#mama pike | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

whocaresstillthelouvre · 2 months ago

Text

Do You Wanna Touch Me?

Rating: Explicit 18+ (MDNI) Pairing: Marcus Pike x Sex Worker Female Reader Words Count: 4,200 Summary: After getting his heart broken, Marcus Pike takes an assignment in Amsterdam. What started as an exploration of the red light district turns into choosing you, the most beautiful art he's ever seen. Warnings: sex work, erotic dancing, hand job, masturbation, fingering, oral (m receiving), reader wears makeup and a dress, marcus tries to escape his heartbreak, van gogh mentions, reader is college aged, dieter bravo exists in this universe

A/N: This was written for @baronessvonglitter's Fuck-tober birthday celebration. I was assigned Marcus Pike and "Do You Wanna Touch Me" by Joan Jett. Happy birthday Adriana!!! 💕

Here are the songs I refer to in the fic: “Do You Wanna Touch Me” by Joan Jett “Bed Chem” by Sabrina Carpenter “Streets” by Doja Cat “God Is A Woman” by Ariana Grande “Cinema” by Harry Styles “The Night Me and Your Mama Met” by Childish Gambino Masterlist

---

Marcus doesn’t do things like this. He’s a good man, a good son, a good brother, a good friend, and most of all, a good agent. And yet, he still walks down the cobblestone street that’s bathed in red lights.

LIVE SEX SHOW SEX TOYS SEX PALACE HIGH TIMES

What in the world is he doing here? Curiosity, loneliness, being so fucking horny he can’t focus on the case ahead. You’re a good man he tells himself as he ventures deeper into the crimson alleys, the shadow of shame following closely behind him.

“Hey handsome. Today’s your lucky day.” A blonde man winks, handing him a gilded envelope. “You’re invited to Galerij.”

Marcus blinks down at the golden envelope, looking up to find the blonde stranger already gone from his sight. He opens the envelope, revealing a simple invitation with gold embossed text.

Galerij, Amsterdam’s hottest art pieces. €400

He’s a damn FBI agent, and yet he’s too intrigued and desperate for a distraction to say no. He should know better, his badge weighs heavily in his pocket. He plugs the address into his phone with a sigh and makes the quick walk to the address listed, silently atoning for his sins as he passes the Oude Kerk church. He doesn’t dare make eye contact with any of the police officers situated, they might sense his shame.

“You’ve arrived at your destination,” the robotic voice intones. He looks up at the plain brick row home that stands out amongst the surrounding buildings covered in neon lights with windows full of girls in different levels of undress.

A small gold sign hangs above the unassuming black door. GALERIJ

He inhales deeply and pushes the door open. A bell jingles. Inside, an older looking woman with slicked-back blonde hair and a sharp black suit sits behind a desk.

“Nederlands or English?” she asks, her tone clipped.

“English,” he answers, his throat tight. “Please.”

“Invitation?”

“Oh, uh, here,” he hands her the invitation.

Without any more acknowledgment, she gestures to a black leather chair near an intricately carved golden door. “Please take a seat.”

A bit of trepidation blooms within him as he sits down, but when he looks around, he realizes that this isn’t some seedy back-alley brothel. It can’t be that bad if the walls are covered in mahogany and the floor is marble.

The woman makes a quick phone call, speaking in a hushed voice. His palms grow sweaty. What the hell is he doing? This was supposed to be a quick exploration of something that’s always fascinated him… legal vices. Yet now, he's gripping the armrests as the same stern woman brings over a clipboard and card machine.

“Cash or charge?”

“Oh, cash?” he replies quickly, fumbling for his wallet. There’s no way he’s going to use a credit card around here, too many chances of his secret adventure getting revealed on a statement.

“400 euros.”

He opens his wallet and unfolds his money. 100, what are you doing? 200, what are you doing? 300, Marcus, seriously, what are you doing? 350, no seriously what are you doing? 400, damn, you’re really doing it.

Stern woman takes the money and hands him a gold pin with a simple G etched onto it. She hits a small gold bell on her desk, a singular ring sharply echoes across the small room.

He pins the pin to his chest, reminding him of all the times he used to pin the old Met Museum badge to his lapel when he was a young college student in New York. This is so much more different than that, he reminds himself.

The golden door opens after a moment.

A beautiful older woman in a dark burgundy skirt and matching jacket walks out with a smile lifting her dark red lips.

“Welcome to Galerij. I am Maud, the curator.” she greets, offering her hand. “What would you like us to call you here?”

He rises and shakes her hand.

Can’t do Marcus, can’t do Pike, can’t do Agent. He thinks of that one actor everyone tells him he looks like. “Uh–Bravo.”

“Very well, Bravo,” she opens the door, moving aside allowing him to walk through. “Welcome to Galerij.”

He steps into a stark white room. The floor is shiny concrete, a singular white table with two white wishbone chairs sit in the middle of the room, a stark contrast to the entrance room on the other side of the wall. Not exactly what he was expecting. The agent in him can’t help but think this would be a perfect place to kill somebody.

Maud motions for him to sit across from her. “Here you will make your decision on what piece you’d like. Gay or straight?”

He sits down, her question is a reminder as to why he’s really here. “Straight,” he answers, his nerves beginning to creep around him.

She nods. “All of our pieces are tested, clean, and practice safe sex. Your piece will tell you what they will and won’t do once you make your choice. Do you understand?”

“Yes.”

“You will have twenty minutes, your time will start once you enter your gallery. A bell will ring every five minutes, your final bell will ring twice symbolizing your last five minutes. Do not be late. Do you understand?”

“Yes.”

“Of course no photos or recordings. We ask you to not even have your phone out. Do you understand?”

“Yes.”

“Are you ready?” she asks with a smile on her face.

“I am,” he answers. His heart is pounding.

She nods and presses a button, a shrill buzz echoes through the room. A hidden door opens and a large muscle and tattoo clad man with buzzed black hair and a nose ring walks out carrying a red velvet-covered book. He hands it to Maud, before standing behind her like a silent guardian.

His heart races faster than he ever thought it could when she opens the book and pushes it towards him.

GALERIJ with the day's date is stamped on the thick page.

His fingers tremble as he flips to the first page revealing a photo of an olive skinned and brown haired woman clad in dark blue lingerie with delicate yellow stars embroidered all over it lying on top of swirled silky blue sheets. She’s absolutely stunning.

“This is The Starry Night.”

He nods, turning the page.

A pale skinned, petite woman with shockingly white blonde hair wears a light blue bra and lace panties while laying atop white flower petals. She’s just as beautiful as the first woman.

“This is Almond Blossom.”

He turns the page.

A dark skinned, dark haired woman sits against a yellow wall wearing two sunflower blooms over her ample chest. Her smile is wide, just like her eyes lined with bright gold glitter. She’s gorgeous

“This is Sunflowers.”

They all look like they just walked off the runway, all beautiful and alluring. He wonders what–or who–the next piece will be. He smiles to himself when he realizes they’re all named after Van Gogh. Of course he’d find himself in an art themed brothel… he just can’t escape work.

“Before you see my fourth piece, please know she’s a little different. You cannot touch her, only watch. Don’t let that sway your decision, she is our most popular piece.”

He braces himself as he turns the page.

He loses his breath when he sees you. There you are, sitting cross-legged against the same color wall as Sunflowers. He can just see a glimpse of your nipples under your sheer indigo bra. Your green lined eyes leer at the camera. He thanks all the stars in Starry Night for his chance to even get a look at you. He’s lost in time at how your skin glows against the golden wall.

“Wow,” he breathes out.

“I believe you made your decision,” Maud says with a knowing smile. “This is Irises.”

“Yes,” Marcus swallows, his throat suddenly dry. “Irises please.”

She nods and closes the book. “Pieter, let Irises know.”

“Okay Bravo,” Maud says with a smile and stands. “Pieter will come and get you when Irises is ready. Please do enjoy my gallery.”

“Thank you Maud,” he says, wiping his sweaty hands against the fabric of his jeans.

The fading sound of Maud and Pieter’s steps and a door closing leaves him all alone in the sparse room.

He hopes he looks good enough for you. His dark blue jeans are presentable enough, his plain gray v neck is clean, he thanks himself for spritzing himself with a dash of cologne before leaving his hotel. He knows he paid the equivalent of close to $450 for you to like him, but he still wants to impress you.

He checks his watch, five minutes have passed. He’s too afraid to bring his phone out, so he just stares forward, nervously tapping his foot.

This wasn’t his plan at all, he was just going to explore and sightsee, nothing more. No drugs, no sex, just curiosity.

The door opens. Pieter appears.

“Irises is ready,” he announces, his accent thick. “Follow me.”

He tentatively trails Pieter through the door walking down a hallway lined with doors. Ornate golden frames hang with Van Gogh pieces in each one. They reach the door with Irises hung next to it.

“Twenty minutes,” Pieter says flatly, opening the door. “Sit in the chair. Do not touch. You watch.”

Marcus nods, his heart slamming against his chest. His knees almost buckle as he steps inside the room.

It’s dark, save for a single spotlight shining down on a small stage, a lone purple velvet high back chair sits waiting for him in the middle of it. His shaky legs take him up the three steps before he lowers into it, hands clenching the wide armrests, trying to control his breathing.

He shouldn't be here–-he knows that. It’s too late for regrets now.

The click-clack of your heels echoes through the room when you step onto the stage. He’s too nervous to turn his head to see you. His body tenses, anticipation coiling all of his muscles tight. When you finally step in front of him, he has to remind himself to breathe.

You’re beautiful, the light catches on the sheer fabric of your dress. He can just make out the curves of your body, naked under light lavender chiffon. Your eyes are lined with deep purple eyeliner, ending into a cat eye at the corners. Your ruby red lips curl up into a knowing smile, almost as if you can see his desire for you.

Four thousand miles away from home and he’s just found the most beautiful woman he’s ever laid eyes on. His cock begins to thicken, the shame of his paid for voyeurism adventure dissolving from his mind. You’re finer than any masterpiece he’s ever had to investigate.

“Hi Bravo,” you purr, your voice smooth and teasing, “Do you wanna touch me?”

He nods and coughs nervously. “Y-yes. But, I can’t.”

A slow, knowing smile spreads across your lips. “Good boy.”

His back tightens, a wave of heat flows down his spine and settles in his lap. For too long he’s disallowed himself from feeling this type of pleasure. Too busy, too sad, too heartbroken. What led him here feels like a blur. An exchange of glances, a subtle wink, an invitation. The black door, €400 out of his wallet, a white room, an open red velvet book, the long hallway, Irises. He allows himself to enjoy the experience just as you send him a wink.

You’re like his own little gallery show standing in front of him. A piece of art he doesn’t just want to see–but memorize.

—

You’ve only been doing this for a few months now. It really is the perfect side hustle to support yourself while finishing your art degree. You’ve been enamored with Van Gogh’s art since you were a child, a lifelong dream realized when you were accepted into the student exchange program at the University of Amsterdam. You made it possible, and now, working two nights a week in between coursework, you're making more than most of your friends earn in an entire week. Of course, only a select few know what you really mean when you say you work at a very exclusive gallery.

It’s a good job. Maud takes good care of you, vetting those who enter her establishment with her keen client recruiters on the streets. Pieter is always a buzz away, though you’ve never felt danger. Everyone needs an escape, some just agree to pay a premium for it. They call it the oldest profession for a reason.

Bravo. He’s your last customer tonight, and they sure did save the best for last. You watched him approach on the security camera, a smile formed when you noticed how much he resembled your favorite actor, you had plans for him. His wide shoulders, broad body, thin beard, and perfect head of hair almost made you think it was him, if it wasn’t for his eyes flickering around the room nervously. There’s no way Dieter Bravo would be anxious in this type of situation.

You press play on the stereo. A quick drumbeat starts, your steps keep tempo with it as you come back to stand in front of your client.

Turning around and bending over, your hips dance to the beat of the song as your hands roam along your curves, lifting your dress to give him a peek of your thighs and ass. A low groan rumbles behind you.

“Do you like what you see?” you ask, slowly turning to face him, moving your hands up and down your body.

“Y-yes,” he stammers, his nervous eyes wide and plush lips parted.

Those same nervous eyes watch as you bunch the fabric of your dress up and take it off, tossing it aside. He eyes you, brows furrowed in concentration, eyes exploring all of you like you’re a painting hanging in a gallery.

You cup your breasts, feeling the velvety warmth of your skin beneath your fingers as the purple of your nail polish brushes against your hardened nipples. Slowly you tilt your head down and let a trail of spit fall to one nipple.

“Do you wanna touch me?” you ask, pinching and pulling the sensitive peaks of your nipples. “Mmph–mmhmm,” he groans, nervously shuffling in his seat.

Bending forward and placing your hands on his knees gives him the perfect view of your breasts. A long sigh comes from him, his eyes planted on your tits. You like what you’re doing to him, you never start your dances off this close to a client, but you can’t resist him.

When your hands trail up to his thick thighs, the bulge of his pants makes your mouth water, tempting you to move towards it. Not yet.

Leaning closer, you nuzzle against the warmth of his neck. He smells delicious… like eucalyptus and maple syrup. His quickening breaths puff out against your hair. You taste his skin with your tongue, licking your way up to his ear.

“Do you wanna touch me?” you ask along with the song.

“Y-yeah,” he stutters.

Pulling away, you wink before turning your back to him and delicately sit atop his lap. Sinking down against his broad chest, the heat radiating off him burns hot against your back. The song changes just as you feel the poke of his erection against your ass.

A poppy beat soundtracks your movements as you grind yourself against the heft of him, falling back, placing your head against his wide chest. Reaching back, your hands tangle in his soft hair, humming sweetly along to the sound, letting a few lyrics slip out of your mouth.

“I bet you we’d really have good bed chem”

Your client follows directions very well, staying perfectly still, gripping the armrests so hard the golden skin around his knuckles turn white. You rub yourself against the rough fabric of his jeans, getting off on the quiet whimpers he leaves in your ear.

RING. The fifteen minute bell rings.

“And I bet it’s even better than in my head”

You rise off his lap and bend over clasping your hands around your ankles, giving him the perfect view of your ass and dripping core. The song fades out, a deeper, sultrier drumbeat begins.

“Like you, like you, ooh, I found it hard to find someone like you”

Your body gently sways along to the slow, sultry beat, and when you flip your head back to glance at him, he lets a low groan out. Placing your hands on the floor, you walk them out ahead of you before you’re on all fours, spreading your legs wide to show him even more of your glistening pussy.

“Do you wanna touch me?” you ask, settling on your stomach, snaking a hand between your wide spread legs.

“Y-yes,” he huffs.

“I know you do Bravo,” you tilt your hips up hovering them above the ground, “let me show you how I like it.”

Your middle finger enters your soaked entrance as your thumb gently dusts light circles against your clit. Your hips move in beat to the heavy rhythm of the song.

“Oh god,” he pants, when you stick another finger in, the chair creaking underneath his tensity.

RING. The ten minute bell rings.

Choreography, that’s the business term for what you’re doing. It’s all timed out, you hear these songs at least ten times every work day. Though you never sit on your clients as close as you did with Bravo, you never taste their skin like you did with Bravo. He deserves more than the same memorized steps, something better than the repetition you offer all of the others.

The song changes, signaling you to start your new routine, you ignore the cue, rolling onto your back, arching slightly, your eyes meet his. His hands remain clamped on to the armrests, fingers digging into the velvet. He’s trembling with restraint, beads of sweat glistening on his skin. His erection swells, the tight fabric of his pants tenting.

“Do you wanna touch me Bravo?”

“I do,” he whines, the lines of his neck straining as his head thuds against the back of the chair.

“Okay, okay baby,” you sit up, turning to crawl towards him. Your eyes don’t leave his.

“And I can be all the things you told me not to be

When you try to come for me, I keep on flourishing”

Kneeling on your knees in front of him, you unlock one of his clutched hands, moving it to the soft skin of your breast.

“N-no touching I thought,” he stammers, his hand laying flat against your skin.

“I make my own rules, it’s okay Bravo,” you allow, grabbing his other hand and placing it on you.

He groans when he cups your breasts in his hands. You watch the tendons of his strong hand tense and release as he cups your breasts and massages them in his hold. He’s mesmerized by his movements, like he can’t believe you’re allowing him to touch you.

Your hand teases its way up his leg to the warmth of the apex of his thighs before gripping him, thick and hard underneath the constraints of his jeans.

“Oh fuck,” he growls. “Fuck, fuck, fuck. You’re so beautiful.”

His words of adoration fall out of his mouth, eyes still locked on your tits covered by his hands.

You unbuckle his belt, unbuttoning and unzipping his jeans as the choir sings God is a woman.

The song changes.

“You got, you got the cinema”

Your eyes light at the sight of his cock, standing tall and thick, precum leaking from the engorged tip. It’s just as beautiful and wide as the rest of your client.

Bravo lets out a garbled groan when you wrap your hand around his length, slowly pumping him along to the song. Up, down, up, down, the sexy beat soundtracking your movements.

RING. RING. The five minute bell rings. Your client doesn’t seem to heed the warning, only focusing on his thumbs swiping back and forth against the peaks of your nipples and your hand stroking the smooth silk of his cock.

“Touch me Bravo,” you rise, lifting a foot up on the armrest, keeping hold of his pulsing dick in your hand. “Give me two of your fingers.”

His eyes gaze down to your dripping cunt, watching himself as his hand sweeps down your body before parting your folds.

You got, you got the cinema

Your hips undulate to the tempo of the song as he sticks two of his long, thick fingers into your heat.

“God damn,” he mutters incredulously, “you’re so wet.”

The song changes.

A steady and slow funky guitar plays along with a soulful choir. It’s soft and romantic, exactly what you like to close down your shows with. You’ve never ended a show like this, your hand wrapped around your client’s wide cock, and your pussy clenching around two of his thick fingers. His thumb begins sweeping back and forth against your clit, he may have found himself at a brothel in Amsterdam, but your client has done this before. Perfect movements, perfect angle, you stare down in reverie at the focus he holds, watching himself touch you. His adoration of your body heats your core, lighting an orgasm just as beautiful as the song that plays.

“Fuck baby,” you pant, “I’m gonna cum.”

He blinks up to you, brown eyes staring intensely into yours when you bite your lip and send a gush of wet against his fingers. Your legs turn shaky, as your clit pulses against his thumb that blesses your sensitive bub with just the right amount of pressure. Moving his hand from between your thighs, he holds it up, marveling at the sight of your juices shining against his skin. You send him a smile as your leg drops to the floor, the rest of your body following, kneeling in front of him. He still stares at his hand, watching the strings of your orgasm stretch across his widely spread fingers.

“Smear it on your cock for me,” you say, planting both hands on his thighs.

He groans and nods before rubbing the remnants of your orgasm on his shaft. He shouts an indistinguishable sound when you lick a line up to his tip, tasting yourself and the salty tang of his precum. Your lips envelop the fat tip of him, sucking and slobbering your way down the thick length of him.

The song ends, the playlist repeats. The same quick drumbeat of the first song plays loudly.

You suck him to the beat, flicking your tongue against his tip with each “YEAH!” of the song.

RING. RING. RING. The final bells ring, signaling that your client should have left by now.

Bravo locks up. Your mouth unclasps from his cock.

“It’s okay,” you assure, “we have a word for–”

A heavy knock lands against the door.

“Driehoek (triangle) Pieter! I’m good in here, thanks!”

Three rapid knocks–softer now–signal Pieter’s departure.

“You guys really have it all fig–oh god,” he moans, when you take his cock back into your mouth.

His strong legs shake against your body as your cheeks hollow, taking him into your mouth faster and harder, his hips thrusting up to meet your mouth. Drool leaks out of the sides of your mouth, your eyes stare up at him blinking back tears as he reaches the back of your throat. You don’t know if he’s ever allowed himself this much freedom, it feels like you’ve unlocked something deep within him with the way he’s snarling and grunting “Irises” over and over.

“G-gonna–yeah–yeah–cum,” he gasps, hips stuttering and chair creaking as he spills into your accepting mouth.

Bravo, client. Bravo.

—

He can’t believe he just did that. He just–he–he just– came in the mouth of a complete stranger–nay–a prostitute. You told him you’ve never done something like that with a client as you tossed him a towel… and the funny thing is he actually believes you.

You shuffle back into the see through lilac dress as he zips his jeans back up. You really are the most beautiful girl he’s ever seen, even if your purple eyeliner is now streaked from the tears that sprung in your eyes from gagging on his cock. Wow, that did just happen.

You leave a kiss against his cheek and open the door for him. Pieter escorts him out the back entrance with a knowing smile.

He walks back to his hotel, a new man with a clearer mind. Marcus really doesn’t feel the shame he expected he would. He knows a fine piece of art, and you just might be the finest he’s ever seen.

#marcus pike #pedro pascal #marcus pike smut #marcus pike fan fic #marcus pike fanfiction #marcus pike x reader #marcus pike x you #fucktober #birthdaybaroness #pedro pascal fanfic

262 notes · View notes

l0ngschl0ngking · 2 years ago

Text

Not his type

Javier Peña x f!reader

summary: you are helping at Chucho’s ranch and Javier thinks you are still definitely not his type

warnings: as usually SMUT ( vaginal fingering, oral -m!receiving, male masturbation, protected p in v, biting, hair pulling), cursing, soft!Javi - cuz that’s my favorite genre of Javi -, just a smudge of angst, mentions of bullying, mentions of food, fluff

word count: 10.5 k (I like them big I guess *wink wink*)

A/N: I planned to start my Marcus Pike fic but then this idea popped into my head and I just had to write it. This is basically just a long friends to lovers fic.

Javier Peña is not a simple man – far from it. He is bitter and hot-headed, and he feels small no matter what he does – he should have done better, he should have been smarter, quicker. He shouldn't have been such an idiot. Maybe then he wouldn’t be now standing in front of his childhood home. Maybe then...

But no matter what Javier thinks of himself he is a good man. He is caring and always wants to do the right thing – even if the consequences of his actions make him look like a bad guy. He doesn’t care – or he does but doesn’t let it show. Doesn’t want people to know that perhaps he is not as strong as he seems. Doesn’t want them to know that he cares – sometimes too deeply. Doesn’t want them to know he might feel – it's better if he seems unapproachable and looks like if you'd touch him, he'd burn you too greatly - so much that you would want to do nothing with him ever again.

So Javier feels the weight of all of his sins drop into his stomach when he keeps standing on the porch of Chucho’s house with a suitcase that he had packed with himself from Bogotá. He wanted to leave all of his old life behind but some memories stay with things that are bound to them.

He feels like a little boy again when he came home crying because lads – older and bigger than him – were picking on him. He feels like the little boy who hid behind the skirts of his dear mama when guests came to visit. That’s why he wants to look so tough, that’s why he is so hard around the edges – he changed, Bogotá changed him so he wouldn’t have to feel that small ever again. But even that didn’t help. Deep inside he is still that little boy. He can hide behind his bravado - his stern scowl and cold gaze- but that fact will never change.

He doesn’t know how long he has been standing there until the door swings open – almost hitting him in the face – and he sees Chucho standing in the doorway. His signature cowboy hat on his head and that old red flannel shirt he bought him on Christmas ages ago seems a little tighter around his middle than he'd last seen him in it. He is older – slower, the age showing on his face. But when he smiles as he sees Javier in front of him he looks 30 years younger.

