingers skim the gun, but you can’t quite get it.

The first man’s breath is hot and sour on your cheek. “Come on, now, let’s have some fun.” You slam your head back into his nose—or try to, but you only manage to clip his chin. Still, you hit bone, hear the crack of a tooth, and just like that you’re free, stumbling to your hands and knees as the man reels. You hit the ground hard, the shock of landing lancing pain through your arms and legs. The gun tumbles from his waistband. Without thinking twice you lunge for it, fingers successfully closing around the grip right before one of the men grabs your ankle and pulls.

The street bites into your elbows and scrapes your knee bloody as you twist around and raise the gun, barrel leveled at the man’s heart. “LET GO!” You scream, heart hammering against your chest. “Oh shit,” says the man in the kerchief, eyes wide at seeing you armed, but the other one sneers at you, blood spilling from his mouth. There’s fury in his eyes, and the unmistakable intent to hurt you. “You ever held a gun that big, baby?”

“Let go,” you say again, voice firmer than the tremble of your hands. Your finger flexes on the trigger.

“You even know how to use it?” He asks, using his grip on your ankle to pull himself over you, his other hand falling to your thigh. He gives a pointed squeeze as he lifts himself up to tower above you. He reaches to take hold of you again, but you won’t let him. Can’t let him.

“Yes.” You squeeze the trigger as you say it, bracing for the recoil, the bang. It’s always so loud in the movies.

Nothing happens. You panic, looking at the weapon in your hands in dull shock. The safety isn’t on. You pull the trigger again, but the chamber rings hollow. It isn’t loaded. You look up at the man as his shadow falls over you. He bares his teeth at you, painted an ugly dark red with the blood spilling from his mouth. The man laughs, a short barking sound, and knocks the gun from your hands with a harsh slap. It goes skidding away.

“Stupid bitch,” he says, raising his boot as if you were an oversized bug, something to crush. You close your eyes and scream as he brings it down hard.

Or at least, he started to, but his leg locks up halfway, and then he topples, a single horrifying sound leaking from his clenched teeth. Your eyes open just in time to see his body hit the ground, a smoldering wound smoking from his chest. An instant later, the second man falls. This time you see the flash of crimson light that drops him.

Homelander’s cape billows in the wind with all the majesty of the flag it’s designed after as he descends from the sky. He lands in front of you, backlit by the distant street lights that give him an artificial glow. He’s beautiful, a perfectly manufactured angel delivered straight from some market tested Heaven.

“Hey, you hurt?” He asks, reaching for you.

Awestruck, all you can do is stare at his outstretched hand. Tears well in your eyes. Shock is setting in the aftermath of all that adrenaline in your veins crashing your system. Through the blur of your tears, Homelander’s expression shifts from concern to that of determination.

“It’s alright, I’m here now. They can’t hurt you,” he says, bringing your arm around his neck while he slips his own around your waist, effortlessly lifting you from the ground. Before your gaze can drift to the corpses–whose burning flesh you can smell mingling with the acrid city air–Homelander rotates, taking them from your line of sight.

With a flourish, he unhitches his cape from his shoulders and swings the fabric over yours. It settles on you heavier than you expected it to be, and impossibly warm. Moving back in, Homelader readily takes you back into his arms. He cradles you in his embrace, one hand cupping the back of your head, the other drawing lines up and down your back.

You try to choke out a sound, to ask him, how? How did he find you? How did he know you needed him? But none of the noises you make form any actual words. Your throat is too tight, and your tongue feels too big for your mouth, gnarled silent by panic. Everything is just too much. Your breaths only grow sharper as tears burn hot streaks down your face.

“Sssshhhhhhh,” he shushes by your ear, lifting you just enough to keep you on your feet, but take the weight of your body from you. His hold is compressive, but not oppressive. It takes everything you have left to lift your other arm around his neck while the sobs overtake you. He continues to hush you, whispering a menagerie of honeyed assurances in your ear, the core sentiment always the same.

I’ve got you. You’re safe now. I won’t let anyone hurt you.

You cry harder, coiling your arms tighter around his neck. He lets you cling to him, lets you sob away your makeup and soak the collar of his suit with the mess of it.

You don’t know how much time passes in your addled state of panic, but eventually your breaths begin to even out, though your heart continues to thunder. Your body isn’t convinced that the danger has vanished yet, eager to turn to flight now that your fight has gone.

“That’s it, just like that,” Homelander praises. “Breathe. Breathe. Good… Light as a feather now, okay? Like you can fly,” he tells you. The weightlessness you feel in his arms helps the idea, helps you to feel like you aren’t being crushed by the terrible weight of such a moment of horror. That’s all it had been, a moment–two at most–and yet the torment of it had felt hours long. Exhaustion falls over you in the wake of adrenaline, and you’re glad for Homelander’s arms around you. You doubt you’d be standing without them.

“Home,” you manage to croak. “Please.” You can still smell the man’s sour breath, the memory even more powerful than the stench of reality.

“I can take you home,” he coos, maintaining that same soothing tone of comfort. “Is that what you want?”

You nod, focusing instead on the vetiver fresh smell of him. You’ve never been near enough to him before to notice it, but now you fixate on it. Anything to drown out the stink of the alley. He smells so much cleaner, like fresh linen drying over green grass in the summer sun.

His arms flex around you before he adjusts them, lifting you smoothly into his arms. Your stomach flips the way it does when you go down a hill in the backseat of a car, gravity loosening its hold on you. You can feel the motion all around you, the wind ghosting over you, but Homelander himself feels motionless against you.

Flying. He’s flying. And so are you.

His cape shields you from the night air bite, pulled snug around you and secured where your bodies are pressed together. You haven’t felt like this since you were a child, cradled with such care and strength that feels beyond your comprehension. Homelander serves as both place and person–somewhere safe, someone kind–and you tuck yourself closer into the sanctuary of his arms, hands fisted in the protective fabric of his cape.

“I’ve got’cha,” he assures you, voice warm in your ear.

Without a shadow of a doubt, you believe him.

Homelander doesn’t need to ask where you live. It’s an easy detail to brush off if you question him. He doubts you will with the way you’re clinging to him, though. You feel good in his arms, settling so naturally against the contours of them he might convince himself you belong here. He doesn’t mind your weeping when it comes with your arms around him, fingertips brushing the nape of his neck.

A small shiver rolls down his spine.

Of all the ways Homelander expected the evening to unfold, he hadn’t properly anticipated you. While he cradles you, he replays again and again the moment you were snatched. You fought without hesitation. You wrenched the gun free. The fierceness in your eyes as you aimed it had been exquisite. The resolve in your gaze as you fired it even more so.

He’d known you were confident, but that kind of clawing survival can only be learned of a person in action. He’s known many supposedly strong people–supe and human alike–who walk as stone giants, but shatter like glass when faced with any real danger.

You couldn’t have known that you weren’t in any real danger. You couldn’t have known that he’d told those thugs to scare you, but not hurt you. You couldn’t have known he’d ensured the gun wasn’t loaded. You fought as though it was for your life, and it enthralled him.

He hadn’t planned on killing them in front of you. They would have been loose ends to tie up after his heroic rescue, but somewhere along the line that stupid bastard lost the thread. He hurt you, bloodied those pretty knees of yours, and he moved to strike you. To grind you beneath his heel as if you were the vermin instead of him. For that–and for so flagrantly going against Homelander’s own direct order–you witnessed his downfall.

As far as he’s concerned now, everything happened precisely as it needed to. You’re in his arms now, and he’s still half hard from witnessing you choose fight when your instincts kicked in. You’re too fragile to choose it so readily. Your bones feel bird-like compared to the scope of his strength. Hollow and brittle. You would make for a hell of a supe, though.

Still, he won’t break you. He’s spent his entire life learning what it takes to snap bones like party favors, and more crucially, what it takes not to. Yours are safe from him. In fact, you’re the safest person in the whole world now.

Homelander glides down to a soft landing on your driveway. Your car will be an issue for another time. For now, he walks you to your front door before gently placing you on your feet.

“Believe this is you, young lady,” he says, leaving space for plausible deniability. If it occurs to you to interrogate him about it, it doesn’t show on your face. With hands still softly trembling, you fish your keys out of your purse. He watches you fumble with them for only a moment before he steps in behind you, one hand gripping your upper arm to steady and pause you while the other covers your shaking hand, helping you to slide the key into the lock and turn it.

Your hand fits nicely in his.

“Thanks,” you whisper. It’s the first thing you’ve said since asking him to take you home. He takes the liberty of opening the door for you while he’s at it, swinging it wide to allow you in. You grab his forearm, and he thinks you’re only balancing yourself, but when you don’t let go he steps with you, letting you lean on him as you guide him into your home. He closes the door behind the two of you, smiling to himself.

He may not need an invitation to enter, but it’s charming to have one.

Your movements are stiff, a slight limp to your gait. You fell hard, and the delicate flesh of your knee had ripped apart against the concrete when you were dragged. You hesitate at the stairs, but Homelander doesn’t. You inhale sharply when he scoops you back up into his arms with ease and starts up the stairs. He keeps his gaze ahead, but he can feel yours on him.

“Thanks,” you say again, the word barely more than a hiccup, adjusting his cape over yourself like a blanket.

“It’s what heroes are for.” He smiles. It’s a party line, one he’s said a hundred thousand times before, but you make him mean it. This is what heroes are for. To be worshiped and loved, understood deeper than pop stars and false idols like them. There’s a reverence in your stare that transcends the vapid starstruck way most people look at him. You understand now. You know how much more he is.

He brings you to your bedroom and sets you on the edge of the bed, adjusting his cape back up over your shoulders. You’ve scarcely let go of it since he wrapped you in it. Will you sleep with it tonight? He bets you will. The thought sends a pleasant tingle through him.

“Alright, let’s get a look at those knees,” he says, crouching in front of you. There’s blood running down your left shin. He lifts the edge of your skirt hem just enough to catch a glimpse of shredded skin. It looks rough, dirty and embedded with bits of debris. He blows out a breath. “Got a first aid kit?”

You nod numbly. “Under the bathroom sink.”

It’s odd to see you so subdued. He forgets sometimes that you humans can be as emotionally fragile as you are physically. Surely the death of two measly thugs isn’t enough to break you.

Rising, he moves to your bathroom. He feels slightly unbalanced without the sway of his cape behind him, the garment as integral to his physicality as any limb. He rummages through until his hand lands on a bright red fabric pack with a zipper. He gives it a little toss and catches it, bringing it back to you, alongside a wetted towel. He gives the pack a victorious little shake.

“H’okay, down to business.” Homelander kneels before you, splaying open the kit and placing it on your lap. He’s never used one of these before, but he’s pretended to do it on set. How different can it be? He cups your leg, thumb absently smoothing back and forth on your skin while he uses the towel to gently wipe up the blood, dirt and debris from your shin and knee.

You flinch, tense a moment before you relax. “Homelander, you really don’t have to–”

“Am I doing a bad job?” He asks, glancing up at you through his lashes. There’s a playful lilt to his voice.

“I didn’t mean it like that,” you say, the smallest hint of exasperation in your voice. He’s pleased to hear it. Perhaps you’re less wilted from the encounter than he thought. “I just mean that I can–”

“I know you can,” he says, and this time he definitely sees a flare of annoyance. You don’t like being interrupted any more than he does, but you don’t protest further. He smiles, triumphant, and focuses back on the task at hand, petting you the same way one might soothe a wild animal.

There’s a novelty in doing this for real that he hadn’t anticipated. It’s entirely unlike wiping away congealed red corn syrup from an actor. Your skin is sweeter, softer. He suddenly resents his gloves for the barrier they provide, despite his usual reliance for that very thing. He’s meticulous in flicking out the little stones embedded in your skin, spotting each one with ease.

Next, he tears open the alcohol wipes with his teeth and uses them to disinfect, rubbing at the sores. You flinch, sucking in a loud breath through your teeth. “Oopsy-daisy,” he says, switching to gently patting. He has no real concept of what you’re feeling right now. He’s never had a scraped knee before. The scientists at Vought had to get much more creative in order to gauge his capacity for healing.

He imagines they were disappointed to realize that, once damaged, he healed as slowly as a human.

“How’d you find me?” You ask, snapping him out of his unpleasant reminiscence. Your shock seems to have worn off entirely. You look more present, alert to his every move.

“Heard you scream,” he answers simply, unraveling a roll of gauze. That much is true.

“But how? How did you know where I was?” You push, watching him wind the white material around your knee.

“I didn’t,” he lies smoothly. He’s followed enough scripts in his life to do so very well. “If I’d known exactly where you were, I would have been there sooner. I was minding my business on 5th Avenue when I heard you. Familiar voices can…” He makes a vague gesture. “Cut through the din. Voices I want to hear.”

He thinks he catches you flush at that. Just a touch. He bites back a smirk, pleased with himself. Does it matter if it’s true when it makes you look at him like that?

“I didn’t know your hearing worked like that,” you say, fidgeting with the hem of his cape.

His gaze flickers up every so often to watch your finger pick at the seam, inexplicably charmed by it. “Well, there’s some things not even a super fan can glean,” he teases, securing the gauze with tape. He expects to see a familiar indignation in your expression, but when he looks up, he’s caught off guard by the unmistakable fondness in your eyes.

“I was over the moon when I got my job at Vought,” you say quietly, like you’re whispering in a confessional. “I always wanted to work with heroes.”

“With me?” He pushes, lifting his brows.

Very slightly, you smile. “Yeah. With you.”

“Busted,” he says, his own voice equally soft.

You give him a little nudge with your foot. “Gauze won’t stay by itself. Need to use a roll of self-adhesive wrap,” you say, plucking the beige roll from the kit. He likes the shy warmth in your voice. He would have done much worse to see this side of you. Have the intimacy of your pain, fear and relief all to himself. This glowing affection you’re so full of. He feels drunk on the cocktail of it all.

“Right, obviously,” he says, taking the wrapping from you. “I knew that.”

“Probably should have put a gauze pad under it, too,” you continue, eyes heavily lidded, expression soft.

“Everyone’s a critic,” he laments, affixing the textured bandage around the gauze. You laugh, and the sound of it feels like a space he could belong in.

He checks your other knee, your elbows and your palms, but nowhere else on you calls for anything more than some antiseptic and a few bandaids. With the wrappings secure, he shuffles the mess of supplies haphazardly back into the kit, zipping it up much more bulging and misshapen a state than he found it in. He pushes it under the bed with the towel atop it, standing.

“Good as new. Or close to it,” he says, making a small show of dusting off his hands for a job well done.

You stand, letting his cape slide off of your shoulders for the first time since he put it on you, the fabric pooling on the bed. You step forward, and of all the things he expects in this moment, you blow them out of the water by suddenly wrapping your arms around him, the soft curves of your body slotting against his in a way that trips something primal and needy in him. He puts his arms around you the second the shock wears off, holding you with the barest fraction of his strength.

Tension drains from your body. Were you nervous he wouldn’t reciprocate? It’s an endearing thought. He gives a deeper, brief squeeze. He can’t remember the last time someone held him.

“Thank you,” you say after a long beat, drawing back. He reluctantly loosens his grip, but not by much. He’s loath to relinquish you so soon after he’s gotten hold of you. “It’s not enough, but I don’t know what could ever be.”

I could make a few suggestions, he thinks, but he doesn’t give voice to the lewd thoughts that follow.

“I’ll never forget what you did for me tonight,” you say. Your face is so near to his, it makes it difficult to focus on anything other than the curve of your lips as you speak.

Instead of responding, Homelander leans in, eyes falling shut.

“Oh,” you say sharply, your soft body suddenly going tense in his arms, stopping him in his tracks. Both of your hands are braced against his chest now, creating a distance that feels craterous.

He blinks, brows furrowed in confusion. “What?”

“I’m really tired,” you say, tone shifting to mild diffusion. It reminds him of the way you spoke to James, and his ego stings with both the rejection and the comparison. He’d laughed listening to you reject that pathetic, simpering man. It seems less funny now.

He scoffs an incredulous little huff. But I saved you, he thinks, indignant panic flaring in his chest. To his dismay, however, the thought doesn’t sound like his own voice. It sounds like James’.

But I paid!

Repulsed, Homelander swallows the thought like bile. If the comparison comes so readily to his own mind, there’s no way you won’t make the connection yourself. He feels his skin prickle like there are fire ants crawling beneath his suit. The memory of James’ pathetic begging is the only thing that keeps his composure together.

“Of course you are,” he says tightly. His smile is forced, slightly too wide. “You should sleep. Rest up. Take the day off tomorrow,” he says stiffly, rattling off lines like they’re pre-recorded. Only then does he surrender his hold on you, hands moving to his hips instead. You take a step back, and he stands straighter to disguise the sting of rejection.

“Thank you,” you say, tone indecipherable. It’s full to the brim with something, but nothing Homelander can parse in his current state. “I–”

“No need,” he dismisses, jumping on the opportunity to end the conversation on his terms. “Really. Just doing my job,” he says, tossing you a little two-finger salute off of his brow, already moving towards your balcony door. You don’t move, watching him from the foot of your bed, arms wrapped around yourself.

“Catch you at the office,” he says. He knows he’s speaking too quickly, but it’s all he can do to keep himself in check. Anger and misery broil in him like vinegar and baking soda, the caustic brew threatening to erupt.

“Okay,” you say, which isn’t particularly what he wants to hear. He turns his back to you, and his smile drops, his ego violently stung. With a force that billows wind through your bedroom, he takes off into the night sky.

You just weren’t ready, he tells himself, gritting his teeth. It’s easier to be angry than embarrassed. He wants to make as much distance between himself and your rejection, flying higher and higher until frost begins collecting on his lashes. He flies until there’s no sound, no oxygen, no life but his own. He flies until gravity releases him and he can finally relax, suspended by cold, vast space.

The earth glows beneath him, reflecting the light of the sun where it illuminates a distant portion of the globe.

Closing his eyes, he tips his head back.

He’ll fix this.

( chapter four )

#heavy breathing #icb i actually did it #tysm to everyone who let me scream and cry at them about this fic as i wrestled nonstop with it #homelander x you #homelander x reader #x reader #homelander fanfiction #yandere x reader #my writing

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sapchat · 9 months ago

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Ways to add simple little details to Prythian in your stories!

For the Autumn Court this one is basic and many people use it: Males gift their fiancées, wives, mates fox kits as a symbol of their love and good luck with the relationship. To make it sadder, Beron never did this for Lady A, so when Eris found out about this tradition he got his mom one!

For the Dawn Court: Like how the night court Illyrians put the women down, what if the Dawn Court was the opposite and the Peregryn females would put the males down. In the real world male birds are held to a high standard for breeding, I feel like Peregryn instincts would cause this and it just gives more to a story than the females constantly being the abused. Also they’re stomach/side sleepers. I talk more about this below with the night court just to not repeat myself.

Day Court is full of bastards. You can NOT convince me that it isn’t. Helion is laying the fucking pipe like he’s discovered oil. And the reason I feel this is because of @florencemtrash ‘s story “The Shadow and the Inkbird” (also it’s really good go read it if you haven’t) where the MFC is Helions bastard, and meets Lucien and instantly realizes that they’re halfsiblings. And I was like ya know the Day Court is probably like Game of Thrones Dorne. Dorne is know for their bastards almost every persons name in that city is ‘Sand’ because they’re all bastards basically. So I just KNOW that Helion probably has other kids than just Lucien. And everyone in that court is fucking.

Summer Court has mermaids. It’s basic, it’s simple and it’s true. There’s mermaids.

Night Court, listen we already now a lot about the Nigh Court but this pertains to Illyrian’s so I feel it’s different. They’re stomach/side sleepers. They are. You can’t tell me that two massive wing sticking out of your back would allow you to lay on your back. It can’t be comfortable. Like have you ever tried sleeping with like a ponytail/claw clip in? It ain’t nice. Now imagine it with two that sit right beside your shoulder blades and the clips are like 3ft long? Idk how long the base would be but like probably pretty fucking long to allow actual flight capabilities. Also when they sleep on their side they just have their wings straight out, now like laying on one and the other out. They’ve got big ass beds for a reason spread out. (Cassian fully takes up a bed like star fish style just on his stomach. Nesta is sick of it.)

Spring Court, during the Spring Equinox the High Lord chooses someone to dress up and hand out spring gifts to family’s (usually kids). When Tamlin became High Lord he appointed himself to do so. During this time Tamlin also gives many of the less fortunate families something they can later use for the Tithe.

Winter Court puts on a celebration for the children called Three Kings Day. Family’s with children are welcomed to the castle(? Do they have castles…?) and the bakers leave a cake outside the doors of the family, inside the cakes (this is a real thing from Puerto Rico/France/Spain too btw, the cake is called la galette des rois (Kings Cake)) are toys/coins. Whichever children find them get to wear a crown for the day and called Kings/Queens (Kallias started the tradition that all kids get to do this, he’s a softy).

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sigh-tofm · 2 months ago

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currently watching a reality/docu show about game wardens and i despise putting these men in us based scenarios but imagine…

… working in a 24/7 diner and regularly getting all sorts of law enforcement throughout the night, looking for a pick-me-up before they head back out again. your favourite is the big captain with a silver star and everything, who doesn’t really go on a patrols or calls anymore but still stops by your diner as often as he can. he’s ridiculously handsome in the rugged, brutish way, with a smiling lines around his eyes and impressive facial hair. always gets coffee and a slice of pie, always asks for a refill so he can watch your broad ass as you walk away when you retrieve the coffee pot. you kinda know what he’s about when he does that, but you don’t mind in the least letting him have his fun and wiggle your hips a little extra - he’s otherwise polite and a good tipper too. you don’t know it yet, but one of these days he’ll be waiting by your car for you to finish your shift and convince you to take him home with you.

… spending a summer day out on the lake, tanning in the back of bowrider you borrowed from your friend when you hear another boat coming up, motor idly working as the driver lets the waves bring him closer to you. you prepare to be annoyed at yet another guy who finds it hilarious to make fun of a fat girl in a bikini, but when you sit up you see it’s a game warden boat and aboard is the single most handsome man you have ever seen in your life, even though his face is shaded by his cap. he asks you all the important questions about boating licenses and life jackets, and you answer them all with a wavering voice, made a little nervous by this god of a man. he mistakes (on purpose) your hesitation as being under the influence and makes you do a breathalyser test. looks you straight in the eyes while you lock your lips around the tube to blow and taps your nose with his finger when the machine beeps and proclaims your innocence.