Javier looks a lot like his pops – he has the same nose that he hated when he was younger – and pops had the same colored dark hair once that curls if it gets too long. They have the same dimple on the left side of their face if they smile too hard and like his pops, Javier could never really grow a proper beard.

Pops hugs him as if he hadn't seen him in ages – and to be honest, that is true. Work and life always got in the way and he regrets all the time he missed with him. He also didn’t want to come home – his mother’s things were still everywhere in the house. Her pictures, the warms blankets - that Javier loved to wrap around himself on the colder nights in Laredo - scattered on the armchairs and couch. He didn’t want to see Pops sad and so he stayed behind in Bogotá drowning in work, booze and women. The Peña men had different ways of grieving. Chucho never said anything to Javi though – he didn’t blame him for not coming, didn’t yell at him for letting him be alone on holidays – and he should have. He should do all those things because maybe then Javier wouldn’t feel like such a bad son.

When they part Chucho smiles – he didn’t smile a whole lot after Javi's mom died. “It's good to see you, Javier.” He pats him on the back – a little clumsily, Javier notices but he puts a tight smile on his face. He missed a whole lot.

“You too, pops. How have you been?” It’s a question he knows the answer to. He always answers the same – busy. After the death of his wife Pops seemed to spend most of his day outside working on a ranch. Barely coming home to eat or drink. Wanted to occupy his mind. “Seems like you started actually eating as I said.” Pops waves his hand back at him.

“You calling me fat, mijo?” Javier opens his mouth to answer but Pops beat him to it, his belly shaking a little with laughter. “Someone has been helping me out for a while now. Cooking and cleaning the house once in a while.” Javier quirks an eyebrow at this and he pushes the small suitcase as he enters – now his home, too. It didn’t change here in the slightest. Pops throws him a look above his shoulder as he looks him up and down quickly. “Seems like you have been skipping out on meals, my boy. Come, Bee is here and the lunch should be already done. She made Pozole de Pollo o Guajolote. Your mother's recipe.” Javi stands straighter at the nickname. Surely he didn’t mean...

The delicious smell coming from the kitchen makes his stomach rumble and he doesn’t remember the last time he had a proper meal. He abandons the suitcase in the hallway after he takes off his boots and jacket that he puts on the old wooden hanger for coats he made with Pops when he was around 12 –its asymmetrical and weird-looking seeming like it was made by a child – which it was but it’s a memory Javier is very fond of.

The floors creak under Javier's quick footsteps and he stops in the doorway as he watches you fuss around his dad. His entire body softens, the crease in his forehead disappearing as he sees you in the Peña kitchen. The past coming into the present. Prepping the silverware on the table that lays in the middle of the smaller kitchen. He sees that Pops kept everything in place like it was even before the death of Javi's mother. He missed this place. Even though bittersweet memories crawl out on the surface of his mind and his heart aches like it hadn’t in a really long time.

“Seems like you are a busy bee, Bee.” Javier smirks when you look up at him. You didn’t really change after the last time he had seen you. Sure, you aged – as has he – but you still kept your spark from all those years ago. You smile fondly – and a little unsure – at him as you quickly wipe your hands on the apron wrapped around your middle. And Javier notices - of course, he does. The hesitation in your step when you walk to him. The little twitch of your lips you make when you are nervous.

He is an observant man. He watches and analyzes. And he is good at it too - you squirm under his intense gaze. As if he could see every little part of your soul, even the deepest secrets you kept hidden somewhere back down inside of you. That’s why he is such a good agent. Was, at least. His dark eyes shift to your cleavage just for a second. You don’t notice - his eyes quickly scanning you up and down.

He looks good. Even better than the last time you saw him. The mustache he grew suits him. His hair is longer than he had when he went to high school with you. He is broader and seems even taller. He is a man now, not the little boy you played hide and seek with. He still wears the same smirk on his lips though - that kind of smirk that meant trouble when you two were younger. His jeans hug him in just all the right places and the black shirt he is wearing makes him somehow look even hotter. All man.

“You know me. Never could keep still.”

And he does. He does know you. Or at least he did - when you two were just young kids, then stupid teenagers and suddenly - strangers too. You grew up at the Peña dinner table as much as your own. Your mothers were great friends, your fathers old buddies. You had a farm right next to them which you eventually sold when your folks passed away and it was just too much work for only you alone. You bought a small house with the money you received.

Javier still remembers when he first saw you – all toothy grin and two braids sitting on top of your head. You wore that stupid flowy dress in an ugly mustard color. You were more of the outgoing type and Javier – to everyone's surprise – was more of the lonely kid. He was smaller than his peers – smaller than you even, when you first met him. And he doesn’t remember why you started talking to him and wanted to become his friend but he didn’t complain at that time. You visited him almost every single day – looking for mischief all around. Broken glasses and bones were nothing new to both of you. The two of you were inseparable – until high school. Javier – for once in his life, thanks to you - didn’t feel so small anymore. He grew up to be a handsome and smart, confident and funny, pretty charming and self-assured young man. Girls started noticing him and he loved the attention – when their heads turned around to look. They thought he never noticed. But alas, Javier was an observant boy even back then and he noticed – his cockiness getting on your nerves sometimes. He never wanted to feel small again.

And like almost every girl – you developed a huge crush on him. But it wasn’t because he was tall and cocky, no. It was simply because you knew the real Javier – your Javi. Who hated being alone and who hated going to the church every Sunday – hiding in the dusty, covered in spider webs attic. He never noticed you – like he noticed the other girls. He never gave you that loop-sided grin or the puppy heart-filled eyes. You were just great friends - even when you wished for more. And one day you weren't even that.

You should have seen it coming, really. With Javier becoming popular, he started hanging out with you less and less. When you came to Peña's household he was already out with his new friends. And you always came running to him like a pathetic little puppy who comes to his owner no matter how many times they kick him. His friends laughed at you. And later on, he started laughing with them. He got a girlfriend – Lorraine, the sweet and perfect Lorraine – before you two stopped talking. The old memory still stings when you think about it.

It happened on one of those super warm summer nights in Laredo. You wore one of your favorite dresses. It hugged your curves and you thought you look absolutely beautiful in it – your mother said so too. You asked Javi if you could meet up at your spot – the old scrap yard just a couple minutes' walk from both of your houses. When you arrived there your stomach dropped to your feet – his friends sitting with him on your favorite car that was reserved for only you and Javi. Laughing and drinking booze, the atmosphere lose. But you didn’t feel lose – your muscles taunt and all you wanted to do was just turn on your heels and leave. Cry about this stupid little crush you had on this stupid Texas boy. But Javier spotted you before you could do so – somehow he could always spotted you even in the biggest of crowds.

“Bee! Come and join us!” He yelled, one of his hands shooting into the air as he held an unopened can of beer. And with his other hand...he was holding Lorraine. They were close to each other – her almost sitting on his lap as she placed kisses on the column of his throat. You swallowed the ball of anxiety that was building in your throat as you heard them whisper: “Why did you call her, man?” He didn’t answer as he smiled at you. Lorraine's eyes squinting at you in annoyance.

Clearing your throat you asked: “Javi, can we talk?” He just shrugged his shoulders as he hopped off from the roof of the car mumbling a quick “sure”. He wasn’t wearing a t-shirt – you noticed just then. The sun was slowly setting and his golden skin shined. The butterflies in your belly made you want to go home and squeal into your pillow. You gulped and a few of his friends whistled – noticing the once-over you gave him.

“Someone has an admirer here, Peña. Too bad she is so fat and ugly! Like a pig – oink oink!” All of them bursted into laughter and to your surprise – so did Javier. He laughed straight into your face and you fought the tears in your eyes to not spill as you finally turned on your heel – as you should have done much sooner – and left. You didn’t see the remorseful look in his eyes and the way his muscle twitched, his mind screaming at him to go after you. He never wanted to feel small ever again and his friends said you were a loser – people like him shouldn’t talk to people like you. He didn´t want to be loser again.

Lorraine pulls him by the shoulder back to her – her tongue plunging into his mouth and when they pull apart she grins, the long nails of hers scraping across his golden-tanned chest.

“Forget about her, Javi. You don’t need her.” He nodded – unsure – but he didn’t have time to think about it too much as her tongue fought with his once more – the heavy taste of beer on her tongue filling all of his senses.

After that, you stop talking to Javier. You still came to his house - with your mama - but you didn’t greet him anymore and he was pretty sure you told your and his mother as well, as they always threw him a dirty look whenever he was in the same room as you. You didn’t look at him and you didn’t acknowledge his presence anymore. He hated that he felt so small again even though he didn’t have a reason to. He had friends and a girlfriend, and all the girls threw themselves at him. So why does his stomach pull tight anytime he is near you, why does he feel like he lost peace of himself?

One day he decides he has had enough. Both of your mothers went outside to catch the last rays of the sun and you are alone in the kitchen – baking your famous apple pie. He sneaks behind you and cages you in. You feel his breath on your neck, the slow raise and fall of his chest. You turn around – your noses almost touching – and he sees the hot fury in your eyes. You are covered in flour and Javier thinks – just for a split second - he had never seen you look so fucking beautiful. His gaze lingers on your mouth maybe a little too long because he sees you are talking – your mouth opening and closing.

“What do you want, Javier?” You ask and he had never heard you so annoyed, so drained. You didn’t look like yourself anymore and didn’t sound like it too.

“Us to start talking again, Bee.” Because Javier is selfish and he takes and takes. Sometimes forgetting to give something back in return. He widens his eyes when he feels the sting on one of his cheeks – his head moving to one side with the force of it. You slapped him. He looks at you – you are all wide eyes and snarling teeth.

“Fuck you, Peña.” You quickly try to scramble away from him because you feel like crying again. No because of sadness – no. That sadness turned into raw fury after the incident at the scrap yard. Because of how idiotic and stupid he is. And because – no matter what he had done and told you – you can’t seem to shake off the crush you have on him. He grits his teeth and his hand grabs your wrist. Both of your breathing erratic.

“It's not my fault you are not my type, Bee.” He didn’t mean to say that - the words coming from his mouth sound foreign to him. Not right. But his hot temper gets the best of him and the way he said and what he said should not hurt that much. But it does. It feels like he had just stabbed you in the heart and then twisted the knife – deeper and deeper.

You yank away from his grip and you point a finger at him – your hand shaking with the hurt, anger, sadness, Everything coming at you in waves - it feels so fucking overwhelming. You want to scream at him, kick him, hurt him as much as he had hurt you. But what good would it do? None.

You exhale shakily and Javier waits for the fight but it doesn’t come. You shrink into yourself and turn to leave. You look at him above your shoulder as you whisper. “I hate you so fucking much, Javier Peña.” And you are gone.

The heavy weight of your words lingers in the air and he feels the hot tears running down the apple of his cheeks. He quickly wipes them away. His ears are ringing and he doesn’t hear your mother yelling at you about what happened. He doesn’t smell your apple pie burning in the oven. He fucked up. Because he will never get to talk to you again or feel your touch. He will never hear you laugh and he will never get to comfort you again when you cry. Because the only source of your sorrow is him – the stupid Texas boy you now despised.

Javier comes to present and you give him a quick side hug telling him to sit down. Chucho watches both of you and he prays that you are both wise enough now to sort out this little grudge you have. But you are also both too stubborn and the dinner passes in silence. The only sound is the clinking of silverware cutting through the thick air and sometimes Chucho quips in to ask Javier about Colombia - Javier doesn’t want to talk about that, though. So he stays quiet as he chews - the food tastes exactly like his mother’s.

When Javier sneaks a quick look at you he thinks that maybe he wasn’t such an idiot. The bitterness from your last talk makes his face twist. He hates how - even after all these years - you seem to not acknowledge him even though you try to stay as polite towards him as possible. As if you just look through him and not at him. He watches as you pass his pops a salt and you grin at something he says.

And yeah, you are still definitely not his type.

Javier sees you almost every day. It drives him fucking crazy. The way you just nod at him when he passes by or is in the same room as you – which is mostly kitchen -, the way you don’t answer his questions about you. How have you been, what did you do after high school? He only knows your folks passed away shortly after he left for Colombia – Chucho told him over the phone. Your parents felt like second ones to him. He wanted to call you after Chucho told him, he really did. But he didn’t know your number – that was just an excuse, he knows that and he also knows Chucho would have given it to him if he asked. He feared that you would hang up on him, that if he heard your broken voice he would book the closest flight to come to you. After all – you were best friends a long time ago.

Javier wants to know everything about you – but you give him nothing. You are just a big complicated riddle to him and he has no hints to figure you out. He notices you though and the things you still do. You still enjoy watching sunsets as you did when you were younger. And that you talk to plants when you water them or that you still secretly go and feed horses a few sugar cubes even though you really shouldn’t. That you still hum when you cook and squint your eyes on either him or Chucho when they enter the kitchen because you don’t like when somebody disturbs you while you are in you’re your element. You always liked to bake and cook – often sneaking into the kitchen with him late at night because he wanted cookies and you gave in and baked them. Because he asked you to and said please – Javier never said please often and that habit he kept.

So because you don’t seem happy when he wants to talk to you or occupies the same room – you actually don’t seem happy with his presence in general and that makes his heart tighten even if he doesn’t understand why – he spends most of his day tending to the ranch. Feeding the animals and fixing the old barn. Today he started fixing the old fence that didn’t even look like a fence at all anymore. He grunts as he stands up – he is getting old and his back is fucking killing him. The Texas sun makes him sweat, he smells and he feels thirsty – has felt thirsty for a while now. But he knows it's afternoon and you are probably in the house cooking. He contemplates it – he doesn’t want to see you uncomfortable around his sheer presence but fuck. He feels like he could drink a whole gallon of water. Fuck it, he thinks as his steps lead him to the Pena house. You knew he was coming back home – if you didn’t want to stick with him, you wouldn’t.

When he is finally inside and the sun doesn’t burn his face, he takes off his yellow aviators and the thick working gloves. He is covered in sweat and dirt and as he enters the kitchen you think he never looked better. But he always does in your eyes and you hate yourself for it. You gulp and turn your back to him as you try to quickly scribble the things you need to get at the farmers market today. Your body stiffens when he walks behind you – his shirt brushes against your shoulders - and grabs one of those old funny-looking glasses you painted together when you were probably around 9. The air thickens and the atmosphere is awkward – you both want to say something but nothing comes out of your mouths. Finally, Chucho enters and he looks at Javi and then back at you.

“Go shower, mijo. You are going with Bee today.” It's an order and Javi doesn’t want to argue. His house, his rules. Quite the opposite – maybe the change of setting will finally let you loosen up and you will talk to him. He wants to say to you so much. He looks at you and you gape at Chucho as he throws you a pointed look. You swiftly shut your mouth – Javier taking the steps by two as he wants to scrub himself squeaky clean as soon as possible. He feels positively giddy – it reminds him of the times when he got his first car and drove around Laredo with you.

When he comes down the hushed conversation between you and Chucho comes to a halt and he looks between you two before Chucho almost pushes you out of the house. You drag your feet behind you and the giddiness he felt leaves him as he sees your “enthusiasm”. He wants to go and hide in the nearest hole, lick the wounds he pretends he doesn’t have but you are already sitting in the passenger seat by the time he gets his head out of the gutter.

The ride is awkward, filled with silence and you squirm every once in a while in your seat. You glance at Javier's profile a few times – his strong jawline and his aquiline nose. You stare at his hands and how come they are so big? The veins are prominent on the back of them - leading to the thick fingers, nails trimmed neatly. His hair is longer now after a few weeks already spend at home. He looks better than when he arrived. Now he didn’t look as...tired. And as skinny – he always devours the meals you cook and you can see him filling up around the middle. His arms were much stronger and more muscular than before because of all the work he did on the ranch. Domesticity looks good on him. You watch as he grips the wheel and see his jaw tick before he sighs.

“I am sorry, Bee.” You raise your brows at him when he glances to see your reaction to his words. He never was good with them “actions speak louder than words” he always said. “I am sorry for what I said and how I treated you during high school. I was a fucking idiot and if I could take it all back-”

“You were.” It's a simple phrase, your words coming out fast and he grips the steering wheel tighter when your hand lands on his thigh. “But that’s all I ever wanted to hear, Javier. Yes, your words and actions hurt me in the past. And they still hurt me now when I think about them. But there's nothing we can do about it now. We were kids and if it didn’t happen I don’t think I would become the person I am now so I accept your apology even if it could have been a better one. You should really work on your people skills.” You shrug your shoulders as you tease him and the hand that was resting on his thigh moves into your lap once again. He wants to tell you you could have kept it there – it felt too fucking good even if it was such a simple and innocent touch. It grounded him and Javier is touch deprived.

“So, that’s it?” He asks, his tongue poking out to lick his lower lip as he raises his eyebrows while he watches the road.

“Yes, that’s it.”

The conversation flows smoothly after that and Javier can't believe it was that easy. If he apologized much sooner he could have been talking to you for weeks now. He missed this – your talks. You talked with your hands a lot and he enjoys how expressive you are when you are telling something. He learns a lot about you. You own a little bakery here - that’s why you are so flexible and can come almost anytime to the ranch. He feels proud of you – your dream was always to open a small bakery somewhere. At least one of us could make their dream come true.

You laugh and talk, and tell stupid jokes or occurrences that happened in your life. He missed a whole lot and so have you. Your favorite story of his is when he told about the time his neighbor – an old lady – saw him butt naked because the woman he slept with locked him out of his own apartment after he told her he wanted nothing serious. His neighbor called him over to have some fun which he politely declined. You double over laughing and Javi grins, his cheeks hurting. He missed your laugh – he didn’t feel this comfortable ever since...well ever since you stopped talking.

The ride passes quickly and when you step out of the car you come around – grabbing Javis's hand as you mumble something about “want to show you around here, Javi, so much changed after you left” as you throw him a quick grin. He can only concentrate on your nimble fingers between his and how it feels so fucking right before you are dragging him behind you.

You are not his type he has to remind himself as he squeezes your hand tightly.

Javier comes into the house all muddy once again. It has been raining in Laredo for the past few days - the land all soaked soil and dirt. He takes of his boots before he enters. His nose drags him into the kitchen as he catches the smell of pie. Sweet and delicious - or was it just you, standing here all soft and pretty? He can't tell anymore. These past few weeks were filled with nothing but joy – almost. You played cards with him and Chucho late at night, drinking beer and listening to Chucho's stories. Sometimes you went riding with him on the ranch. Your love for horses didn’t die out and you always were natural with them. You have your favorite one too – the small chestnut-colored mare with a fiery temperament that seems to tolerate only you. Chuho wanted to sell her a long time ago but you begged him on your knees – literally – not to. His eyes softened and he agreed reluctantly – he could never say no to you. Something both Peña men had in common.

Anytime Javier looks at you he feels his stomach tighten with something – sometimes arousal but he blames that on the lack of sex, sometimes on something entirely else. He tries to push it deep inside him but whenever he catches your smell his head gets all dizzy and he has the need to find you and talk to you, be near you He hates it. He hates it so fucking much. He doesn’t know what you did to him. He can't seem to shake you out of his mind. He thinks of you anytime he sees the sun setting down or the last time he picked violets for you as he saw them growing a few miles away from the ranch. Because you love violets. He gave them to you with a darker shade of red covering his ears as he scratched his neck. You thanked him and kissed him on the cheek then – his heart hammering in his chest, his pulse quickening and his lower half seemed all too interested in the skin-to-skin contact. As your lips lingered on his cheek as he thought about against what other parts of him would they feel so soft.

Javi leans against the doorframe as he watches you knead the dough – one of the pies already in the oven. You look so nice in your overalls. He could just bend you over the kitchen counter and -

Shut the fuck up, Peña. Don’t even think about getting hard.

You startle when you turn around and see him, your dough-covered hand flying to your chest as you yelp. “Javier Peña, don’t scare me like that!” You scowl at him, your lip pursed and he grins – his hands shooting into the air in a silent apology.

“Didn't mean to, Bee.” The corner of his lips pulls up as you murmur “sure you didn’t" and turn back around to put more flour in the dough. He quickly washes his hands in the sink and comes behind you – he inhales your scent and closes his eyes. The hair on your neck stands up. “You smell so fucking good.” It's a quiet statement. You look at him wide-eyed and he gives you a confused look in return.

“What did you say?” Your throat pulls tighter. Shit, shit, shit.

“Uh-um, that if you'd show me how you knead the dough.” He closes his eyes – idiot, idiot. You breathe out a small “oh” and shake the shock off of you as you nod and come behind him as you grab his hands in yours.

And fuck, Javier thinks his pulse went from zero to a hundred in this second. His heart feels like it will jump out of his chest any second. Your small hands on his makes him think back to a few weeks ago.

You stayed at Peñas that night. You always drove back home but that night it was raining a lot and it was too late anyways. You agreed as Chucho asked you if you wanted to stay – they had a smaller spare room right next to Javis. You bid them both good night and fell asleep quickly after that. You were exhausted but a scream woke you up and you swiftly stood up on your feet and scrambled into Javier's room. He sat on the bed – all sweaty, his breath quick as his head rested in his palms. He looked up at you when the old wooden floor creaked under your footsteps. He cleared his throat and tried to hide from you. You crouched in front of him and offered him a little smile.

“You don’t have to hide from me, Javi.” And then he was pulling you into him, breathing you in, his hands pulled around you tightly as he sobbed into your shoulder. He was exhausted of pretending everything was fine. The weight of all the things that he did in Colombia came crashing down on him. You just shushed him as he listened to your heartbeat – his head on your chest, your hand in his as you stroked the back of it. When he finally calmed down he told you everything – the things he did, the things he should have done and the things he shouldn’t have. He told you about Los Pepes and Carilo, and the nightmares that still haunted him.

“I am just a shell of a man I once was, Bee.” He whispered into the night and you grabbed both sides of his face as you frowned at him.

“You are far more than that, Javi.” He wanted to kiss you right there and then but you pulled him on your chest again and he breathed you in once more. The slow rise and fall of your chest lulls him to sleep. He never slept that well in his life.

When he woke up the other side of the bed was cold but the smell of you – like an apple pie – lingered on the other pillow and he wanted to drown in it. He stroked himself at the thought of you as he smelled the pillow. Your soft hands and the feel of your breasts against his face, the small brush of your lips against his forehead. He came embarrassingly quickly and couldn’t look you straight in the eyes for a few days after that. Neither of you talked about that night. As if it never happened.

So now he curses himself as he feels how he twitches in his pants – the soft swell of your breasts pressed up against his back. The collar of his shirt is a bit too tight as well as his pants. For fucks sake, Peña. He hasn’t slept with anyone since he came back home and it showed. You don’t seem to notice though.

“You are pretty clumsy with your hands, Javier.” He chokes on seemingly nothing and almost pushes you onto the ground as he stumbles a few steps back. Let me show you how good with my hands I can be -

“Gotta take a shower.” He says and he takes the steps by two - almost falling over. He closes the door of the bathroom with little more force than necessary. He scrambles with his closes almost ripping them from him and he grabs his aching cock – tugging on it firmly as a spurt of precum shoots out of the head. He steps into the shower – the spray of cold water not helping him calm down his hammering heart or the way his skin seems to be on fire. He strokes himself quickly – the strokes measured as he thinks of your pretty lips around him or that pretty pussy you sure have. He thinks of the swell of your breast on his back, your breath on the back of his neck, your hand in his, your pretty smile and kind eyes. He thinks about how you would feel around him if he pounded into you from behind or what sounds would you make when he would go down on you. How wet would you be? Are you the quiet type or would he have to put his fingers – or something else – in your mouth to shut you up?

He grunts and his forehead bumps onto the cold tiles of the shower as he cums. He watches how the water downs his spend and he tries to wash the guilt he feels off of him too.

You are not his type, he thinks as he tugs on his cock for the final time.

You are going on a date. Javier watches with a frown on his face as you fumble around to finish the dinner. You are wearing a pretty dress – a light green one with a flowy skirt that exposes the whole expanse of your back. The strings on your shoulder are the only thing keeping it in place. You look absolutely incredible. He didn’t want you to go. Fuck, what if the guy was some kind of psycho? Or worse, what if he was actually a decent guy and you'd stop helping Chucho because you would be too occupied with your new little boy toy? What would Chucho do without you – yes, Chucho of course, not Javier. Javier wasn’t jealous and he definitely wasn’t praying that your date would end up in disaster...Okay, he felt jealous. Like “I will rip that guy in shreds” type of jealous.

And Javier would be alone tonight – Chucho left in the morning to visit his “friend” - he knows he went to Mária living across from the barber's shop. He didn’t say anythimg – the lie falling out of Chucho’s lips easily. And he felt happy for him – him moving on meant he was healing. Slowly but healing. Javi wanted to do something nice for you two tonight– the store-bought cheesecake lying in the fridge. He thought that you could watch TV today – watch anything you wanted. Maybe then he would slip his hand under the hem of your dress and he would -

“Javi!” You wave your hand in front of his face and he blinks a few times. You even put on makeup – the red lipstick making your lips look downright edible and he licks his own lips. He could pull you in and make you forget about your silly little date. But for once in his life Javier didn’t want to be greedy when it came down to you – you seemed so excited when you told him you had a date and he planted on the best fake smile on his face he could muster. Even though he felt sick to his stomach when you told him, his fingers twitching to catch your wrist and pull you close – to tell you you should fuck that guy and stay with him tonight. “You listening?”

“Sorry, what did you say?” You groan in annoyance – already running late – and you grab him by the collar – oh, he likes this a lot. You are so fucking close he feels your breath fan across his face.

“Listen, Javi. I don’t have time for this. The Chiles Rellenos are in the oven so they won't get cold as quickly. If it gets cold just put it in the microwave.” he nods – he knows this, of course – but wants to keep you busy because maybe then your date would cancel – no, he can't.

“Okay.” He says slowly and you let go of the collar of his shirt – just now noticing you grabbed him by it. You pull away from him. “If anything-”

“I call you. You already told me. Don’t worry, dad. I'll be fine.” You grin and turn on your heel waving a quick goodbye before the doors shut behind you. Javier gulps the growing ball in his throat and curses at himself. Idiota. But you know - of course you are not his type.

Javier watches the starry sky tonight. The cheesecake forgotten in the fridge alongside your dinner – he felt so sick to his stomach he was pretty sure he'd throw up if he ate anything. The warm blanket his mother knitted lays heavy on his shoulder as he looks at the sky – millions of stars showing tonight. You'd love to see it – maybe you already are. Star-watching sounds like the kind of date you would have loved. He fiddles with the handle of his mug filled with hot cocoa in his lap and thinks. About how he got here, about his fuck ups – and the biggest fuck up he has ever done was to let you go on that stupid date, he concludes. Okay, maybe not the biggest fuck up but close enough. He straightens up when he spots a car pulling into the driveway – your car. A small grin makes its way onto his lips until he sees your sagged shoulders and the slow way you drag your heels behind you.

“You have room for another in there?” You ask – your voice small compared to when you left. Pointing a finger at the spot next to him. He nods quickly and when you sit he immediately wraps the blanket around your shoulders – your head resting on his shoulder. It's quiet for a while as he offers you his mug and you drink from it leisurely. He knows you will tell him what happened if you want to. The silence is not awkward – it’s a comfortable one. He always feels comfortable with you. You pull away from him and put the mug on the ground – pulling your knees close to your chin.

“Can I ask you something?” You look at him from the corner of your eye, your words muffled by your knees.

“Anything, Bee.” And he means that. You could ask him anything in the world and he would answer you no matter what question.

“Why am I not your type? You know, cuz it seems I am no one's type.” He knows you are referring to the time when he was angry at you after you slapped him. But he didn’t mean to say it. He doesn’t know how to answer – his tongue heavy all of the sudden and fuck, why is so hard to just tell you.

Rather than answering you he twists his torso so he can look at you – really look at you. The moonlight shines on half of your face and how did he never notice how pretty your eyes were? Or your plush lips, your soft hair? He gulps as he reaches forward tentatively – his palm resting on the side of your face now. And he expects you to pull away – to tell him to fuck off. But you don’t. His throat is dry and he feels like his lungs can't seem to have enough oxygen in them because his brain seems to stop functioning too. He brushes his fingertips across your cheek and you would have never expected that Javier Peña could be so gentle with his touch. He looks at your lips – your mouth open just a tiny bit and he sees your Adam's apple bob. Do you want this as much as he does? Or is he imagining things and projecting his own fucked up desires and feelings onto you at this very moment? He doesn’t have much time to think about it before your fingers tangle into his hair at the back of his head, his breath picks up and your mouth surges forward – your lips meeting his.

He feels like fireworks just exploded in his stomach. His skin tingles and his hands brush against the front of your dress. Your hand on his nape makes him groan into you and he brushes your collarbone with his calloused hand. He wanted this for so long and he didn’t even know about it. The other grabs you by the neck and pulls you even closer – the blanket falling off of you two when you swing your legs on either side of his narrow hips. He presses his lips against yours with more force and he is confident and greedy with it. He curls his hand around your waist and his fingertips dig into your hip while the other hand presses into your shoulder blades. He can feel the blood rushing through his veins and he is warm and fuzzy all over – his body humming with something he never felt before.

You were never kissed this way before – Javier takes, and takes but gives back even more in return. The kiss is impatient and hungry – like he waited for this all of his life. His hands on your skin make you hum out in pleasure and you trail your hand to his jaw – you can feel the stumble he has under your fingertips. You open your mouth to him and the hand on your hip squeezes you tighter, and he wants you closer, closer – this is not enough. Not close enough. And you feel the same as you pull him closer by the collar and he groans into your mouth. You can taste the warm cocoa on his tongue and his smell invades all your senses – cigarettes, his cologne and something entirely him. Musky and sweet. Your cheeks burn and your palms are sweaty when he pulls away from the kiss – his hands brushing along the exposed skin on your back, his thumb circling your hip. His forehead rests on yours as he tries to calm down and your nails scrape across his exposed chest – he always has a few buttons unbuttoned on his shirt and it drives you insane. He moans when he feels the sensation of your nails on his skin – his hips bucking up to meet yours and you mewl as you feel the bulge press up against your core.

“Fuck, Bee. I want to fuck you so badly. Do you want that too? Tell me. Tell me, please.” Javier Peña said please. He never says please. Yoou nod furiously as you peck him on the lips – his mouth surges to meet yours once again and you lap at his lower lip, your hands fisting into the material of his shirt.

“Wanted this since I was 16 and crazy in love with you, Javi.” You whisper against his lips and your confession makes his heart beat with joy. You loved him. He grips the flesh on your hips and mumbles a breathy “okay” before he stands up and carries you with him – your legs wrap around his middle. He stumbles a few times and almost trips on the stairs as he keeps kissing you – his tongue nibbling at your collarbones, his hands supporting your weight as he holds you by the back of your thighs.

When you arrive in his room he throws you on the bed and starts to quickly undress. His fingers shake and he can't seem to unbutton the fucking shirt. Fuck. He stands in front of the edge of the bed and you lean back on your elbows – your gaze heavy with lust. As you see him struggling you crawl onto the edge of the bed and loop your fingers between his belt. He stops and looks at you – you eye the heavy bulge between his thighs and he gulps when your fingers trail his jean-clad cock which jumps with interest under your touch. He has never been this fucking hard before and he knows it's not because for the past few months, the only thing he has been fucking was his fist – it's because of you. “Let me.” You murmur and he nods, he watches your nimble fingers working on his buttons and when he shackles the piece of clothing off him your hands map out his chest, coming down to his belly button and you lick your lips when you see the trail of hairs leading down into the waistband of his jeans. You kiss him right there – on the soft swell of his tummy – and he jumps forward, his hands gripping your head to keep you there. You grin against his skin and your tongue pokes out of your mouth to lick him there – he shudders, and the grip on your head loosens. You pull away from him and your hands start working on his belt – it falls to the ground with a quiet cling of the metal.

You cup him in your hand through the fabric of his jeans – even now you can feel how heavy he is and that he will feel fucking big inside of you. “You are a big boy aren't you, Javi?” He whimpers at your question and nods furiously as he looks down at you – your gaze immediately locking with his as you are already peering up at him through your eyelashes and you pout at his state. You never expected Javier to be so...needy. He closes his eyes when you squeeze him again and then he hears the sound of a zipper, he feels your breath ghosting over his tip. “No underwear?” He shakes his head and chokes when you lick the salty precum.

“No-no. Fuck. Too uncomfortable.” His eyes close as if he's in pain and his nostril flare when he feels the first velvety slide of your tongue against his cock. Your pulse quickens and you feel too fucking powerful right now as you feel him swell even more in your mouth. You hold his gaze as you pull off of him and flatten your tongue – licking your way to the underside of his cock. His hands cradle the back of your head, his pupils completely blown as he watches you put open-mouth kisses onto the hard warm flesh that jumps under your attention.

And he is fucking big – his size obvious by sight and by the way he feels around your hand – heavy and warm. But you really feel it when you take him deeper into your throat the girth of his cock opens your mouth wider. The broken sound between a whimper and a groan makes you clench around nothing and he tastes exactly how you imagined him – clean and delicious – exactly like Javier looks. You can't fit all of him in your mouth but you try – focusing on your breathing and relaxing your throat – the squelching sounds of your mouth bobbing up and down his length filling the room. You try to take him deeper and deeper – until you gag around him and pull away. Javis's mouth is wide open when you pull off of him – spit trailing from your lips and connecting you to the swollen tip of his cock. His chest heaves and he swipes his thumb across your bottom lip – collecting the saliva – and puts it in his mouth – he groans with approval and it makes you want to give him more. You sink your awaiting mouth back onto his cock once more and moan when another spurt of precum lands on your tongue. Your hand is securely wrapped around the base of his cock as you stroke him slowly and you look back up at him.

He looks absolutely and positively wrecked – his hair falling in front of his eyes and sticking to his forehead as he grits his teeth struggling to not make you take him deeper – to not fuck your throat. His grip on your hair tightens as he starts panting harshly and you feel him twitch in your mouth – you can feel he is almost there – but then he pulls back from you.

He almost lifts you into the air as his tongue delves into your mouth – wanting to taste himself on you. The bitterness of himself on your tongue makes him groan into your mouth and you never expected him to be this vocal. He steps out of his jeans and then he is back on you – his fingers working on the straps of your dress while he plants butterfly kisses on the column of your throat. He discards the piece of clothing as if it has offended him somehow and he pulls back to look at you – you can see the muscle on his thigh flex as he tries to keep his balance on his heels. His hands reach back for you – grabbing you under your knees before he is pulling you closer to him. His fingers dip into the waistband of your panties before they are too thrown somewhere behind him.

His thick fingers work their way inside you without a warning – two of them plunging deep. You are soft, and pliant under him. Your walls squeeze him tight when he moves his finger up, up – until you sob and grab his wrist - to stop him or to plea for him to keep doing that you aren't sure. It never felt like this and he grins against the flesh of your cheek – kissing you there softly. His other hand grabs one of your tits and he pinches the nipple – it hardens under his hard touch. He bends down to suck it into his mouth and your hand shoots out to the back of his head – keeping him there. One of your thighs is firmly planted on his shoulder and his fingernails dig into your ankle, the blunt nails creating crescent shapes. Your heel digs into his shoulder with a particular shove into your cunt – the tips of his fingers brushing against something that makes you hold your breath.

The way you keep repeating his name makes him want to never leave your perfect cunt. His name and the wet sounds of your pussy sucking him in make him light-headed. He wishes no one would call him Javi again after he hears it from your mouth – whiny and high-pitched, filled with the need to let go.

“Come on, Bee. I can feel you squeezing me. Fucking give it to me. I want you to soak my fingers.” You nod vigorously and sob when his thumb starts drawing harsh circles against your clit. He hits nerves inside of you you didn’t even knew you had before. You take everything he gives – the flick of his wrist, his fingers petting your walls, his mouth on yours. You cum when he bites you into the juncture between your shoulder and neck – his tongue smoothing the bite. You feel him smile against your mouth when you cry out into him – his fingers still working inside of you until you wheeze and tell him to stop. He pulls them out and maps your body with your juices – the slick trail shining under the moonlight that falls onto the both of you.

He reaches into his nightstand and pulls out a condom – ripping the foil packet between his teeth before he puts it onto his length. He sits up on his heels – his cock bobbing with the movement and you gulp as he pats his thigh – telling you to come to him and you do – all jelly legged and sedated after your first orgasm. He pulls you close by the small of your back and his cock nudges against your entrance when you swing your legs around his waist. His hairy legs stick to the back of your thighs and you can feel the sweat rolling off him – his hands supporting you as you sink down on him. Your mouth forming into an “o” and you let out a breathless moan. You knew he was big – as his girth opened up your mouth more and the weight of him heavy on your tongue. But this feels entirely different. You squirm on his lap and he grunts – his other hand coming down onto the flesh of your ass. The pinch you feel as he fills you completely is uncomfortable and you grip his bicep – your nails digging into the flesh there. He hisses and kisses you – the kiss languid and slow. His tongue traces your mouth and your grip loosens – your muscles start to relax.

“Javi, you are so big.” You don’t say him to make him feel better or feed his ego – it's just a fact. Clear and simple. His nose bumps against yours and he looks into your eyes – he is so close he is breathing the oxygen you exhale.

“I know, hermosa. But you can take it. Can’t you?” The new term of endearment falling out of his mouth is surprising but welcome nevertheless. He waits for your answer as he fights himself not to move – your walls squeezing around him and he counts to five so he doesn’t cum right now like some kind of fucking teenager.

Javier slept with a lot of women. One night stands, prostitutes, his fiancé. But he never felt like this with anyone. His heart never hammered in his chest so quickly and the blood in his veins didn’t boil. His skin never felt like it was on fire by a simple touch. It's new and he welcomes it with open arms. He is tired of fighting and running. This is his new life and it's not too bad – it's better than it ever was. He never feels small with you and he chases that feeling.

“Yes, I can. I can take it. Please move, Javi.” He listens to your command – the first drag of his cock through your walls feels intoxicating. His hot breath fans against your chest as his forehead rests on it and his hand that was gripping your ass moves to your hip – dragging you up and down his cock as you meet his every perfectly measured thrust. He maps your body and listens to your reactions – he figures out what you like or what you really don’t after a few minutes as he pounds into you.

You don’t know which one of you is louder but it makes him even sexier – the guys you’ve been with before weren't so enthusiastic about it and you felt like they didn’t even wanted to be there – the only hint of them enjoying it was when they came with a quiet grunt and fall onto the bed next to you. Javier is different – he always was – and you live for all the sounds he makes. How he gropes you and maps out your body – his fingers dipping into every crease and curve of your body. And you can feel that in each thrust there is this hidden emotion that he doesn’t want to show. But you grew up with him and can read him pretty well – and your heart swells with the unspoken words. You don’t need to hear them. He will figure it out himself eventually.

He feels that you are close after he gives you a particularly hardh thrust and you squeal – your nails scratching his muscular back that you’ve been ogling anytime he came out of the shower without a t-shirt or when it was too hot outside and decided the piece of clothing wasn’t necessary in that kind of weather. His mustache scrapes along the flesh on your breasts and you feel his hips shift – the change of position making him feel even bigger. He puts his thumb into your mouth as he looks at you and you suck it – it tastes of you and sweat but you don’t care – as he pulls it out and starts rubbing your clit with it.

It only takes a few drags of his cock before you are cumming – your clit throbbing as he keeps pressure on it. Your walls squeeze him and he feels like he can't move any further. Your fingers curl into his hair and tug him so he is looking at you. He is all lust-blown eyes and his baring teeth turned into a snarl. You can feel every vein and bump in his cock with every thrust and he twitches inside of you – his hand coming to hold the hinge of your jaw as his tongue tangles with yours once again. It's frantic as are his deep thrusts and you are pretty sure he will break the bed soon – the headboard hitting the wall with every pass of his hips. You admire how fucking lost in you he looks – slack-jawed and dazed. You tug on his hair once more and the reaction is almost instant – his hips faltering for a moment seemingly losing his rhythm.

“Come on, Javi. I want you to look at me when you cum.” Your requests makes him shut his eyes before he shudders and opens them – your name a broken record when he spills into the condom. You scratch him on the back of his head – your movements slow and languid. He pulls out of you after a moment – when he catches his breath and his heartbeat evens out – even though when he is with you it seems impossible.

The aftercare is soft and sweet as he lays on his back and pulls you close to him – stroking your spine and kissing the top of your head.

“Do you want me to leave?” He pulls you tighter against him after you ask him that and he grips your chin so you look at him.

“Never again, Bee. I want you right here with me.” You sigh in contentment and give him a sweet kiss.

You are definitely his type, Javier thinks as he feels your breath even out and slowly, he falls asleep too – you in his arms – and he wouldn’t have it any other way.

#javier pena #javier pena narcos #pedro pascal #pedro pascal fandom #pedro pascal characters #javier pena reader #javier pena x reader #javier pena x f!reader #javier pena x female reader #javier pena x you #javier pena smut #soft javi #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal ff #narcos smut #javier pena one shot

5K notes · View notes

scorpio-marionette · 2 years ago

Text

Char, I gotta be honest

Every time you update this fic, my blood pressure rises and my anxiety kicks in

BUT MARY IS A GENIUS

And the manifestation of your sneaky ways in this universe

Also, I'm totally casting Boyd Holbrook as Alex here

Jealousy

Pairings: Marcus Pike x f!reader

Warnings: Jealousy, possessiveness, reader gets a little bit sassy, scheming, flirting, allusions to infidelity, cursing.

Summary: With a little help from a few friends, Mary has a few things up her sleeve to push you two back together. All of which include making her very stubborn son, jealous.

A/N: thank you Chloe @misspearly1 for the beta 🥰🥰 where would I be without you. Posting a day early, just because 😏

Link to black dress (model is not indicative of reader)

Series Masterlist

Comments and reblogs really appreciated 🥰

*** follow @supernaturalgirl20-writes and turn on notifications for updates on my writing. ***

Refreshed would be the word to describe your mood right now; you’re feeling more refreshed than you were earlier, having had a long hot shower, and you wander into the kitchen without paying much attention.

“Ooh,” You gasp softly, startled from a sheet of paper thrusted at you from Mary.

“Ok, I have a few things I need today…” She begins, though you don’t take much notice as your eyes drift over to Marcus - who’s making a fresh brew of coffee - and find that he’s already staring at you, his eyes bearing some semblance of yearning. As if he were wistfully longing for the old days. However, the moment was brief as he quickly turns away before you could even question the thoughts behind his eyes, and Mary’s voice tunes back into your consciousness. “I need you to help me - both of you.” She looks to Marcus.

“Sure, of course.” You nod before quickly taking a glance at her list. Collect the flower arrangement from Gloria’s and the cheesecake from Fred’s….

“I hope that’s ok,” Mary asks, the sentiment of worry obvious in her tone, “It’s just a few last-minute things that I don’t have the time to get myself.” She explains.

“That’s no problem - honestly.” You nod again, this time holding her line of sight as you smile with sincerity. “We can grab these, it’s fine. Anything to help.”

“Oh no, dear-” Her eyes darted between you and Marcus with a perplexed look on her face, “-Marcus has his own list.”

“Oh… Right,” Your brows raise with shock, “I just… I thought-” The sound of a loud knock at the front door cuts you off, breaking the tension as Mary rushes off to answer it. You turn your head, curiously following her with your eyes to see who it was but Marcus’ hand on your arm draws your attention back, the warmth of his palm permeating your skin. “Here.” He says while handing you a steaming mug of coffee.

“Thanks.” You mumble. Lifting the cup and taking a sip of the bitter liquid, a soft moan escapes your lips as you savour the taste. You look back at Marcus and catch the man looking at your lips, your body heating up from his proximity as his hand on your arm lingers for a moment longer. It felt natural, like a split second of normality.

“There’s my favourite couple.” An over-energetic voice booms from the kitchen door, pulling Marcus away. The longing, the yearning, the split second of normality; gone just like that as he cleared his throat. “Alex-” He beams, turning away from you, “What are you doing here?” He moves across the floor eagerly, pulling his longtime friend into a firm hug.

“I’ve been summoned by the patriarch of the Pike family to run some errands.” Alex replies with a chuckle before he looks at you, his eyes roaming the length of your figure. “Damn girl,” He shakes his head with a wolf whistle as he pulls away from Marcus and strides toward you. “You look hot as fuck, Y/N.”

Feeling flattered, your cheeks burn from his compliment and you let out a squeal when he lifts you up off the floor and twirls you around before gently settling you back down, though his hand rested on your hips. Your eyes flicker towards your husband, noticing the way he stared at the back of Alex’s head as he clenched his fists slightly.

“Isn’t she beautiful?” Mary pays you a compliment nonchalantly as she passes you both.

“She’s more than beautiful.” He breathes out before turning his gaze to Marcus, “You, my friend, are one lucky man. What I wouldn’t give to have her as mine.”

“Well, you could’ve had her if you hadn’t set us up on that date.” There’s a hint of anger in his tone as he steps closer.

“Trust me, I’m beginning to regret it,” Alex says with a wink. His blue eyes glimmering with mischief as he leans in and places a kiss on your cheek. “So.” He claps his hands together as he takes the list from your hands. “Is this the stuff we need, Mary?”

“What?” Marcus says rather loudly, almost shouting.

“Oh. Mary didn’t tell you? I’m gonna be helping Y/N today.” Alex replies with a devilish smile on his face as he stares at his friend.

Marcus turns his angered gaze towards his mother, “What is going on? Why-” Mary comes rushing around the island and ushers you and Alex out. “Now you two better get going. Plenty to do.”

You turn your head catching Marcus’s attention. “What’s going on?” You question and he just shrugs his shoulders before he’s out of sight.

***

“What the hell, mom?” Marcus says loudly as he follows his mom into the sitting room. She looks back at him with an innocent look on her face. “What are you on about, Markie?” She says.

“Why is Alex helping Y/N? I thought me and her were gonna get everything.” He sighs, running his hand through his hair frustratedly. Mary places her hands on either side of Marcus arms and looks at him apologetically.

“I’m sorry. I just thought maybe you two could do with the break. You both seem so tense when you're together. Look, it’s only for a couple of hours, surely you can survive without her for that length. I mean, imagine if you had to spend the rest of your life without her,” she says laughing as she leaves him to his thoughts.