… being out hunting on the first day of the season and being stopped for a control by a game warden. you’re a good girl, you have everything in order, you tell him as he checks your gun, sticking his finger into the tube magazine to make sure that you don’t carry too many shotgun shells. he gives you a wry smile and asks for your hunting license and you pull out your wallet, only to find that you forgot it at home. he returns to his truck to check with dispatch to see if your story is true, if you really do have a hunting license in your name. proceeds to tell you your license is from last year and that you’re breaking multiple laws here. no license (even though you know you have one), lying to an officer (even though you’re speaking the truth) and hunting on private property (even though you’ve sure you didn’t see any signs about that coming in here). but you can’t prove any of that of course, not out here. seems you’re got yourself in quite the pickle, little lady. luckily warden mactavish is willing to let you make it right without giving you any fines.

… calling in about an owl that has gotten inside your house in the middle of the night. waiting in trepidation at the door so as not to agitate the animal further, only wearing your short dressing gown when there’s suddenly knocking. you open to find the biggest man you’ve ever seen standing on the porch, and you’re about to slam the door on him when he puts his foot in the door and announces he’s here about a bird. you nervously open the door again and he steps inside, having to turn sideways to fit his massive shoulders through the entryway. you point him to the living room where the owl is perched on your curtain rod. in less than three minutes he’s located it, caught it with his skeleton-gloved hands (not minding the talons at all) and taken it outside to release it. you’re ready to thank him and bid him adieu, but he shoulders his way back inside to straighten up the curtains again and sweep up the feathers, a service you didn’t know they provided. at last he stands up to his full height and looks you up and down, from your messy hair to your thick thighs. ‘now, about that bird…’

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brucewaynehater101 · 6 months ago

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I have an idea :D

I have this imagination that Tim would wear dresses that are from like those manhwa's Villainess. And I find it elegant that Tim probably would wear a sleeping gown to sleep.

Like imagine that in manor everyone from the Batfam would call Tim the "medieval ghost" because every night he would wear those long white nightgowns and jumscared them to the point that they have to remind Tim to wear something with colour in it.

I imagine this type ↓

(photo from a manhwa named : "The Beast Tamed by the Evil Woman")

Just Tim in some elegant nightgown because of how comfy it is. For this hc, I like to imagine his mom used to bond with him over it. They would chat about different styles, fabrics, patterns, etc.

He used to not wear them as often (partly due to fear of being ridiculed and partly due to being okay with "regular" ones). After his mom died, Tim started wearing them almost every night. It was a way to be close to her and honor her memory.

The first one he bought without her input made him sob for three days straight

#dc comics #tim drake #dc universe #thank you for the ask!!!!#janet drake #dc hc #batfam hc

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junniieesbby · 9 months ago

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༯ Teacher’s Pet |Choi Yeonjun ༯

Pairing: Professor Yeonjun x F!Student reader

Genre: Smut, Angst, forbidden romance, 10 year Age cap (reader is 22+ when they met).

WC: 2k

Rating: 18+ MDNI

Summary: Having dirty thoughts about one of your professors you couldn’t control yourself but to make them come true. Only for you to end up heartbroken after.

Warning: STRAIGHT FILTH. Lots of degradation. Reader is a brat. Use of pet names such as sir, Baby, teacher’s pet, Slut, Whore. Age Gap. Ass smacking, hair pulling. Spit.

Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. Nothing mentioned in this fiction represents any of the characters.

Song: Teacher’s Pet By: Melanie Martinez

A/N: I’m all for happy endings but um this one is not ending in one I fear not. Maybe if you guys want a part two but it won’t be anytime soon because your girl is heartbroken. A big shout out to my favorite people @boba-beom @lovejoshua @gyupremacy @honajoong @flwrseon for helping me with the header and me asking you guys a bunch of questions to see what fits most! And a special shout out for @boba-beom for giving me the glasses idea hehe. ILY guys💕I also would like to say if you want to see more scenarios that include age gap professor Yeonjun please send me an ask.

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

Your Favorite part about your English Literature course was the eye candy of a professor you had. He was a young professor and all the girls wanted to fuck him while all the boys wanted to be him. You couldn’t help but bite your lip at him every time you walked in the class, making sure you came early so you could get a seat in front of him. Everytime you walked in, his eyes would linger on you. You spent the time in his class daydreaming about all the different ways he would fuck you.

One morning you woke up bold and decided today would be the day. You did your hair and makeup. And you wore one of the shortest skirts you had. And went to class like usual early. As you walk in you swear you stopped breathing for a moment. He looked so fuckable in his outfit and those glasses of his. You felt yourself get wet just imagining riding him while taking those glasses off and wearing them to be a brat.

After class ended you waited until everyone was out so you could approach him. He was sitting slightly on his desk with his arms crossed “Is there a reason you stayed behind Miss Y/L/N?” He asked, looking you up and down. You walked up to him standing so close to him. You lifted one of your hands and placed it on his bulge. “Is it wrong that I’ve needed you to fuck me since the moment I saw you” you whisper to him. He takes his hand and lifts your chin up to look at him both your faces mere inches from each other. He sighs and moves away going to sit in his chair murmuring a “you’re young”. You didn’t care about the age, looking at him and saying “I know I'm young, but my mind is well beyond my years”. He shook his head and said “why do you need me to fuck you? You are my top student in all the classes I teach” he readjust his glasses. “don't care 'bout grades, just call me your Baby.” You slowly walk and stand in front of him.

“Fuck it” He whispers getting up walking to the door locking it. He marches towards you “tell me to not touch you and let you go and I will unlock that door and let you go, but if you don’t I will be fucking you so hard you won’t be able to move for days… so what is it going to be baby?” He got so close to you, your noses were touching. You knew this would be wrong but didn’t care you needed to feel him deep inside of you. “Fuck me Sir” Three words. It took three words for him to crash his lips down to yours while beginning to undo his pants and pulling his cock out.

“Did you decide to dress like a filthy slut for me? Did you want my cock that bad?” He reached inside your short skirt and started to rub circles on your clothed core. You couldn't believe he was finally touching you in ways you'd been dreaming about. “Be the good little teacher’s pet that you are and answer me when I am asking you questions.” He pinches your clit to get your attention. “Yes, Yes I dressed like a filthy slut for you. I need your cock sir been dying to have it inside of me” You moan when he moves the fabric aside and starts to slide his tip up and down coating his tip and your juices.

“Does my pretty girl need any prepping? Or should I just fuck her like shes been asking me to hmm?” His teasing was driving you crazy. “Fuck me please just fuck me” you try to move closer to him. He pummels inside of you without a warning, his thrusts going deep. Deeper than you’ve ever felt before. He started to move faster and harder with each thrust and you couldn’t help but clench and squeeze around him.

“Shit, pretty girl you keep doing that and I might just breed this sweet pussy…oh you like that? My little slut wants me to breed her doesn’t she?” The more he spoke the more you clenched around him. Yeonjun knew what he was doing. He was much older than you and you had little to no experience. The guys you had been with didn’t make you feel an ounce of how he was making you feel.

“Yes, yes right there sir oh fuck” You felt yourself getting closer and closer. Looking at his beautiful face you couldn’t help yourself but to slide his glasses off and wear them while holding onto his biceps for support. “You look so damn sexy in my glasses I will let it slide this time but act like a little brat again and I’ll show you what brats like you get” He starts to kiss your jaw and sucking your neck making sure to leave a few marks.

As you were about to come he pulled out and flipped you over taking one of your legs and putting it on his desk. He thrusted in you from behind and the new angle made your eyes roll in the back of your head. He pulled your hair bringing your head closer to him, hips not faltering one bit. He put his hand around your jaw and brought you even closer. “Open your mouth baby” and you do exactly what he says. He does something you least expect and it turns you on even more. He spits in your mouth then closes your mouth telling you to “swallow like a good girl” while bringing that same hand he had on your jaw down smacking your ass.

“Please, please I need to come let me come please” You beg him not able to resist your release any longer. “Just a few more seconds my love I’m right there with you” His tone changed and he softened down but his thrusts were sending you so close to the edge. After a few more seconds His thrust became slower and slopier. “Come for me baby, let go for me you’ve been such a good girl” as soon as he said that you came like you’ve never done before. Your legs were shaking, your mind was fuzzy, there was drool coming down your chin. He filled you up, and the feeling of his cum inside you lit a spark. You weren’t sure if this was one of your day dreams or a reality.

He pulled out and took your panties with him while bringing your skirt down. His cum was seeping out of you and he gathered it with his fingers pushing it back inside of you while he made you lick the rest of his fingers. “Can I have my panties back?” You ask him finally after you have recollected yourself. “No they are mine now and plus I want you walking while you feel my cum inside your sweet cunt.” He had a way with words that just made you melt.

You stood back on your feet going to grab your book bag and started walking to the door. “See you next week Mr.Choi” you say smiling. “Wait” you halt and turn around. “I need my glasses back” He says pointing to your face. “No they’re mine now and plus I want you to fuck me like your brat next time so I will be keeping them for now.” You say back turning around and walking around catching his little chuckle while saying “such a brat.” You get home and look at yourself in the mirror not believing the girl staring back at you. You looked like you had your soul fucked out of you. That night you went to bed in a really good mood.

*Time Skip*

Fucking Yeonjun became part of your routine. Some days you would go on your knees for him as he graded papers. Other days you cock warmed him which led to you acting out and getting put in your place. You two enjoyed each other’s company and the sex was euphoric.

You knew what you were doing was wrong, but he made you feel special and took care of your needs like no one could. Walking into class you shoot him a smile, but unlike how he would smile back at you the past month and a half he just nodded. You found it odd but didn’t pay much attention to it as you took your seat.

Even though you were the first to finish your quiz you decided to wait until the last person to turn their quiz in for you to finally get up. As per usual you hand him your paper and you go lock the door. Walking back to him saying “If I pass this quiz, will you give me your babies?” He chuckles sarcastically “You’re crazy” he said. Hurt by his words and unusual demeanor you looked him straight in the eyes and said “Don’t call me crazy” You go and stand in front of him. “What’s going on? We were just fine last week. Why are you being like this?” He sighs and turns his head. “You’re special, and you need someone just as special as you. You need someone your own age and better than me” Your tears pulled in your eyes at his words. “When Did I ask for any of that? Do you think I don’t know about our age gap? Was I not good enough? Do you regret the things we shared that I’ll never forget. Why are you not saying anything?” You grab his jaw and turn his face to look at you.

“I don’t regret a single moment with you Y/N, but you know this thing between us is wrong, we have to put an end to it now.” Tears were streaming down your face now and Yeonjun couldn’t watch you in pain especially knowing he was the cause behind it. He gets up and walks out the door and your last words to him brought him to tears. Watching him walk out you couldn’t take it anymore shouting “I knew this wouldn’t last, Fuck you don’t you leave me here.” As the door shuts behind your professor you slide down hugging yourself and just crying at the pain this has caused you.

There was no one to blame but yourself you thought.

⋆｡‧˚ʚɞ˚‧｡⋆ ⋆｡‧˚ʚɞ˚‧｡⋆ ⋆｡‧˚ʚɞ˚‧｡⋆ ⋆｡‧˚ʚɞ˚‧｡⋆ ⋆｡‧˚ʚɞ˚‧｡⋆

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abiatackerman · 6 months ago

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Red Date

Warnings: Description of sexual arousal (NSFW)

The atmosphere in your office is so calm and peaceful as you work. The day's temperature is comforting also it seems the bugs have also decided not to disturb you today. You keep working as you hum in a peaceful mind until you hear someone calling you by your name.

"Y/N!"

You look up from your paperwork as you hear Levi's stern voice. You were so consumed in your work that you didn't even notice him entering.

"Hey Levi! Sorry, didn't notice you. Need anything?"

You speak, smiling sweetly as always.

"I want to take you out tonight"

Levi says with a straight up blunt tone making you look up at him with shock. His face shows no emotion on it. He stares at you waiting for your answer. Though, on the inside, the nerves and butterflies were going crazy.

"Take out? Where?"

You ask him with shock, confusion and curiosity.

"Dinner. Somewhere with no people. Somewhere nice"

Levi says as he shifts the weight between both his legs. A sign of nervousness.

He is nervous. He has never dated anyone. Hell, he has barely been around women. Yet you are the exception. You're the one he wants to keep, being around and spend time with and never let go.

You smile at his slightly nervous expression.

"Well, I'm free tonight. Also it's boring just to eat the regular bread and soup of the regiment... So why not?"

Levi's eyes brighten when he hears your answer. Yes! You said yes! Yet the excitement is hidden behind a stoic poker face.

"Meet me behind HQ an hour after the sunset."

His words are straight to the point as usual.

"Why behind the hq?"

You ask with confusion.

"That's for me to know and for you to find out"

Levi speaks bluntly as he answers your question simply. You just chuckle.

"Since you saved my life twice... I guess I'll trust you."

Levi nods his head to your answer. His face is still expressionless. Though inside he's happy as hell after knowing that you trust him.

"Now…keep preparing your papers. And don't be late."

Levi says before he turns and leaves the infirmary.

An hour after sunset, as promised, Levi is behind HQ, waiting on you. His usual expression on his face, and his hands shoved into his pockets. A slight look of boredom in his eyes as he waited for you to show up.

Something red catches his eyes and he looks at the gate. His eyes widened slightly seeing you in your red dress. You're wearing a simple round necked wine red dress which reaches upto your knee. As always no makeup on your face without that damn red lipstick of yours. Your hair is tied up in a loose bun, revealing your soft addictive neck.

On the other side, your eyes are widened too. The wholes place is nicely decorated by candles and in the middle there's a red blanket on the green grass which has a table on the corner of it. The table is decorated nicely too. With dinner set and by the smell you can tell it's spaghetti hidden under those legent utensils.

"Levi?"

You look around and gasp again.

"You look beautiful Y/N. Now come, sit."

Levi speaks as he gestured for you to come over to the blanket. His eyes taking you all in.

"Ahhh thank you."

You gasp in shock again as he compliments you. This is the first time you're hearing him calling someone beautiful. You walk towards the blanket and sit down on the chair Levi pulls out for you.

"You know, I thought you wanted no one to know that we're going out. That's why you told me to come here... But I never even imagined these arrangements! How many people helped you?"

Levi shrugs his shoulders before he sits down, across from her. He seems pleased with himself at your expression.

"Four people. Hange included."

Levi says simply and calmly. He gestures to the rose near you, then to the food and wine before them.

"Who are the three others? Erwin is one of em I'm sure... But the other two?

You ask softly, taking the rose and sniffing it.

"Miche and Eld. They're trustworthy. They'll keep their mouth shut. Now, eat. There's plenty to share, and don't even think of complaining about the food, because I won't listen."

You ignore him as you take a deep breath and gather your courage. Leaning forward, you softly press a kiss on his cheeks, letting your lips linger on his cheek for a bit as you close your eyes and take in his scent. The small gesture is more than enough to light a fire in his lower regions. He gulps as he feels himself getting hard.

Not now, damnit!

He curses himself as his heart beats crazily.

"Now…if you would sit back, we shall eat"

Levi speaks, his mind is reeling.

"Sorry there's uh... Lipstick stains on your cheek."

You speak in an embarrassed and shy tone as your lips are pressed into a thin line and your cheeks are pink.

"It's fine… It'll wash off."

Levi says as he grabs the glass of wine and took a small sip to calm his mind down. He sets the wine down on the edge of the table. His eyes go to the food.

"I wanted to thank you. It's so romantic. I never thought you would do something for me."

You smile shyly as you speak.

"You can thank me properly later. Now eat your food and keep those gorgeous lips off of me until you finish eating. I'm not complaining either way.…"

Levi says as He takes another small sip of wine. You sigh and look up at the sky.

"These types of moments..... In a silent place, in between nature... Heaven."

Levi looks up at the sky as well at your words. It is relaxing. So quiet and pretty. He can forget there are any titans, or people in the outer world who wanted them dead.

Just him, and you.

"Yes…it's nice. To not think or have a worry in the world, even if momentarily…"

"Yeah right. Anyway who cooked them?"

You look at the delicious spaghetti as you ask.

"Eld cooked it. Miche made sure it was cooked right. And no, they didn't spit in the food before they gave it to me. I'm not that cruel for that."

"Spit in the food? That's hilarious, Levi!"

You laugh loudly.

"Shut it. Now eat up. You look like you're about to faint from no food."

He mutters before he pushes a plate full of spaghetti towards you. You roll your eyes.

"You know I don't eat much. I have a petite body. I need a little food."

You say as you take the spaghetti and start eating. Your eyes widened at it's delicious taste. Also not to mention you are hungry.

"You eat like a small bird…"

Levi says as he watches you dig into the food. You furrow your eyebrows.

"Do you want me to eat like a pig and look like a mini elephant?"

You ask as you take another spoonful of spaghetti.

"No, I'm not saying you have to eat like a pig. Just eat a normal meal every once and a while. Learn from Hange and Erwin. They eat like animals."

"Erwin's gonna love to hear that. Eat like an animal? Levi... I really love talking to you. You're funny."

"Just eat. Don't be picky. You're skinny as a stick as it is"

"No, I'm not."

You protest, still smiling. Levi smiles a little too. It is entertaining watching your sarcastic way to get back at him for insulting you. The way you insulted him was cute and bravely to him. When everyone gets scared and despise him because of his rude words, you enjoy them.

He loves it. Addicted to it.....

"You're the only woman I know who's attracted to being insulted by someone."

"You're the only man I know who is attracted to a girl like that."

You talk back, immediately.

"True. I can't imagine other men being attracted to a woman who's as small as a stick"

"I had a lot of men wanting me. You can be sure of it."

Levi raises an eyebrow at your cocky smile.

"Then go ahead. Name them"

Levi says with a pissed tone and a slight expression of jealousy in his face.

"I don't want you to beat them up."

You chuckle as you hold a spoonful of spaghetti in front of his mouth.

"You're not feeding me."

He says as he reaches forward and shoves a large portion of pasta in your mouth so that way you can't speak… Or protest. You groan and gulp the pasta and glare at him.

"It's my turn!"

You say and without any hesitation, you suddenly get on his lap with the spoon.

"What are you doing?"

He asks, as he feels himself getting slightly harder. Not to mention you are sitting right on his bulge. The softness of your ass almost made him moan.

"Feeding you. Say aaaaaa...."

You say as you hold his chin and the spoonful of spaghetti in front of his lips ignoring the large hardened cock under you.

"Aaaa"

Levi opened up his mouth and leaned forward to take the food in. You can't help but laugh loudly as he says "aaaah" sarcastically.

"I just wanted you to open your mouth, fool. Not to say aaaaa..."

You laugh louder.

"Tch, shut it."

"I have a mouth for speaking so I definitely won't stop using it."

You speak and Levi's hands holds your hips in place as he looks at you.

"How about I shut up that mouth of yours?"

Levi says before he crashes his lips against yours in a heated kiss. You smile against his lips and hug his neck and kiss him back passionately. You part your lips as soon as he licks them. His tongue slips inside of your mouth and he deepens the kiss, taking in everything about you. He has been craving this for so long.

His arousal grows and he groans slightly at the feeling of your core pressed against his hard, clothed length. He runs his tongue over every inch of your mouth before he finally breaks the kiss, needing a break for air.

"That should shut you up…"

You breathe heavily as you smile.

"Your mouth is a mess, Levi! With my lipstick... And you're hard."

You say chuckling softly as you take a paper napkin to clean his face.

"Your fault. Not mine. You're the one who straddled my lap and put your lipstick everywhere"

Levi mutters as he looks at you, staring at the way your chest rises with every breath you take.

"Pervert!"

You say shyly, smacking the napkin on his face as you catch him staring at your chest.

"You're the one who's sitting on my hardening member and you're calling me the pervert?"

Levi's breath is hot against your skin as he leans in and places a few hungry, open-mouthed kisses along your neck and shoulders. You chuckle and moan, grab his hair and pull his head backwards to make him look into your eyes.

"I didn't know you were hard when I got in your lap."

You say staring into his eyes as you take the bowl of spaghetti again and get off his lap.

"It's called the hormones of an aroused male. You're wearing red lipstick and a red dress. It's almost like you are begging me to devour you. So don't fucking blame me for getting hard you stupid ass!"

Levi speaks in a frustrated and pissed tone as you just laugh loudly.

Later, after finishing eating and talking about nothing important, you two sit on the blanket. You sit between his legs and lean your back on his chest as you yawn tiredly.

"Levi... I'm really tired. I might fall asleep here, yk..."

You say sighing as you sip your wine.

"We can stay here for a little while longer. Not too long though or else the idiots are going to snoop around"

Levi mutters as he sighs.

"Why do I feel like the brat's are already watching us while blushing and giggling?"

Levi sighs. He can almost hear the little brat's giggles. He has a few ideas of what he would do to them later but now he couldn’t focus on that. Not when the girl of his dreams is pressed up against him and holding his hands.

"Shut it. Stop reminding me that they're probably watching us"

Levi mutters, slightly glaring off to the side before wrapping his arms around her.

"Thank you, Levi. I really enjoyed tonight."

You mumble as you slowly start to doze off in his arms.

"Me too…"

Levi says softly as he stares down at you. He is slightly jealous of your ability to fall asleep so fast. He runs his fingers through your hair and gently plays with the strands.

"Rest up, Doll."

#levi ackerman #levi #levi x reader #levi ackerman x reader #levi x you #levi x y/n #levi x reader kiss #levi x fem!reader #levi ackerman x you #levi aot #levi fluff #levi fanfiction #levi oneshot #levi heichou #captain levi #attack on titan #snk #aot

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danshive · 3 months ago

Text

Dancing - My Next Life as a Villainess fan fiction

Katarina danced. Her partner, an imagined Geordo.

He was trying to kill her.

Lacking a sparring partner at the university, much less a sword, Katarina made the most of a straight walking cane she'd acquired. It would have to do.

She parried. She thrust. She spun, the hem of her skirt flaring outward, the non-existent edge of her cane just missing imaginary Geordo's neck. She bent back, barely keeping her balance, an imagined blade not an inch from her face.

She fought furiously for her life, her impractical dress an obstacle in more ways than one, the simple heat from wearing it a danger unto itself.

Still, she wore it. Should the day finally come that she had to defend against the real Geordo, it would likely be in this dress.

That point was fair enough, but it was still a summer's day, and her exercise was intense. It was in the middle of another spin that Katarina finally lost her footing, and fell to the grass in a sweaty heap, her eyes shut before she hit the ground.

"KATARINA!" Maria sprinted across the field to her, flanked by Mary and Sophia. All three had been mesmerized by Katarina's dance from a distance, and none had wanted to interrupt her.

Maria regretted not listening to her instincts. They had been screaming this could happen, but other feelings had overruled them.

Knelt beside Katarina, Maria took her hand, and willed healing magic into her.

Sophia, still standing, summoned a cool breeze to wash over Katarina.

Mary, whose element was water, wasn't sure what to do. Should she sprinkle Katarina with water? Conjure up a bucket's worth over her head? Drench her entirely with cool, magic water, her dress clinging to her lovely skin, and then—

"Glasses!" Sophia shouted in what would have been normal speaking volume for anyone else.

"Right! For drinking!" Mary shouted back at exceptional volume while running towards the nearby kitchens. "The most important thing of all!"

Katarina, with eyes half-open, looked towards Maria's face. Sleepily, she asked "oh. Hello, Maria. When'd you get here?"

Maria chuckled awkwardly, half-sounding like a sob. Tears trickled down her cheeks. Katarina's eyes widened.

"Maria? What's wrong?!" she asked before the rest of her current situation sunk in. She was lying in the grass, her right hand held by Maria as a cool breeze flowed over her courtesy of Sophia.

"Oh," Katarina said, a twinge of guilt and embarrassment in her voice. "I overdid it, didn't I?"

"What on earth were you doing?!" Sophia shouted at room volume, her eyes watering.

Katarina, with no idea how to explain herself, and even less energy to do so, replied simply.

"I was dancing."

"KATAAARRRIIIIINNNNNNAAAAA~!" A tray-carrying comet barreled towards them. The comet in question was named Mary.

With Mary the comet were Keith, Alan, Nicol, and Geordo, all of whom had water with them. Between them, they could have rehydrated over half a dozen Katarinas.

Katarina accepted a glass from someone. She wasn't sure who it was as it found its way into her left hand, but as she sat up to drink from it, she saw it had been Geordo.

The look Katarina gave him in that moment was one he could never understand.

#dan shive says stuff #fan fiction #my next life as a villainess #hamefura #KATARINA DOING SWORD STUFF #katarina claes #catarina claes

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gilverrwrites · 2 months ago

Note

at this point we should give dick a sionis!reader and call it a day 💀 all the batboys have one now except for him (but I have no idea what his plot would look like compared to the other three)

Yeah, Jason and Tim dating with his kids and now Bruce sleeping with his ex-wife, Roman’s hatred of them is becoming more and more justified. . Can I also just add that Roman would be the most miserable girl dad. Imagining him with his 3 bastard girls and ex wife who he's still hung up on but can't win back fills me with joy and its becoming a full on AU in my head.

Anyway, okay, so hear me out with my pitch; Jason/The Rebellious child, Tim/The Favourite child, Dick/The forgotten child

Specifically, one who has tried so hard all their life to not be. Even more specifically, a dancer, a singer, maybe a triple threat. It’s not that you need the attention, you’re good at what you do, you get the parts, you have a small fanbase, you’ve won some minor awards. But just once you’d like to look out into the crowd and see your father or your siblings out there cheering for you.

You try so hard to be supportive of the rest of your family, always there for everybody. You listen to your rebellious sibling and your father bitch about each other constantly, you help them mend their bridges. Rebel is notoriously flaky, but you always step up and cover for them.

You help the favourite study. You were the only one who knew when they started seeing Tim and you helped keep it a secret.

You attend all your fathers parole hearings, all his club launches. You wear the stupid clothes and play the happy, smiling child whenever he wants to show his kids off at events.

But no matter how much you do for everyone, they never return the favour. As soon as you bring up an audition you need help with or a new show you’re in, everybody dips. Nobody takes you up on the free tickets you can get them. When you were training, Roman footed the bills and told all his buddies about his kid the dancer/singer/whatever, but not once did he show up to a single one of your recitals.

But one day, at one of his stupid galas, Dick Grayson catches you dancing by yourself on the patio outside and is instantly smitten.

“Where’s your dance partner?”

“Oh, haha. Can’t you see him? He’s right here.” You jokingly gesture to the air.

“Ah of course, hello sir. Mind if I cut in? Not at all, please be my guest.” He puts on a silly voice as he answers himself before offering a hand to you. “May I?”

And you’re sceptical at first, but you take his hand, and you let him whisk you off. You dance around in circles all evening, laughing and joking, and getting to know each other. You have the night of your life, but dating Dick Grayson seems like a bad idea, it’s not that you don’t want it, it’s just that your dad would so not approve. So, you resolve to move on, but will always remember that magical night.

Until a few weeks later, you step on stage and spot him front and centre in the audience looking elated. And although it's downright euphoric for you to see him there, you're not prepared to face him. Alas, he comes to your dressing room straight after the show anyway. Reaching you before you can sneak out, and confronting you about never calling him back.

You explain your hesitations and that golden child part of his brain understands, his heart aches for you. But he so selfishly wants to see more of you, so he gently mentions how your dad doesn’t seem to care what you do... and hey, maybe he’s out of line here and if you want to tell him to take a hike he will but all he wants is a chance to be a part of your life, can’t you spare him one date? Please?

And damn is he hard to say no too. So, you concede. And one date becomes two, then three, and so on…

It doesn’t take long for you to fall hard and fast for him. C’mon who wouldn’t?

He’s handsome, and charming, funny, smart, and superb dancer to boot.

But what really does it for you is how badly he really does wants to be a part of your life. Dick Grayson wants to dance with you anywhere and everywhere; At galas, in the rain on the way home from a date, in your kitchen at 3AM.

Dick Grayson could listen to you talk about anything and everything all day long. Doesn’t have to be performance related, but he likes it best when it is. He especially loves reminiscing about his circus days with you.

And though his job may get in the way sometimes, Dick Grayson wants to be front row at every single one of your shows. He wants to clap the loudest, and bring you flowers, and tell all of his friends, THAT’S MY BOO up there! From the moment he met you, Dick Grayson could never, ever forget you.

How we feeling about this concept?

#Can even throw in:#Dick Grayson has had a crush on you since he first saw you 15 years ago at his first gala #but never had the chance to get you alone until that faithful night #anon #thanks for the ask #dick grayson #dick grayson x reader #dick grayson/reader #Nightwing #Nightwing x reader #Nightwing/reader #gilverranswers #sionis reader #girl dad roman sionis au

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pinastrihaven · 3 months ago

Text

Pr. Cooper Adams

NSFW... +18...

@yerma69 gave me my first request and asked me to write about Cooper as a teacher. I'm quite honored and hope you'll will enjoy it.

- It didn't take long for Professor Adams to seduce you. Of course all students are completely enthralled with him and he's the subject of many discussions, fantasies. Even though everyone know they don't stand a chance: he's a married man, has two beautiful kids. He does not appear as the type of man who takes advantage of his charms. He's Mister everybody after all, right ?

- You are no exception but it was quite unexpected for you to get Cooper's attention.

You've kept wondering '' is he really looking at me like that? " during lectures for several weeks.

- Cooper started to take up a lot of space in your mind as time passed and he began to give you very subtle and soft touch.

'' Do you have any other question Miss y/n ? ''.

He would pass a hand on your back while giving you feedback for papers you just rendered, speaking very close to you, especially during small group classes... His voice is just like honey to your ears. You could smell his scent being this close to him, you could only imagine the grain the feeling of his skin. You were longing to touch and be touched by him.

- Things went south that time he asked you to stay after a class, expressing some concerns toward the subject you've picked for your memoir. You started to freak out thinking you would fail your year.

You didn't really expect him to shove his hand down your skirt and slide his fingers into your panties. M. Adams just stared at you while doing so, amused by your little panting and the fact that you were lifting your skirt for more. He did slide one finger, two then three, and started fucking you really hard, getting you to howl and scream to the point of orgasm, legs spread eagle on his desk, your arms around his neck.

He made you lick his hand clean while assuring you that he was confident concerning your progress in his class ;)

- M. Cooper Adams wants you to be his top student. Only straight A's. He will ask more results from you than from any other students. Get ready for some spanking by the end of the day if your grades are not up to his standards or if you give him wrong or unelaborated answers during class. And I mean real spanking, you asscheeks will fear his name.

'' I'm sure you can do better. '' Cooper would then tie your hair in two ponytails and give you his cock to suck. He loves to hear you chock on his girth while pulling on your hair, gasping, coughing. '' Yeah show me your tears, little angel '' he would say as your eyes tear up.

- Cooper wants you to be reachable on your phone at any time. Of course your location is on all the time and don't even think about airplane mode. He won't necessarily ask for nude photos but M. Adams wants to know your every moves. He will often facetime you and ask you to place the phone so he can see whatever you're doing. Especially during holidays and when you're at home, far away from the campus. He loves to check on you at night, during family gathering. "I want to see my bunny now. '' he would text you.

- Get ready to be fucked at the most random time and places at the campus. Mostly at his desk, but also the janitors locker, that place outdoor behind the sport court (that's where he gave you your first anal), his car. And that one time he gave you the fright of your life when he broke into your bedroom at the dorm... You still have no idea how he did that and he refuses to tell how he manage to do it. He just smile when you keep asking him.

- Professor Adams gives you special assignments. You're only allowed to wear skirts and dresses because this is what he loves the best and he can access you more easily. When you attend his class he would text you orders beforehand.

'' Hey Sweetheart, you can open the present box I gave you last time........ Yes this is a anal plug. I picked you favorite color ❤️. I want you to put it on for today's class and don't bother with panties. I want you naked down there. And pick your shortest skirt. Don't ruin your seat ;) ''.

- M. Adams loves to keep you at his desk when grading papers or writing his next course.

He would tie you with his belt and keep you pressed against his leg under his desk, petting your hair, from time to time, or pinching your tits through the fabric of your shirt. You would feel in a haze being this close to him, seeing his bulge getting bigger until he fucks you. He loves to have you in submissive positions where you can barely move or escape his hard thrust. His favorite is to have you in the Nelson position with a good headlock (those who know know ;) ).

He sometimes edges you and sent you back home all wet and desoriented.

- And because Cooper keeps his lives separated he needs to find a way to keep you near him after you finally graduated. So you barely had the choice to become his assistant which allows you to spend more time together, and get more of his treatments.

#cooper adams #cooper adams x reader #josh hartnett character #trap 2024 #trap movie 2024 #Cooper adams imagine #cooper adams smut

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katnisspeetaprim · 11 months ago

Text

Wardrobe Malfunction

Stray Kids!9thmember au, Chan/Reader, Jeon Jungkook/Sister!Reader

Summary: The stylists for the new comeback decide it's time for you to start showing off your figure more on stage. Warnings: fem!reader, established relationship, idol!au

Word Count: 1712 M.list

‘Do I really have to wear this unnie? Why can’t I dress like the boys?’ You glanced at yourself in the mirror, distaste on your face.

‘Of course not honey! You’re a woman now, time to show off your figure!’ You scrunched up your eyebrows and closed your mouth, looking back to the mirror.

One stylist was arranging the clothes on your body and the other working on your hair.

The outfit you’d been forced into was for a show promoting the new LALALA comeback. The hair, you had no problem with. Blonde with pink streaks littered throughout in it’s usual long length, styled in a sort of half up half down look with pigtails.

The clothes themselves was where the issues lay.

The stylists had picked out the shortest skirt you were sure they could find, with an off the shoulder long sleeved crop top. The shoes weren’t all that bad, chunky heeled boots. You silently cheered when you saw you’d at least have something comfortable to dance in.

You tugged down the back of the skirt, extremely conscious about how much was actually on show. Obviously you were wearing safety shorts, but those too were incredibly short, leaving little left to the imagination with only a slither of fabric sticking out beneath the skirt.

Your eyes were then drawn to your shirt. Since it was off the shoulder, you had to wear a strapless bra that definitely didn’t fit you correctly. You’d had to pull it up at least three times in the past ten minutes, and you were standing still!

‘Unnie please! I can’t dance in this!’ You pleaded one last time, spinning round to face the head stylist, trying to gain any amount of sympathy.

The older woman just waved you off with a roll of her eyes.

‘Oh please, you’ll be fine. Plus maybe it’ll help attract more male fans.’ She said nonchalantly as she walked from the room, leaving you gobsmacked after what she said.

Once you were ready for the show, you were guided to the boys dressing room.

As soon as they saw you, their conversations dried up and just stared at you.

‘Don’t even bother saying anything. I know I look ridiculous.’ You threw yourself down next to Hyunjin and crossed your arms under your chest, unintentionally pushing up your bra and giving Hyunjin a much better look than he’s sure you intended.

‘What?’ You shot him a confused look when he turned away, blush coating his cheeks.

‘Umm... That’s a short outfit, noona.’ Jeongin spoke up, trying to save Hyunjin from the embarrassment.

It was then that you looked down at yourself and blushed harshly when you realised what you’d done. You quickly sat up straight and fixed your shirt, avoiding eye contact.

You trusted your band mates whole heartedly, but at the end of the day they were still men with eyes. At least you knew the stylists plan was working...

Felix cleared his throat across from you, cutting through the awkwardness.

‘Why have they dressed you like that noona?’ You shook your head with a sigh as you answered.

‘Stylists said ‘I’m a woman now’ and ‘This would help to gain male fans.’ You rolled your eyes as you mimicked the older woman.

‘What the heck!? They said that to you?’ Chan shot up and came to stand next to your seat.

You nodded in confirmation. He stared at you for a moment, before scoffing and placing his hands on his hips.

‘If you aren’t comfortable, surly they can’t make you wear it?’ Jisung spoke, not entirely believing his own words. Most of the time, they had no say in what they wore.

‘I’m gonna talk to them.’ Chan was already halfway to the door when you shot up to stop him.

‘Chan I already tried, plus we have to be on stage soon. I can deal with it for one show.’ He looked down at your hand on his arm, contemplating your words before sighing.

‘As long as you’re sure, but I’m speaking to them right after the show.’ You sighed in relief. The last thing you wanted to do was cause issues for the boys, just because you didn’t want to wear an outfit.

The first part of the performance went fin, no hiccups.

It was during the second half that you felt your bra beginning to slip out of place. You quickly grabbed the material and held it in place. Your heart was beating loudly in your chest, as you nearly exposed yourself on TV.

There was no way you’d be able to fix your clothing, but running off stage wasn’t an option either.

You just put on a brave face, trying to hold back tears and wrapped your arms round your torso, still dancing as best you could.

All the boys had noticed your predicament, but all they could do was shoot you sympathetic looks.

Luckily, Changbin was wearing a jacket as part of his outfit and smoothly made his way over to you, dropping his coat over your shoulders.

You quickly gave him a thankful look, before turning round and zipping the coat up.

Thankfully Changbin did what he did in that moment. As you stood in your ending pose, you could feel your shirt and bra had completely slipped, leaving you bare beneath the jacket.

This was the most humiliating moment of your career.

You wasted no time bolting off stage, ignoring he calls coming from your members.

Bursting into the dressing room, the stylists all adverted their gaze, too ashamed to own their screw up. Gathering up your comfortable clothes, you locked yourself in the bathroom to change.

‘How could you let that happen?’ Chan yelled raging, ad he also burst into the dressing room.

All the stylists looked up at him like deer in headlights. ‘You’re supposed to keep us safe and comfortable on stage!’ Chan continued on. By now the woman had all bowed their heads, knowing they couldn’t get away from this.

As Chan was scolding the staff, Felix knocked on the bathroom door.

‘Y/N? You in there?’ he got no reply so pressed his ear to the door. He could hear faint sniffles on the other side.

Felix pulled back, distressed at what he heard and knocked again, this time more rapidly.

‘Y/N? Can I come in?’ Felix almost fell into the bathroom when you suddenly pulled open the door, now changed out of the offending outfit.

‘Can we please leave now?’ You whispered meekly.

‘Yeah of course!’ Felix answered without hesitation. He guided your from the bathroom, quickly telling Minho that he was taking you home.

Chan was still too angry to be interrupted right now.

You were quiet in the car ride home. Felix could tell you didn’t want to talk, so he just sat there in silence, knowing his presence was enough to comfort you.

Suddenly his phone vibrated in his pocket.

‘Apparently the stylists responsible are being bought into a meeting tomorrow.’ Felix summarised the group chat, causing you to look away from the window for the first time.

‘Chan is still livid though.’ He snorted with a shake of his head. It was only then that you noticed Felix was still wearing his stage outfit.

‘Oh jeez. I didn’t even let you get changed...’ Your brows furrowed. All you had wanted to do was get out of there. You hadn’t even given a thought to your band mates.

Felix leaned forwards and placed a comforting hand on your knee with a smile.

‘Seriously noona, don’t sweat it! I just care about getting you home right now.’ You leaned back in your seat and nodded. He must be uncomfortable being in those clothes for so long...

‘You should shower when we get back. Get al that makeup and hairspray out.’ He pulled back and gave you another comforting smile.

A hot shower did sound good right now.

The hot shower really had done wonders in helping you relax and unwind.

You were now sat on your bed in cosy pyjamas as you braided your wet hair.

‘Hey’ Chan knocked on your open door, before inviting himself inside. You smiled warmly and scooted forwards, allowing him to position himself behind you.

Chan reached up and rested his hands on your shoulders, rubbing soothingly. Your eyes fluttered shut and you moaned out softly in relief.

'how you feeling?’

‘Better, still embarrassed.’ You breathed out.

‘Don’t be. The stylists should have listened to you.’ His hands ran down your arms and over your stomach, pulling you into a hug from behind. You leaned back and allowed him to take your weight.

‘They’re in trouble by the way. JYP wasn’t happy. He found out right away.’ He chuckled next to your ear.

You were conflicted upon hearing this. On one hand, you were glad they were getting pulled up on their actions but on the other hand, you didn’t want anyone to loose their job because of you.

‘I know what you’re thinking and stop it. They bought it on themselves.’ Chan hugged you tighter and placed a feather light kiss on your neck. You sighed contently and the contact.

‘People are on your side by the way’ You turned your head to look at him in confusion. He smiled down at you. ‘Online. Nobody had anything bad to say. All think you handled it really well.’

You pulled out of his arms and sat up right with a relieved laugh.

‘I’ve been too scared to look. Thanks for putting my mind at ease.’

‘Anytime!’ Chan beamed at you and pushed your braid over your shoulder. He suddenly got up and reached his hand out for you to take.

‘We picked up takeout on the way back. I’m sure you’re starving.’

‘Hell yes I am!’ You eagerly took his hand and followed him from the room.

3 messages from Big Bro Jungkook

Hey sis! Tried to call you but couldn’t get through. I know the guys are probably looking after you, but I just wanted to make sure you’re ok?

I’ve had wardrobe malfunctions myself, but it’s obviously worse for you lol

Anyway, I’m here if you wanna talk!

#stray kids #stray kids x reader #imagine #one shot #scenario #reaction #bang chan #hwang hyunjin #han jisung #seo changbin #lee felix #lee know #minho #i.n #jeongin #seungmin #idol!au #9th!member au

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fairysluna · 2 years ago

Text

LASCIVIOUS CONTEMPT

MASTERLIST

Pairing: Aegon II Targaryen x Velaryon!Reader (Strong)

Summary: The rivalry that grew between Alicent and Rhaenyra has also grown between their eldest children. When Rhaenyra and her family returned to King's Landing, they both know that the enmity is still there, but the new feeling that came along with it is quite unknown.

Tags/TW: incest (uncle/niece), enemies to lovers, hate fuck(?, smut (p in v -no protection-, oral sex -both receiving-, aegon being obsessed with boobs, choking), cursing, dirty talk, public sex kinda, slut shaming, typical sexism of the time, cringy pet names (i'm sorry), non proof read.

Author's Note: I don't usually write smut bc I think I'm better at other things lmao, but this idea came and I love reading hatw fucking so I decided to write one myself.

Word Count: 6.4k

Feedback, shares and comments are always welcome!!

Aegon saw you walking inside the Dining Hall. Your face carried a gentle smile, the light-blue gown that you decided to wear did nothing but to mold your figure perfectly, and that tight corset around your ribs was shaping your waist in an almost tempting way. Aegon clenched his jaw, trying to look at you with the usual disgust, but something inside of him did not allow him to do so… he has not seen you in at least three years, and you use the time to become a fine looking woman.

However, the smug grin on your petulant face was the thing that destroyed all his desire for you. You were walking towards the large table with your chin up, straight posture and a confidence he wished he had. You looked respectable, the beauty of your Valyrian genes were showing now that you had flourished. Aegon hated to admit it.

For you, though, Aegon had deteriorated with the years… the first thing you thought when you saw him was that the Gods might have been cruel to him, for he was looking paler than ever, his eyes had dark circles around them as if he had not slept in days. The only thing that you thought was attractive now about him was his body, a bit wider than the last time you saw him, a bit chubbier and manly. You thought about looking at other good aspects of him, but soon you decided it was a mere waste of time. You would not find anything, anyway… or that was what you thought.

The feasts began and everyone started to eat after hearing the kind words from the king, who was grateful to have his family in one place, lovingly sharing a good time. As soon as your grandsire said those words, you heard a scoff and you did not even need to turn to see from who it was. Aegon was smirking with malice as you looked back to him, his eyes piercing through your skin as you gave him a dead stare in response.