Yeah, it’s not like I’ll have to live without her for the rest of my life. Who’d be crazy enough to do that, he thinks to himself. Fuck. What am I doing?

***

“So,” Alex says with a quirk of his eyebrow. “What’s going on with you and Marcus?” You’d both finished the list quite early in the day and he had insisted on taking you to lunch.

“I don’t know what you mean.” You continued to play with the salad on the plate, hoping he’d drop the subject. He didn’t.

“Come on, Y/N. It’s me here, you know you can tell me anything.” He reaches across the table and places his hand gently atop yours. His eyes pleading for you to open up to him.

“Fine. But you can’t say a word to anyone - promise me.” You point a finger toward him with a serious look in your eyes.

“I swear.” Alex straightens his back, waiting patiently for you to open up to him. He had one mission today and he was going to get to the bottom of it.

“Marcus and I…. we…. we’re separating.” You stutter, hesitant to admit the bitter truth, but Alex laughs. His head tilts back and his hand rests on his stomach, clearly not believing a word you’ve just said. “Alex. It’s not-” You stammer as the tears begin to prickle your eyes, thus snapping some sense into the man as he picks up on your genuine unhappiness.

“You’re serious?” He asks incredulously, to which you nod. “Shit, I’m sorry…I don’t know. He never said. He….what happened?” He asks and with a stuttered breath you proceed to tell him about the fights, about trying for a baby with no success, about how you’re both constantly battling each other.

“Fuck. I didn’t know. I’m so sorry.” Alex runs his hand through his blonde hair, remorse evident in his expression and after a brief pause, he speaks again. “Look, I’m not defending him, you know I will always love and support you but I know Marcus and I know he loves you. Like, he’s madly in love with you, always has been. Hell, he never shuts up about you.”

“Yeah, he did.” You shake your head, lip quivering as you sniffle, “I don’t think he feels the same way now. I only ever wanted a family because it’s what he wanted. I would be happy even if it was just me and him forever.” Alex stands abruptly and makes his way around the table to sit beside you, pulling you into a tight embrace.

“Sounds like my best friend forgot what’s right in front of him.” Alex stays quiet for a bit before he pulls back and looks at you. With a sly smirk on his face, he pushes a strand of hair behind your ear. “I think he needs to be reminded of what he’s about to lose.”

“What are you planning in that head of yours?” You say with a sorry laugh, still sniffling as the tears stained your cheeks.

“Something that requires you buying a tight black dress and some very sexy lingerie.”

***

When you arrived back at the Pikes, Marcus was on you straight away, knocking the air from your lungs as he pulled you into him so fast to kiss you softly.

“Hey, baby. How’d you get on? Did Alex behave?” He questions and for a moment you're lost in the haze of the kiss until you spot his mother behind him and it all clicks. The show.

“Great. We had a great time. It was nice to catch up with him, oh and he invited us out tonight,” you say as you brush past him to deliver the goods to Mary who radiates with gratitude as she smiles. “Thank you so much, Y/N. You’re a lifesaver.”

She puts the cheesecake into the fridge and places the flowers on the table. “It was no trouble. I got a bit of shopping in myself, so it was a win-win.”

Marcus follows you out of the kitchen and up the stairs into his room. “What do you mean he invited us out tonight?” He’s standing at the door with his hands on his hips as he stares over at you, waiting for an explanation.

“Well it’s not rocket science, Marcus. He invited us out and I said yes.” You begin to remove the items you’d bought from the bags and lay them out on the bed. You can see his gaze drift to the lace lingerie you bought and you try hard not to smirk.

“What….why…you bought lingerie? Why?” He stammers, his gaze focused on the black set. “What,” you say, holding the skimpy piece up to your chest. “You don’t think it’ll look good on me?”

He runs his fingers through his hair frustratedly as he mutters something under his breath. “That's not what I said, I just…” He gulps loudly and you can see that his pupils are blown wide with lust.

“I bought it to wear tonight under my new dress. Besides, Alex said it looks good on me.” His face changes, it becomes more serious and his nostrils flare a little. “What the fuck do you mean Alex said it looks good on you,” he growls as he moves slowly around the bed, like a predator hunting prey.

You can feel the heat emanating from him as he stands at your side. His chest heaving with each ragged breath he takes and you know you’ve hit a nerve. “Alex helped me pick everything out today. He really is a great friend,” you say, a wicked grin on your face.

“You let him see you in that,” he asks, finger pointed at the lace ensemble. “What? Jealous? In case you’ve forgotten, Marcus, we’re separated or at least we will be when this trip is over. And there will be plenty of men getting to see me wearing even less clothing than this.”

He’s angry now and before he can say anything else you grab your stuff and dash into the bathroom, locking the door behind you. Leaning up against the door you release the breath you were holding. This wasn’t like you. You didn’t say things like that. Not to him. But Alex was right. Being nice wasn’t working and if you want him to realise what he’s about to lose, then you have to fight dirty.

***

Marcus was angry. More than angry, he was enraged, and when he sees Alex later, he’s going to kill him. Seeing you holding that lace set earlier had his blood boiling and his cock stirring to life. He’s never wanted to fuck you so bad in all his life.

As he sits on the kitchen stool, beer in hand, his mind is lost in thought. What you said about other men getting to see you naked, it really fucking bothered him. He knows he has no right to be pissed, he’s the one who wanted to separate but fuck… Hearing you say that was like a knife to the chest.

“Wow,” Mary says, pulling Marcus from his thoughts. He turns to where her gaze is set and he swears his heart stops. You’re standing there in a tight black dress that hugs your curves in all the right places. It’s held on your shoulders by two thin straps that drop down into a bodice that pushes your breast up. Fuck, you’re beautiful.

He’s frozen in place, mouth agape, and he can’t get up because if he does his mother will get an eye full of his very erect cock. He clears his throat as you approach, “You look….beautiful, baby.”

“Yeah?” You ask confidently, twirling around before moving closer. Placing a hand on his thigh you lean in and kiss him softly on the lips, but as you move to pull away, he wraps an arm around your neck, the other around your waist, pulling you closer to deepen the kiss.

God he’s missed this. Just holding you and kissing you until he’s breathless. He wants more. He needs more. You moan softly as he runs his tongue along the seam of your bottom lip and he can feel the way you shiver at his touch.

A cough pulls him back to the present and he slowly, reluctantly, pulls away from you. “Son, I don’t think your mother wants to see you devour your wife,” John says with a raised eyebrow as he grabs a beer from the fridge.

“We should really get going,” you say as you draw his attention back to you. He nods, adjusting himself before he stands and leads you out of the house.

***

It felt like old times. Being out with the gang and Marcus was trying hard to focus on what Theresa was saying but he couldn’t take his eyes off you.

Apart from when you both arrived, you’ve been avoiding him and he hates it. You’re currently sat at the bar waiting on drinks, Alex is whispering something in your ear and he’s never wanted to punch his friend in the face so much in all his fucking life.

“How are things with you and Y/N?” Theresa asks, pulling his attention away from you and back towards her. She’s resting her hand on his thigh and he feels a little uncomfortable with the touch.

“Great,” he says, his tone slightly clipped as he takes a swig of his beer. “Really? That’s good, I suppose. And you haven’t had any kids yet?”

He stiffens at her question. Why does it always come back to this? he thinks to himself. “Nope,” he says, hoping she’ll drop the subject.

“You always wanted a family though, didn’t you? Does Y/N not want children? You know I’ve always thought we’d end up together, me and you. I’d have given you a family by now,” she says as she squeezes his thigh, eyes locked on his lips.

Marcus closes his eyes and counts to five before he releases a breath and turns to her. “I did, yeah. But honestly, I’m happy with it being just me and her.” He removes her hand from his thigh and looks at her with a stern face. “There was never gonna be me and you, Theresa. I love Y/N, always have, always will. And whether we have a family or not, is no one’s business but our own,” he says, his tone a little harsher than intended but he needed her to understand that him and her, wasn’t an option.

“I’m sorry, Marcus I just…”

“Not interrupting anything am I?” You ask as you stand at the edge of the table, gaze focused on Theresa. “Oh no, we were just…catching up,” she stammers, a nervous smile on her face. Marcus sits up a little straighter and is about to slide over to make room for you when you plant yourself firmly in his lap.

“You don’t mind me sitting here, do you baby?” You ask, flashing him those puppy dog eyes. He clears his throat and shakes his head. “No…no baby, I don’t mind.”

His hand rests on your hip and he closes his eyes as he takes in a deep breath, trying to keep himself calm. Which is made hard by the fact that you wiggle your ass over his cock every now and then. Jesus I’m gonna come like a fucking teenager if she doesn’t stop. He thought.

“Everything ok there, Marcus,” Alex asks as he takes a seat in front of you both, a cheeky smile spread across his face.

“Yeah…yeah…fine,” he stammers as he tries to compose himself. Jesus, if you don’t stop moving your ass over his cock, he’s going to bend you over this table and fuck you right here and now. He says to himself as you continue to wiggle your ass. He knows you can feel what you’re doing to him - he’s so fucking hard -and he’s sure your doing this to torture him. He deserves it. He knows he does for the way he’s treated you.

“Oh,” you scream, “I love this song”. Suddenly you're up and off his lap, pulling Alex out onto the small dance floor located at the back of the bar. It’s a song he’s never heard but he already fucking hates it with the way your moving your body against Alex’s. That should be him.

He sits staring at you both for a little longer before it gets too much for him and he’s up off his seat and striding towards you.

“Get your hands off my wife, now,” he says, staring daggers at his friend who simply smiles back at him and puts his hands up in surrender as he backs away.

“Marcus what are you…” he cuts you off as he grips you behind the neck pulling you close and kissing you passionately. He swallows the moan that slips past your lips as you tangle your fingers in his hair. When you both finally pull away he rests his head against yours. “God, I want to fuck you so bad, baby.” He breathes out raggedly.

“Then take me home and fuck me,” you say, eyes blown wide with lust. He laces his fingers with yours and pulls you along behind him to grab your coat and bag and without so much as a goodbye to his friends he leads you out of the bar and into a cab.

“What’s that all about?” Theresa asks as she stares at the door you both left through.

“That’s a plan coming together is what that is,” Alex says with a devilish smirk on his face.

Part 4

#this fic is anxiety inducing #mama pike is amazing tho #boyd holbrook for alex

250 notes · View notes

wardenparker · 1 year ago

Text

Mother Knows Best

Marcus Pike x female reader Co-written with @absurdthirst

Rating: E for Explicit! 18+ Word Count: 17.5k Warnings: Food/alcohol, meddling mama, cursing, reader is an unapologetic nerd, flirting with books, BDSM mention (but no portrayal), vagina sex, protected sex (wrap it before you tap it), praise and a little dirty talk. Summary: Marcus Pike's mother has a tendency to overstep a little. While she means well, any time she has ever tried to set him up it has always turned out terribly. This time, though, she's pretty sure she has it right when she arranges for Marcus to go on a blind date with the youngest member of her book club. Notes: This all kind of sprang out of a TikTok I found about a bookshop date idea. And I'm not sorry about it in the least. Also, subtle shout out to my brother-in-law's band is buried in conversation 🎶

"Marcus sweetie, what are you doing on Saturday?" Donna Pike is pulling weeds in her garden with her younger son in a lounge chair nearby, and she tries to make the question as nonchalant as possible. It's Sunday now and she might as well be asking what he wants for dinner. Although her idea of what he might be doing for dinner on the night in question is almost definitely different than whatever Marcus might have in mind. He has been back in Washington D.C. for almost four months and has spent the whole time sulking – something that no mother likes to see.

Marcus is probably more relaxed than he's been in a few months. Finally deciding that he is better off without Teresa since she would rather be with someone else more than him. His eyes half closed as he holds his beer, he answers without even thinking about it. Or why giving his mother an empty day without plans wasn't a good idea. "Nothing." He hums, smiling slightly at the thought of not having any work or responsibilities.

"Oh?" Donna smirks, glancing over her shoulder to see Marcus has his eyes shut as he sits in the sun. "No dinner plans? Drinks with coworkers?" She asks carefully, keeping her tone breezy as she weeds the tomato bed.

"Not a damn thing." He admits again, not seeing the smirk on his mother's face, otherwise alarm bells would be sounding in his head. Instead, he's plotting what he will do with his day off. Hopefully sleeping until ten is the first thing on the list. Then he might take a book out to the Mall lawn and read in the sun. Pick up one of those touristy drinks to sip on as he does.

"So..." Training one eye on him as she pulls another weed up from the root, Donna's lip curls into a smile. "You would be free for dinner, then?"

"You want me to take you to dinner?" Marcus's father passed nearly eight years ago and when he could, he would take his mother out to a nice dinner. Making sure that she felt special. "Sure."

"Not exactly what I had in mind, sweetie." Donna is all-out grinning at this point, and maybe even a little evilly. "Do you remember my telling you about a new girl joining our book club? She works with Marjorie Klein at the Library of Congress?" Every time Marjorie talked about her new colleague it seemed like the younger woman would be a perfect fit for their group, so six months ago they had offered up the empty spot at their table. Now, every time Donna Pike sees or hears from you, she seems to become more and more convinced that you would be perfect for her youngest child.

"Mom...no." Marcus shakes his head and immediately drowns the rest of his beer bottle and desperately wishes another would appear. "No, no, you aren't setting me up, again."

"But Marcus she's such a good match!" She won't say 'perfect' because that will make Marcus revolt and probably run away screaming. But she has such a good feeling about this one. "And I might have already scheduled the date with her..." Might is such an innocent lie. She definitely already scheduled the blind date with you after giving you a few background details on her baby boy.

“Mooooooooooom.” The sigh Marcus gives is one of extreme frustration. “I appreciate your thoughtfulness, but no. I can get my own dates.” The truth was, his mother had horrible taste in choosing women that she thought Marcus would be interested in.

"Oh yeah?" Donna tucks her proverbial tongue securely in her cheek. "Is that why you've been hanging around your old Ma's house so much the last few months? Because you're so good at getting your own dates?" She tilts her head at him and waves one hand, dismissing the tease immediately. "She's sweet, Marcus. And so smart. You don't have to marry the girl, but it's hard to get back out there sometimes. Just...give it a try?"

“It’s— I just got out of that thing with Teresa, Ma.” He reminds her and notices the expectant look on his mother’s face. She’s well meaning, really she is, but god does she meddle. “You already told her I would go out with her, didn’t you?”

“The thing with Teresa was months ago.” Donna’s grin spreads like wildfire. “She’s a nice girl and I called in a favor to get you a table at Founding Farmer’s because I know you like to keep the first date kind of casual.” Something she considers a mistake, but she knew that if she had gone and made a reservation somewhere more upscale then Marcus would squawk.

“Jesus Christ.” Marcus groans, slapping his hand over his face and imagining how boring and completely incompatible this woman is for his mother to talk about how nice and sweet she is. All the other girls she has tried to hook Marcus up with since he was a teenager have been a train wreck. “What time?” He sighs, resigned to his Saturday being ruined.

“Seven-thirty.” Crows his mother, who definitely made sure that the reservation was early enough in the night that they could do something else afterward. “I really think you’re going to like her, sweetie.”

He thinks he’ll be wasting an hour of his life but he grunts in response, already dreading Saturday.

******

You’re probably taking this far too seriously, all things considered. The book club of mostly middle-aged and older ladies that you had been offered a place in by one of your coworkers has been really nice. Everybody sits around and drinks and gossips about the book characters like they’re real people, and there is always good food. You like the ladies in the book club, you really do. But this whole idea of a blind date with Donna Pike’s son has you nervous for some reason.

Blind dates don’t typically go well for you but you’re honestly kind of desperate. It’s been nearly a year since your last date that even qualifies as mediocre and at this point you would say yes to just about anyone halfway decent. And with that in mind, you kiss your cat goodbye and smooth one hand down your floral sundress before slinging on your leather jacket to keep out the autumnal chill. If nothing else, maybe you’ll have a nice meal tonight.

Marcus sighs as he checks his reflection in the mirror one more time. He had opted to leave the suit at home, but couldn’t dress down completely casual. The restaurant that his mom had chosen would be nice enough that slacks, a polo and a sports coat wouldn’t look too out of place. Despite his reservations, he is wanting to make an effort. He sniffs his cologne to make sure he didn’t douse himself and picks up his keys. Off to see what a nightmare this would be, although he hopes that this girl won’t throw a glass of wine in his face when he reveals he’s a federal agent.

Founding Farmer’s is bustling when you arrive, packed to the gills and you wonder if the younger Pike brother thought to make reservations. For now you adjust the (admittedly cheesy) flower in your jacket lapel and slide over to the bar to order a cocktail. If he stands you up, you at least want to have a drink in hand to soothe the embarrassment.

There had been a fierce internal debate on if he should stop outside the little flower stand that was just a block down from the restaurant to buy some flowers. Romantic Marcus would do it, and even though he had not asked this girl out, she deserves the niceties that had been bred into him after watching his father continuously court his mother through their marriage. When he enters the door of the Founding Farmer's, he can see why he had to park two blocks away and is grateful that his mother had made reservations. "I— I have a reservation. Marcus Pike." He tells the frazzled hostess. "But I'm waiting for someone...." He cranes his neck to look around, not sure exactly who he is looking for. His mother had been very vague with the physical description, which doesn't help on a blind date.

You hear him before you see him — sitting just a few feet behind the hostess stand is strategic, and you hear him give his name. The most careful sneak of a peak nearly has your jaw on the ground and you sit straight up again immediately. He’s gorgeous. Absolutely drop-dead movie star level gorgeous. And he’s carrying flowers identical to the one tucked into your jacket, making you smile unexpectedly. “Marcus?” You turn slowly on your stool, hoping you’re not about to make an idiot of yourself.

He hears his name and looks around again, his eyes searching until they fall on a lovely looking woman wearing a pretty sundress and jacket. A flower in her lapel in a move that immediately makes him grin at the old-style charm of the gesture. He nods and says the name his mother gave him, finding himself hoping that you are that person.

“That’s me.” Sliding off of your stool with your glass in hand, you put out your other hand to him and smile. His mother absolutely failed to mention that her son is an absolute dreamboat. “It’s nice to finally meet you. I feel like I’ve heard a hundred stories about you and your brother already.”

You're pretty. Maybe it's shallow, or vain even, but Marcus had been worried when his mother had focused so hard on how nice and sweet you are. He's not the type of man who insults someone because of their looks, but physical attraction is a basic for any romantic relationship and some of the women who would be just ‘perfect’ for him in his mother's eyes didn't fit in any of the categories. Not even intellectually. He shakes your hand firmly and smiles. "It's all lies, I swear." He jokes, offering you the flowers. "I'm afraid that you have me at a disadvantage because I know your name and that you are sweet."

"The ladies in the book club sort of adopted me." The flowers are beautiful, and fresh, and you inhale the scent happily as the hostess leads you to a small, secluded table in the corner. "And I..." You laugh self-consciously, shrugging a little. "I just want you to know that I had nothing to do with this. It was all Donna's idea. So if we don't get along or something, it's no hard feelings."

"I have to apologize." Marcus shakes his head, enjoying the sounds of your light, nervous laugh. "My mother likes to meddle, so if you weren't actually interested, I will understand." He moves to pull out your chair for you when the hostess indicates the table and looks at you expectantly. It's your choice if you wish to sit down or not.

Maybe it's shallow – to take one look at him and know for sure that you're at least going to ride out this dinner to see what he's like. But then, isn't that what blind dates are, at least a little? Judging a book by its cover and then taking a peek to see what's inside? "I think it would be a shame to miss out on making a new friend, even if that's all this amounts to," you tell him as you sit down.

He can agree with that, admire it even. Smiling again and he wonders if that's all this will amount to. "What are you drinking?" He asks, nodding towards your glass that you had brought from the bar.

"It's called a Farmer's Daughter," you tell him, holding up the half-drunk glass of delicious fruity-boozy goodness. "Vodka, lime, passion fruit, raspberry...something else that I didn't know what it was so I can't remember what it's called. Domaine de something?" Shrugging shelf-consciously, you offer him the glass to try a sip. "It's fantastic."

It's charming the way you offer him a drink. He takes it and tries a small sip. "That's good." He agrees. "I was going to suggest a bottle of wine, but perhaps another of these?" He asks you.

The hostess nods and disappears after leaving your menus, and you sit back in your seat a little bit more comfortably than before. "This place has their own spirits. It seemed too good to pass up, and turns out that was the right choice." A small smile plays on your lips and you really don't know where it's coming from but you feel strangely confident tonight. "So you're usually a wine guy?"

“I am.” He nods, knowing that he would happily split a bottle with good conversation and laughs. “Are you more of a cocktail girl?”

"Usually." Again, you shrug, but offer him a smile. "But only because I know nothing about wine. I'd like to learn, if I found that I knew somebody who wouldn't mind teaching me."

“Well, if you like, we can have one more of those delicious cocktails and I’ll order a bottle of my favorite wine for you to try?” He offers. “Or perhaps just a glass to share, and if you don’t like it, we can explore what you do like?”

"That sounds like fun, actually." Normally when a guy offered to 'teach' you something it was just him insisting that he knew all the best of something or had every fact memorized. Marcus isn't like that and you relax just a little bit more with this discovery. A little bit of sharing and get to know you is perfect for a first date.

“Yeah?” He grins and nods, admiring your sense of adventure and that smile that you are giving him. “Okay, so the wine I like is kinda of dry, a red. That sound okay?”

"Sure." You agree brightly, basically up for trying whatever he suggests. "Like I said, I know nothing about wine. You could be ordering the stuff that comes in a box and I would just trust you that it's good."

He laughs, enjoying your honestly. “No boxed stuff, I promise.” He tells you and thanks the waiter when he comes back with your cocktail. “I’m sorry, but could we also have a glass of the Marqués de Riscal Rioja Reserva 2012?” He asks with a small shrug. “I couldn’t decide what I wanted, and now I do.”

Oblivious to the fact that that could have been an entendre, the waiter just nods and walks away, leaving the two of you alone at your cozy table again. "So..." you can't help the way your cheeks have gotten a little warmer in the last few seconds. "Is there anything you would like to know about me up front? You said your mother didn't tell you much."

“She did tell me that you work at the Library of Congress.” Marcus nudges the new drink towards you and takes the half finished one. He’s already drank after you, so it’s nothing to him. “So what do you do there?”

"I am a preservationist in the Children's Literature Center." Your work is delicate, and it is important, but some people find it unbelievable that your entire career is dedicated specifically to kids' books. "I'm part of the team that is digitizing rare children's books so that their contents will never be lost."

“Wow.” He’s impressed, knowing that is important work. Literature sound be preserved for the future generations to enjoy, much like art. “That’s— that’s gotta be pretty interesting day in and day out.”

“It’s no game of cops and robbers.” His mother had bragged about his promotions more than once, and you can’t help but smirk slightly when his ears turn red. “But I keep busy.”

“So you know that I’m a federal agent?” He asks, not sure what all his mother had rambled on about. Knowing her, she had told you about every girlfriend he had.