You saw his hand around his cup, the rings in his fingers that were caressing the edges of it as his eyes never left your serious face. His middle finger circled around it, in a gesture that might actually seem obscene. You raised your eyebrow as a disgust expression appeared on your semble. You thought he was so vulgar, and nasty, that he was doing that gesture just to bother you, and you regretted sitting in front of him.

In reality, Aegon was lost in his thoughts, not even noticing his actions. He felt some kind of inner rage as his mind put all these thoughts in his head, and soon he was starting to imagine them as well. The neckline of your dress was not enough to cover your breasts, which appeared to have grown in those years in which he did not see you. Your collarbones seem tempting and kisseable, a thought that almost made Aegon slap himself.

You were supposed to gross him out, you were supposed to make him feel disgust and anger, why in the seven hell is he having those lustful thoughts about you?

He clenched his jaw once again as you laugh, and that horrid sound was enough to wake him up from his torment. He realized who he was looking at, who he was thinking of, and soon a wave of realization hit him hard in the face. He cleared his throat and drank all the wine that was left in his cup, just then he looked away from you. You frowned, a bit confused but not interested in knowing what was going on. You thought he was already drunk.

You spend the rest of the evening in silence, as everyone else was laughing and chatting with each other. You were never known for being so convivial, you always rather listen and look in silence at what everyone else has to say. You never turned to look at Aegon again, as you were too busy silently laughing for the foolery things your brothers said.

There was a point in the night where the noise and the music and the light of the candles became too much for you, so you stood up and excused yourself for a minute. Aegon saw you and followed your path with his stare, he saw when you walked towards Ser Erryk and whispered something, and he also saw the mischievous grin that he gave you in response. He bit his lip to hold back a gasp once he realized what was going on.

Who would have thought that the sweet and so correct princess was fucking her guard?, Aegon thought, smirking as he had just found out about your dirty little secret.

A few minutes later, you were standing in front of the throne. The room was empty, not a single guard in sight as you watched the chair of swords in front of you, the chair that will become yours in a few more years. The place was quiet, and peaceful. The only lightning source was the moon, making the place look cold. You took a deep breath, contemplating the future where you would sit on that throne.

Soon your peace was interrupted by the sound of the door being open behind your back. The steps that you would recognize everywhere echoed in the empty room and you rolled your eyes, closing them before you sighed. He dragged his feet walking towards you, he was lazy even to walk, you thought.

“And there goes my five minutes of peace,” you spoke sternly, without facing him yet.

“That is actually flattering,” he answered. You could hear the smirk on his voice, “you recognized me by just hearing my steps.”

You scoffed, now turning around, “I was taught that one always must know how to identify your enemies.”

Aegon raised his eyebrow as he walked slowly towards you.

“You consider me an enemy?” He asked, his tone sounding as if he was offended, but you know it was an act. With him it always was.

“I certainly do not consider you a friend.”

You turned around again, trying to ignore his presence but there was something inside you that made it impossible, and it was not the regular precaution you always had when he was around, it was something different.

“Did you come here to bother my existence once again, uncle?” You questioned. Aegon was still walking, each step was slower than the prior, “Because if that was your purpose, let me tell you you achieved it.”

“Oh, not at all,” he chuckled, and then he placed himself behind your back. You tensed almost immediately. “I was just worried about you, you left the Dining Hall so suddenly and in such a hurry.”

His tone made you roll your eyes once again, he was being clearly sarcastic. He was just bothering you, as he always did.

“What are you doing here, my dear?” He asked, leaning a bit forward in order to speak against your ear. You did not bend into his try to make you shrink, you barely flinched when his breath smacked against the skin of your neck.

“That does not concern you.” You spat.

“Easy, dragon…” He chuckled, “Don’t spit fire at me, I’m just asking.”

“Don’t you have anything better to do? Drink wine until you pass out? Fuck some whores, perhaps?”

“Oh… you sound jealous, my dear.” You clenched your jaw, “Does it bother you?”

“Of course not,” you scoffed, “I understand why you do it, actually.”

“Do you?”

“Yes… No one would fuck you unless you pay them first, so I get it.” You smiled falsely. “And at the end of the day, men have needs that they need to fulfill, right?”

Aegon tensed for your comment, it hit right in his ego. He took a step back, for you had left him speechless with your words. A smirk crossed your face as you turned around to finally face him. You had to hold back a chuckle after seeing his expression.

“Answering your question, I just wanted a moment of peace… one that you clearly interrupted with your annoying presence,” you said as you went back to your serious semblance again, “I was just admiring the throne, which, luckily for the realm, will belong to my mother and to me instead of you.”

Aegon scoffed, a side smile was carved on his smug face.

“So naive…” he mocked you, “they would never allow you or your mother to rule the Seven Kingdoms.”

You narrowed your eyes, almost offended by his words, “and why is that?”

Aegon leaned closer to you, making you tense once again. He then whispered, very close to your face, “you don’t have a cock.”

You laughed, “I would bet my entire fortune in saying that you don’t either.”

“You want to see it?” He quickly said.

“No, thank you,” you said with clear sarcasm in your voice, “you’re too generous.”

Another smug smile appeared on his face before you continued speaking.

“So, according to you, having a cock is what makes someone more capable of ruling than a proper preparation and education? That is quite pathetic, actually.”

“It’s just reality, dear.”

“In that case, may the Gods have mercy over the people of Westeros, for they are doomed if you ever become their king.” You shrugged, “no one wants a drunken lazy king, right?”

“Still better than a filthy whore as their queen, right?” His words made the blood burn inside your veins, but before you could complain he interrupted you. “Ah-ah… don’t say anything, I know your little secret; you are fucking with that guard of yours. The twin one, I don’t know which one, or perhaps you’re fucking both.”

You shrugged, “sounds like you’re jealous.” you repeated his prior words with the same amount of entitlement that he used.

“Why would I?”

You scoffed, rolling your eyes. Then, you decided to ignore the comment, not even defending yourself about the accusation that it was partially true. Instead, you came back to the prior theme of your conversation, and spoke as if none of the last seconds had happened in the first place.

“During the reign of Jaehaerys, queen Alyssane was the mind behind all his good scheming and ideas, you would know that if you ever pick up a book and read it, but I’m actually not sure if you are able to read,” you spoke, mocking him. “Let me also add the fact that Aegon the Conqueror was able to unify the Seven Kingdoms with the help of Rhaenys and Visenya, without them he would have never accomplished what he did-

“Is this your way to ask me to marry you and make you my queen?” He interrupted you. You sighed, “Because I would need more convincing than that.”

You chuckled, “I would rather be eaten by my own dragon than marry you and bear your children.”

Aegon raised his eyebrow, “Well… I was only talking about marriage but if you want to include the children I think I can do that,”

“You are insufferable.” You muttered.

“You are the one that wants me to give you children, darling.” He stepped closer to you, and you immediately stepped back, putting the palm of your hand against his chest.

“What are you doing?” You asked at once, confused and taken aback by his action. Was he not supposed to hate you? Why is he trying to get so intimately close to you? “Aegon-”

“I’m going to give you what you want, sweetie.” He smirked, his hand reaching your waist as he pulled you close to him.

You were speechless, completely shocked by the way he was acting. He kept walking forward with you between his arms until you felt the coldness of the pillar behind your back. You took a sharp breath as he leaned closer, rubbing his nose against yours in a subtle touch that almost made you stutter. You remained silent, for you knew if you dare to speak only a murmur would come out and he would certainly mock you for it. Your pride was too valuable for you to let him the satisfaction of letting his actions intimidate you.

However, his closeness along with the tight grip of his hand on your waist made you feel a bit of excitement, and you hate yourself for it. You were supposed to be disgusted by him, you said yourself a few minutes before. Your mouth was saying something but your body was reacting on its own, with its own rules and not obeying the little voice in your head that was screaming and demanding you to push him away. Your palms were at his chest, but they did not intend to put pressure against him, it was as if they were numb.

“What. Are. You. Doing?” You asked again after making sure your voice would not come out as a whimper. “Stop this, right now.”

“Why?” He questioned.

“I do not know what you are playing, but this must stop right now, Aegon, or I swear that I-”

“What?” He interrupted you, tightening his grip on your waist. You took a sharp breath, “What are you going to do, huh?”

“Why are you doing this?”

Aegon shrugged, “I don’t even know the answer to that question, dear.” He smiled, and looked down at your neckline, seeing how your breasts were popping out of it, “Perhaps it’s your dress, you think you could wear this around and expect me not to get hard? Come on… I’m a simple man, and you said it yourself; at the end of the day, men have needs that they need to fulfill.”

You were about to answer, but the idiot kissed you. He actually kissed you.

You gasped out of surprise, feeling his roughness and little delicacy as he devoured your lips without care. Your knees weakened by this gesture as the blood rushed into your cheeks, and a sudden heat washed over your body. It took you a while to let yourself go and submit to his touch, and as soon as you started to move your lips against his you were able to hear a soft chuckle, which you decided to ignore as your hands went to his cheeks.

It was messy, rough, and careless. It’s as if he was desperate to taste you, to consume you. His tongue was claiming your mouth as he would groan and press his body against yours, leaving you trapped between him and the pillar behind your back. Never in a million years you would have thought that you would be kissing Aegon, but there you were… devouring his mouth as his hands roamed around your body, making you squirm and sigh. The worst thing of it all, is that you loved the way it felt.

Aegon pulled away suddenly, and he looked down at you. His eyes were glistening with lust, his pale cheeks had now a pinkish tone in them and his lips were swollen and red. He was breathing fast, just staring at you without saying a word.

“Why- why did you kiss me?” You asked, genuinely confused.

“Why did you kiss me back?” He teased. “Admit that you desire this as much as I do.”

“I-”

“Shut up.” He said, rolling his eyes, “Let us make a deal, okay? Just for the next minutes, forget that we hate each other, and let me fuck you, alright?”

His words made your core feel warm and you squeezed your legs before nodding softly at him. You were going to regret it later, but at least in that moment it felt right.

“That’s it… that’s a good girl.” He smirked.

“Shut up-”

He interrupted you once again with a wet kiss that made you whimper. It was slower now, but still being filled with desire and lust. His tongue kept swirling against yours as his hands went to your back, starting to loosen up the laces of your dress, not all the way down but enough to free your soft breasts.

Aegon’s hands immediately went to them, without stopping the kiss. His cold fingers started to play with your sensitive nipples as you sighed against his lips and he pressed himself even more, you were able to feel his hardon pocking against your thigh. His hands were still grabbing, squeezing and pinching your breasts as your legs would be squeezing against each other, trying to feel something that relieved the aching need of attention between them.

His lips soon left your lips to travel down your body. His tongue licking your soft skin; your neck, your collarbones… leaving maroon stains behind that will stay in your body for days. You did not think about it, you barely can think at all, especially when his skilful tongue reached your breasts. His hands kept cupping them as he was eager to devour them, he would moan as soon as he put one on his mouth. You would gasp, leaning your head against the pillar with your hands on his shoulders, trying to find some support in case your already weakened legs would give in.

He had found your most sensitive spot, and he seemed not to let go of them anytime soon.

He licked, sucked, and softly bit your nipples. His eyes were closed, and the expression of lust was clearly seen on his face. It seemed to you as if he was enjoying it even more than you were, for he was already groaning against your soft skin.

Aegon pulled away after some seconds and gave them a soft squeeze before kissing you again. His hands now were lifting your skirts, struggling a bit as there were many layers of fabric that separated him from your needy core.

“Fucking dress,” He muttered, as his hands moved quickly. “I can’t fucking-”

“Let me-” You started, trying to lift it up.

“Nah, fuck it.” He said, before roughly pulling the dress down your body, exposing your nudity to his lustful eyes.

He pulled your hips close to him as he leaned to kiss you, you softly moaned. The pleasure was already taking the best of you. Your dress was around your feet now, but you could only think about Aegon’s fingers going down to your core to start rubbing your soaking folds. He touched your bundle of nerves and you breathed heavily as he did so.

He groaned in response, “You're so fucking wet…" He muttered, "It seems like your body loves me."

You wanted to answer him, to stop his teasing with a witty comeback as you would usually do, but your mind was numb and dizzy, and you were already unable to think about it.

"Did the cat eat your tongue, dear?" He chuckled, fastening the circle motion of his fingers in your clit and making you whimper. "Come on, I've barely touched you and you're already dripping… If I'd known you wanted me to fuck you so bad I would've done it sooner."

You push him away, frowning. You regain your consciousness enough to understand his mocking, and you clenched your jaw, getting angry at him. Aegon just chuckled before grabbing the same hands that were pushing him, and using them to pull you closer to him once again.

"Don't be silly, love. Stay still and I'll give you what you want."

"Don't be a fool." You warned, "Or I'll pick my things and leave."

He chuckled. A small laugh that was so seductive and tempting. His smirk looked so devilish and sinful that almost made you lose the little control you have left.

"Stop being such a bummer and enjoy this." He said, pecking your lips playfully.

His kisses started to go down once again, repeating the same path as before. He, once again, made a long pause in your breasts, fondling them and kissing them, leaving small marks and soft bites. Once he thought they had received enough attention, he went further. He licked your skin all the way until he was kneeled in front of you. His hands grabbed your hips as he kissed your pelvis, so close to your core. You sighed feeling his warm breath hitting your skin,

"See?" You managed to say, breathlessly already, "It's not that hard to kneel in front of your rightful Queen, is it?"

A loud and hard spank reached your arse, the sound echoing in the empty hall. You yelped out of the impression, your eyes widened as you looked down at him. You pulled his hair harshly as a payback, but that only made him moan.

"Don't do that." He warned, his voice sounding almost whiny. "Now shut up, and let me eat your cunt without your annoying voice buzzing in my ears."

"Fuck off." You whispered.

Aegon bit your thigh, took his time and kissed them too, squeezing them and feeling your skin in his hands. Then, he lifted your right leg and placed it over his shoulder. Before you knew it, Aegon's tongue was licking your swollen clit in circling motions that made you gasp and whine. Your hands immediately went to his silver locks as you tried to push him closer to you, his nose burying into your flesh, stimulating your senses and almost making you drool.

His wet tongue would wander around your soaked cunt, reaching your needy hole to tease it a little before returning to your clit, which was begging for his attention. Small whimpers left your mouth as he did so, and the grip on his hair became tighter, now he was the one to moan against your slit, sending vibrations through your body that made you roll your eyes.

One of his fingers started to tease your entrance, pressing against it as his mouth kept sucking your bundle and his tongue played with it too. Your wetness would make his finger slip inside of you every now and then, enough to make you whimper and buck your hips against his greedy mouth, which seems to not have enough of you. Your head fell backwards, leaning it against the pillar as the moans flew out of your lips making Aegon smirk.

"Who would've thought that such a bitter person like you would taste so sweet?" He groans, licking his lips as his finger replaced the stimulation of his tongue on your clit.

Your knees felt so weak and shaky. And it felt worse when he, once again, buried his face between your legs, now eating you out more eagerly, as if he was desperate to make you cum. His slurping and soft groans were filling the empty hall, as your moans made them company, the obscene sounds he made as he was devouring you were enough to make you shake and clenched around nothing. So needy already.

"Let me taste you, dear…" He muttered against your soft and wet folds, "I bet you're so fucking close already… Am I making you feel good?"

"Fuck- Yes…" You whimpered, "I’m so close."

He chuckled, his mouth now sucking desperately on your sensitive and swollen spot. His stare, his hands squeezing your arse, and his rough touch were enough. You came in his mouth, biting your lip to not moan too loud. The bastard made you cum so hard your knees bent, he reacted quickly by holding your hips and putting you back in your place before one of his hands slipped between your drenching folds once again.

"There you go..." He grinned, his digits rubbing against you to prolong your release, "So fucking good."

He stood up, his knees feeling weak and his cock aching under his pants. He rubbed it over the fabric and groaned. You looked down at him, your legs still shaking, your breathing still unsteady, your cheeks still burning red. He pecked your lips.

"Now… what about you returning the favor, huh?" He speaks with his typical pretentiousness that you hated so much. You took a while to process his words and what they meant, so he spoke again, "kneel, and suck my cock."

You slapped his shoulder.

"I'm not your fucking whore." You spat.

"Weird that you mention that…" He made a small gesture, frowning as if he was trying to remember something, "I thought only whores wanted to have sex with me, huh?"

"Fuck off." You muttered as you started to untie the lace of his pants, "You're so fucking annoying."

He scoffed, and pushed you down until your knees touched the cold floor, "And yet, here you are, about to suck my cock."

You pulled down his pants and his length jumped out of it, he was already starting to leak. You tried so hard not to hum at the view, you tried so hard to deny how wet it made you feel.

"See?" He spoke breathlessly as you grabbed him, starting to slowly stroke him, "I told I had one."

You rolled your eyes, making him chuckle for the millionth time. A chuckle that was interrupted by your tongue licking the red tip of his hard cock. Aegon sighed, and muttered some incoherent words under his breath as his hips moved closer to you. However, you still kept licking only the tip, not even sucking on it yet… you wanted to tease him, just a little. He deserved it.

His hand reached for your hair and gripped it tightly in a fist, which completely ruined your braids and hair. You moan for this rough action, as Aegon tried to pull you closer to him, in a failed attempt of getting inside your mouth.

"Stop being a fucking tease," he grunted, almost with a desperate tone. You only smirked, and soon your swollen lips were around the head of his cock, sucking it gently while your tongue flicked around it. Aegon groaned in response, closing his eyes and leaning his head backwards. "That's it… just like that, bunny."

That nickname did something inside of you. Your cheeks turned red, your cunt clenched and a soft moan left your lips. Even you were impressed by your reaction, completely aroused by just that word. You wondered how many girls he had called that way before, you were sure you were not the first.

But you were.

Soon you allowed him to fully enter your mouth, and he slowly moved his hips against you. One hand was gripping the side of your neck a bit tightly and the other was pulling your hair, forcing you to stay still as he gently fucked your mouth. He would sigh heavily, grunt and bite his lip.

You move your head back and forth, trying to take him whole. Your hand went to his sack, which you fondled and squeezed enough to make him groan a bit too loud. Small curses left his lips as his cock twitched inside your mouth.

He then forced you to stop moving your head, keeping it still with his grip tight in your hair. His hips started to fasten his thrusts, you would gulp and gag every now and then while your eyes started to get teary and blurry as his pace was quicker and rougher. His moans became louder, his breath uneven and unsteady. Then he stopped, he slowly moved his hips forward, forcing you to take him fully down your throat. You felt the lack of air as you gagged, your nose rubbing against his pelvis.

Aegon grunted, and then a loud whine left his lips, but before you could taste his load in your mouth, he pulled out. He laughed softly, looking at you sitting on your arse on top of your wrinkled dress, gasping and panting, trying to regain the air to your lungs.

"Fucking idiot!" You yelled at him, wiping the tears of your face and the saliva that had fallen down your chin.

"Don't be so loud, sweetheart, someone might hear you." His voice sounded weak and unsteady. It was so obvious that he was about to cum before you decided to push him away.

"You were choking me, asshole." You said as you stood up. Aegon helped you by grabbing your arm, feeling a weird sensation in his gut when he saw a small and slight pout in your lips.

He quickly tried to make that feeling disappear with a witty comment, trying to seem careless, "why would I want to do that when we haven't reached the best part yet?"

Once again, he interrupted you with a messy kiss, pushing you against the cold pillar. You tasted yourself in his lips, and you were certain that he did too. It was so erotic that it made you moan. His hands gave your breast a last squeeze before cupping your face to deepen the kiss.

Aegon did not waste any more time. His cock was already hard enough to hurt, and he was desperate to feel you around him. He's been waiting for it since you arrived with that dress, which was now spreaded on the floor and under Aegon's shoes. He grabbed your thighs, making you wrap your legs around his hips. His cock was placed against your wet folds and that mere touch was enough to make you shiver. His lips came back to your neck as your hips started to move against his length, up and down, stealing a soft grunt from him.

Soon, his hands grabbed your arse, and his tongue found his way back to your breasts. You felt your knees weakened once again and now you were glad he was holding you up. He sucked your nipple now more harshly, as your hands went to his hair to stroke it delicately as you kept rubbing yourself with him.

"Your tits are probably the only part of you that I love.” he muttered with a smirk. You hummed in response.

He moved your hips, enough to place his cock against your entrance and started to push in. The feeling of his length stretching you out was consuming, you open your mouth letting gasps and soft moans fall out of it. Aegon frowned, and you saw him struggling to not whimper. You felt so fucking good.

"Fucking- Gods, you're so tight." He whined, kept pushing himself in. He was doing it slowly, as if he was trying to take his time with you. "Mhm… your cunt is taking me so well."

Your hips twitched with his words, and Aegon groaned because of it. He also felt how you clenched around him and he could not help but smirk.

With one more push he was buried deep inside of you. His hands were grabbing your arse, his nails digging your skin; the feeling of you squeezing was so good, so delicious, that it was making him weak on the knees. He was afraid to drop you, so he held you tightly between his body and the pillar behind you.

He started to move, and that is when you lost your last pinch of sanity. He filled you up so good it made your body tense. He would start slowly, getting used to the feeling of you before his hips quickened the pace. You couldn't help but moan.

"Ow… that's it," You whimpered, "Yes…"

"You like that, huh?" He spoke, breathlessly. "Does my cock feel good for you, dear?"

You closed your eyes, and nodded. You were too drunk in pleasure to even realize he had used his mocking tone once again.

"Fuck- yes!" You unconsciously yelped a bit too loud.

Aegon covered your mouth quickly. Your eyes fluttered open only to find his face mere inches away from you. His cheeks were red, his eyes glistening with a layer of lust in them, and his smug smirk on his face.

"Sh, sh…" He whispered, his cock still pushing deep inside of you as he did. You were almost drooling, "You don't want to be too loud, do you? Someone might find us…"

The mere thought of someone walking in you two in this position was enough to have you whining again. It felt so wrong, so forbidden that it added some adrenaline to this situation, and that feeling went straight to your drenching cunt, which once again clenched around his length, making him hum in delight.

"Oh, fuck," he sighed, "your cunt is so eager for my cock, isn't it?" he groaned.

You grasped his hair in your fist and roughly pulled it. Aegon's head fell backwards as a surprisingly loud whine left his lips. The hand that was covering your mouth went to your breast.

"Just shut up and fuck me," you said grunting. Aegon's eyes widened as you pulled his hair again, and you could feel his cock twitching inside of you. He nodded, surprisingly submitted to your words.

His movements soon fastened. His sack was smacking against your arse as your skin slapped, echoing around the empty hall. Your slick covered his length, making so much easier the process of fucking you restlessly. He was not helding back, he was being as rough as he could. The desire was burning inside his body, and he forgot all those years of rivalry between you two once he saw the way your breast would bounce in your chest with each pounding.

Now, the only thing he could think of was you, your sweet moans, and your tight little cunt.

You were surprised to find out how vocal he was. His whimpers, moans and dirty words would reach your ears as you could only hum in response. You would tease him and mock him, but the lust running in your veins would barely let you speak properly.

Your hand still tightened in his silver locks. Aegon’s head was now buried in your neck as both of his shaky hands were holding your hips still for him to fuck as he pleased. He was so consumed with you that he was unable to talk you through it, as he would usually do when laying with other women. Your scent, the smell of your skin and your hair was intoxicating and soon he felt as if he needed more of that. More of you.

His whimpers and grunts soon overshadowed yours. His loud sounds only made you wetter, as he kept thrusting ruthlessly against your trembling body. His hips smacking with yours, his breath against your neck… it was too much.

“Fuck, fuck…” he would whine in your ear. His thin voice almost being comprehensible for you, “Oh, fuck, you’re- you’re so fucking… oh!”

Both of you became moaning messes as his thrusts became sloppier, his heavy breathing being constantly cut by his own moans as you could not stop gasping for air. His pounding became slower, but harder and deeper. He would lean his hips back to then push himself in one single harsh thrust.

“I’m going- Oh, Gods! I’m so fucking close…” You warned. Your arms wrapped around his shoulder in order to find some support as your legs were already shaking.

“Oh- I’m gonna cum so deep inside you, bunny.” He muttered.

“Yes… fuck, yes, please.” You moaned in response, without even thinking about the words that had just left your mouth.

His grip in your hips tightened when he spilled his seed deep inside your tight walls. He whimpered so loud that he had to bite your neck to silence himself as his load brimmed you and it spilled out of your drenching cunt.

The mere feeling of his cock twitching inside you, plus the warmth of his cum dripping down your thighs was enough to take you over the edge. A loud gasp was heard, and your release washed over your body making you shake and your hips twitch.

“There you go…” Aegon grunted, still moving his hips as his cock softened. “Taking all my cum as the little whore you are.”

Those words were enough to wake you up from the dream of pure pleasure you were in. You remembered where you are, who you are with. The reality striked right at your face, like a slap. and you quickly tried to push him out of you.

Aegon, who was still too stumped with the most intense orgasm of his life, did not let you go. He frowned in confusion, however, trying to look for something that might have told him what he did wrong, and why were you trying to pull away.

“What the fuck are you doing?” He asked, still panting.

“Just let me go.” You said, also breathing heavily. Your legs and body are still shaking.

“What? What- what is wrong with you?”

“You got what you wanted, now let me go or I swear I’ll-”

“Alright, alright!” He interrupted you, pulling out of you and letting you go, as you were starting to raise your voice.

He quickly put his softened cock back into his pants and brushed his hair back with his fingers, trying to regain strength in his body and to think clearly again. All of that while you were quickly removing the stains of your dress to eventually put it back on.

“Why are you acting as if I forced you to do this shit?” He questioned, almost offended.

“You planned all this, didn’t you?” You accused him, looking up at him.

“What?”

“You wanted to fuck me so then you can treat me like one of your whores!” You yelled, angry. Your voice echoing in the room.

Aegon scoffed, “you’re fucking mental,” he spat, “I knew you were fucking crazy but never to this extent.”

“So you’re denying it?”

“I fucked you because I fucking wanted to do it!” He raised his voice, “And by the looks of it, it seems as if you also wanted to fuck me, so now don’t complain about it.”

“You’re a fucking asshole.” You spat, standing up and using your dress to cover your body, “I hope that you enjoyed it because it will never happen again.”

Aegon rolled his eyes, “Oh, gods, please no. I can’t fucking live without your cunt.” he spoke, obviously being sarcastic.

“Fuck you!” You said.

“Fuck you too!” He yelled back.

Your discussion was interrupted with the sound of the heavy doors being opened again. Your heart stopped for a second and you tightened the grip in the dress between your hands once you realized you were still naked.

The faces of your mother Rhaenyra and Queen Alicent appeared in your sight. Aegon quickly walked in front of your body, as a failed attempt to cover you.

Their expressions were worthy of a horror story. Your cheeks flustered and burning red. Aegon scoffed, softly.

“Oh, bunny, we’re fucked.”

#aegon x reader #aegon targaryen x you #aegon ii targaryen #aegon targaryen x reader #aegon targaryen imagine #aegon smut #aegon ii targaryen x reader #smut #hotd #hotd x reader #house of the dragon #house targaryen #aegon ii targaryen smut #fire and blood #hotd smut

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wardenparker · 9 months ago

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Hummingbird Has Landed, ch 7

Marcus Pike x female reader Co-written with @absurdthirst

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

Rating: Mature, but this blog is always 18+ Word Count: 18.3k Warnings: *Blanket warnings for this series: occasional mention of American politics, pregnant character, food/alcohol consumption, mentions of clothing/regulated dressing for occasions, mentions of therapy because we believe in self care here, reader is in a previous relationship, love triangle, reader is mentioned as turning 30 during the course of the story* Relationship drama, family teasing, parental/societal demands, light discussion of politics, handful of sex jokes, Marcus is a menace. Summary: A gesture you weren't expecting, a memorable phone call, an admission at dinner, a surprise for a friend, and one more grand gesture that you definitely *did* plan. Notes: A gif from Sabrina feels extremely appropriate for this chapter, and this one is even the outfit inspo for Birdie at a certain point. You'll see it 🧡 (Outfit inspo, but not in any way indicating her body type. Wear the clothes you love!)

Ch1 ~ Ch 2 ~ Ch 3 ~ Ch 4 ~ Ch 5 ~ Ch 6

The next few days fly by, as working on the Cameron/Wiley wedding takes up all of your spare time. The only thing you've managed to do on your second day off is to comb through their contracts and get things straightened out with their florist — an agonizing series of phone conversations that nearly ended with you going down to the shop in person — but it is finally the end of the day. You're going to make yourself eat something reasonable, which is to say not the fast food you're craving, and you're going to take your yoga mat down to the studio in Old Town for puppy yoga. It's the single greatest way to relax and destress apart from the phone calls you've been having with Marcus — three now — and while you're bummed that you won't be getting a call tonight, at least he was courteous enough to text you and let you know that he is working late on a new lead.

You've got your leggings and t-shirt on under a sweater dress and you're ready to sneak out the back of the inn with Agent Bailey when you get stopped in the lobby.

“I am sorry, there is a gentleman her to see you.” Malachi rolls his eyes. “A flower delivery. Says that he must deliver to you personally.” He sniffs, a little annoyed that he had not been left the blooms so he could be nosy about who they are from by reading the card affixed to the front. He huffs. “He must be one of those singing flower deliveries.

“So he didn’t give you the card to read?” You tease, knowing Malachi has a penchant for gossip. “It’s okay.” Looping your arm through his with a playful grin, you walk with him out to the lobby. “I’ll let you read it first.” The hope in the back of your mind is very real and present, though — thinking of the possibility that Marcus might have sent you a few buds while he’s away. Maybe as a thank you for helping Cameron, since he’s still in a relationship.

“That is the least that you can do.” He snorts sassily and is eagerly looking forward to finding out who had send you such a beautiful bouquet.

“Hi there.” Greeting the delivery man easily, you’re immediately distracted by the tall cut vase of stunning white flowers with greens strewn throughout to enhance the beauty of the arrangement. “They sent you with quite an armful, didn’t they? Let me take those for you.”

The delivery person is dressed sharply and he confirms your name with Malachi, since you are distracted with the flowers. Instead of handing them to you, he starts to sing. “Baby, I'm amazed at the way you love me all the time. And maybe I'm afraid of the way I love you. Maybe I'm amazed at the way you pulled me out of time. You hung me on a line.”

The striking way your face falls immediately, draining of blood and leaving your eyes wide, leaving your throat dry right along with it. “I—um—thank you. Uh…thanks. That’s enough. You—you don’t have to sing anymore.” The way you had been desperately hoping Malachi was teasing about a singing delivery has been flushed down the drain, and you fish in your purse to tip the man so he can be on his way. “Oh god,” you mumble to yourself immediately, mortified and feeling like you’re about to throw up.

It’s not uncommon for someone to not wish for the song to be finished so when you tell him to stop, he sets the flowers down on the counter and accepts the tip. The transaction has been fulfilled in his eyes and he won’t insist the song be completed. “Have a nice day.” He tells you quickly.

“Thank you.” There’s no reason to be impolite to the man even though you feel like you’re going to be sick, and instantly you know that not even the cute little puppies at yoga are going to be able to cheer you up from this. “What the hell am I going to do with these?” The question is mostly rhetorical, even though Malachi is standing right next to you. “And why the hell would he send them?”

“Is it not alright for your boyfriend to send you flowers?” He scrunches his brow in confusion. “You love flowers.”

“Mal…” Lowering your voice, you grab the lapel of his jacket and drag Malachi behind the desk to make it look like you’re talking about something work related with the flowers acting as a shield between you two and the rest of the lobby. “I broke up with Sam earlier in the week,” you confide, as quietly as you possibly can.

His eyes widen in surprise and he folds his arms over his chest in mild annoyance you have not told him before now. “What? Why? You love Sam.”

“It’s complicated.” Is the best excuse you can really give him in this exact moment, which feels weird and wrong, but the whole situation is so odd. “Only Sydney knows, so please don’t say anything? You know I prefer to keep my private life private.” Which is yet another reason that the singing telegram is not exactly your style.

“I do not know what to say.” While Malachi loves to know all the gossip and details, he does not share information. He claims he is more of a gatherer.

“You don’t have to say anything,” you assure him, exhaling a long and haggard breath. “Just…help me look for a card or something? Sam having the delivery guy sing ‘our song’ is a little pointed, but there might be a note too.”

“Of course.” He nods and he starts looking through the massive arrangement to find a card.

“Here it is.” Tucked deep into the arrangement between the most massive white carnations you’ve ever seen, is a card in Sam’s scrawling print. Not one to go back on your promise, you hand it to Malachi first, but you have a sinking sensation that you know what it will say.

Malachi opens the card and clears his throat to start reading. “My love, I know I have much to apologize for, but I will spend as much time as it takes to win your forgiveness. Love, Sam.” He reads out loud and looks up at you. “He is begging for forgiveness, Birdie.” Ticking an eyebrow up, he smirks. “Looks like Congressman Chase is trying very hard to win you back.”

“Apparently so.” Although you can’t say that you’re thrilled about it. “Where am I going to put these flowers? This thing is enormous.”

“Your office?” He asks. “Or make it a centerpiece for the family table.”

“Emily Post says never use fragrant flowers in a table arrangement so they don’t alter the scent of your food.” The factoid — learned from your grandmother — spills out of your mouth instantly and you sigh softly. “I’ll bring them upstairs. The side table in the living room has room, and I need to call him now anyway.” Privacy is better is the implication there.

“I will send Charlie up with them.” Charlie is boy who works afternoons carrying luggage and delivering tea and meals to the rooms. As well as working in the kitchen when another pair of hands is needed.

“You’re an angel, Mal. Thank you.” It still leaves you with a phone call to make, but that is up to just you no matter what else happens.

“Of course.” Malachi nods and quickly walks off to find the burly younger man. Knowing you wouldn’t want the flowers to be downstairs for long so no one would ask questions.

Turning around again is an option, but Charlie is bringing the flowers upstairs and you’re already dressed for yoga, so you slip out the back door in the vain hope that an hour of stretching with very cute puppies will help. You can call Sam and have an uncomfortable conversation later when you’re feeling more centered.

The puppies are just what you need. Scampering and yipping through the posed arms and legs of people might not seem like it would be relaxing, but it is. And short of hearing Marcus’s voice, it’s the most relaxing thing you can possibly think of right now. Hopefully it works.

Fridays are always busier than any other day. Getting through the work day and having a little time to decompress before going to family dinner is always a task, but tonight you’re having an evening cup of coffee in your living room while you hammer out the scheduling assignments for the wedding which is now only one week away. Everything is falling into place, thankfully, and you’re going to give your team a big thank you for hustling to get everything ready in time.

The incoming call isn’t a normal one, and Marcus hopes you don’t mind. He wants to show you something and hopes you like it.

If he could see the smile on your face when his photo pops up on your phone screen, he would know for sure that you don't mind at all. "Hey G-man." You greet him with a voice full of sunshine, and since it's a FaceTime call he can actually see the grin this time as well.

“Hey.” Marcus grins back at you, very pleased that you seem happy to see him. “I’m sorry to call you at such a weird time, but I’m somewhere I thought you would appreciate.”

"Don't ever be sorry to call." As if to prove it, you heft the notebooks off of your lap and sit back on the couch. "Where are you?"

“The Tower of London.” He turns the camera around to show you the area.

"No!" Immediately you're sitting up in your seat again, trying to inspect the image on your phone like you might be able to climb into it if you try hard enough. "God, I miss London! Have you gotten to poke around anywhere? That whole place is so cool and so haunted."

“I’ve been allowed back into the Jewel House.” He admits. “They said that it’s okay if I’m on a video call while I’m there. Do you want to see the jewels up close?”

"Did you seriously just ask a girly girl if she wants to see the Crown Jewels? Marcus Pike you are a dream." The few minutes you have before you need to leave will be perfectly spent just like this and you grab your coffee to sip while he moves around the space.

He snorts, thankful that the camera is off of him so you can’t see that he’s blushing. “Here we go.” There is a moment that he has to wait for the doors to be unlocked, but then it’s opened up and he steps into the Jewel House.

"Did you know the Black Prince's ruby in the Imperial State Crown isn't actually a ruby?" The excitement bubbles over you with the instinctive knowledge that Marcus won't judge you for it. Getting excited about history isn't a bad thing, after all.

"What is it?" He asks, glancing around to see if he can find the Imperial State Crown to show you up close. "Oh, there it is."

"It's a balas stone." When he starts walking up to it you practically squeak with excitement. "They say Henry V wore it in his helmet at the Battle of Agincourt. Like a good luck charm."

"A good luck charm, hum?" Marcus smiles as he pushes the phone's camera closer to you can see it under the bright lights of the room. "I need one of those." He huffs. "Been running out of luck lately."

"Dead end with the case?" You ask, genuine concern in your voice despite humming over the large gem. "I hope not. You're supposed to be back in a week for Cameron's wedding."

"Nah." He doesn't want to turn the conversation to things that will bring down the mood. "Professionally, things are great." He promises. "I'm going to spend the next few days wrapping up to turn over to Interpol and I'm hoping to be back two days before the wedding."

"So..." Biting your lip is a nervous tick that you never quite got rid of, but you're smiling into the camera regardless. "Does that mean I can give my parents your RSVP for my birthday when I go to dinner tonight? Since you know you're going to be back in time?"

“Yeah.” Marcus shifts the camera back around so you can see him nod. “I’ll be there. Sorry that I’ve been gone, it’s probably sitting in my mailbox. But tell your parents I’m happily accepting the invitation.”

“I’m happy to accept it on your behalf, but since they still insist the location has to be a surprised, you’ll have to check the card for that.” Once he’s back in frame, that smile on your face gets beaming all over again. “So are there any corners of that jewel house that we peasants don’t get to see and you do?”

“Yes.” Marcus smirks and turns the camera around. “Would you like to see the personal jewels?” He asks, walking over to another door.

“You’re kidding?” Another gasp and giggle comes out of you as you readjust on your couch. There’s only one last sip of coffee at the bottom of your cup but what he’s showing you is far more exciting than hazelnut creamer. “Yes please! Absolutely.”

“Okay, but I’ve been instructed that I cannot pick up or touch any of them. So….yeah.” He doesn’t know why he would say that, it’s not like you can come through the screen and pick up the jewels.

“Oh my god…” The room that he’s in is full of cases, shelving, and careful lighting that make the stored pieces glint and glitter. They wink at Marcus as he moves about the room, teasing you through the camera and making both of you gasp or giggle alternately. It’s just such an enormous measure of opulence that taking it in together is surreal.

“What do you think? Pretty amazing, right?” He’s a little giddy, and soft, sharing this with you, even if it’s through a screen. “The sheer monetary value of this room is more than every house I’ve ever owned.”

“Same,” you huff, and laugh when he throws you a doubtful look. “We don’t own the White House. We’re just borrowing it for a while.” You remind him with a grin. “And I don’t even live there!”

“Yeah, buuuuuut…” he flashes you a grin. “You can sleep in the Lincoln bedroom anytime you want. I bet your mom wouldn’t say no.”

“You probably could too.” A little poke at the screen is the closest you’re going to get to touching him, and you hate that fact. “After the State dinner, she probably likes you more than me.”

“Nahhhh.” He shakes his head and shrugs. “You’re her daughter. She loves you unconditionally. Me? She just likes that I look good in a tux and can dance.” He reminds you. “Those are mutually exclusive things.”

“If you think she loves me unconditionally, remind me to tell you about the time I lost the fifth grade spelling bee to Maude Appleton,” you snort, nearly in giggles on the couch again. “I’m a disgrace to the family, Marcus. Truly.”

“The black sheep, huh? I can tell.” He rolls his eyes and cheekily sticks out his tongue at you. “You have a sitting President planning your birthday party.”

“One that she absolutely does not need to be throwing, and that you will be at.” The fact that he’s coming tickles you more than a little, and you grin like a moron for a moment longer before the alarm on your watch goes off. “Speaking of Madam President,” you huff a dramatic sigh and lift yourself off the couch. “That’s my cue. It’s Friday night dinner.”

“Go, enjoy your dinner with the President while I skulk around the Crown Jewels and dream of being King Marcus.” He jokes, smirking at you through the screen.

“Just remember, every king needs a queen.” The moniker First Princess flashes through your head again and your cheeks burn with it. “Or at least a Princess.”

You are moving to your door and Marcus is about to come back with slightly flirtatious comeback when he spots the gorgeously large bouquet of flowers on the table. A slap in the face reminder of who you are and despite that, you are taken. “Yeah.” The agreement is a little flat for the previous tone of the conversation. “Well, um, I better go. The President doesn’t need to be kept waiting.”

“She’s still just my mother.” The change in his tone doesn’t escape you but the reason does, and you furrow your eyebrows at the screen but swallow it down. He’s still dating Vanessa. Don’t make it weird. You remind yourself harshly. “I’ll talk to you later.” It’s always how you sign off your calls now, and you know you sound hopeful but you don’t care one bit.

“Talk later.” He agrees and disconnects the call. Staring at his Home Screen for a moment before sighs. “You’re a fucking idiot, Pike.”He grumbles. “She’s dating a fucking congressman. She doesn’t want you.” When he gets back home, he needs to look at the dating apps again. Needing to forget about you and move on.

Friday night dinners are ritual, soothing, although June is eager to get this particular one over with so she can go out with the potential boyfriend she had met at the party last Friday. Nervous, she exudes that kind of boundless energy she had as a child, since she likes this guy so much it surprises her.

“Someone’s in a good mood tonight.” Your father observes with a wry smirk as the five of you sit down at the table together. He’s particularly excited about dinner tonight for purely food reasons, but he likes seeing his children happy and buzzing.

“I’m going to the movies.” She volunteers, knowing that the security detail would have already informed her parents anyway.

“With Kiley?” Alex assumes automatically, knowing that Junie’s best friend is a movie fanatic. “What are you guys going to see? I might tag along.”

“No!” She’s almost spitting out her refusal and then realizing that it sounds suspicious, she backs down. “I mean, I’m not going with Kiley. You can’t come.”

“If you’re not going with Kiley…” Alex’s eyes widen as he picks up his drink, not bothering to hide his growing smirk behind the glass at all. “Did you meet somebody, Junebug? Please tell me you are smart enough not to get bamboozled by a frat boy or a post grad.”

“Shut up.” She hisses, throwing her napkin at him. “It’s none of your business and I’m smarter than that.”

“So you did meet someone.” You join the smirking too, knowing that razzing your sister is all in good fun and that you and Alex would go to the ends of the earth to protect her. “What’s their name? How’d’ya meet? Give us the dirt, Junie.”

She narrows her eyes at you, feeling slightly betrayed by you essentially ganging up on her. “I met him at the party last weekend. His name is Bryan and before you say anything…” She holds up her hand. “He is in a fraternity but he was the DD for the party.”

“Sounds responsible.” Your father commends from one end of the table. “We just want to know you’re safe, Bug. That’s all.”

“Oh, no.” Alex shakes his head as the salad course hits the table. “We want dirt.”

“He may have passed the Secret Service’s background check, but not the older sibling one,” you agree with a nod.

“Oh my ggggggggoddddddd.” June groans, dropping her head into her hand and giving a moan of embarrassment. “I think he might be my soulmate, okay?” She huffs.

The room is dropped into a vacuum as all the air is sucked out of it. Four family members sit stunned before all hell breaks loose in excitement as everyone starts talking at once.

“Why do you think so, honey?”

“Junie, that’s wonderful!”

“Holy shit, are you serious?!”

“Are you excited? Did you ask him how he got the scar on his leg?”

“I haven’t seen that scar.” June admits, groaning slightly and now worried that she might have raised everyone’s hopes for nothing. “But it’s not like it’s obvious like your tattoo.” She snorts, throwing you an amused look. “Although Agent Pike didn’t seem to think it was dumb.”

Halfway to picking up your salad fork, you freeze all over again. “Why would you say that?” The carefully affected breezy tone in your voice doesn’t fool your family for a second, and your blood is pounding your ears out of sheer fear for your baby sister’s answer.

“Oh, we talked about it while we danced.” She confirms, unaware of the turmoil she is causing. “He’s really nice. He actually didn’t make fun of where you put your hummingbird like I do.”