“Yes. Donna is extremely proud of you, so we all heard all about the last promotion.” Taking a sip of your drink, you feel just a touch of warmth is your cheeks that is all attraction and not from the cocktail at all. “Congratulations, by the way.”

“Thank you.” He bites his lip, caught between being embarrassed his mom was talking him up and enjoying the congratulations. The joy of his success has been sucked away by the Teresa thing, but he’s been trying to get back on track. “She’s just happy I’m close.”

“She’s very glad you’re home.” You can absolutely attest to that. It’s sweet, actually. They clearly get along well. “It sounds like if she could get your older brother to move back, she’d be in heaven having you both here.”

“Don’t think he’ll be moving to D.C. anytime soon.” Marcus admits. “But she’s happy to get out of the cold to go visit him during Christmas.”

“Louisiana always sounded like fun to be. Like a completely different world from anywhere else.” Probably that thought comes from having grown up in the thick of the Canadian border, but still. It seemed romantic to think about. “She said he’s in New Orleans?”

“Yeah.” He nods and grins. “He keeps telling me to come down for Mardi Gras.”

“Sounds like fun.” He has just one perfect dimple and you swear this is the first time you’ve understood why anyone would swoon. “Are you liking being back in DC, at least?”

“What’s not to love?” He asks, looking up again when the waiter returns with the glass of wine. “The museum, the Mall, the historic sites. I love walking through the Smithsonian.”

“I will absolutely drink to that,” you agree without hesitation. “This city is pretty much perfect as far as I’m concerned.”

He hums as he hands you the glass. “Try a sip of this, it’s dry but floral. I love this with a good cheese board.”

“A charcuterie guy, too? Nothing I love more than Adult Lunchables.” The grin on your face grows as you take the glass, giving it a sniff like you have any idea whatsoever what to look for, and take an adventurous sip. “Ooh that’s…I don’t know what I was expecting but that’s great. It’s like…it’s rich but it’s not heavy, if that makes sense?”

He nods and grins at you. “Now, imagine it with a funky cheese and a tart grape. Or a salty cracker.” He tells you, proud that you enjoy it. “Maybe a glass with dinner?”

“Absolutely.” It’s like a wake up for your senses, and even though you enjoy the sweet cocktail that you had ordered initially, the wine sounds like a decadent and very mature option for dinner. “Do you have any idea what you’ll order for food yet?”

“I figured I was going to order the braised short ribs with wilted summer greens and braised carrots.” He tells you, having looked at the menu before he ever arrived.

“Sounds pretty perfect.” When the waiter comes back you fill out your order, getting a basket of the kettle corn that the waiter gushes over to start with and ordering your dinners with another glass of wine so you can both indulge a little as you get to know each other.

“So, were you as nervous about tonight as I was?” The wine is being passed back and forth between you as your cocktail has been abandoned. He takes a sip and raises a brow at you in challenge.

"Terrified," you admit with a small laugh, but there is no point in trying to act smooth or more charming than you are. You're a slightly awkward person in general, and sometimes that can be charming all on its own. Or so you've been told. "I'm not...great at dating. Then the book club ladies took it upon themselves to figure out whose son was closest to my age and, well...here we are."

He laughs at the image you paint, all the ladies tossing out their eligible sons’ birthdays like trading cards. “Well, hopefully, you are enjoying yourself.” He offers with a grin, setting his elbows on the table and leaning in. The liquor and wine are loosening him up slightly, but it’s more that he’s enjoying conversing with you. Something he’s really missed about dating or being in a relationship with someone.

"I really am." His laugh is deep and rings in his chest, making his smile a little broader every time and making you wish that you had thought of something compelling or deeply interesting to tell him about yourself before setting foot in this restaurant tonight. But you had feared the worst, and expected the mediocre, so maybe that was the entire reason you found yourself enjoying this night? Simply by being handsome, intelligent, charming, and interesting, he was already blowing every single expectation you had out of the water. "Hopefully you are, too?"

“I am.” He gives you a small, self-conscious shrug. “My mother doesn’t have the best record when it comes to setting me up.” He admits. “The last one was a part of some antigovernment group and threw a glass of wine in my face when she found out I was, quote, a ‘fed pig’.” He tells you with the air quotes.

“That…” It takes a beat of extreme self-control not to laugh at how ridiculous that is, but you manage to keep yourself together. “Please say she didn’t know that this girl was anti-government when she set you up?”

“She had met her in her favorite bookstore.” He shakes his head and laughs. “Didn’t have a clue but she had to find another bookstore because it was the girl behind the counter.”

“But she tries to find you girls that read, huh?” That encourages you a bit. That Donna considers her son that intelligent. After all, he can’t be a slouch – not in art crimes. He has to at least have a little history and culture under his belt.

“I don’t want to always talk work, or politics.” He admits. “She had raised me to love reading and I’m forever grateful for that.”

“What do you like to read?” The question is automatic for you – something that you always ask new acquaintances and especially dates. It’s an important part of getting to know someone. “Personal curiosity as well as professional. I promise.”

“I can read anything.” Marcus tells you. “But, I spend so much time reading reports that I really enjoy fiction. Thrillers, intrigue. Even the odd romance novel.” He blushes when he admits that but he’s not going to lie.

“A good romance novel is entirely underrated. They’re great character studies. Plus?” You grin and pick up a piece of popcorn. There are only a few left in the basket and you’re enjoying the salty-sweetness with his dry wine. “Anyone who claims they don’t enjoy love stories is either lying or a bummer.”

“It’s like not liking classic movies.” He agrees with a grin. “I feel like some of the emotion has been lost. You give me Casablanca any day and I’ll show you a movie that is about loss as much as it is love.”

“I dumped a guy once for not liking classic movies,” you admit, albeit a little sheepishly. “He said that black and white was dumb because life is in color so ‘why weren’t all movies?’ And that all the stories were too trope-y. Can you believe that? Where did he think the tropes came from in the first place?”

“They are the model for the tropes.” He chuckles. “We had a class when I was in high school where you read classic literature and watched classic movies. I think it should be standard around the country. It helped shape my love of black and white movies.”

“I used to watch them with my mom whenever I was home sick.” Those memories are still so vivid for you, and precious. It had felt like a personal insult and not just a preference when the previous guy had talked down about classic cinema. “She got to see Katharine Hepburn in Coco in New York City when she was little and just worshipped her ever since. So, of course, I did too. And we would just watch everything we could get our hands on.”

“Oh wow.” Marcus is impressed and he shows it. “It would have been something, I’m sure.” He agrees. “I’m not all classical though. I like a good mix of modern as well. My old band used to play in Texas and I would go see them.”

“That’s right.” Donna had told you all about his band, of course, but it had slipped your mind while you got distracted over how attractive Marcus is. “Bass player, right?”

“Yeah.” He huffs out a small laugh, wondering if his mother had complained that he hadn’t wanted to cut his hair when he was playing, or if she was bragging. “And some vocals. Mainly backup.”

“Don’t downplay it.” You grin, watching his cheeks turn pink yet again. “I can’t carry a tune in a bucket. And getting on stage? I think I’d panic. That’s something you can be really proud of.”

“It’s not that bad.” Marcus tells you. “Just pick the prettiest girl and imagine them – uh –” he falters for a second. “Kissing you.” He supplies.

“Is that how you get past stage fright?” You have definitely never heard of that particular tactic before and you nearly giggle with how embarrassed Marcus looks admitting it. “Seems like we ought to get you back on stage then, shouldn’t we? That’s a very nice fantasy to let yourself play out.”

“Nahhh it’s been a long time since I’ve been on a stage.” He admits. “I like to just drink a beer and dance with the pretty girl.”

“Oh yeah?” The impulse to insinuate yourself into that situation is deep but you just smile, knowing very well that your cheeks and ears are burning with the thought. “Sounds…pretty perfect.”

“Yeah?” He grins and there’s a partial idea forming for later tonight if the rest of dinner goes like it is now. “Does it sound good to you?” He asks. “What’s your ideal date?”

“I—” Clearing your throat slightly, your skin burns even more. “Dinner and dancing, probably? Or going to see a screening of an old movie together.” Taking a sip of the wine before you hand it back to him, you brace yourself for the tingle you’ve been getting whenever your fingers brush. “I saw a TikTok the other day of a bookstore date, too. That looked fun.”

“A bookstore date?” He’s intrigued on that what that would entail. He leans in and snags the wine glass to take another sip. He should really order another glass so you each have your own, but there is something oddly fun about sharing. “Tell me about that.”

“It’s silly.” But somehow, you think he might like silly. “There’s this list of prompts. And you roll a die to see which prompt you get and you’re supposed to go all over the bookstore looking for a book to read that fits the prompts. It’s…to a librarian it sounds fantastic…choosing books for each other and having an automatic something to talk about on the next date, ya know?”

“That sounds like a great date.” Marcus agrees, liking the adventurousness of it. “A really good date. Maybe even you have to call the other person to read them a portion of the book that appeals to you.”

“I haven’t had anybody read to me in ages…” You can feel how soft you get in response to the idea but you just can’t seem to care. Every few minutes Marcus Pike seems to get more and more perfect. “That sounds absolutely dreamy.”

“You haven’t?” He’s surprised at that, and then there’s a little fantasy that plays out in his head. Calling you every night that he could and reading a few paragraphs to you while you are snuggled in your bed. “Maybe that will change.” He hums.

"I think I'd like that." The way he says it makes you feel so hopeful, like maybe this night is going as well for him as it is for you, and you bite your lip to hold back a full-force grin. "I think I'd like that a whole lot."

Marcus actually hates when the waiter comes back to order the meals, allowing you to order first and he puts in his order for his own meal and asks for another glass of wine. “Do you want one, or do you want to keep sharing?”

"I'm not going to lie, I kind of like the sharing," you admit with an embarrassed grin. This waiter just smiles politely and steps away, having seen plenty of good and bad dates over his career and not really thinking anything of the request.

“I like it too.” He admits with a matching grin. “Although if we order dessert, we’ll need to change to different wine.” He tells you.

"Ah, so my education continues?" He wouldn't have brought it up if he wasn't thinking about it in the back of his mind, and that makes your smile grow. "I know I've seen Dessert wines listed on menus before but other than knowing they exist, I don't think I could name anything else about them."

“They are sweeter, crisper.” He tells you. “Meant to enhance the flavor of the desserts. We will have to see if we have room.” He grins. “My sides are meant to be shared.”

“Maybe we’ll have to come back?” You venture, hopeful at the idea that tonight is going well enough to lead to a second date.

“It is a very good wine list.” He tells you with a grin. “Although there’s this little place down near the Potomac that is a wine bar paired with your – what did you call it? Adult Lunchables?” He tilts his head. “I think you might like that.”

The fact that he picks up on the thread immediately makes you flush warm again and grin so broadly that your cheeks ache. “It sounds perfect,” you admit. “Although I think Donna might float just a little if she finds out we’re planning date number two before the entree is even served on date number one.”

“We don’t have to tell her.” His own grin turns slightly mischievous. “Let her dangle for a bit before we let her know about that. It’ll drive her crazy.”

"You know I'm going to get just as many voicemails as you, right?" The devilish smile highlights his dimple far too perfectly and just about has you swooning, but you manage to keep it down to just a girlish giggle. "Are you going to be a bad influence on me, Marcus?"

“Depends on what you think is bad.” Marcus quips, winking at you as he leans back. You are charming, funny, sweet. All things that his mother had noted but he’s also attracted to you. And thoroughly enjoying this date.

Confidence looks very fucking sexy on him, and you end up leaning forward instinctively when he leans back, like he's pulling a string somewhere inside your ribcage when he goes. "Maybe I like bad. And I'm just making sure I'm going to enjoy myself?"

There’s a split second where Marcus has a choice on if he’s going to make a dirty innuendo, just like you have. “Oh, I guarantee you’ll enjoy yourself.” He promises, that grin turning slightly salacious. “Multiple times.”

He knows full fucking well what he’s doing, and the poorly timed sip of wine you have just taken nearly comes out your nose when you quickly cover your mouth with one hand to keep from spitting it everywhere or even choking on it. “Guarantee, huh?” When you can breathe again and don’t have wine in your mouth anymore, you manage to raise one steady eyebrow at him. “You’re a very confident man, Agent Pike.”

“It’s a money back kind of thing.” He teases, enjoying the easy banter and the fact that you are leaning into the atmosphere rather than getting offended by it.

“Oh, I see.” You tease right back, loving the freedom in the atmosphere between you. “So I’m investing in my future enjoyment?”

“Exactly.” He hums, nodding in an exaggerated manner. “You understand perfectly.”

******

“I don’t think I can do it,” you groan playfully, looking over the empty plates of the amazing dinner you just shared and knowing that dessert would have disastrous consequences. “I think I might pop like a balloon.”

“It was a lot of food.” Marcus admits, his own stomach edging just on the cusp of being overly full. “Plus the wine. So I don’t think I can make room either.” He sighs and leans back to rub his belly just to tease.

“It’s a good thing it’s a beautiful night for a walk.” The thought had been brewing for a while, and you offer Marcus a hopeful smile. “Only if you’re up for it, of course.”

“Absolutely.” The check is discreetly placed by his elbow and he shakes his head when you move to your purse. “This is my treat.” He insists, pulling out his wallet and putting his credit card down without glancing at the bill.

“Then next time will be mine,” you insist, having a feeling that Marcus is not at all the kind of guy to let that fly, but at the same time you have to wonder when the last time was that he allowed anyone to take care of him.

He hums, not agreeing or disagreeing. “So, where would you like to walk?” He asks. “There’s a lot of little shops and bars nearby.”

Pennsylvania Avenue is certainly lively, and since you had taken the Metro you don’t particularly care what direction you head in. “We could always head toward the Mall and let ourselves get distracted along the way?” You suggest, wanting to leave the night wide open for anything or everything.

“That sounds good to me.” Marcus brought his car, but the neighborhood is relatively safe and the parking isn’t by the hours. “Do you have comfortable enough shoes on?” He hadn’t noticed your footwear, but he wants to check.

“I’m not really a heels kind of girl,” you admit, hoping that that won’t break some kind of weird unconscious rule he has in his head. You’ve been told before that you should dress more femininely but the idea that high heels are the only feminine footwear seems utterly ridiculous. “And I’m always up for a walk.”

“That’s good.” He chuckles and when both of you stand from the table he kicks out a foot and shows his comfortable loafers. “I have to wear dress shoes at work, but I’m never going to bash comfortable footwear.”

“I learned a long time ago that knee-high boots go with almost any dress or skirt.” You take his arm when he offers it – very gentlemanly – and before you know it you’re out in the crisp night air. The moon is high and the streetlamps are bright, and you sigh a little contentment. Tonight is so, so much better than you thought it was going to be.

“That sigh is either a very good sign or a bad one.” He teases, looking over at you with a playful grin. “Can I ask which?”

“It’s good, I promise.” And as if to prove you, you send him a beaming smile. “I was just thinking how nice the night is, that’s all.”

“It is a nice night.” Marcus agrees. The air has just a bite to it without being bitter and yet it is still cozy. The dark night is illuminated by the streetlamps and the noise from bars and shops spills out onto the sidewalk in muted tones. “It seems magical, doesn’t it?”

“It does.” You agree with a grin, but for you, that magic is pouring off him – not the street around you.

******

“Hey look.” It’s a building that he hasn’t really noticed before but maybe it’s because he hadn’t been looking for it before. “Do you want to stop?”

“Sure.” You’d agree to almost anything right now and you shrug. “What is it?”

“Well, the name is Tomes and Tannins, so I’m thinking it might be one of those trendy wine shop slash bookstores?” He grins at you. “Why don’t we find out?”

“That is a level of fancy I never thought I would reach,” you admit with a grin and let him lead you inside. It’s deceptively mood-lit inside but with enough supplemental lights that you can read everything you need to, and there are cafe tables with chairs smattered around some mismatched armchairs and ever sofas with drink tables at either end. It’s cozy and welcoming, and obviously meant for you to stay a while.

“Hmmm this looks promising, right?” He asks, looking to see if you approve. “Interesting place.”

“Books and wine? Sounds amazing and looks even better.” A beaming smile of affirmation is all for him and you nudge him toward the stacks. “Where do you want to start?”

“Well…” he smirks slightly. “Show me that date idea that you liked? Picking out books for the other to read?”

“Oh!” Somehow you had already forgotten, and grin guiltily as you pull up the list of twenty prompts on your phone. “You’re supposed to roll a die to find out what numbers you get. Roll a die, find a book for each of us that fits the prompt, and just keep going until we decide we have our arms full.” Digging into your purse, you come out with a d20 from when you play Dungeons and Dragons with your friends and hold it up. “Do you want to go first?”

“Ladies first.” Marcus grins and motions towards a bookshelf. “Roll there and we will see what we come up with.”

Normally a high roll would be a great thing to get, but as you stare at the 17 that pops up on the die, you skim down the list on your phone and feel yourself smirk. “Number seventeen. A book that inspired a tv show or movie.”

“Now is this for me to find for you?” Marcus asks seriously. “Or is this your criteria for my book?”

“I think we’re both supposed to pick a book for each other that fits the category.” The video hadn’t exactly been clear, but that is how you interpreted it. And it sounded like the most fun way to do it anyway.

“Okay. So we each find the other a book that inspired a tv show or movie.” He agrees. “I say I roll and then we separate. We don’t show the other the book until we are done picking them out.”

“Alright.” You hold up the d20 to offer it to him. “Roll away, G-man.”

Marcus plucks the die from your fingers and puts it in his palm to close his fist around him. Grinning as he blows on it playfully like he’s rolling dice in a casino. “Here we go.” He tells you before tossing it down.

It's playful and sweet, and you giggle softly when the die hits the shelf and comes up with the number 5. You consult your list, tilting your head with a grin when you read what category he ended up with. "Number five. A book with an overly long title."

He hums and nods. “Why don’t we add a little bit of a challenge?” He asks. You tilt your head curiously, obviously interested. “We have ten minutes per book, so twenty minutes total. When the twenty minutes is up, we meet at the tables to have a glass of wine and exchange books.”

"Deal." The element of a game makes you smile even more broadly, and you hold up your finger before he can jet away from you. "One more thing?" You ask and wait until he nods. "I want to know your least favourite book of all time. Just so I don't grab it by accident."

“Honestly?” He gives you a guilty grin. “I hate the Lord of the Flies.” He admits with a small shrug. “Hated when it was required reading.”

"You are in no way the first person I've ever met who hated that book," you promise him, smothering a little laugh in the process. "I did not like Gone With the Wind. Couldn't even force myself to be empathetic with any of the characters, which is a shame. The plot is interesting."

“The movie is better, at least it’s watchable.” Marcus admits. “I always hated the scene after the little girl died.”

"Alright." Pulling out your phone, you set a timer for twenty minutes and watch him follow suit with that mischievous smile painted back in place. "Ten minutes for each book, and then we meet right back here for wine and to trade titles."

“Good luck.” With a wink, Marcus whirls around and rushes off, already having a title or three in mind.

It becomes a sort of secondary game – any time you run into each other in the maze of shelves you immediately guard the books you are carrying with your entire bodies and back away or even sprint away from each other so that the surprises won't be spoiled. It has the two of you giggling like idiots and has definitely attracted the attention of some of the other patrons, but no one seems to really mind. Who could possibly mind people having fun in a bookstore?

When he finds what he wants, Marcus barely resists hiding it under his jacket as he rushes up to the counter to make his purchase. Wondering if you will call him out or be disappointed. So he has a backup plan in case. Taking his bag and looking around the bookstore as he walks towards the table you agreed to meet him at.

You use an entire eighteen minutes debating whether or not it's cheating to just grab two of your favourite books to see if he'll like them before you finally just do it. They do fit the categories and he did say that he likes romances so one of them is only sort of a stretch. Grabbing the two novels, you head to the register and then back to the table, only to see him already sitting there. "You were speedy," you observe, raising one eyebrow as you sit down across from him at the table.

“I know what I want.” Marcus tells you, biting back the grin that he wants to display and feeling giddy for his reveal. He motions towards the board that displays what wines they have available. “Do you want to get a glass before we exchange?”

"Sure." He's being cheeky and it's sexy as hell, so you nod and bite back a grin. "You're the wine guru, so I'll try whatever you say is good."

“I think something sweet.” He decides. “A nice Shiraz for us to share?” He asks, wanting to know if you want your own glass or to share again.

"A shiraz to share sounds perfect." Not that you know what the hell shiraz is besides the obvious conclusion that it's wine, but the sharing part is what sounds best to you.

“Okay.” He nods and shoots you a wary look. “No peeking while I order.” He orders playfully, pointing at you. “I’ll be watching.”

He steps up to the counter and you dutifully put your hands on top of the brown paper bag stamped with the shop's logo that you paid for, not peaking in the bag he bought despite desperately wanting to. He comes back in less than three minutes but you're already near squirming in your seat because the suspense is killing you.

“Okay. This is a glass of Layer Cake.” He tells you. “Sounds good, but it’s honestly a first for me too.” He was feeling adventurous and wanted a new experience with you. He’s had shiraz, but he wanted to try this at the same time you did.

"So it's a new adventure for both of us, then." That somehow makes it feel romantic and not just sweet, but it would be silly to say so. "You take the first sip, I insist."

He chuckles. “So I can make sure it’s not poisoned?” He teases. “As you wish, my princess.”

The 'princess' bit makes your cheeks burn, but you don't want to admit that you want to know whether or not he likes it first. There's something about trying wines that makes you nervous and you don't want to accidentally end up loving something that he thinks is subpar. Maybe that's trying wines that is intimidating you, or maybe it's just that you like him. You can't tell, honestly.

Picking up the glass, he sniffs and hums before taking a sip. “Oh this is good.” He groans. “That would be good anytime you wanted wine.”

"Well now I'm excited." He hands the glass over to you and you take a sip, immediately sighing. "Oh, that's fantastic. That would have made me a wine person ages ago."

“I’m selfishly glad that you are exploring it with me.” He admits, admiring how you savor the wine and take another small sip.

"Feel free to be selfish, then, because this is fantastic." Handing the glass back to him, you waggle your bag in his direction with excitement. "Number seventeen or number five first?"

“You want to go first?” He asks, not caring at all. “Sure. Why don’t you surprise me?”

"Your librarian date is excited about books. This should be no surprise." Laughing as you reach into the bag, the book on top is what you decide to go with and you pull out an old faithful favourite. "Number five. A book with an overly long title." You tell him, presenting him with a copy of Fried Green Tomatoes at the Whistle Stop Cafe by Fannie Flagg.

Marcus bites his lip and takes the book. “Okay.” He nods. “That is a long title.” He’s a little worried that you won’t like what he had chosen now.

"You look nervous." He does take the book, though, not reject it. "Have you read it before? It's okay if you have...or if you didn't like it." You're not one of those people who believes that a couple has to like all the same things, after all.

“No, no, I haven’t read this one.” He promises. “I can’t wait to see what it’s about. Especially since you seem to love it.”

"I do." It would be kind of useless to claim otherwise, and you sit back in your chair to accept the glass of wine from him. "What did you find for number five?"

“So…” he flashes you a small grin. “I kind of…cheated.” He admits. “I chose a book that is both five and seventeen.” He admits. “But now, so have you so I’m completely thinking that I fucked up. But I’ve got a corny ass back up.” He rushes out to assure you.