“June Allegra…” There is as much warning in your voice as there is fear and worry, your eyes blowing wide as they narrow on her across the table. “You told Marcus about my tattoo?”

“Was it supposed to be some kind of secret?” She asks, startled by your reaction. “I didn’t— you’ve never really hidden it before. Are you— did I do something wrong?” She throws her parents a confused look.

“I hadn’t said anything yet,” you admit, feeling sick to your stomach at the realization that Marcus has known for an entire week that you are soulmates. Through the phone calls and the chats and the work you’re doing for his friend’s wedding. He’s known, but he’s still with Vanessa. “I’ve suspected for weeks, but I didn’t…it hadn’t been confirmed…”

“Suspected what?” She’s still not grasped what you are talking about, but your mother and father exchange a very pointed glance with each other.

“Oh honey.” Your mother sighs.

June huffs. “Will someone tell me what the hell is going on?”

“Agent Pike is Birdie’s soulmate.” Alex’s voice isn’t nearly as teasing, more of a soft tone of understanding cutting through the tension in the room. “And you told him before she could.”

“I’m not mad,” you assure your sister quickly, but your heartbeat has leapt up into your throat. “It’s just…it’s complicated.”

“Oh shiiiiiit.” Her eyes widen and she looks like she might cry. “Why— why didn’t he say anything? Why didn’t you? You’re soulmates? What about Sam?”

“I broke up with Sam.” That admission is heavy enough on its own, knowing that letting the cat out of the bag with your family is now officially necessary. “Not…exclusively because of that. But it made me think about things. And…I hadn’t told Marcus yet because I wasn’t sure. Plus, he’s seeing someone else. And I didn’t want to complicate things for him.” June really does look like she’s about to cry, though, and you get up and circle the table to hug her. “You didn’t know, Junebug. It’s okay.”

“Oh shit.” It’s not often your mother curses, but she does now. “Sam got an invitation to your birthday, I wouldn’t have dreamed of not inviting him, but if you’ve broken up….”

“I still want to stay friends with him.” The clarification is obviously important since it does change expectations a bit. “And Marcus will be home from London in time to come to the party, so please just…I will let you guys know when I’ve talked to him, okay? If I don’t say anything to you directly will you all please assume I haven’t gotten to talk to him about it yet and not say anything?”

“Damn.” Alex whistles quietly. “I thought my soulmate status was complicated.” He snorts. “You’ve got me beat, big sis.

“Your soulmate status isn’t complicated, people are just bigoted,” you toss back, knowing that Alex and David have been crazy about each other forever. They just stay quiet about it to avoid unnecessary commentary on their personal lives. Which you give them a lot of credit for, honestly. “This is…a lot.”

“Yes it is.” Your father speaks up. “And only you can decide when the time is right to talk to Marcus about this.” He agrees. “You said he was also seeing someone?”

"Yeah..." As the five of you slowly start to eat, the sick to your stomach feeling is subsiding a little and you nod. "Um...Vanessa D'Amario? She's, uh...she's Sam's aide."

Your mother winces. “Also daughter to Judge D’Amario.” She tells the table. “Federal circuit and on the short list for Supreme Court.” She would never tell you to not follow your heart, but she does want to caution you. “Just be honest and let Marcus decide what he needs to do before you take any steps.”

"I just want him to be happy." It sounds cliched, but as soon as it's out of your mouth you know it's true. That the feeling that's nestled deep into your ribcage is new love and that it's real enough to make you both selfless and just a little stupid. "If that means staying with Vanessa, I'll just have to deal with it."

Alex shakes his head. “That man is a romantic.” He snorts. “He probably is waiting for the right moment. Some big gesture.”

"I don't know what's going to happen," you admit, stabbing a piece of apple and some cheese rather violently with your salad fork. "But what I do know is that for now, I'm excited about Junie maybe meeting someone she's interested in and my birthday happening in a week." Your eyes raise to your mother on one end of the table and you offer her a lopsided smile. "You might have to tell me where the party is after all, Mom. Unless you're going to have somebody else drive me."

“I can have Marcus bring you.” She offers with a small grin.

"I honestly think he would forget how to speak if you called him." It's an enormously sweet and endearing thought, trying to wrap your head around how Marcus might react to the sitting President calling him up to ask a favor.

Your father chuckles and reaches over to take your mother’s hand. “Well, she might talk him into it if she demands a dance with him. She was grumbling about not being able to dance with your escort herself after the State dinner.”

"There's going to be dancing?" You raise your eyebrow at your mother, no longer able to get any kind of read at all at what kind of party this is going to be.

“That entirely depends on the music that you choose.” She grins at you. “Doesn’t have to be ballroom dancing. I can still break a leg.”

"It's cut a rug," June huffs, still amazed that the woman who somehow uses turns of phrase just barely incorrectly convinced an entire country to make her President.

The President laughs, aware of what the phrase actually is, she just enjoys watching her children cringe at times. “Whatever.” She huffs, waving her hand. “Either way, Birdie’s party will be wonderful.”

“That’s how your tattoo came up!” June huffs. “Your nickname. Again, I’m sorry, Birdo.”

"You couldn't have known, Junebug. It's okay." At another point in your lives you might have been the right ages for you to hold it over her head, but not anymore. You and June have just under ten years separating your ages and that difference has united you in as many ways as it's separated you. "And I'm going to be honest, along with all the different songs from the years of my life? It's a lot of 80s dance music. I gave the list to Dad when I got here."

“Perfect.” Your mom winks at you, “I loved the 80s.”

"We know, Mom." Alex snorts, shaking his head as he eats his salad. "Just promise you won't do the Running Man or the Robot or anything."

“My Robot is amazing!” She protests with a laugh, knowing that while she can dance, she’s goofy with that move. “Okay, okay I’ll resist.” She huffs dramatically.

“We acknowledge and appreciate your sacrifice,” you tease, raising your glass to your mother in salute.

“As long as my accomplishments are acknowledged.” She teases back, smiling at the three of her children. Happy that all of them are on the way to knowing their soulmates, even if they don’t choose to be with them. “So how do you feel about the idea that Marcus Pike might be your soulmate?” She asks softly. “That’s the most important thing.”

The opportunity to think about your answer while tonight’s main course comes out is appreciated, and when it turns out to be your mother’s very favourite thing on the planet — chicken cordon bleu with roasted potatoes and broccoli — the softness on your father’s face at seeing her delight reminds you of the warm, tight feeling in your chest every time you hear Marcus laugh. It tingles its way up to your cheeks and you end up smiling just hearing his name. “He’s a good man,” you say finally. “I think I’m lucky.”

She watches you with a sense of pride. “Good.” She hums and lifts her glass of lemonade. “To Birdie and Junie.” She poses. “May their soulmates be worthy of the wonderful women they are.”

“Here here!” Your father’s addition may not be long in the way of words, but he sees your reaction, and the soft way you smile, and has a feeling that things will end up okay.

June smiles, still feeling guilty for letting the cat out of the bag, but honestly she wonders if Marcus is aware that you might be soulmates. He didn’t seem to react too much from what she can remember.

“So…” Your mother sits up tall at the table and looks between her three children at the table. “Am I allowed to do a little business at supper? Since I have all of you here?”

“Oh boy.” Alex immediately rolls his eyes. “I knew we weren’t getting a great meal and there not be strings.” It’s an old joke in the family about how no one eats for free.

"Oh, you'll like yours," she waves one hand at him, unbothered by her middle child's habitual sass. "I just wanted to let all of you know that someone from my office is going to be contacting each of you in the next month or so with some opportunities for good publicity. There are plenty of websites and magazines that want to talk to the three of you and different businesses that want to be associated with you. We're going through all of it before we approve requests, and I thought each of you should be allowed to have some say in each of your approvals." She meets eyes with each of you individually, knowing what the first question will be. "And I'm sorry, but no publicity is not an option. That's why we're curating each list carefully. To keep things controlled and try to avoid things coming at any of you from left field."

June is the least social out of all of you and it’s immediately apparent that she is not happy. “Whhhhhhhhhy?” she whines. “You’re President, not us. Go adopt a puppy or something.”

"That's actually on the list," she admits, chuckling at how on the nose some of the choices are for her kids. "Since animal rights and animal welfare are the things that you've always cared the most about, we thought you might be willing to partner with a local rescue and pick out a new dog for the family." There has been a lot of time and effort put into making sure that the things being presented to each of the kids is something they actually care about and something that is representative of who they are. Hopefully that makes things a little less overwhelming for each of the kids individually.

“Wait…really?” Her parents have been loving and wonderful but the busy lifestyle they had lead hadn’t been fair to an animal. At least for a long time. The last family pet had been a cat who had died of old age when June was eight. “Are you being serious? This isn’t a joke, right?”

"They'll be your responsibility to take care of, for the most part," your mother warns, but she's glad to see the way June lights up. "I'm sure Alex will help, and Birdie too, when your sister is around. But...we know we're asking a lot of your kids. So we thought you should get something out of it, too."

“You had to wait until I’m practically out of the house?” Alex huffs playfully.

“Four years in the White House with a puppy still sounds like a pretty good time,” your dad contends. From the way he’s smiling it looks like letting Junie get a puppy was probably his idea. Even more so when he adds: “And I have some thoughts about the name.”

“We are not naming it Scout.” Alex warns him, pointing his finger at his father.

“But it’s a good name!” Your father protests in response, sending everyone into intermediate laughter and sighs. It’s always what he wants to name pets. Even the baby bird Junie rescued from the park when she was five.

“But we need something more dignified for a White House pooch.” June insists, grinning at her dad.

“Don’t tell me. You want to name the dog after Eleanor Roosevelt or Susan B. Anthony?” Alex jokes. “Why don’t we meet the pup before we name them? They might turn out to be just as goofy as the rest of this family.”

“We should get a really dopey puppy and name him Goofy.” June snickers happily. She picks up her glass. “I want to adopt.” She insists. “And make sure they are spayed or neutered.”

“I think Junie might be enjoying her assignment after all,” you observe, flashing both of your parents an impressed smile. Whatever they have for you, you’ll take the responsibility of more spotlight onto your shoulders with as much grace as you can muster. While it’s not your favourite part of your mother’s victory, it’s a very real part of how things will work for the next few years. And you did willingly sign up — for lack of a better phrase — to be as helpful as you could be.

“Good.” The President watches over all of you with a small smile and nods back at you. She knew that it would be difficult at times, but you are all handling it with as much grace and aplomb as could be expected.

“In other news.” With things going fairly well after the shock early in dinner tonight, your father is glad for the change in tone. “I hope everyone has the White House Easter Egg Roll already on their calendar.”

“I’m finding the golden egg!” Alex declares with a laugh. “There better be big money in it this year.”

“There will be prizes for the kids, and a nice lunch.” It earns Alex a smirk from your father, though. Of course it does.

“Are we supposed to do anything besides dress appropriately and be proud of you at the podium while you make a small speech?” It’s a valid question, directly aimed at your mother, but the question you’re afraid to ask is whether or not this is something they would prefer the three of you have escorts for.

“I’ve decided to change things up a little this year.” The President admits with hopeful smile. “We are bringing in one of the local orphanages, I was hoping that you and any friends you want to bring, along with my staff, would pair up with a child for the egg hunt.”

“You’re going to piss off a lot of judges and legislators with that one.” And you don’t mind pointing it out to her. It’s often seen as a privilege of the position for high-ranking government employees to get that coveted invitation for their families to attend White House events. Letting ‘just anybody’ in is a mark for your mother to the public but possibly against her to a lot of other people. “I’ll be sure to bring a whole crew.”

“Fuck ‘em.” She huffs, rolling her eyes. “It is the People’s House. That includes children that haven’t found their forever home yet.”

“Besides,” June smirks, the admiration for her mother clear as day on her face. “What are they gonna do? She’s the President. You can’t impeach somebody for being nice.”

“They are really going to be pissed when we push the homeless initiative.” She has a list of things that she wants to tackle before she has to worry about re-election or leaving the office. Honestly, she wants her record in office to do the campaigning for her.

“And we’ll be even prouder.” There hasn’t really ever been a time when you haven’t been proud of your mother, but seeing the things she wants to accomplish while in office really does hammer it home for you. If the number of homeless and unemployed drops across the country like it did in Pennsylvania while she was governor, it will be enough to put her in history books all by itself.

“Thank you all for your help, your patience and everything you put with.” Right now, there isn’t a Secret Service Agent in sight, they all stay outside of the private residence, but she knows that it chaffs sometimes.

“We’ve got your back, Mom,” you promise her, because despite being a family of sass and negotiation, the fact is that you’re all very close. The age gaps between you and your siblings have never mattered, and the bumps in the road that you’ve all weathered were manageable because you got over them together.

The invitation to your birthday is beautiful and Marcus smiles when he sees the theme. Finally home, there’s plenty of mail to open and things to do before he changes and runs over to the inn for the wedding rehearsal.

His cell phone is perpetually on his person, always ready to go at a moment’s notice, but he isn’t expecting any calls. He’s just concentrating on getting through his stack of mail and getting his head on straight when his phone goes off. The word Private across his phone screen isn’t necessarily unusual, but having just come home from a case, there is an uncomfortable possibility that this is work related.

“Special Agent Pike.” He tucks the phone under his chin as he sets the mail down, pulling out a notebook in case it’s someone about a case.

“Good afternoon, Agent.” The President’s voice is distinct and recognizable to anyone who has heard her speak as many times as a government agent has, but she introduces herself anyway. Arrogance isn’t a characteristic she typically has. “Do you have a moment?”

“Yes Ma’am.” Marcus straightens immediately and wonders if something is wrong. “What may I help you with?” The President of the United States is calling him, he is going to do whatever she needs.

“I know you have an important night, so I won’t keep you.” She is well apprised of the wedding you are coordinating in just two days’ time. You’ll be missing family dinner for it, but your business and your integrity are important enough to take precedence. “But I’m afraid I have to ask a small favor of you, if I may? Are you Stateside again, Agent Pike?”

“Yes Ma’am, I am.” The fact that she knows he was out of the country means you talked about him with her, even if it was concerning the invitation to the party. It warms him in a way that it shouldn’t, given your relationship with Congressman Chase. He knows that whatever the favor, he will gladly do it. “Whatever you need, I’ll be happy to help.”

“It’s small,” she promises with a chuckle. Just as you had said — and as she had seen a little bit of at the State dinner — Marcus Pike is an earnest sort of man. “I was hoping you would be willing to pick Birdie up for her party on Saturday to bring her to the venue? The location is a surprise and I know she’d appreciate being able to ride in with you.” Instead of one of her siblings is the end of the sentence in her mind, but these days she’s fairly certain that you would pick Marcus Pike over almost anyone.

“Of course.” He agrees immediately, almost without thought, but he wonders why Sam isn’t bringing you. He opens his mouth to ask, but quickly shuts it before anything comes out, deciding he doesn’t want to know if there’s some birthday surprise involving the congressman. “What time do you want me to have her walk through the door?” He asks instead.

“Seven-thirty would be ideal.” The invitations say to arrive at seven, and she wants everyone assembled at the club before you get there. “She’s never been to the Statesman Club, I checked with Sydney. So she shouldn’t have any idea where you’re bringing her. And don’t let the half-hearted protests convince you of a thing. She loves a surprise.”

Marcus chuckles quietly. “I’ll keep that in mind.” He promises. “Seven-thirty.” He repeats. “I’ll have her there on time. Will Agent Bailey follow us or ride with us?” He asks.

“She will follow.” In fact, as a mother, she made sure of that. The chance to give you and Marcus some time alone seemed important. “Hopefully nothing will be complicated, and everything should be fun. I do appreciate the favor, Agent. It won’t go unremembered.”

“I am happy to help.” He feels slightly strange about having the President feel indebted to him, not that he would use it for anything at all. “Sincerely.”

“Wonderful.” There’s a smile in her voice, but a finality as well. “Well, I won’t keep you. Have fun at the rehearsal dinner tonight and the wedding on Friday.”

He’s surprised she knows the plans, but why, he’s not sure. You are close to your mother and he doubts you don’t talk about your work. “Thank you Madame President.” He hums quietly. “Have a good evening.”

“Good evening. And thank you again.” The call clicks off with a pleasant tone, and the President smiles to herself on the other end, knowing you didn’t think she would actually go through with having Marcus bring you to your party.

Marcus just stares at the phone for a moment, feeling like that was a surreal moment. He’s certainly never had the President call him for a favor before. Chuckling to himself, he moves towards the bathroom, needing to shower before he gets dressed for the rehearsal.

The rehearsal dinner truly is the easiest part of this process. For you, at least. You’ve done large handfuls of them in the past to be a help to Juan, and the number of people at this particular rehearsal is going to be incredibly small. Cameron and her fiancé had asked for just a family style meal after the actual rehearsal and you had set up a round dinner table in the gazebo in the grounds for them to enjoy their night with a few friends and family in relative privacy. Per your usual protocol, everyone working the wedding will be in black tonight and for the ceremony on Friday, and you’ve set yourself into a long-sleeved black blouse and cigarette pants for tonight with a smart pair of flats to complete the Audrey Hepburn look. There was a lot of back and forth about it between you and Sydney and Juan, but now that you know Marcus knows about your soulmate status? You’ve got to talk to him tonight. You may even have a few surprises up your sleeve, since you had to change your plans for that grand, romantic gesture.

Marcus tries to make his outfit seem casual, a more tailored suit than he wears at work, no tie. Loafers instead of dress shoes. He shows up right as Cameron and Michael do. Smiling as they get out of their car and he hugs the bride, shaking the groom’s hand. “You survived.” He jokes.

“Thanks to you.” Cameron — Joyce outside of work and to her friends and family — happily hugs Marcus instead of shaking his hand. “I don’t know what you said to her but she has bent over backward to make this happen and we’re so grateful.”

“I just asked her for a favor.” He admits with a sheepish grin. “That’s all.”

“Well, then she’s an amazing friend and we’re grateful for that, too.” She’s absolutely beaming in her white floral sundress and happily ready for this week’s celebrations. As stressful as everything had been, it has also been wonderful to feel like the day isn’t in jeopardy after all. “How was the case?”

“Interesting, but I want to focus on you and Wiley.” He reaches into his coat and pulls out an envelope. “I want to help with the costs. I know you guys got screwed having to pay twice.”

Cameron shakes her head adamantly, touched by the gesture even though it isn’t necessary. “We didn’t have to pay twice,” she tells him, acknowledging how remarkable that is. “I don’t really know what she did, but she hasn’t asked us for any money. The whole thing is just…it’s been a miracle.”

“Wow.” Marcus’s eyes widen and he wonders if you managed to get the other venue to cover the costs, but he knows in his heart, you just aren’t charging them. “Okay.” He sighs. “If you’re sure.”

“You’ve already helped us so much.” As a coworker and a boss, Marcus is fantastic. But as a friend? She will always be grateful for everything he’s done. Their long friendship has been through plenty of ups and downs, but this is above and beyond any call of duty that she could possibly think of. “Are you…still okay with walking me down the aisle?“

“I am looking forward to it…although…if you want someone else to do that, I understand.” Marcus hums as you walk outside to greet them.

“Joyce, Michael, you look fantastic. How are we feeling tonight?” You are nothing but professional smiles despite your own nerves for the various things that are set to happen tonight. Hopefully it will all be emotional in good ways only. “I’m glad you were able to get back in time, Marcus.”

“Me too.” He smiles politely, trying not to moon over how good you look. It makes him want to reach out and pull you into his arms, although that’s not right. “Are we all set?”

“Just about.” There’s a tingling in your fingers and the nervous butterflies in your stomach bottom out, but things are as ready as they’re going to be. You’re not about to steal the thunder from this couple on such an important night, but Marcus looks so good in his more casual and stylish suit that you have to remind yourself that you can’t just drag him upstairs. “Let’s take a walk out to the back and I’ll just give you a few moments to say hi to everyone before we get in place for the rehearsal. Okay?”

“That sounds good.” She’s excited, of course she is, but she’s also very disappointed. Wishing that she had her family here. The upside is that Marcus and her other friends are the best kind of family she could ask for.

“We’ve set up a table out in the gazebo for dinner. It should fit all eleven of you just fine.” A slight smile touches your lips, knowing that the couple only told you to expect nine for the rehearsal. The first surprise of the night is waiting for them out in the garden.

Cameron frowns slightly, tilting her head as she catches the error. From what you’ve shown her, you don’t make mistakes. “Eleven?”

“Eleven.” Waving one beckoning hand, you head out to the garden with Marcus, Cameron, and Michael in tow.

There are big batches of raspberry iced tea ready for tonight and all the guests gathered in the garden have glasses already. A few people are chatting but mostly they are looking around, inspecting early flowers blossoming in the flower beds from the warm spring, and the large planters that have already been brought in to be part of the decor for the wedding. In amongst the guests — the joyful friends and select family members who had offered continuous support — are Agent Cameron’s parents.

“Mom? Dad?” Cameron’s tone is nearly disbelieving and that makes Marcus’s heart hurt.

Mr. Cameron unwinds his arm from around his nervous-looking wife’s waist and rubs his hands together. “I hope we aren’t crashing your party.” He wants to set her and Michael at ease that they aren’t here to cause trouble. “I got a call from your boss a few days ago.” He glances over at Marcus briefly before turning his attention back to his only daughter. “Who told me, in much more eloquent terms, that I was a horse’s ass and would regret it for the rest of my life if I didn’t support you and Wiley.” He explains. “Your mother and I….we would like to come to the wedding and if it’s possible, maybe I could give you away?” He hopes that she will let him but if not, he would understand.

“Really?” A grown woman of more than thirty years, Joyce Cameron tears up immediately and clutches her fiancé’s hand while staring — gob smacked — at both of her parents. The whole thing doesn’t even register for a few seconds before she looks over at Marcus with a watery smile. “I don’t know a lot of people who can say their boss saved their wedding, and this is so much more than just one day.” She turns to hug Marcus fiercely before walking the six steps across the lawn she needs to embrace both of her parents.

Michael hangs back, giving his fiancée her moment with her parents as he turns to look at Marcus in astonishment. “How?” He demands, making the older man shrug.