"You say cheating, I say creativity." You do bite your lip though, before admitting, "I actually have two of my favourite books that worked for what we rolled...so this is kind of just my excuse to show them to you. Which is also cheating. Just a little."

At least you aren’t mad. He reaches into his bag and pulls out a beautiful hardback book. “My book for you is this. The Princess Bride: S. Morgenstern's Classic Tale of True Love and High Adventure.” He slides the book in front of you.

It probably isn't the reaction he expects to have you almost tear up at the table, but you gently place your hands on the book and draw it closer to you like it is something delicate and precious – which, to you, it is. "This wouldn't have anything to do with the fact that I mentioned wanting to be read to, does it?" You ask him with a grin. "Marcus it's perfect. And believe it or not...despite this being one of my favourite movies? I've never read the book."

“You haven’t?” His jaw drops and he shakes his head. “I don’t know which I like better, the movie or the book.” He admits. “I have my own copy at home.”

"I've read Cary Elwes' book, but somehow not the novel." The way he lights up at having made a good choice for you might be the most adorable thing you've ever seen. "I guess that's finally about to change."

“I did get another book but I decided it was a bit much after.” He admits, slightly flustered that he bought that book. But it has been made into a movie.

“What was the other one?” His ears have turned red and now you have to know, even nudging the wine glass back toward him in case he needs a little courage.

He blows out a breath and pulls out the other book from the bag. “Okay, but don’t judge me.” He begs, revealing the front of Fifty Shades of Grey.

“Why Marcus, is this a hint?” He has turned an even deeper shade of red and you can’t resist another giggle before batting your eyelashes at him.

“I— no, I don’t mean— it’s just that—” he sputters and chokes on his words before he heaves a sigh and drops his chin to his chest. “Fuck. I knew I should have just found something else.”

“You only should have grabbed something else if you didn’t mean to flirt with me,” you tell him honestly and pull your own book that inspired a tv show or movie out of your paper bag to hand him. The Duke & I by Julia Quinn now has images from the Bridgerton tv show splashed all over the cover, making it unmistakable. “You said you like romance novels sometimes,” you defend, shrugging your shoulders.

“I’ve not read this.” He admits, reaching for the book to read the inside cover. “It sounds interesting. This is a show right?”

“Bridgerton.” You nod, wondering what - if anything - he’s heard about it. “Most people call it something like… ‘horny Jane Austen’.”

He snorts and chuckles to himself as he continues to read it. “Then I see why it appeals.” He jokes. “Nothing like love and sex.”

“Technically isn’t that what this is, too?” You ask, waggling the copy of 50 Shades at him. “Just… kinkier.” It’s an honest question, really. Since you’ve never read it.

“It’s – not bad but you can tell that whoever wrote this is just guessing at what they think BDSM is about.” Marcus tells you.

"So...do that mean you do know what BDSM is about?" It's an intriguing thought, to imagine this otherwise very clean-cut looking guy being into anything kinky, and you can't say you hate it. Not at all.

"I—" He never should have opened his mouth. He never should have opened his goddamn mouth. If it was possible to get any hotter, Marcus swears his face would just burst into flames. This isn't something that his mother would know because there is zero chance in hell he would ever tell her. "I was undercover." He explains. "The people I was— associating with, they were into that kind of scene." He bites his lip. "I had to do a lot of research on it, but I've never actually, you know, uh, practiced it." He assures you.

"Please don't think I'm judging," you reach over the table quickly to give his hand a squeeze and shake your head vehemently. "Honestly, if anything? I find it very...interesting. But have never practiced any of it, either."

"I just don't want you thinking that I'm—" He shrugs slightly. "I don't know what I'm trying to say. Normally I'm more confident than this, but not this time." He chuckles quietly.

"You don't want me to think you're kinky?" You ask, tilting your head slightly. "It's not a bad thing to be. But...I'm sorry if I did anything to shake that confidence." With a half-smirk, you shrug one shoulder in admission. "I promise you'd be extremely confident if you could hear the monologue in my head tonight."

"You didn't do anything, I promise." Marcus reaches out after you had pulled back and takes your hand again. "My last...relationship. She's the one that kind of screwed with my head." He confesses quietly. "But I want to know about this internal monologue of yours."

"The coworker." Of course his mother had told you about his ex-fiancée. She hadn't wanted you to feel like she was throwing you into an unknown situation. "From what your mom said...she sounds like she was a little...dishonest? And that's bullshit. I'm sorry you had to deal with that."

"It's done." There's nothing he can do to change it, and he's not sure that he would want to now that he's looking back on the situation. "But I'm hoping that I can get that confidence back."

"Well, if you hadn't said anything, I never would have known that this is the less confident version of you." His hand dwarfs yours, the warmth of it completely welcoming and overtaking all your senses. And it's so, so welcome.

"Is the book, alright?" He asks. "You can just read the first one if you want."

"Oh, no." The grin you aim his way is mischievous. "I'm definitely going to read both. Who knows? I might learn something."

"Have you seen the movies?" He asks curiously.

"No..." You can feel your cheeks heat up all over again. "It always seemed...I don't know, maybe I'm just really vanilla, but they always seemed so close to porn to me?" Not that that is a bad thing. And not that you don't watch your share of porn. Just usually not of the BDSM variety.

"It was actually pretty tastefully done." Marcus admits. "I've seen them. My ex wanted to see them, so..." He shrugs. "You go see them."

"See? You're already a font of information compared to me." His hand is still covering yours and you shiver a little at the innuendo of it all. Of how warm and tempting he is. "I guess I'll have to catch up. Educate myself."

It’s on the tip of his tongue to tell you that you can watch the movies together, but that might be too forward. Instead, he grins. “Sounds like you have a research plan.”

"Apparently so." Under the table, the toe of your shoe finds the back of his leg completely by accident as you shift in your seat, and you grin guiltily. "I was about to apologize for that," you admit, knowing that it must have seemed like you were trying to play footsies or something under the table. "But honestly? I'm not sorry."

“Really?” His brow lifts and he shoots you a grin. “You like playing footsie?” He asks, his own foot reaching out and tapping yours gently.

"I think it's kind of cute, honestly." The innocent shrug is accompanied by a bright, smitten smile, and you nudge Marcus's foot back playfully.

“Best part of cuddling is sliding your foot along the leg of your cuddle buddy.” He tells you. “Or letting your hands wander.”

"Mmm...it's hands." And he has such huge hands...the possibilities are endless. "It's definitely hands."

“You’re a touch kind of girl?” He asks, intrigued by the idea and he wonders if your love language is physical touch. He’s noticed that you’ve reached out several times when reassuring him.

"Touch is a powerful thing." You reason, not making a single move to take your hand out of his. "It can be intense or gentle, reassuring or electrifying. It can be almost anything."

“Electrifyingly reassuring.” Marcus quips, squeezing your hand gently. He picks up the wine with his free hand and takes a sip.

"Like it's exciting but at the same time...feels kind of...right?" Which is exactly how you feel about him, and you're kind of going out on a limb admitting it but you don't think he's gearing up to reject you.

It does, he looks down at your joined hands and smiles. "I think so." He hands you the wine and hums. "Now, we have a couple of options for the rest of the night, if you're up for it." He grins. "We can continue to walk and talk. Or...." He shrugs. "I have my car back at the restaurant and I can drive you back to my place and we can have a cheese board and read to each other?"

He knows what he’s offering — not even in a salacious way — and that a night of reading books is like catnip to a librarian. You can’t help but get excited for it. Even the most boring night in the world would be improved by this, but tonight? With how it’s going? It sounds practically like foreplay. “What are we waiting for?” You ask, grinning, and take the last sip of wine from the glass. “We both have brand new books to read and my guess is that you definitetly have a couch big enough for two. I’d say that decision is easy.”

"Yeah?" He had expected you to say no. It's the first date after all. Beaming at you, he motions towards the wine. "Do you want to get a bottle of this to take with us?" He asks. "It would go good with any of the adult Lunchable things we can get."

“You’re going to keep teasing me about it, but I stand by that description.” You do nod though, having thoroughly enjoyed this particular glass of wine even more than what he had ordered at dinner.

He chuckles. "It's a good one." He admits. "I've never looked at it that way, but now I can see why you say that. I used to beg my mom to buy Lunchables."

“And now you love charcuterie. Which is the very same thing in a much neater package.” It’s silly, but you’ve always liked silly. It can really open a person up.

He squeezes your hand. "You finish that glass and I will see about getting us a bottle to take home." He tells you, letting go to stand up and quickly walk back to the counter. Feeling incredible about this date and almost hating that he had ever been dreading it.

Two sips and a purchased bottle later, the two of you are out the door of the little shop and heading back in the direction of the restaurant to retrieve Marcus’s car. The night is clear and crisp now and even though the city lights glow brighter than the stars you can sweat you feel the distinct light of the moon before anything else.

“How did you come to dinner?” He asks as he guides you towards his car. “If you feel more comfortable following me, I can give you the address.” He huffs. “Although I should probably do that anyway so you can send it to a girlfriend.”

“I have to admit, it’s comforting to have a guy even acknowledge that kind of thing.” Especially that he’s a federal agent, and doesn’t seem to feel entitled to your obedience or safety based purely on that fact. Instead he dutifully gives you his address after you tell him that you took public transportation to get here, and you send it off to your best friend.

“I understand.” He admits. “The number of people who disregard others safety or their own drives me insane sometimes. At the end of the day if someone gets offended for wanting to feel secure, they don’t have good intentions.” Marcus tells you. “Plus, my mother would kick my ass.”

“She definitely would.” You can agree to that, and thank him quietly when Marcus opens the passenger door for you to get into his car. The address he had given you was in Georgetown so you had a short but nice drive ahead.

“So what kind of music do you like?” He asks as he starts the car and looks behind him to back out of the spot. “Feel free to change it to whatever you like.”

“I would never change Pearl Jam.” Is the very serious reply he gets from you, as the alternative rock station he has programmed on his satellite radio is currently playing ‘Even Flow’. “There was a band that played in my college town that did all 90s rock covers and they were the absolute best shows to go to.”

“That had to be awesome.” Marcus hums. “I was too busy playing to really see a lot of shows and I regret it. But I loved being in the band.”

“Well then I guess we’ll have to find some live music to go see.” There seems like plenty of common ground that you can pick up on together and that is a very good sign if nothing else. “If the sound of a 90s influenced jam band doesn’t make you want to run for the hills, The Southern Ocean is playing at The Runaway this weekend.”

“I’ve never heard of them.” Marcus admits sheepishly. He’s been focused on work and not really out on the social scene the past few months. “Are they good?”

“I mean, I think so.” It’s not exactly surprising that the name is unknown to him and you glance over at him while he drives. “Their bassist is a friend, so I try to support whenever I can.”

“Then that’s definitely something I would want to check out.” Marcus nods. “It’s always good when you see friends play.”

“Would you want to come with me?” It’s only slightly presumptuous to plan out a second date when you’re still in the middle of the first one, but you like Marcus. You like him. He’s smart and handsome as hell and sweet, and even balances flirtation and respect on the perfect level. Honestly, you can’t imagine what kind of an idiot his exes were to let him get away.

“If you’re offering.” He smiles. “Who the hell ever resists an invitation from a pretty girl to go see a band?” He shakes his head. “I might be dumb, but I’m no fool.”

“You’re not dumb. Or a fool.” That’s exactly the kind of thing you don’t put up with from guys you date and you were glad to be able to rule it out very early with Marcus. You exchange a small smile at the next light when he pulls up to it and for the rest of the ride you sing along with the music and just enjoy yourselves.

When he pulls up to his house, Marcus is sort of panicking. Wondering if he had picked up this morning after he had dropped his clothes on the floor from his run. The last thing he wanted was for you to think that he was a slob.

“Home sweet home?” You guess, looking up at the picturesque blue house with its literal white picket fence. It even has a gate out front that someone lovingly painted flowers on in lieu of adding a name.

“Yeah.” He chuckles and gives a small shrug. “It was a hell of a deal when I stumbled on it and I jumped.”

“It’s beautiful.” The lawn is dotted with wildflowers from what you can see in the dark, and suddenly the mental image of stargazing with him on a blanket is impossible to shake.

“Thank you. Luckily, I pay a wonderful company to keep the yard looking nice because I don’t have time to do it.” He admits with a small laugh.

“They do a much better job than the landlord at my duplex,” you offer him a smile before he slides out of the car and goes around to your door to let you out. The front door is a mere six steps away and Marcus’s house is even sweeter and more inviting once that door is open. It’s like somebody built the set of a Hallmark movie in real life just for this handsome FBI agent.

“So, this is home.” He knows that it’s decorated more than the standard bachelor pad and he’s okay with that. He’s not the type of man to just have a chair and a tv in the living room. “Make yourself comfortable, I can put your coat in the closet if you want?”

“Thanks.” It’s the most intimate contact you’ve had tonight besides holding hands, and you swear you can feel your skin tingle when he slides your jacket off your shoulders for you before hanging it beside his in the closet. The little shiver that runs through you is a private thrill and you know you probably look dreamy as hell as you follow him past the living room to the kitchen.

“How about you arrange the cheese board while I open and pour the wine?” He asks as he opens the refrigerator to pull out the sliced cheeses and meats he keeps there because he likes them.

It sounds wonderfully domestic, and you agree to it easily as he pulls out a small board and sets it down on the counter. Packages of Gruyère, havarti, and something marked Seriously Sharp cheddar all fill out the board and you do your valiant best at attempting to fold and rolls the slices of cured meats into petite little roses for the two of you to enjoy demolishing together. Some fresh grapes and cherry preserves join the tray, and Marcus produces a half of a baguette seemingly out of nowhere once the wine is poured. It’s all deceptively easy, the way you seem to work with and around each other, and by the time you make it back out to the living room you know you’re just completely gone for this man. His little smiles, deep laugh, and soft demeanor have you utterly relaxed and so, so smitten.

“Do you want to put on some music?” Marcus asks. “Maybe we can just relax. Lean back and read to each other?” He’s leaning into the idea that you would like this and he wants to make sure that you enjoy yourself.

“What do you want to read first?” It sounds like possibly the most romantic idea in the world – just sitting and reading to each other in comfort with an indulgent (and savory) dessert. If the thought of curling up with him and finding out what it feels like to be close to him is anything, it is fairly close to perfection.

“Ladies choice.” He hums quietly, moving over to the record player he has sitting next to the collection of vinyl’s. It’s not to look snooty, he’s been obsessed with them since his mother played them while cleaning, claiming it sounded better. For classical music, it does. It brings back a sense of nostalgia, sets a mood.

“Rachmaninov?” The melody sounds familiar, like something out of a dream, when it starts up and the name seems to drudge itself out of the depths of your memory. “That’s got fantasy and romance written all over it.”

He hadn’t chosen the music with that in mind, but he smiles. “Too much?” He asks, even though he doesn’t feel like you will think that.

“Not at all.” In fact, just the opposite. It feels just right. “But it feels like The Duke & I or Princess Bride for sure.”

“Okay.” He smiles as he moves over to the couch and toes off his loafers to reveal the dress socks he had been wearing underneath. “You can get comfortable.” He promises, taking off his sports jacket and removing his tie.

Getting Comfortable on a date for you would usually lead to sexier things than snacks and reading — but then, is there anything sexier than reading in the first place? For a librarian that seems impossible. So instead, you follow suit and toe off your boots to curl up in the couch beside him.

It seems almost natural to have you curl into the crook of his body and Marcus opens his arms slightly. “How about I read to you to start?” He asks softly.

For most people this might be a recipe for falling asleep, but tonight the sound of his voice is vibrating through the thin fabric of your dress as you lean against him. The lingering scene of his cologne mixed with the wine and new book smell in a way more intoxicating than alcohol ever could be. “You’re dangerously comfortable,” you warn him, drawn right against him like a magnet.

"I don't mind being called that." He laughs quietly, trying not to jostle you too badly as you snuggle against him and he settles into opening the new book. Hearing the spine creak open slightly and he wonders if you are like him and prefer hardback over paperback books. At least for gifts.

“All we need is a fire in the fireplace and we’re just about as picturesque as I can imagine.” It’s dangerous to turn your head to smile at him from this angle because it brings you within about two inches of his perfectly tantalizing lips, but you remind yourself to behave. This is just the first date. No need to rush.

“Not quite cold enough yet.” He can’t help but look down at your lips, imagining kissing you in front of a cozy fire after a night in. Or maybe coming home to relax after a night out.

“Soon.” The moment is so soft, and you watch his eyes drift down to your lips the same way yours did to his a second ago with a warm buzzing in your chest. Whether you mean the fire or the kiss should be soon is entirely up to him to decide.

“Should I start to read?” He asks quietly. Feeling the moment start to grow into something warmer, sweeter.

“Yeah—I—um…” Any hesitation on your part is strictly attraction based, and you move your head a safe distance from his lips so as not to get distracted. “Please.”

Marcus turns his eyes to focus on the book and not on you. “The birth of Simon Authur Henry Clyvedon Fitzranulph Basset, Earl Clyvedon was met with great celebration.” He keeps his voice low, intimate between the two of you as he was reading you a story before bed.

It’s simultaneously the most relaxing thing in the world and causing you to be completely on edge, the way Marcus’s rich voice seems to roll right through you as he begins to read. Every place that the two of you are touching seems to be on fire and you cannot decide if you want to jump him or take the world’s most luxurious ride on his narration alone.

He feels you stiffen in his arms and he wonders if you’ve change your mind. “Everything okay?” He asks, wanting to check in with you. He had anticipated you melting against him, but you seem on edge and if it’s something he’s doing, he wants to fix it.

“Of course.” There’s nothing wrong with how relaxed you feel right now, but you know you’ve been a little tensed against him. You had just been hoping that he wouldn’t notice. The fact that he looks at you incredulously says he definitely did. “I’m—” Flustering, you clear your throat as gently as you can manage and bite back a smile. “I’m a little distracted,” you admit, wondering how well complete honesty will go over with him.

“Cold?” Marcus asks. “There’s a blanket right over your other shoulder.” He hums. “Snuggle against me and curl under it. I meant it, make yourself comfortable.” He’s not sure if it’s the change from having your jacket and boots on that’s distracting you, but he doesn’t mind the idea of being under a blanket together.

Not entirely sure that snuggling more would distract you less,” you pull the blanket down anyway and do as he suggests. It brings the two of you even closer and you have to tamp down the coil tightening even further in your gut. Keep your shit together. You’re a grown ass woman! “There.” You smile, but looking up at him brings your eyes to his lips again and you don’t even realize as your tongue darts out to wet your own lips at the sight. “All better.”

His eyes drop down to your lips and he all but groans at the sight of them wet. “Good.” He croaks out, clearing his throat. “That’s good.” It’s hard to tear his gaze away from you, but he needs to so he doesn’t overstep.

“Mmhmm.” Nodding is like a reflex, and for all your determination you just can’t look away. “Very good…”

There’s a moment where Marcus wants to put the book down and give into the desire to kiss you. But that wouldn’t be what you had planned when you came over here and if something happens, he’s determined to let you lead. “So, uh, where was I?”

“I think—” But the thought isn’t there. You have no idea what the last thing he read was, despite how much you love the sound of his voice. Every sense has been taken over by the buzzing hum running through your body and the spark of his skin touching yours. “I don’t—” You could bluster. Or try to skim the page and guess. But your impulses are a hell of a lot stronger than your good sense tonight. “—I really want to kiss you—”

Marcus groans quietly and the book snaps shut with a definitive thump. “I really want you to kiss me too.” He admits. “You should go with your instincts.”

“Instincts are important,” you nod as wisely and seriously as possible even as you’re turning into his side. Those warm puffs of breath that have been ghosting over your skin make you shiver, and you just have an unshakable feeling that this is that start of something completely wonderful. “Oh yeah?” You hum, close enough to nudge his nose with yours.

“Yeah.” Marcus exhales roughly, feeling like he is about to vibrate out of his skin. Despite his complaint to his mom that it was too soon since Teresa, he feels that this is nearly perfect. You’re perfect and he’s painfully attracted to you.

It only takes the smallest movement to fit your lips against his, but the response that floods your body is monumental. It really should only have been a quick, light, gentle kind of first kiss — but he did say to go with your instincts. So instead your hand comes up to graze the line of his jaw when the blissful feeling of having him kiss you back makes you feel like you might vibrate out of place right there on the couch.

It’s innocent, really. The kiss doesn’t go much deeper than the exploration of each other in that first pressing of lips and yet he feels like his heart is about to explode out of his chest. The only reason you pull back is to check in with him. It really is. Because that simple little first kiss might be the best first kiss you’ve ever had. His smile is a little dreamy, almost goofy as his eyes flutter opened after closing on their own. Looking at you as if you had hung the moon after that kiss.

"You look how I feel," you tell him, grin splitting your face clean across as you tuck tightly into his side. That pure joy radiating from his smile is the same feeling filling up your chest right now.

“Like you could tap dance on air?” He asks with an answering grin of his own. Wanting to pull you close and kiss you again, but resisting.

"Maybe." Neither of you were expecting the giggle you share, but it makes you both smile that much harder and you shift slightly against him. "And...like I didn't want to stop..."

“That too.” The book falls to the floor as he shifts slightly. His eyes are darker now, the lust and desire making his amber eyes turn to onyx. “You don’t have to.”

The momentum sweeps both of you up in a way you didn’t expect at all. As soon as he agrees to wanting even a little more you feel like the whole world tilts on its axis. You shift in his arms to surge toward him, lips pressing against his in earnest and barely managing to swallow a moan when he pulls you in tighter. It has you throwing caution to the wind and taking advantage of the open-mouthed kiss to taste him with your tongue — and letting a second moan out when he tastes just as sweet as you thought.

His arms wrap around you, not wanting you to shift too far away as he drowns in the kiss. Letting the feeling of your tongue caressing his completely overrule any semblance of thought beyond you and making sure you are aware of how much he is enjoying kissing you.

Trying to get as close to each other as you possibly can, you turn one more time in his arms and shift forward without ever breaking the kiss. His arms hold you steady, following wherever you’re going next, and in a moment of impulsivity and bravery you swing one leg over his lap to straddle Marcus completely on the couch.

Groaning, he absorbs your weight easily and his hands slide down your sides to squeeze your hips. He’s not upset you’re in his lap, quite the opposite. It makes his kiss just a little more frantic, trying to devour you a bit more.

Marcus has big hands. You know that already. But feeling them on you is totally different. His grip is firm but gentle, sweeping up and down your sides, and you’re suddenly hyper aware that you chose a dress and leggings and that those things provide no barrier between his body and yours. You can feel damn near everything underneath you and that is a blessing as well making you hyper aware of the warmth radiating off of him in waves.

He pants against your lips and feels like he’s underwater. Knowing that he is starting to harden underneath you at the warmth of your body, your core pressed against him.

The only thing that could possibly reel you back in at this point is him — the very same thing that is driving you crazy. But before you start grinding against him or even so much unconsciously moving your hips, you need to make sure he’s okay with it. You’re both panting heavily when you press your forehead against his, and your hands grip his shoulders tightly for balance. “I can stop…” you promise him, knowing that reeling yourself in now will be easier than later. “If you don’t want—more—”

“No.” The word is more whimper and plea than command and he wouldn’t do that anyway. “I— I’m good. I want—” He shakes his head and leans in to press his lips to yours again.