“I asked them if they would be proud of the union if you shared marks.” He tells him. “They said you were a good man, and I reminded them that is all they should want for their daughter. A good man. One who treats her like a queen. And she’s found that. In you.”

"I guess it took somebody from the outside." Wiley shrugs, though, watching his fiancée hug her parents with happy tears in her eyes. "She deserves this, Marcus. Thank you." He murmurs, before stepping up to shake his soon-to-be father-in-law's hand and leaving Marcus standing with you on the edge of the garden.

Marcus smiles, happy that he has been able to help Joyce again, even if it means that he’s lost out on walking her down the aisle. He will happily be relegated to just a guest in this case. After a minute or so of quiet where Marcus doesn't step away from you, you nudge his side playfully with your elbow. "It's good to see you in person again."

“Glad it’s not accompanied by screaming parents, disturbing the peace and police reports.” He snorts, turning and giving you a friendly grin. It’s all he can muster but hopefully it’s believable. “But at least I didn’t get thrown into the dungeon for trying to steal the jewels.”

"They were very meek and apologetic when they got here," you assure him. The maid of honor — a cousin, apparently — had been shocked to see them but things had gone okay after the initial surprise wore off. For now, it's only good things with this wedding party so you can turn your attention to Marcus. "It would've caused quite a scandal if I had to go over there and bail you out, so I'm also glad you didn't get into any scrapes across the pond. I don't know if my curtsy is good enough for groveling."

He laughs slightly and then looks back at the older couple talking with the younger one. The relief is staggering from both sides and he sighs happily. “Guess I’m out of the rehearsal.”

"No reason you can't stay." It probably comes out too quickly, but the last thing you want is for him to leave. Not when you have...things you want to say. "You're the hero of the night. Stay and have a little supper, at least. I'm sure they don't want you to go."

“I wasn’t planning on leaving just yet.” He assures you. “Not when I can stay and bask in the happiness that my meddling worked.”

"Bask in it all you like. You earned it." Just like you're basking in this — just standing here beside him while the warmth of his presence washes over you like an exquisite sunset.

“Just like you.” Marcus turns towards you. “Are you not charging them? Or did the other place pony up some money?”

"I couldn't bear to charge them anything," you admit, shrugging your shoulders slightly. It's not something you're doing for the praise — it's something you're doing for the love of him as much or more than any other reason. "Derby Farms' lawyers are putting together compensations for all the clients who lost their dates and deposits and all...and it covered the expenses here. They already paid for their wedding once. And Sydney's food is better than what they serve anyway."

“So let me give you this.” He pulls the envelope out of his coat again. “To help. Because you just said they ‘are’ not they ‘have’.” He points out. “You have expenses.”

"You don't have to do anything, Marcus." Pressing the envelope gently back toward him, you just shake your head once so you don't draw any kind of attention from the happy wedding party or their officiant as he gets them all into order. "You asked me for a favor and I take that very seriously."

“I didn’t mean that you shouldn’t be paid.” He huffs, knowing that your time is precious and you have worked miracles with the short amount allotted.

"I know. But this is...it's more than just a few days of business. It's their happiness. And—" Your head tilts slightly, knowing that you didn't plan for this kind of timing but now you have a bit of extra time. "Do you...would you mind if we...talked? Just for a couple of minutes, since the rehearsal will go perfectly smoothly without either of us?"

Marcus feels his stomach flip and he swallows slightly, wondering why you want to talk to him. “Sure.” He says breezily.

You nod to the right, to where one of the small outbuildings that you use as a staging area has been staged for tonight, instead. Set up with twinkle lights and a little set of Bluetooth speakers and a small something for Marcus, you feel like you're visibly shaking as you walk to what used to be a shed and is now quite fixed up and neatly painted. The lights and music aren't on — not wanting to force a romantic mood on him in case he reacts poorly in any way to what you have to say — but privacy is good regardless.

"I...before anything else, I owe you an apology," you start, inhaling and exhaling deeply once the thin door has tapped shut behind you both.

“You don’t have anything to apologize for.” His rebuttal is automatic, along with the frown on his face.

"Yes I do." The nerves are running through you like lightning strikes, but you wrote out all of what you wanted to say and if you get through half of it you'll be very proud of yourself. "I kept something from you. Something important. And I thought I had kept a lid on it until I was prepared to really explain why I kept quiet. But then I found out at family dinner last week that Junie had gone and spilled the beans on me at the State dinner and I just..." Deep breath. Inhale. Exhale. "I should have told you that I suspected we were soulmates right away. And I didn't. So I'm sorry, I just hope you'll let me explain why."

Marcus freezes and he wants to walk away. Fear, true fear curling in his gut. The fear of being rejected by the person the universe had said was supposed to be his. To realize that he wasn’t good enough for anyone. “You don’t—” he shakes his head. “Please don’t. Not right before Cameron’s wedding.” He asks softly.

"I know." You hang your head in turn, the bravery evaporating from you far faster than the weeks it has taken you to build it all up. "You're seeing Vanessa. And that's part of why I kept things to myself. If you really—" Nearly hiccupping at the idea of full-on rejection when you had been dreaming of any other reaction, you nod dumbly and try not to look as crestfallen as you feel. "I'm sorry. I should have kept it to myself a while longer, I guess."

Marcus chuckles dryly, surprised that he can in a moment like this. “I went to her after the State dinner.” He admits, looking down at his loafers and wishing he was still in the wedding after all. “I needed to tell her that I— that it was— to end things.” He sighs and gives a self-amused smirk at the ground. “Only to get dumped before I could open my mouth.” He shoves his hands into his trouser pockets. “She apparently discovered who her soulmate was.”

"When it rains, it pours." Your laugh is hollow, still afraid, and you twist your arms behind your back nervously. "So...all the phone calls...all the times I swore to myself I wasn't going to flirt with you on the phone...we've both been single the whole time?"

“You’re dating Sam.” He murmurs, as if to remind you even though it’s odd you would say that. It is too much of a hope to have that you had ended things with him.

"I told you at the State dinner that I was ending things." Although it does, somehow for the very first time, occur to you that you didn't actually tell him you had done it. "I meant it. I broke up with him the next day."

“Why?” The question is quiet, although he would normally never pry, he needs to know.

"Do you want the complete or abridged list of reasons?" Attempting at humor falls short, and you find yourself swallowing down that fear mixed with bile that is threatening to bubble up your throat. "Well... whichever list you pick... this biggest reason is... is actually you." Inhale. Exhale. Try to remember everything you wrote down over the last week. "Because from the moment you walked in the front door of the inn, you took my breath away. And not just because you're handsome, although I admit that's undeniable. It's the way you seem to make things effortless. Easy conversations and god you have the most incredible laugh. It's like music. Everything about you has just built up and built up and... and somehow it isn't just oh, I like Marcus more than I like Sam. It's the way something inside me started tugging toward you right away and I didn't know what it was. All the cracks in the veneer I had built up of convincing myself that I was happy before... I've been happier being friends with you than I was in that entire relationship."

As the rambling boils over, the small speech you prepared is abandoned, and for better of your worse you find yourself laying your heart bare right there on the floor of the work shed. "I told myself I couldn't tell you that I was falling in love with you until I had made sure that I was doing it for the right reasons, but I don't even know what the right reasons are anymore. I just... know that my entire life I've felt like I was reaching for the moon. And every time you smile at me, it makes me feel like the moon is reaching for me, instead."

There’s a moment when his heart stops. Skips a beat or just falters from the emotions. Recognizing the line, it’s almost embarrassing how misty his eyes become. “You quoted Sabrina.” He murmurs, finally able to catch his breath and pure pleasure rushes through him when he realizes that this isn’t the ‘sorry we can’t’ speech he had been anticipating. “I didn’t want cause you problems.” He admits softly. “But I was – expecting this to be more of a reasons why you couldn’t be with me, speech. So you’ve surprised me.”

He smiles at you again. “From the moment I met you, I felt like I knew you. That you were someone precious to me.” He whispers. “And you are. Not just for the ridiculous tattoo we share—” he jokes, reaching for your hand. “But because of the woman you are. Hardworking, kind, smart, generous, beautiful – inside and out.”

His touch soothes and burns all at once, scorching you and making you feel lighter than air. All the grand, elaborate plans you made have gone out the window, and now it’s just you and Marcus standing together alone with your hearts in your throats. “Every realistic way I imagined this going…most of them ended in a polite denial or a reminder that you’re seeing someone,” you admit, exhaling a shaky breath. “I almost don’t know what to do now.”

“Neither do I.” Marcus can only laugh because he’s so hesitant right now. So sure you had wanted to just pretend he wasn’t your soulmate, he hadn’t even realized he had discounted the possibility you wanted the connection.

“I had a whole plan.” A fact which now makes your cheeks burn just as much as your hand is where he’s still holding it. “It was much more romantic than just spilling my guts to you all at once, I promise.”

“A plan?” He frowns slightly in confusion.

Not willing to take your hand back from him, you reach over with your free one and flip a few light switches — turning off the main lights in the small room and turning on the twinkling fairy lights instead. The small Bluetooth speaker crackles to life to begin playing Edith Piaf’s La Vie en Rose, and a small, cylindrical box nearby holds a single, ivory Eternity rose. Opening it now feels almost backward, but you still want Marcus to have the small token of your affection. “My first thought was honestly to whisk us both off to Paris for a weekend,” you admit, laughing at your own romanticism. “But when I reined myself in a little, I realized that all I really want is to spend time with you. So… Marcus Pike…” you hold out the wax treated rose just like a nervous high schooler and admit to yourself that that is how you feel right now. “Would you like to go out with me sometime?”

He’s been asked out before, he has. He’s been hit on in bars or through dating apps, but this feels significant, because no one has ever put a lot of thought or effort into doing something for him. “Maybe Paris next weekend.” He chuckles, taking the rose and reaching out to cup your face with it in his hand. “This weekend we have a wedding and a birthday party.” He hums softly. “And maybe the flea market on Sunday?” He would say a baseball game, but the season hasn’t started yet.

“I’d really like that.” With his hand there it’s nearly impossible not to lean into his palm, and the feeling of nearly shaking apart with excitement shoots through you again. “As long as…” The nerves return, but you swallow them down carefully. “You don’t mind being seen out with me? People tend to take notice these days… and there’s always a chance of being photographed. Well… you saw the papers after the dinner…”

“I don’t care if the whole world knows that I’m out with you.” Marcus murmurs softly. “I’ll be proud to stand beside you. Not because I want any kind of fame or recognition, but because I’m with you.” He smiles. “Although sunglasses and a baseball cap work wonders for making people second guess if you want anonymity.”

“We’ll have to give it a try.” You’re beaming at him, absolutely grinning from ear to ear, and the feeling of rightness in this moment is nearly overwhelming. “I would’ve told you all this two weeks ago if I’d known on that first phone call that we were both single already. But I’m glad we got to do this face to face instead.”

“Getting away was best.” Marcus admits softly. “I was having a hard time reminding myself that you weren’t available.”

Nuzzling your cheek into his hand is as easy as breathing, and you laugh softly. “I think if you had asked, I would have come running.”

He smiles and gazes at you softly. “This is real? I’m not dreaming?” He jokes.

“If you’re dreaming, then we both are.” It’s nice to know you’re not alone in this giddiness, and even getting lost in his eyes at this moment feels like a gift.

“Sweetheart…” Marcus brushes his thumb over the apple of your cheek. “May I kiss you?” Even if you are his soulmate, and want to be with him, you deserve to be asked.

“I was going to ask you the same thing,” you admit after a soft laugh. “I’m glad we’re already on the same page.”

“Good.” Marcus is stepping closer the second you say that. His other hand on your hip gently and he smirks slightly. “You don’t know how badly I wanted to kiss you during that dance.”

“About half as badly as I wanted to kiss you?” It’s good that you didn’t, of course. Not in front of so many people and while you were both still attached to others. But now? In privacy? Your heart is beating wildly out of time. “Please?”

Marcus is happy that his lips aren’t chapped, pressing them together and then parting them slightly. Watching you in wonder as he leans in.

The knock that comes just a second before your lips meet is probably the single most unwelcome interruption in history, and the disappointed sigh you let out when you hear your name called from the other side is practically a growl. "I'll be right there!" You call back, wishing you'd just hesitated slightly less and gotten to that kiss a touch faster.

He chuckles quietly and his own sigh of frustration is smothered. “Duty calls.”

"Hold that thought." You lean forward, pressing a kiss to his cheek, and give him a gentle hug before turning around to shut off the electronics of your little surprise. He's still holding the rose bud with its trimmed stem, and you gently tuck it into his lapel with a smile. "I'll make it worth being interrupted, I promise."

“It’s okay, Birdie.” He uses your nickname for the first time. “You take care of what you need to.”

"If they're done it means it's time for dinner." It's still his friend's night, even if something has also happened here for you and for Marcus. "Come on." As much as you don't want to, you both have to go back out there. "Sydney made a ton of panzanella salad, giant pans of lasagna and these amazing parfaits of Madagascar vanilla panna cotta, raspberry jam, and pistachio brittle. I can't allow you to miss this dinner." It absolutely sucks to have to open the door, but you're practically beaming you're smiling so hard. "Sydney can't get over the fact that you were talking her up to José Andrés, by the way. I think you have a private chef for life."

“That sounds amazing.” He groans, having missed the last few meals due to traveling. “And I was only telling the truth.”

Coming out of the work shed, you see the wait staff starting to bring beer around to the table — as requested by the couple instead of wine or champagne with their casual rehearsal meal — and you nod toward the gazebo. “Go join your friends. I’m going to go check in in the kitchen and make sure Syd has everything under control.”

“Talk later?” He asks seriously, lifting a brow at you. There’s a lot to talk about obviously, but he does want to kiss you.

“If you want to stay late, I’m not going to be upset.” As soon as it’s out of your mouth you realize it could be taken as an overnight invitation, and while that wasn’t what you meant originally, you’re also not going to turn him away if he wants to stay the night. Apparently your old tendency to be fast-moving in potential relationships is back with gusto.

He smiles softly and nods, trying not to read into it, but he will be talking to you later.

Telling yourself you’re walking back to the main building at a reasonable pace, you know you’re racing when you bust in the back door and practically fling yourself into the kitchen as the waitstaff is bringing dinner out to the wedding party.

“There you are!” Sydney is rushing around, checking everything as she grins at you. “You disappeared on me.”

“Sorry.” In all honesty, you hadn’t expected things to go so well, and you were happily tucked away in a little vortex where time didn’t exist. “I lost track of time…talking to Marcus.”

“Oh!” She immediately stops and comes over to you. “How did it go?” She knows you’ve been worrying over possibly the most important conversation of your life.

Absolutely deadpan — or at least as close to it as you can get right now — you tilt your head at Sydney. "I'm firing your head server for interrupting us before he could kiss me."

“Done.” She snaps her fingers playfully. “Gone.” She insists. “Oh my god! He was going to kiss you! How did— so obviously he’s not upset, right? Unless it was going to be an angry kiss? But I don’t see Marcus being an angry kisser. Do you?” She’s rambling because she’s happy, ecstatic for you really. Now dreaming of a happily ever for you.

“It was definitely not angry.” Now that Syd is bubbling over too, you start giggling all over again. “We’re going to go out on Sunday, which means we’re spending like half the weekend together.”

“Half?” She snorts and shakes her head. “You mean all.” Holding up her hand she smirks. “Wedding Friday, you are going to attend and you know it.” She holds up one finger. “Then your birthday party.” She holds up another finger. “And now a date on Sunday.” She holds up three fingers altogether. “That’s all the days of the weekend, my love.”

"I will be working the wedding and seeing him for part of each day doesn’t mean he’ll want to see me all day." Even as primly as you try to present it, you know she's right, and the giggles boil over once again. "He's got the rose in his lapel and I can't wait for him to realize that it's the special kind that's been treated to last for years."

“And in return, he’s going to support you like you’ve never been supported before.” She snicker, beaming at you. Now that Sam is gone, she’s realizing how much more enthusiastic you are about the inn again. Like the zeal had been suppressed when you were with him. Or maybe planning this wedding is what has snapped you out of the funk.

“There was a dirty pun in there somewhere,” you observe, giving her a playful side eye. “Or maybe I just hope there was.”

She smirks and waggles her brows at you. “Are you needing a good romp, Birdie?” She asks playfully.

“Listen.” Wagging a finger at her, you blow out a breath and lower your voice, making sure no one else can hear you. “There nothing wrong with missionary. Nothing, as long as it’s done right. But a girl likes a little variety.”

“You mean you want your hair pulled while you’re railed from behind and he slaps your ass right above that dirty little tattoo and calls you his filthy, gorgeous little cum dumpster?” She winks wickedly at you.

Your deadpan expression comes back just long enough to tease her, and you put one hand on your best friend’s shoulder seriously. “Thanks for the insight into how my goddaughter was conceived.”

“You’re welcomed.” She snorts, laughing at herself. “I wel-cummed too!”

“Oh my Fuckin god.” Snorting, you turn away to grab your clipboard and try to compose yourself but are still laughing when you head for the door again. “Okay. I gotta back out there and pretend I’m not thinking about fucking that gorgeous man in the bathtub. Byyyyyeeee.”

“Byyyyyyyyeeee!” She afflicts the same tone you do and waves happily before diving back into making sure every dessert is perfect.

For a wedding that has been so fraught with stress, the rehearsal dinner goes perfectly. Dinner is delicious and by the end of the night, it’s obvious that Cameron and her soon-to-be husband are feeling both much more relaxed and more excited for their big day.

“Tonight is about you.” Marcus lifts his beer in a toast and smiles at them. “In two days, you will be married.” He chuckles. “And then I don’t want to see you in the office for two weeks.” He tells his agent fondly.

“She’ll be in good hands, I promise.” From the edge of the gazebo, you offer everyone a smile.

“You have planned everything perfectly.” Cameron smiles and stands quickly, walking over to hug you.

“It’s been my pleasure,” you assure her honestly, giving the very sweet bride a squeezing hug back. “I forgot how much I enjoy the hustle of wedding planning.”

“You have done such an amazing job. I would never know you didn’t do it all the time.” She promises you.

"I'm glad you're not upset to be stuck with second fiddle while Juan is out of town. I promise I consulted him every step of the way." The two of you exchange another hug as people start to get up from the table, all of them milling about and not quite ready to say good night. "You have a spa day tomorrow for your bachelorette right? Enjoy it."

“My mom is coming with me too.” For a moment, she looks like she’s going to cry again. Only happy tears though. “I can’t believe it.”

"Bask in that happiness, Joyce. You deserve it." Over the past two weeks it's become very routine for the two of you to check in with each other, and the text message thread you share has been as cram full of memes, music recommendations, and little affirmations as anything else. It's an unexpected start to a friendship, but a friendship nonetheless.

“I can’t believe Marcus called them.” Even hearing it from them again, she’s still in awe. Especially because they had changed their minds. “I just wish Michael’s parents would be here. That would make it perfect.”

"They might need a little more time to come around, but don't let that hold a cloud over your day." You squeeze her arms gently in both hands, prompting both of you to smile. "It's going to be a wonderful day no matter what. You get to marry the man you love. That's what matters."

“That is all that matters.” She smiles in that giddy, secretive way as her eyes automatically drift over to where her fiancé is talking with Marcus and her father. Looking a little more dreamy when she sees the man she will create a life with.

"Go on." Nudging her a little and grinning, you have to acknowledge that at least half your smile is for Marcus, but it's a private acknowledgement. "Have a fantastic day tomorrow and I'll see you Friday morning to start getting ready."

“I will.” She promises. “And when we come back, I want to take you and Sydney out to lunch. One that she doesn’t fix.”

"Deal. We'll want to hear all about the honeymoon anyway." As soon as you agree she's skittering off again, excitable and oh so ready to spend some time with her almost husband.

Somehow, Marcus has been talked into a round of golf with Cameron’s father and Michael tomorrow, although he’s not sure how that happened.

You don't butt in and don't eavesdrop, just quietly start clearing the table of dirty dishes and loading up trays with silverware and glasses to be brought back inside to clean. The party has already started slowly wandering across the lawn to the parking lot so you know it won't be too much longer before you can shut down and get upstairs. If Marcus is too tired after everything to want to talk tonight, you'll absolutely understand. It's not like you won't see him again in just two days' time.

Marcus says goodnight to everyone and looks around, finding another tray of dishes loaded up to take inside and he picks it up. Assuming you are already taking more back and he can help you clean up.

When he walks into the kitchen with a full tray to hand off to the dishwasher, your already bright smile gets impossibly bigger. “You’re a guest,” you remind him, lifting the tray from his hands and reveling in the tiniest touch of skin to skin regardless of how fleeting it is. “You don’t have to clean up.”

“And you shouldn’t have to do everything when I have two empty hands.” Marcus replies with a grin.

“As helpful as you are handsome.” Now that the line has been crossed — now that you can — flirting is probably going to bleed through into just about everything.

He doesn’t know exactly how to respond to that enthusiastic flirtation, so he just shrugs slightly, aware of how his cheeks are heating up. “I try.” Is all he can muster.

“Sorry,” you cringe for a second, realizing you might have stepped too far over that newly crossed line, and you bit your lip. “Too much?”

“No.” He shakes his head quickly, not wanting you to feel like you have done something wrong. “Not at all. It’s just—” he shrugs self-consciously again. “I liked it, a lot.”

“Okay.” The momentary pause with both of you smiling at each other like star struck idiots is broken by the sound of Sydney clearing her throat.

“Go,” she insists to you, even making a shooing motion with her hand. “We’ve got clean up. Go upstairs.”

“I— are you sure?” Marcus frowns slightly, aware that Sydney is pregnant and has to be tired.

“I have tons of help.” Motioning around the kitchen before she shoos you again, Syd considers his concern for her an extra mark in his favor, but insists. “Seriously, go on. And don’t let her do any more work tonight. She’s been going nonstop without the benefit of a whole staff to help her.”

“I won’t.” Marcus promises, looking back at you. “I’ll make sure she does nothing but relax.”

“That’s exactly what I want to hear.” Sydney grins, throwing you a wink before turning back to the tray of things she was unloading.

He doesn’t know what all was said, but obviously there’s been a conversation between you and your best friend. “Do you want to buy a bottle of wine to take upstairs?” He suggests.

“Sounds perfect.” More than anything it implies that he wants to stay for a little while, and you’re very happy to hear that.

He figures that will let you relax; you can have some time to talk and then you can go to bed after he leaves. “Okay.” He smiles. “Any particular bottle you’re fond of?”

“I don’t know a whole lot about wine.” You had been trying to absorb whatever Sam had told you about a particular bottle or style, but it hadn’t been sticking well. “I’ve been sticking with sweeter wines, but if you have something you like I’d love to try it.”

“Sweet.” He decides it’s a perfect time to flirt back. “I’ll try to pick one that’s as sweet as you are.” He promises before he walks out of the kitchen to look at the wine rack.

"If you'll excuse me." Glancing over at Sydney, both of you grin at each other. "I'm going to go scream into a pillow about how cute that man is."

“Maybe you’ll scream into a pillow for a different reason.” She teases, throwing you another wicked wink. “Go get your soulmate, Tiger.”

While you absolutely would not mind, you don't think that's on the docket for tonight. Still, you smack a kiss on your best friend's cheek and head down the hallway to find Marcus coming out of the bottle room with a bottle of Riesling in hand. "Find something you approve of?"

“I think this will satisfy us both.” He hums, smiling at the sight of you. “Are you hungry? We could order something to be delivered.”

"I have the makings of an excellent charcuterie in my fridge upstairs, if you're interested?" While the wedding party ate, you picked minimally at a small bowl of salad and gotten some other things done, so a snack along with your wine sounds perfect. "If nothing there looks good to you, there are lots of places that deliver."

“I always love a good charcuterie.” Marcus admits, nodding easily. “As long as you are content. I notice you didn’t eat much and I’m sure you didn’t eat in the kitchen when you were running around.”

His caretaking tendencies are endearing, and since he had mentioned to you before that his ex wasn't a fan of them, you offer him a sincere smile. It's...sort of remarkable the way he notices things but you have to think that some of that comes out of his professional training. "You were supposed to be having fun, not keeping an eye on me," you chide gently as you walk together toward the elevator. Agent Bailey is keeping her distance but always present, trying to give you a bit of privacy while still doing her job.

“It’s hard not to notice a beautiful woman.” Marcus comes back easily. “Especially knowing what we know now, it’s impossible.” He isn’t going to rush you, not on the heels of a previous relationship, but he wants to get to know you. Learn more about his soulmate.

"That makes me feel slightly less self-conscious about always feeling like there's a magnet in my eyes whenever you're around," you admit. The elevator dings on the bottom floor, expelling two guests, and the three of you get in together once it's empty.

“I felt extremely guilty about how interested I was in you, from the very beginning.” He admits softly. “But I never would have said a word. That invitation to dinner was just a friendly invite.”

"That's all I took it as. And how I meant it when I accepted. It's just...that interest has always been there. For both of us, I guess." The ride to your apartment in the attic doesn't take long. It's only four floors, after all.

“Good. Soulmate or not, I don’t— cheating is not something I approve of or want to engage in.” He assures you. It’s not like being a soulmate would prevent cheating, there are still crappy human beings in the world.

"Cheating is really my biggest...I won't call it a trauma from earlier relationships, but definitely the issue that weighs most heavily on me. I absolutely do not and cannot condone it." The door to your apartment swings open easily and Agent Bailey steps inside to do her usual check of things before settling onto a chair by your door. Marcus has only been to your place once, but it's not exactly large so it's easy to see pretty much everything from the front entry. "My agents have free reign in my kitchen, also. Just...in case I never thought to mention that. I keep snacks they like on hand, and the coffee they like. Plus sometimes you might see a lunch bag or something on the bottom shelf. It's my home, but it's also their workplace, so I try to make sure they feel like they can be comfortable."

“That’s very nice of you.” He chuckles and glances at Agent Bailey. “I’m sure it’s appreciated. Sometimes eating during work is hard isn’t it?” She nods and he glances back at you. “Why don’t you go change into your comfy clothes and I’ll get everything?”

"There's platters and boards in the cabinet to the left of the refrigerator." On a more casual evening, you would have tipped your head back to kiss him, but something in your gut tells you that your first kiss with this man will be anything but casual and not to waste that little bit of magic. "I'll be right back."

“Take your time.” He smiles. “Agent Bailey can help if I need to find something.”

If it wasn’t the first time you’re spending time together like this, and if there wasn’t a Secret Service agent on hand, you might have gone into your room and found something slinky or lacy or otherwise revealing to put on. Slip into something a little more comfortable, as the movies always used to say. Instead, you trade your cigarette pants for a pair of yoga pants that you routinely sleep in, and trade the very tailored, carefully fitted blouse and push up bra for an old tank top that is soft on your skin and an oversized sweatshirt from Kings College, back when you were in London. The decision to wipe your makeup off and just be a bare, clean version of you is one you take very seriously. Some men expect their partners to be ‘on’ at all times and that isn’t you.

Marcus finds your kitchen to be small, but set up in a very easy to use kind of way. He follows your directions for the board, and opens the wine to let it breathe before diving into your fridge and small pantry to put together a board based off what you have. You were right, you have all the makings for an excellent board and he hums as he works.

It’s certainly less than ten minutes that you’re gone, but when you reappear again, Marcus has created a masterpiece of a board and fished two wine glasses out of your cupboard to boot. He looks so natural — standing there in your kitchen with his shirt collar hanging open and a look of deep concentration on his face as he works to twist slices of prosciutto into something resembling a knot or a flower — that it makes you downright emotional. In all the months you were with Sam, he had barely done more than fix you a cup of coffee.

Looking up when he senses movement, he beams at the sight of you all dressed down. Even more beautiful than you had been when he arrived. “How did you manage to do that?” He asks, abandoning the prosciutto to scoop up a wine glass and walk around the bar to bring it to you. “You look even better than you did when you walked into your room.”

“He prefers the casual look.” You beam at him, letting the heat in your cheeks burn the rest of your face as well. “Noted.”

“You are beautiful dressed up or dressed down.” He promises, smiling as he hands you the wine. “Go sit and I’ll bring the food over. The couch?”

“Perfect.” It seems like you’re saying that a lot, but your face is on fire with the compliment as you accept the wine glass from him and glance back at your living room. There are a few candles around just because you like the ambiance, and you quickly gather them to put out on your coffee table. When was the last time anyone had just…taken charge and spoiled you like this? Maybe years ago? Maybe never. It’s certainly not something Sam ever did — those situations always seemed to be you serving him and never about meeting in the middle or treating you. The realization stings, but only for a moment.

“I hope you don’t mind.” It takes him a second to gather up the board, his wine and the bottle, but he manages it before he starts to walk over. “I found a little bag of chocolate candies and I love having chocolate with cheese.”

“I don’t mind at all. You’re perfectly right about those two together.” The board he sets down looks like it belongs on the cover of a cookbook or a food blog, and it looks like he found your nearly-done jar of blackberry jam too, because there is a ramekin of it on the board next to some of your favourite sesame crackers. “This is…” It’s perfect, but since you keep using that word, you search for another. “It’s such an indulgence, and a beautiful one, too.”

He’s never described himself as someone who preens, but he definitely wallows in your praise just a bit. “I took a charcuterie board making class.” He explains. “I thought it would be a good date. Food, learning, wine. The date didn’t work out, but I enjoyed the class.”

“And you clearly absorbed everything they taught you.” Shifting over on the couch, you take the wine bottle from him and set it on a thick coaster before inspecting the magic he’s made of all the bits and pieces from your kitchen. “Thank you for this. I know you must be tired from traveling and everything, but I’m glad we actually have a chance to talk.”

“You’ve been busy too.” He reminds you softly, leaning over and nudging your shoulder gently. “Putting on a wedding in two weeks’ time with little help.” He huffs slightly. “I hope you know that’s not exactly what I had in mind when I called you for a favor.”

“I know it’s not.” The first sip of the wine you take is sharp and fruity up front, mellowing on your tongue and warming you through just seconds later. “But you wouldn’t have called if it wasn’t important to you, and…you’re important to me. So I wanted everything to be perfect.”

He can’t help but give a pleased little hum in the back of his throat, covering it up by taking his own sip of wine. “I appreciate it, so much. You can see why it was important. Cameron— I guess I need to start calling her Joyce— and Michael are such good people.

“I wanted you to know you could count on me,” you admit, sitting forward to compose your first little bite. “And I ended up making new friends in the process.”

“I think that is probably the best part.” Marcus smiles as you pick and poke until you get the bite you want on your cracker.

A sesame cracker with creamy Brie and a little dab of Calabrian chili jam — not traditional, but an experiment of Syd’s — is first and you practically giggle at how well it all goes together. Even the sweet wine seems to be perfect with the spicy jam. “So…” The beginning of something like this, not that you’ve ever sat down to have a methodical chat with your soulmate before, feels important and intimidating. “Do you mind if we sort of lay things out in the proverbial table? Just kind of be open with each other going into this?”

“I think that would be the best way to handle things.” Marcus admits, hoping that the way you’ve phrased that isn’t some kind of ominous prelude of what’s to come. You surely wouldn’t flirt with him and then crush his hopes? He picks up his own cracker and puts a slice of very sharp cheddar and a fig onto it with a smear of the blackberry jam on top.

“We’ve already talked about wanting kids.” That day at Eastern Market has stuck in your mind, although you couldn’t have known then that it would become such an important topic for you. “And I…I’m actually looking forward to being married. To have a partner who is my confidante and my friend and my support as well as being along for whatever fun and mischief might come up in our lives. I just…my family means the world to me and the fact that I couldn’t see a future with Sam where we were equal partners in an equal marriage was one of the major reasons I knew it wasn’t going to work out.”

Marcus chews his bite, understanding what you are meaning. “So you are asking if I can handle the political, social spotlight and put up with the interferences that it might cause in our personal lives?”

“Partially.” You nod and go back in to build another bite. Serious conversations somehow always make you hungry, so this was a good idea. “I’m also asking if your dream or your future includes a wife who stays at home with the kids, because that isn’t a version of me that I have ever found realistic.”

Marcus laughs, shaking his head and reaching out to pick up a candy, offering it to you instead of eating it himself. “No.” He snorts. “God no, I’ve never had any dreams of having a wife at home to cook and clean, bring me my slippers or anything of the sort.” He assures you. “My parents both worked, my father was constantly traveling. My mother would sometimes work late. We had my family, family friends, babysitters to help her when he was gone. I know that this inn is important to you.” He stresses carefully. “What you decide to do, that is what I would want you to do.”

The chocolate drop is such a small offering physically, but the warmth is spreads through you to accept is something you can’t really describe. Marcus just puts you so at ease, even with small gestures. “I saw my father give things up to help my mother achieve everything she ever wanted,” you tell him honestly. “And while I know he’s happy, it isn’t what he dreamed of. And I’ve just always wanted to find a way to make sure my partner and I could both have our dreams come true.”

“My own dreams are pretty simple.” He shrugs. “I want an equal partnership. Kids. A healthy family dynamic where sometimes I have to take off work because the kids are sick, or you have to take them to work because I’m out of town. I like compromises.”

“Compromises are good.” The chocolate melts slowly on your tongue, mixing with wine and making you smile again. “I like traditions, too. Mixing your family traditions with mine and then coming up with some new ones all our own.”

“And I understand that for the next three to seven years, your family is….well, prioritized, for lack of a better word, and I’m okay with that.” He knows that there will be press obligations and holidays where you need to be present. He wouldn’t begrudge you that.

“You don’t mind Friday night family dinners, or a Secret Service detail, or the fact that people are going to feel entitled to know things about us or have opinions about us?” Sam had said he didn’t mind. And sometimes you thought he even basked in it a little, but the reality is that he doesn’t like things he can’t control. You just hope Marcus is willing to be a little more flexible.

“Do I love the idea of people judging our lives when they don’t actually know the details?” Marcus shrugs slightly. “No, but at the same time, I understand that it will happen. I’m not going to be upset at you for it.” He glances back at Agent Bailey who is comfortably sitting in a chair and trying to not listen in on your conversation. “Your detail is a necessary evil. I would never want you to get rid of them. I know the types of threats your family can receive.”

“My Dad’s already gotten a few.” Of course your mother has, but as the first female President she had expected that and has just handed the pertinent materials over to the Secret Service. “He just says it’s proof that Mom is a strong leader that some people also feel strongly against her. But that doesn’t have anything to do with you and me.”

“No, it doesn’t.” He can agree with that. “But some think that the sin of the mother, in this case…” he picks up a grape and offers it to you. “Are you worried I will hate it, or love it?”

“The attention?” Without even thinking, the bite of cheese and prosciutto in your hand instantly becomes his in exchange for the grape, like a reflex. Sharing easily and just instinctively giving things back and forth without worry. “I’m terrified that you’ll start to resent it and resent me by association.”

“Never happen.” He can promise you that with absolute certainty. “I am the son of a therapist, remember?” He teases lightly, tapping your nose. “I talk when things bother me. I don’t hide from them.”

“I’m the daughter of two lawyers, one of whom turned politician.” It’s impossible not to nudge toward him, the endearing little boop to your nose making you smile like an idiot all over again. “We’ll talk about it, but as soon as you’ve given me your opening statement I’ll have a cross-examination, a motivational monologue, and an emotional closing argument ready to go.”

He throws his head back and laughs. “You do realize that I’ve got quite a bit of experience on the stand, right?” He asks, picking up another cracker and recreating your first bite to hold out to you. He had enjoyed the way you moaned over it.

“And if I remember correctly, you said you also debated at the family dinner table.” This time you spread some of the goat cheese from the board onto a piece of baguette and top it with a chocolate drop for him to try. “So I think we’re going to be just fine and the communication front.”

“I don’t foresee any grand problems.” He agrees. “But if there are issues, we talk and work them out.”

“I completely agree,” you even nod as you hold the bite out for him to try.

He takes the bite out of your hand, just leaning forward and eating from your hand. “Oh that’s good!”

The casual intimacy of the gesture and the slightly cavewoman-esque feeling of feeding and giving life being connected aren’t exactly things you expected to mix so easily. But here you are squirming in your seat and trying not to set on fire with it. “Damn it, Marcus,” you laugh despite yourself.

“What?” The question is innocent enough, but Marcus has enough experience to know what he’s doing to you. The slight smirk twisting his lips giving him away.

“You’re a tease,” you huff, pouting at him animatedly.

“I’ve been called that before.” He admits, picking up another cracker and putting together another little morsel for you as a peace offering. “Do you not like that?”

The slight snicker and smirk you have for him is good natured, and it turns into a wry smile. “I like it better when I’m allowed to climb the offending teaser like a tree.”

Your words hit him like a ton of bricks and he would be lying if his body didn’t immediately react. “Yeah?” His voice is a little raspy choking out the word. “You’d like that, huh?”

“I’m not planning on rushing you,” you assure him, but you still put down your wine glass. “You did just get out of a relationship.”

“As did you.” He points out, leaning back and staring at you, trying to gauge your position on this.

“I did.” It’s nearly a standoff now, but not in a hostile way. Just in a way where you’re both wondering who will break first. “So I’m not saying we should sleep together right away, but I still really want to kiss you.”

“Can I be completely honest?” Marcus asks, almost a little ashamed of even having to admit this.

“I prefer it.”

Reaching for your hand, he chuckles slightly. “I really want to kiss you too. And more….but I just flew in less than an hour before I got here.” He reminds you. “I’m afraid that I would not be at my best if we did anything tonight and I would like to make a good impression the first time.”

“That’s completely fair.” And actually makes you laugh a little. Not because you’re laughing at him but because it’s so human. “So we’ll come to it when we’re ready. And when we’re well rested.”

“I don’t want you to think that I’m not interested, because I am.” He promises. “But I also don’t want to fall asleep in the middle of learning your body.”

“Well when you put it like that, I don’t want that either.” The smile curving your lips and cheeks is bright, though, and you set one hand gently on his knee. “If you need to go home, I’m not going to be offended.”

The hours that he’s been awake are starting to settle onto his shoulders and the half glass of wine makes him sleepy. “Are you sure?” He asks softly. “I was supposed to be taking care of you and putting you to bed slightly wine drunk and relaxed.”

"I promise." A gentle squeeze of his leg is a small sign of affection, but a very real one. "You've taken care of me beautifully and this is the most relaxed I've felt in ages."

“Good.” He hums, pleased with that. It’s all he wants to do, to be a good partner and give you what you need.

"If you're already exhausted, you can crash here?" It comes out more like a question than you meant it to, but that's because you realize that you don't actually know how much he had to drink at dinner. Not that Marcus seems drunk to you at all, but everyone is affected by alcohol differently. And you don't want him on the road if he's sleepy and still a little tipsy.

Just the idea of it makes Marcus nearly yawn, sleep that much closer to being a reality. But he still has to protest slightly. “I don’t want to impose…”

"It's not imposing if I offer." You remind him, feeling the sweetness of the moment sort of float down over it like a warm blanket. "I can bring some spare blankets and pillows out here to the couch, or you can come snuggle up in bed with me. It's up to you." The fact is, it's late. And you have a wedding to put on in two days. So maybe it's not sleeping with him for the first time in the traditional sense, but it's definitely intimate in the kind of way that you want to be able to share with him. Either way, you still get to be near him.

“It’s a twenty-minute drive, but honestly I don’t know if I can make it.” He sighs. “I’ll sleep wherever you want me to. How does that sound?”

"I want you in my bed," you admit without apology. "But you deserve rest instead of a handsy girl cuddling next to you. So go use the bathroom and I'll clean up out here and grab you some blankets and a spare pillow. Do you have to go into the office tomorrow?"

Marcus huffs out a sleepy laugh, his battery rapidly draining now that he’s admitted how tired he is. “Worse.” He groans. “We have a seven AM tee time and then I have to go to the office.”

"Who are you golfing with at seven in the morning?" Lifting yourself up off the couch and starting to gather things up, you leave Marcus's wine glass with its last few sips for him to finish if he wants to. The current plan is to wrap this board up in some plastic and have the remains for lunch tomorrow.

“Michael and Joyce’s father.” He moans. “Michael asked me to join, thinking it would be a good buffer, given the fragile relationship.”

"It makes sense, but that's a hell of an early morning." When he follows you into the kitchen with both of your wine glasses, you smile at the padding sound of his shuffled steps. He's definitely tired. "So you golf, then?"

“Not particularly well.” Marcus snorts. “But I’ve had to learn since a lot of directors like to have meetings on a golf course.”

"My Dad used to take us mini golfing when we were kids." The two of you work slowly but in a good rhythm and get things put away easily. "Believe it or not, Junie is the one who really took to it. It's their bonding thing, and she goes putting as a stress relief thing. I vastly prefer yoga."

“I probably need yoga.” Marcus laughs. “But I normally just run.”

"You'd love my yoga class." You finish the last sip of your wine and set your glass on the side of the sink to be washed tomorrow. "I go to puppy yoga once a week."

“Puppy yoga?” That has Marcus both intrigued and confused, thinking that he’s tired enough to be having auditory hallucinations.

"A room full of grown ass adults doing gentle yoga poses with cute little puppies running around the room for the whole hour." When he hands over his glass you put it next to yours and take a quick inventory of things in the kitchen just to make sure that you're all set for the next day. "It's the most relaxing silliness you could possibly ask for."

“That sounds adorable.” He admits with a small smile. “And chaotic at times.”

"Best way to spend a Thursday night in the world." You reach out easily, rubbing Marcus's arm softly. "Go get ready for bed. I'll grab those blankets for you."

“I’m sorry.” He feels guilty, very guilty, that he can’t stay up all night talking to you. However, it’s technically five in the morning in London and he hadn’t slept much the night before. Just an hour or so, and then he couldn’t sleep on the plane. So he is just completely gassed.

"There's nothing to be sorry about." Promising him that is easy, like promising the wind that you appreciate its breeze. "I get the feeling that you don't let a lot of people take care of you the way you take care of everyone else. So allow me to be the one person who gets that privilege. At least for now?"

“Can’t be disappointed when no one will if you don’t let them.” He’s so tired it pops out of his mouth without realizing he’s said it, his inner monologue gone.

The utter shock to your system is as much about the hurt in his voice as anything else, and in less than a heartbeat you're wrapping your arms around him to hug him more tightly than you probably mean to. This gentle, sweet, kind man just...put up his walls a lot closer to himself than most other people do to keep his heart guarded from the very worst hurts, and that makes you ache. "I'm sorry people have disappointed you before. But I'm going to do everything I can to make sure it doesn't happen again."

Shit. “I didn’t mean to say that.” He sighs, shaking his head. He doesn’t move away from the hug though, slightly leaning into it.

"I was going to do my best to take care of you anyway," you tell him, overwhelmed in the honesty of the moment. "The only difference is now you know I'm doing it. That's not so bad, right?"

“No.” He can’t deny you, not right now. “Thank you.” He murmurs quietly.

"Come on, honey." When his arms loosen after a few moments, you turn into his side to walk with him. "Let's get you ready to sleep."

“God, I’m sorry.” He snorts. “Think I’ve had…three hours sleep in the last forty-eight hours?” It’s almost a question and he can’t quite calculate it.

"That's alright. I'm just glad I didn't send you out onto the road this tired." You never would have forgiven yourself if anything had happened to him, so you're doubly glad that he agreed to stay.

Getting ready for bed is relatively quick. You give him a spare toothbrush and he cleans up quickly for someone so tired. Eager to sleep. Two extra blankets and a spare pillow from your bed make the couch cozy enough, and you lean over to press a kiss to his cheek before leaving him to get comfortable. "Good night," you hum the words, finding his sleepy state endearingly cute but not wanting to tease him about it. "Soulmate."

“Goodnight.” The good thing about Marcus is he can sleep anywhere. Your couch is far superior to the one in his office and he’s almost asleep as his head settles into the pillow. “My beautiful soulmate.” His eyes are already closed. “Can’t believe you’re mine.” He whispers.

______

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