He wants just like you do, if the growing bulge beneath you is any indication, and you are not the slightest bit upset about that in anyway. It isn't what you came here for – or why you went on this date in the first place – but fuck if it isn't feeling like the perfect way to cap off the night.

The subtle circling of your hips has his fingers digging into your thighs as the most delicious groan rips out of his throat. Unsure if he wants you to stop or to just grind on him until you’re panting his name, he slides his tongue down your jaw and to your neck to follow it up with tiny kisses.

"Fuck— Marcus." The iron grip you had on his shoulders has slacked only so you can run your hands down his chest, feeling his heartbeat hammer under your fingertips just as fast as your own as he dusts kisses along your neck and raises goosebumps in his wake.

“So sexy.” He murmurs into your skin. Scraping his teeth over your pulse and sucking lightly. Enjoying the tremor that runs through you and the way you press down against his cock as you moan. He’s hard and starting to ache now, twitching every time you move.

“Unbelievably hot.” The first time you deliberately tilt your hips and rock your core over him, you both moan and you melt against him with your fingers fumbling for his buttons. “C—can I?” You manage, even though you feel like your voice is shaking. “Want to touch you, baby. Please?”

Exhaling on a shudder, Marcus gulps in air greedily. "Whatever you want." He croaks out. "I— fuck," His eyes close and his head tilts back slightly, exposing his Adam's apple. "I want you, but this stops wherever you want it to." He's not the type of man to push beyond your comfort, but if you said you wanted him inside you, he'd already be asking about protection. Not feeling like this is some sort of rebound, it feels like the beginning of something wonderful.

“I don’t want it to stop,” you admit, pausing with your fingers already in the first button of his shirt to find his eyes. This is not your usual first date M.O. but there is something here. Something very real and new between you that has wrapped itself around both of you together.

“We don’t have to stop.” Marcus promises you breathlessly, biting back a groan of pleasure when your hand splays across his chest, touching his hot skin.

"Thank god." Your own moan is a soft and breathy thing as you lean back to watch the broad expanse of his chest come into view with every button you manage to wrench open.

He manages to chuckle, even though he wants to just pull you closer and rip your clothes open to touch you, but he just pulls you close.

It's so damn easy to sink into him. For both of you to let your hands wander and your kisses migrate across each other's skin. He's stronger even than he looks at first glance and that is very strong – to the point where you really wonder if he might be able to just lift you up and carry you off. And that is just about the sexiest thing you can think of.

Keeping his hands on top of your clothes is going to be a real fucking challenge. Especially now that you have stripped him of his dress shirt and his undershirt. Squeezing and caressing every inch of skin you are baring, even the back of your tender neck while he scatters kisses along your lips.

The way he grabs and bunches your dress in his hands but doesn't reach further makes you groan, wondering if he's hesitant or if he's just waiting for permission. It really only takes a few seconds to realize there is something hesitant about the way he is kissing you or palming your hips and breasts over your dress, so you take one of his hands and guide it under the hem of your dress in invitation.

Marcus moans when you guide his hand under your dress, giving him permission to touch you and it becomes his mission to touch every inch of your body. Both hands slide up and down your thighs in sweeping passes, over your panties and to your stomach.

"Fuck." His hands are burning hot, making you shiver counterintuitively and lean into every touch. At this rate you may leave a damp patch from grinding down on him, but you don't even care. The friction is too good to ease up on. The only way you're moving off is so Marcus can get his pants off.

"That's right, baby." He agrees, unable to stop twitching every time you grind against the hard bulge in his slacks. "Fuck is right." His thumb sweeps under your breast right before he slides up to cover it with his hand, right over the bra and squeeze possessively. "You want to take off your dress for me, sweetheart?"

It's not even worth wasting breath on a reply, you just tear your hands away from his chest to pull your dress up over your head. It gets tossed somewhere on the floor and instantly forgotten about as you pant for your breath back and watch Marcus's eyes drink you in.

He didn't know that he could look so many places at once. Your tits, mouthwatering and begging for his attention. Down to your pretty panties that he wants to rip off and bury his tongue inside you to hear you squeal his name. Back up to your face and he nearly growls as he rushes in to kiss you again.

The momentum nearly knocks you backward but Marcus's arms are there to hold you steady. If he has his way you'll be staying skin-to-skin for a whole lot longer tonight and you have absolutely no problem with that. Every time his cock twitches under you, you can't help but moan, and soon it's going to be just a litany of that sound over and over.

Deft, sure hands reach back to undo your bra, making the first move to strip clothing off of you. Pulling the straps down your arms and immediately reaching up to cup your breasts and fill his hands with them. As simple as it might be to get a simple piece of clothing off of you, your high-pitched whine says everything about how eager you are to be rid of every stitch. "You have the best hands," you moan when he pinches your nipples and rolls the tight buds between his fingers for the first time.

"You have the best tits." Marcus hums, almost chuckling as he watches your head drop down to your chest and then roll back. "Fuck, that's it," he groans when you circle your hips on his cock again.

"S—swear this isn't what I was expecting—" You manage to breathe out, trying to assure him that you never expected sex tonight. "But fuck, baby."

"Me either." He agrees, kissing your jaw and then down your chest. His hot mouth moving towards your breast until he's pulling your nipple into his mouth.

“Mar—Marcus.” The heat of his mouth makes you keen even as your head drops back and the fingers of one hand tangle in his short hair. At this point every time you grind your hips down it’s like you’re trying to reach his cock inside his pants, and you know he’s as hard as you are wet.

He huffs and blows his breath against your nipple as he lets go of it, smirking up at you before sucking it back into his mouth. Knowing that tonight is nowhere near what he had imagined it being like and yet he can't be mad at it. He's eager to feel more of you.

“Feels so damn good.” The contrast of hot and cool on your skin makes your eyelids flutter and you rock in his lap.

He moans in agreement, his tongue flicking over the stiff peak and he loves how it puffs up even more in his mouth. Pulling off only to attack your other breast with equal enthusiasm.

Every flick of his tongue sends another shiver down your spine and as much as you just want to ride it out and see if you can cum only from having your tits sucked on, you want him more. One hand stays threaded in his hair but the other reaches down between you, finding the thick bulge of his cock in his pants and squeezing experimentally to see what makes him moan.

Marcus’s breath is ragged, shuddered against your skin and he pulls away because he might bite down too hard if you do that too well. “Fuck, baby.” He groans when you squeeze him again.

"I—" You breathe, panting when he twitches in your hand and you can feel how thick he is. "I have a condom in my wallet." It had been just a nothing idea, to throw one in while you were getting ready. More of a joke to yourself about how you always seem to be so overprepared. But now? Thank god you did.

"Yeah?" He kisses up your neck again and his tongue slides against the sensitive skin behind your earlobe. "I have one too." He admits. He's always carried one, but not because he expected sex, but because it was surprisingly handy to have at times. "Do you want to use yours or mine?"

"Yours first, mine second." It might sound a little overconfident, but something in you tells you for certain that this isn't just a one-time thing. Besides that, Marcus's hazy, lust-filled grin at your comment is worthwhile.

"Good girl." He groans out, twitching against your core at the thought of multiple rounds after you've both caught your breath and recovered.

That makes you moan reflexively, and you don't even pretend to demure over the reaction. It's honest and it's real. Who doesn't want to be praised during sex?

"Oh you like that." He chuckles and leans in to kiss your lips again softly. "I'll keep that in mind." He will, he will take note of every damn think you like.

"Not even going to pretend I don't." You lean forward to nip at his neck in turn before stepping back from him with a groan. With two feet on the rug, you already hate the distance between you. But you'll take care of that as soon as you strip his pants away.

Marcus pouts slightly but he quickly unbuckles his belt and unzips his pants so he can lift his hips up so you can pull his pants down. Black boxer-briefs under black trousers is very adult of him, and you're far too focused on the thick length trapped under that last layer of fabric to tease him about boring underwear. Instead you toss him his wallet from the back pocket of his pants and slip off your tights while he fishes for the condom packet.

Catching his wallet, Marcus opens it and pulls the condom out and tosses it on the coffee table before he bites his lip. Looking at you before he lifts his hips again and pushes down his boxer briefs.

Broad shoulders and a thin waist give way to long legs, but your attention is focused on his dark eyes until you let your gaze drop to his lap. The head of his cock is bordering purple, dripping precum, and it gives a distinct twitch against his belly when he watches you watch him. The perfect moment of quiet before the storm that is about to take over, you crack a grin at Marcus and take a step forward. That cock is going to feel so fucking good inside you.

"I take it you approve?" He asks, smirking himself as he holds out his hand to you. "Now, I want you to take off your panties for me, sweetheart."

“Oh, these things?” With your thumbs hooked into either side of your panties, you grin a little wider before slipping them straight down your legs to pool at your feet. “Gone.”

"Fuck." He groans, cock jerking again at the sight of you completely bare in front of him. "You're so beautiful. I'm lucky to be able to touch you."

You hum, shaking your head and making a show of walking the three steps you need to need to be ready to crawl back into his lap. “I could say the same thing.”

He chuckles and rips open the condom to roll down his length. Biting his lip while he studiously applies the prophylactic, he looks back up at you with his hand wrapped around his covered cock. "Then touch me again and make me believe it." He teases.

Never having known a single man who didn’t like having his cock ridden, you fit one knee on the outside of each of his hips and sit yourself down directly over his core, replacing his hand with yours and wishing you had had the opportunity to suck his cock just a little before he applied the condom. Next time, you tell yourself, rocking over the tip of his length and watching his Adam’s Apple bob dramatically until you start to slide that length inside you an inch at a time.

His hands find your hips again. Not to rush you, but to hold you as you slowly start to engulf his cock. Moaning out your name when you get the first two inches inside your hot body and your walls squeeze him tight. "That— fuck, baby, you feel so good." He praises breathlessly. "How— is it good?" He can barely think straight, but he wants to make sure you are comfortable.

“Perfect.” Barely holding onto your last shred of control, you are determined to make sure you both latch on to the bliss of this moment before anything else. “Fucking perfect.”

Your fingers dig into his shoulders but the slight pain just adds to how good the way you sink down onto him feels. Groaning again as you keep taking him, wrapping him up in the heat of your body. "Good."

“Goddamn.” When he’s fully seated inside you, you pause long enough for both of you to catch your breath. “Tell me when I can move, baby.”

"Anytime you want to move." He moans, wanting you to move now, but he's not the one who is on top. "You set the pace, baby."

That in itself is enough encouragement, and you raise up on your knees right away to the musical harmony of a moan ripping out of each of you. “Fuck you feel so good,” you moan, barely keeping your eyes open as you set an even but energetic pace. It feels that good, but you want to be able to watch him.

Breathing out shakily, Marcus can't even speak. Too overcome by the pure pleasure that comes when you start to move. Rolling your hips and clenching down around him, you fit like you are perfectly molded around him. Eyes fluttering when you start to lift off his length, but then take him even deeper when you sink back down.

The sounds of sex are distinct – sloppy and wet and loud – as the two of you find a rhythm together. If you believed in Fate you’d say he felt like he was made for you, but as it is you really can barely form any thoughts at all. He fills you in a way you don’t think you’ve ever felt before and every perfect man goes straight to your clit as you ride him.

His fingers are still grazing your hip as his thumb presses against that little button that drives women crazy. Humming when he starts to work quick, small circles on top of it as you move. Wanting to match the rhythm for your pleasure. Your hands are everywhere, pulling in his hair and bracing on his shoulders, grazing down his chest and even reaching behind you to lean backward and get a slightly different angle and groaning loudly when it strikes you just right.

Letting you lead doesn’t mean that Marcus does nothing. His hips rock up every other thrust to make sure that you are impaled on his cock. Toes curling every time, he groans out your name again and again.

Curses and praises fall from your lips, punctuating the litany of moans with colorful encouragement and pleas. Every time he thrusts upward you feel like you’re going to have all of your insides rearranged, and it’s so fucking good you never want it to stop.

“Fuck. Baby.” Marcus leans forward and presses his forehead to your clavicle. “You’re taking me so well. Love it.” His mouth sometimes gets filthy when he’s lost in a moment and it’s no different today. “Pretty little pussy clamped down over my dick.”

Fucking hell. He even talks dirty. You keen in response, a moan so animated and turned the fuck on that you’re picking up the pace and pawing at your own tits in Marcus’s face. It’s beautiful to watch your tits bounce and your hands pluck at them, but he’s a hands on kind of guy and he lets go of your waist so he can lavish attention on them.

It’s an automatic switch. When his hands move to knead your tits and pluck at your nipples, you replace one of your own on his shoulder and let the other drift to your clit to run the same circles that he was just a second ago. You’re hurtling desperately close to cumming and you can’t wait to hear what dirty little praises he’s going to come out with when you clamp down on his cock even harder.

Marcus moans and groans with his nipple in your mouth. His eyes watching your fingers dance over your clit and he’s memorizing the fact that you enjoyed the way he had been touching you. His hips rocking up fast to punch up into you. Feeling you getting closer to your peak with ever gasped squeal you give him.

“So—fuck— so fucking close,” you manage between pants and moans as your body starts to lock down all at once and that coil in the base of your spine tightens beautifully like you were warning it and not just him. “Oh fuck, I’m cum—”

The second he feels you tense up, Marcus pops off your tit and his arms wind around you like steel bands. Holding you in place so he can take over. Thrusting up into you while you start to cum. “That’s it.” He hisses. “Cum for me. Soak me baby. Show me how good my cock feels.” He groans, the hard, sharp thrusts knocking his breath out but he fucks you through it, still babbling. “Like a vice, like a fucking vice. Come on baby, give me all of it.”

The filthy babbling almost breaks you, with the way that it shakes through you and makes you gasp at breaths even with how much you’re panting. Sparks flash white behind your eyes as Marcus’s hips start to stutter, and you’re vaguely aware of a stream of your own encouragements — or maybe just begging him to cum so you can see how gorgeously unwound he looks when he hits his peak. You can’t be sure which it is, or if it’s both, but either way his arms tighten around you that much more and he groans in your ear like sin incarnate.

"Fuck you're so good." Marcus breathes. "I'm gonna cum. I'm gonna fill your little pussy up." That's not going to happen because of the condom, but logistics don't exactly matter right this second. All that matters is that he's going to be buried inside you as he cums. "Fuck baby, fuck." He chokes out, giving one more thrust and grinding up into you as he whines your name into your ear. Spilling into the condom in hot waves of pleasure.

“Holy shit.” You’re the first to break into giggles, when you finally have your breath back. His arms were so tight around you at the end that you might feel a little bruised tomorrow but you can’t find it in yourself to care at all. That’s the best ride you’ve had in ages and it was only the first time.

Humming, Marcus leans in and nuzzles his nose against your neck. Panting to catch his breath. "Holy shit is right." He gives his own little giggle because he's feeling so loose and good.

“Let me know when I’m getting too heavy.” With your forehead pressed to his shoulder and the feeling very slowly returning to your extremities, you’re still not sure about moving immediately. “My legs aren’t working yet. You turned them into jelly.”

"You can stay right here as long as you want." He promises with a grin, his spent cock twitching inside you. He will have to hold to condom when he pulls out, but it's worth it. "Want me to read to you now while you recover?"

The awe and adoration in your expression when you pull back from him is unmistakable. He’s going to read to you post-coitus?! “You’re actually perfect,” you sputter out in disbelief, though you’re absolutely not saying no.

He chuckles and sends you a warm smile. "It's the least I can do," he teases, "since you did all the work." His hands slowly caress your spine and he’s enjoying the way you feel against him.

“And I’ll gladly do all the work again for round two if that’s the response I get.” Not even teasing, you nudge your nose against his and steal a kiss, savoring the taste of perspiration mixed with Marcus’s kiss.

He hums against your lips and slides his hand up to hold you in place to deepen the kiss. "Thank you." He murmurs when he pulls away. "For this. For making it easy to enjoy the best damn date I've had in a long time."

“No need to thank me.” There is so much softness in it that you melt a little bit more, nuzzling into him right there in his lap. “I’m gonna have a hell of a time trying to make sure our second date beats it.”

It makes him laugh, a giddy, carefree sound and he sigh happily. "We should just keep it going then." He decides. "That way we don't have to think of ideas to top this."

You could float away on the sound of his laugh, just reveling in this joyful energy. All the same, you pull back again and find his eyes carefully. “You asking me to stay the night, handsome?”

"What kind of date would I be if I sent you home when your legs are Jello?" He asks playfully, leaning in and nudging your nose with his. "Especially since it's my fault."

“Fault. Generous gift. Same thing.” You both grin, indulging in more kisses until you’re sighing into him all over again. “In that case, I think we should go upstairs,” you murmur. “Read in bed until we either want to go again or fall asleep.”

"Do you want some water?" He asks softly, knowing you might be thirsty after all that work. "I can get you some before we go up?"

“Perfect gentleman.” You hum softly, knowing you need to climb out of his lap but wanting one more kiss first. “Water would be amazing.”

He gives you another lingering kiss, smiling against your lips when you start to pout as you lift off of him. He slides his hand between you to hold the base of his cock, keeping the condom from moving. "Good. My room is the last door on the left." He tells you. "I'll be up in just a second, as soon as I get rid of the condom and get some water."

"Okay." Even though you pause to gather up your stuff, you don't bother getting dressed. Sauntering upstairs naked has an air of comfort and unexpected sexiness to it that you can't deny, but you do stop off in the bathroom to do the extremely unsexy task of cleaning up and having a quick pee. By the time you get out, you barely have a second to slip under the covers before Marcus appears in the doorway.

"Bottle of water, like the lady ordered." Marcus put away the cheeseboard and wine, gathering up his own clothes before coming upstairs. He wants to make sure you are comfortable. Grinning, he walks over in his boxers to hand you the water. "Need anything else, sweetheart?"

"A little company, that's all." Did he manage to get more attractive in the less than five minutes you were apart? That's wholly unfair.

"Company I can definitely provide." He smirks slightly as he walks around the bed to climb in beside you. "Comfortable? Need another pillow?"

"Not gonna lie." As he slides in next to you, you move toward him like a magnet. "I was kind of hoping for a human pillow."

"That's my favorite type of pillow to be." His arms open up to let you settle against him. "Especially when I'm going to read to you."

"Absolutely perfect," you murmur happily, laying your head down on his chest as he picks up the book. Tonight really was, without a doubt, the best date you've ever had. You're going to have to do a hell of a job hosting the next book club meeting as a thank you.

He picks up reading again, basically just starting over. Keeping his voice low and the only light is from the lamp on his bedside table. Letting the atmosphere stay intimate. It might be the first date, but it was going to hopefully the last first date he has.

______

Master Tags: @pixiedurango @chattychell @winter-fox-queen @lady-himbo @artsymaddie @princess76179 @paintballkid711 @missminkylove @pedrosbrat @ew-erin @sarahjkl82-blog @sharkbait77 @justanotherblonde23 @lv7867 @recklesswit @mylittlesenaar @f0rever15elf @gallowsjoker @steeevienicks @athalien @sherala007 @skvatnavle @thatpinkshirt @jaime1110 @girlimjusttryingtoreadfanfics @goodgriefitsawildworld @greeneyedblondie44 @katheriner1999 @littlemousedroid @harriedandharassed @churchill356 @ajathegreats-blog @haylzcyon @beardsanddetectives @kirsteng42 @ladykatakuri @adancedivasmom @madiebear @tanzthompson @emilianamason @bigsdinger @xocalliexo @pedr0swh0r3 @avaleineandafryingpan @charlyrmv @avidreader73 @iceclaw101 @loveslide @elegantduckturtle @becsworld @julesonrecord @its-nebuleuse @itsrubberbisquit @mikeyswifie @guelyury

My Masterlist!

#Pedro Pascal #Pedro Pascal character fanfiction #Pedro Pascal fanfic #Marcus Pike #Marcus Pike x you #Marcus Pike x reader #Marcus Pike x female reader #Marcus Pike x f!reader #The Mentalist #Mentalist fanfic #blind date

599 notes · View notes

perotovar · 3 months ago

Text

before a mirror — drabble

moodboard by @yopossum

pairing: jack daniels/marcus pike rating: PG content: fluff, jack and his never ending list of petnames, flirting, general cuteness word count: 626 dividers: @saradika-graphics beta: @qveerthe0ry (ily)

a/n: written for @yopossum 's mootboard and minifics celebration!! thank you for letting me be a part of it and congrats, honey ♥

masterlist | follow @oakslibrary and turn on notifs ♥

New York was like a second home to Jack.

The first would always be Kentucky, where his mama made the best pecan pie, and where he first learned to ride a horse. It’s also where Statesman headquarters is, but Jack wasn’t so lucky to be there. He’d been stationed at the New York office for years now and had gotten used to the unsavory sounds and people.

But New York had a lot of good things as well.

For one, not that Jack would ever admit it out loud, New York had a lot of amazing museums. He had a soft spot for the paintings, and when he had quiet moment, he’d pop over to a museum nearby to take a walk.

Jack’s favorite painting was of a nude woman, standing in front of a mirror. He didn’t know the meaning behind it or what it was meant to depict, but it spoke to him. The colors were both rich and warm as well as cool and standoffish.

“Woman before a Mirror by Toulouse-Lautrec, 1897,” a smooth voice hummed next to him. Jack turned toward the man, an easy smirk creeping onto his face as he recognized who it was. “Post-Impressionism.”

“Swear, y’must be an encyclopedia of art, Pike,” Jack chuckled, stuffing his hands into the pockets of the tight denim he wore.

Marcus rolled his eyes and snorted. “It’s literally my job,” he shrugged.

“Details.”

The two had met a few times. Marcus’ job often led him up north to take care of a few cases and Jack didn’t get a chance to go out into the field much anymore. Not unless something big happened or came up.

“Which street food catch yer fancy this time?”

“There’s a really good hot dog stand down the street, might go there after this.”

“And what’s this today, sugar sweet?” Jack smiled. He hadn’t looked away from the painting yet, not until it took Marcus a second to answer. That was something he really appreciate about Marcus Pike. He always made sure he said exactly what he was thinking. He was very focused, to the point. Jack wished he could be a little more like that sometimes.

When he turned his head toward Marcus, his breath caught in his throat a little. It always shocked him to see Marcus up close like this; he had such a striking profile and intense, but sweet eyes.

“Just taking a walk, actually. I’m on my lunch,” Marcus grinned.

“No kiddin’? So am I.”

“I know. You always come here around this time.”

“You keepin’ tabs on me, Pike?” Jack smirked.

Marcus shrugged, smiled, and didn’t answer, looking back at the painting. “And if I am?”

Normally, this would raise suspicion for Jack, but given Marcus’ line of work he knew he didn’t have anything to worry about. Statesman had every law enforcement officer’s information, including their undercover identities, so he knew Marcus Pike was cleaner than clean.

“Well, angel eyes, I think I’d ask ya what ya had planned, then.”

“Come with me. I’ll get you one of those hot dogs,” Marcus winked, turning toward Jack and looking him over. Jack felt a chill run down his spine.

He looked back at the painting and took it in one more time. The colors and the mood washed over him, briefly taking him to a time period he’d never known. He wondered what Marcus saw when he looked at this painting. He’ll have to ask him sometime.

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were flirtin’ with me, Pike,” Jack hummed. He watched as Marcus walked toward the entrance of the exhibit and back out into the main hall.

Marcus looked at the cowboy over his shoulder and grinned. “And if I am?”

#mootboardsandminifics #agent whiskey #agent whiskey fic #agent whiskey fanfiction #agent whiskey fluff #jack daniels fanfic #jack daniels fanfiction #jack daniels fic #jack daniels fluff #marcus pike #marcus pike fanfiction #marcus pike fluff #marcus pike fic #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal cinematic universe #ppcu fanfiction #ppcu fics #oaksfics

95 notes · View notes

mescalpascal · 5 months ago

Text

Title: A Fine Romance (Marcus Pike x f!Reader)

Rating: Explicit

Word count: 2735

Warnings: Established, long-term relationship; no age gap; strong language; semi-public sex; oral sex (female-receiving); unprotected PiV sex; Reader identifies as female and has female anatomy but is undescribed otherwise; Reader has no name — Marcus and others call her by pet names (i.e.: “Songbird”, “my girl”); gratuitous use of Bruce Springsteen lyrics.

Notes: Part of the @pedgito / @chaotic-mystery / @amanitacowboy Summer Of Love challenge! I was given Marcus Pike at a concert and the moodboard above. This was not anywhere near the story I set out to write, but it’s the story that wanted to be told. I hope everyone enjoys.

Dedicated to @ladamedusoif, my beta, my lifeline (sometimes literally), and one of the best friends a girl could ask for… Thank you. 💜

(Dividers by @saradika-graphics)

You’re nervous.

You’re used to the feeling, and usually, it passes pretty fast. Once the lights hit your face and the mic’s in your grasp, it all fades and there’s nothing but you and the music and the crowd singing your lyrics back.

Maybe it’s because it’s a festival — your first one ever. You’re far more accustomed to dark little bars or the smaller concert venues you’ve recently graduated to. So this? This wide-open field with its hundreds of thousands of faces and unknowable reach thanks to a free online livestream?

This makes you nervous.

“Hey.” Marcus’ voice is clear even over the din of the crowd. “You alright?”

You turn to meet his deep brown eyes, shining with excitement for you. “Just a little shaky.”

His smile widens and his broad hand falls to your lower back. “You’re gonna be amazing, Songbird.” Just the sound of your nickname slows your heart rate a little. “And,” he leans in and kisses you softly, his lips dragging on yours a little longer than necessary. “I can’t wait to celebrate your success afterward.”

You feel the heat in your face though you’re sure no one heard Marcus’ entendre. Swatting gently at his arm even as you wink, you pull back. “Where will you be?”

“There’s a little family section in the pit. On your left from centerstage. I’ll be right there.” He presses another kiss to your cheek as one of the stagehands waves to you, your signal that you’re about to go on. “Love you,” he murmurs, catching your fingers and squeezing them. “Go kick some ass.”

“I love you, too,” you reply as he hurries away.

“You ready?” Dante Robbins has been your guitarist since the days of playing on the street outside the bars.

“Mm. Let’s do it.”

Your traditional pre-show handclaps are half-hearted, and you wonder if maybe Dante is just as nervous as you. But when the MC announces your set and you bounce onto the stage, things start to feel much more familiar.

“Thank you, New York!”

Dante’s nimble fingers slip into your über-popular cover of Bruce Springsteen’s “Rosalita”, the festival’s backing band picking up immediately, and your gaze surreptitiously slips down to find Marcus in the exact spot he’d said.

“Spread out now, Rosie, doctor come cut loose her mama’s reins You know playin’ blind man's bluff is a little baby’s game You pick up Little Dynamite, I’m gonna pick up Little Gun And together we’re gonna go out tonight and make that highway run You don’t have to call me lieutenant, Rosie, and I don’t want to be your son The only lover I’m ever gonna need’s your soft sweet little girl’s tongue Ah, Rosie, you’re the one…”

As you dance and sing across the stage, your nerves all but abated, you catch Marcus again, bouncing and clapping like your very own Courteney Cox. He’s got such a smile on his face you can’t help but grin back, almost wishing you could pull him up to dance beside you.

“Rosalita, jump a little lighter Señorita, come sit by my fire I just want to be your lover, ain't no liar Rosalita, you're my stone desire…”

Your set consists of six songs, and you close it out with your first single, “Stone Desire” (which calls right back to “Rosalita” and, you think, is a perfect circle). The roar of the crowd is beyond deafening as you hurry off stage, and in the excitement, you realize — Dante isn’t with you. In fact, he’s been more than absent since you first got up on stage.

“Dante?” you call. You try to think — nothing unusual had happened since that morning. You’d done your little rehearsal in your hotel room while Marcus showered; you’d driven over together in the trailer bus…

And yet, since you’d gotten to the festival grounds, he’d been distant. The cold way he started the gig. The enthusiastic high-fives that had been your signature since the early days had been lacking. He didn’t even respond normally to the way you chatted and introduced him between songs.

What did I do? you think. Our biggest chance yet and he’s…

You step past the little curtains that separate the wings of the stage from the outside world, and stop dead in your tracks.

Dante is standing right there, acoustic guitar now strapped over his shoulder. You recognize the song he’s playing — Peter Frampton’s quintessential “Show Me The Way” — but it’s truly just background noise to the other thing happening…

Marcus, on one knee, holding up a simple diamond solitaire.

“I know you probably think I’m insane,” he says, his voice soft but strong. “But I’ve wanted to do this for so long and I just… Today felt like the right day. This feels like the right moment.” His eyes hold yours as you take slow, tentative steps towards him. “I want to be there for you every single time you sing, sweetheart. Your own personal fanclub — on and off that stage.” He reaches out and takes your fingers lightly in his free hand. “Will you marry me?”

You feel the grass under your knees before you even realize you’ve dropped down to meet him. “Oh, Marcus,” you murmur, your fingers grazing up over his stubbled cheek. You feel tears on your face and your smile doesn’t feel like it will ever falter. “Yes. Of course, yes.”

Dante’s soft guitar is all you hear as Marcus slips the little band over your finger and pulls you in for a kiss, his tongue parting your lips as his hand curls around the back of your neck. “Oh, I love you,” he whispers into your mouth.

“I love you,” you reply, the salt of your tears and his delicious taste mixing between you. You’re sure people can see you, that your little moment isn’t private in any way, but you just don’t care. The only thing that matters is the beautiful man wrapped in your arms.

The kisses are only broken when a thought hits you. “Wait, wait.” You push back, your palms pressed against Marcus’ shoulders. Marcus holds you, his face colored with concern. “Dante?”

You look up at him, and he smiles a little, shrugging, his long hair bunching against his shoulders. “Sorry.”

“Marcus,” you say slowly. “Dante knew this whole time?”

“I didn’t know who else to trust,” he replies, grinning. “Figured he was a good choice.”

“Wish it was anyone else,” Dante interjects. “I can’t keep a secret for shit.”

“I thought you were mad at me!” you cry. “You were so out of it!”

“Tell your fiancé not to make me lie to you!”

“A secret is not a lie, Dante.”

Guitar long since swung around his back, Dante folded his arms over his chest. “And that’s why you’re a government agent and I’m a damn musician,” he laughs. Leaning over, he presses a kiss to the top of your head. “Congratulations, babe. And you.” He points a finger in Marcus’ face. “Be good to my girl.”

Marcus salutes. “I will. I promise.”

With that, Dante is gone, and you and Marcus are alone — still kneeling in the grass, your new ring glinting against his shoulder in the sunlight. “C’mon, let’s get out of here.”

After a quick food truck meal and a couple of beers — interspersed with a handful of folks coming up to you for photos and autographs — Marcus holds your hand as you make your way back to the trailer. There’s a DJ on stage now, filling time between the late afternoon sets and the big time evening performers, and you hear your “Rosalita” remixed into an upbeat Mexican cumbia rhythm.

You laugh, but Marcus takes a different approach, pulling you in to dance with him. You’ve never been particularly good, but he is, and you fall into step with him as his hands curl around you and his body sways against yours.

“So hold tight, baby, cause don't you know daddy's comin’...”

His voice fills your ear, his breath hot on your cheek, and you press back against him, your hands wrapping over his where they rest on your belly.

Without another word, you turn and take his fingers in yours, pulling him to the trailer. You’re barely inside before your lips are on his.

“Easy, easy,” he whispers, but you fumble behind him to lock the door as you kiss him deeper.

“I want” — your teeth scrape over his full lower lip — “my fiancé” — your nose along the line of his beard — “to fuck me” — your tongue down the column of his throat — “right now.”

You know Marcus. He’s soft, gentle, romantic. Just the way you love him.

And yet, inspired by the song lyrics he’d purred in your ear and your proclamation of desire, a switch seems to have been flipped.

He grabs you, swinging you around so the backs of your thighs are pressed against the little table against the other wall. You take the hint, sitting back on it as he devours your mouth. “You’re going to have to be very quiet,” he whispers. “Even with the music outside.”

You nod, whimpering already as his fingers slip under the hem of your shirt and brush against your bare skin. He moves slowly, but soon the t-shirt is gone and so is the bra beneath it, and his lips have taken their place.

Carding your fingers through his hair, you toss your head back as his tongue circles over one of your nipples. “Oh, Marcus…”

“Shhh, love,” he whispers into your skin. He continues his path, pushing you carefully back to rest on your elbows as he dips into your belly button. His deft fingers work at your jeans, and he only pulls his mouth from your body long enough to release you from them.

He meets your eyes, wordlessly awaiting your agreement, and when you mouth, “I love you”, he grins and disappears between your legs.

It’s hard to be any kind of quiet when Marcus Pike is eating you out. In fact, it’s damn near impossible, and the only way you can control yourself is to grab the t-shirt you’d been wearing and stuff it between your lips.

Marcus isn’t all that quiet, either. His little groans and moans as he strokes himself through his jeans and as his lips and tongue probe your most sensitive areas are enough to make you come then and there. His hands are holding your legs apart even as every instinct inside you is telling you to close them; his nose is nudging your clit in the most delicious way possible as his tongue darts inside you.

You remove the material from your mouth to whisper, “Marcus, baby, I’m close.”

“I know,” he replies, looking up at you, his face shimmering with your slick. “Let go.”

And as he disappears again, you do.

You’re still shaking slightly, your breath in raspy gasps, when he — rather unceremoniously — pushes into you. The feeling is overwhelming and you can’t help but cry out louder than you’d intended, but he captures the sound in another bruising kiss as he lets you adjust around him. You tighten your muscles, relishing the fullness and weight of him inside you and on top of you, and he groans, taking the t-shirt from where it now rests over your chest and tucking it carefully behind your head.

As Marcus begins a slow but sharp rhythm against you, you discover that the little table is far sturdier than you’d have expected. His thighs slap hard against the bottom of your ass, and as he begins to speed up, you have the sudden image of the whole trailer shaking with the force of his thrusts.

It makes you laugh.

“What… What’s funny?” he pants, stuttering a little in his movements.

“N-no, don’t stop,” you breathe. “Just… If the trailer’s a-rockin’...”

“Oh, Jesus, sweetheart.” Marcus’ grin is real, even as sweat begins to bead on his forehead. “I must not be doing my job if you’re making jokes right now.”

As if rising to a challenge, he slips his thumb into your mouth and presses it to your tongue. After a moment, he pulls it free and uses it — wet with your saliva — to draw lazy circles around your clit as he fucks into you.

“Ohhhhhh.”

“That’s better,” he smiles. “C’mere.”

He slows a bit to allow you to push upright, your arms wrapping around his neck as he kisses you hard. “Can you carry me?”

“Mm, I think I can manage.”

He lifts you carefully, but he stumbles, and you both nearly collapse in giggles.

“Oh, Marcus, put me down.” You pinch lightly at his hip and he lets your feet hit the floor, his eyes taking in your whole body. “Like what you see?”

“Always.”

You smile and take his hand, leading him back to the little bed, only slipping away from him to push him onto his back. You stroke his cock a few times before repositioning yourself over him, angling yourself to take him in as deep as possible.

Your groans mix together in the heavy air, and when he’s fully seated inside you, you lean forward to shove his shirt up, encouraging him to remove it. When he does, you press heavy, hard kisses to his chest, slowly rolling your hips against his as you do.

“Ah, fuck, keep that up and I won’t last,” he hisses.

You grin. “That’s my plan, Mr. Pike.” You nip at a little cluster of freckles on the front of his shoulder. “At least, the first time.”

Marcus’ hands come to rest on your waist, gripping you just enough to give the impression that he’s in control despite you making all the moves on top of him. You hold onto his elbows, using him as leverage as you bounce and grind on him, keeping your rhythm steady as you watch his face redden, his freckles popping against the flush.

“Come on, Marcus,” you murmur. “Come inside me. Claim me; claim your wife.”

There’s a moment’s hesitation in his eyes, but just a moment, until he realizes you mean it completely. His fingers press so tightly into your skin you know you’ll feel the bruises for days but you don’t care, not one bit as you feel him shudder and arch beneath you. His body trembles and it’s enough to bring you over the edge with him, all pretense of quiet gone as you cry out and fall forward, your hand slamming into the wall over his head as he buries his face in the hollow of your throat.

You’re not entirely sure how much time has passed since you rolled off of Marcus and curled up under his arm. The music outside is less electronic, so you figure the DJ has finished and one of the bands is officially playing, but that could be minutes or hours, really.

Rolling onto your side, you slip your left hand over Marcus’ stomach and wiggle your finger so the little diamond glitters in the dim amber light of the trailer. “Marcus?”

“Mm?” He sounds sleepy, dazed, but he tightens his grip on you and you feel his lips brush over your forehead.

“When did you know you wanted to marry me?”

He’s quiet, just the sound of his steady breathing for a few moments. “Do you remember the first time I came to see you sing?”

Our fifth date. “Yes.”

“It was then.”

You furrow your brow, trying to remember the exact details of the night. “Because of my voice?”

“No.” He shifts against you now, shuffling down on the bed so your faces are aligned. “It was because you walked off that stage, right up to me, and said, ‘Let’s go get Chinese food, I’m starving.’”

“...you can’t be serious.”

He grins, his whole face lighting up. “As a heart attack. I knew right then.”

You laugh, loud and happy. “Oh, I fucking love you.”

Marcus pulls you in, and you wrap your legs around him, lining him up with your entrance. “Again, sweetheart?”

You nod, shifting your hips just slightly. “I said that was just the first time,” you reply, lifting your chin for a kiss. “Gotta celebrate tonight just right.”

As he slips inside you again, gentle and easy, you cuddle your face into his throat.

“I just wanna be your lover, ain’t no liar…”

#SummerLovin24 #marcus pike fanfiction #marcus pike x f!reader #marcus pike x reader #marcus pike x you #the mentalist #marcus pike #fanfiction #writing!

83 notes · View notes

little-bugz18 · 9 months ago

Text

Mama pike!!!!

(Pike Dni was made by the wonderful @thetinyblossom ! The flag was made by the amazing @puppireflags ! And the edit was made by me! Of course transparent png and link to flag under the cut!)

#age regression #agere #agere boy #agere caregiver #fandom agere #agere art #agere little #agere moodboard #agerespace #agere positivity #mama pike #pike trickfoot #Cg pike trick foot #caregiver flags #caregiver pike trickfoot #agere pike trickfoot

4 notes · View notes

thiswaytwoinfinity · 6 months ago

Text

moonstruck • rhett abbott x fem!reader, perry abbott x fem!reader

I wrote this for @sorchathered’s birthday rom com celebration! Happy Belated Birthday! Thank you for letting me combine two of my favorite things: Lew and ‘Moonstruck’. I know it was your celebration but that was a gift to me 😉

Warnings: alcohol consumption, implied smut, impure thoughts about rhett abbott, being engaged to perry abbott (if you’ve seen the movie, you’ll get it)

Note: I adore this movie with all my heart so I tried to fill this with lots of nods to the iconic moments. But it also means that characters might be a bit less true to their Outer Range selves in order to make the story work.

Maybe it should have been a red flag that you hadn’t met Perry’s brother until after you were engaged.

But then again, the whole thing had been a bit of a whirlwind — and you had met Amy. Sweet, smart, beautiful Amy who had been the main reason you said “yes” when Perry had surprised you with a ring at dinner just a few months into your relationship.

“I can’t imagine anyone who’d be a better stepmother to Amy,” he’d said at the time and how was anyone supposed to say no to that?

And if you were a bit hesitant about the whole thing, your mother had done her best to reassure you over steaming mugs of tea at her weathered kitchen table. “You love his daughter, and that’s the important part,” she had said, rubbing her thumb gently over the back of your hand. “It’s better to be devoted to your family, rather than any man. Especially a cowboy.”

You sighed. “He’s not that kind of cowboy, Mama. He works with his dad on the family ranch.”

“Good,” she responded decisively, standing up to make some more tea. “Cowboys are nothing but heartbreak. They’ll always love the rodeo, the animals, the adventure, the life more than they’ll love you.”

And so that was that. You focused your energy on building a relationship with Amy, got to know Royal and Cecelia and went through the motions of starting to plan a simple, courthouse wedding.

Perry didn’t have strong feelings about the big day, having done the whole song and dance once before, but two weeks into planning, he surprised you with the announcement that he had to go away for a while on business — and he had one big favor to ask.

“It’s been tearing me up inside,” he said, arm a little too tight around your waist as you sat on the couch, TV on mute in the background. “I just can’t get married without my brother standing up with me.”

“So why not just invite him?”

Perry scoffed. “Rhett is … real fucking stubborn. And he decided a long time ago that he didn’t care about anything I had to say.” He paused, tightening his rip just a fraction before letting you go and dramatically sighing, leaning back into the couch cushions. “But maybe if you were to ask him to come … explain that you want this to mark a fresh new start for all of us, as a family. As Amy’s family. Maybe he’d be willing to listen.”

It was the promise of being Amy’s family, of giving her the happy ending that had seemingly been ripped away from her when her mother disappeared that brought you to the Abbott ranch, eyes squinting against the harsh sunlight as you approached Rhett Abbott to ask for forgiveness on behalf of his brother.

Now this is a cowboy, you thought to yourself as you watched his broad shoulders flex under his tee shirt as he worked on repairing a broken section of fencing. The back of his neck was turning pink and the ends of his hair curled with sweat under his cap, but he seemed unbothered as he continued working, big hands moving quickly and competently.

“Rhett? Rhett Abbott?” you asked, and when he wheeled around and those blue eyes landed on yours, it felt like your heart stopped for a second.

“Can I help ya?” he drawled, pulling his baseball cap off his head and wiping the sweat off his forehead with the back of his muscled forearm. He was all golden skin and sharp cheekbones, cheeks flushed pike from the heat and exertion and a smirk that was designed to give women the naughtiest of thoughts.

Stop it. You’re engaged. To his brother. Behave yourself.

You must have taken longer than you realized to reply, because that smirk turned into a grin as Rhett leaned forward and offered out his hand. “Nice to meet you. Now, what can I do for a beautiful woman such as yourself?”

Your face felt like it was on fire as you shook his hand, warm and calloused and completely dwarfing yours. When he didn’t seem to recognize your name after you introduced yourself, you continued, “I’m uh … Perry’s … fiancée, I guess.”

“You’re engaged to Perry?” he asked, arms crossing in front of his chest and you weren’t sure if he was insulting you with his tone of shock.

“Yeah, I mean, it’s pretty recent. The whole thing’s been kind of … fast. But we’re planning the wedding and he wants you to stand there with him, be his best man —“

“And why isn’t he out here askin’ me this?” Rhett interrupted sharply, eyes stormy under the brim of his cap.

“He, um, he’s out of town right now … and anyway he said …” you paused, somehow sensing that the truth — he said you’d be more likely to say ‘yes’ if I asked — wouldn’t go over well. “And well, I wanted to meet you and everything. Get to know the whole family before I become a part of it.”

“Well, we’ve met now. Congratulations on the wedding.”

With that, he turned his back on you, returning to the fence and summarily dismissing you. Once again, you weren’t sure if you should be offended by his actions, but clearly you had accidentally stumbled into some kind of family tension that Perry had not warned you about.

“So that’s it?” You asked, taking a step closer to him. Rhett grunted as he continued working on the fence. “What, you’re just going to brush off your brother’s request? Shouldn’t a wedding bring family together and not tear them apart?”

“You don’t know anythin’ about me and Perry,” the cowboy said, his voice cold and his eyes not even looking up for a second.

“So tell me,” you pleaded, making your way closer to him and oh, that might have been a mistake. You could smell him at this distance, the faintest hint of his woodsy body wash, the scent of sun on skin, the tang of sweat.

It almost made you salivate with want — your body had never reacted this way to a man before, and you quickly stepped back and put some space between you two. A safe, platonic distance. “Is … is there something I should know before I marry him? Don’t you think it’s only right that I know the man I’m marrying?”

Finally, Rhett huffed out a sigh and turned around and you were struck again by how blue his eyes were underneath that hint of annoyance.

“Look, you really should be askin’ Perry all this, not me,” he bit out. “I’m not staying here much longer anyway, so you don’t even need to get to know me. You’ll only ever see me at holidays and shit like that.”

“Where are you going?”

“Rodeo circuit,” Rhett responded, a hint of pride in his voice. “Got a spot on a semi-pro tour, so I’ll be on the road soon enough.”

You congratulated him faintly, images of this gruff, gorgeous man on the back of a bull filling your brain and making you a bit weak in the knees.

“Yeah, so it’s all good. I’ll be outta your way soon enough and you and Perry can have your wedding with no issues,” Rhett concluded.

He started to turn back to his work and you felt a surge of panic run through you, like if you didn’t manage to convince him to stick around right this second, you’d never have the chance again. (And you could unpack why, exactly, it was so vital for you to have your fiancé’s brother around as much as possible later, in the shaming quiet of your bedroom.)

“Well, how about this then,” you start, enjoying the way Rhett’s brows lifted under the brim of his cap, his eyes dancing with a mix of amusement and exasperation. “Spend some time with me and Amy before you go — just to help me get to know her better. I want to build a strong relationship with her, she’s my number one priority in all this. And I know she adores her Uncle Rhett. So maybe you can just … help us bond?”

The cowboy hesitated a moment, his eyes roaming all over your face in a way that made your cheeks heat up. He must have found what he was searching for because he ultimately pulled off his work glove once more and held out a big, calloused hand.

“For Amy,” he said and you felt your face split open with a bright grin.

“For Amy,” you agreed, grasping his hand. And yet, despite the warmth of his hand engulfing yours, despite the fact that you managed to convince him to give you a chance, despite the fact that you should have been pleased with yourself, you felt a sinking feeling in your stomach.

Oh, I’m in trouble.

That sinking feeling only got worse the more time you spent with Rhett, the more you got to feel the full weight of his attention on you, the more you saw the way he lit up around Amy, always willing to go out of his way to make her happy.

Unfortunately for you, what would make her happy right now was to go for a ride with Uncle Rhett and you — a Wyoming native who had, shockingly, never been on the back of a horse before.

“How did you grow up here without ever ridin’ a horse?” Rhett asked you incredulously when you confessed your lack of experience after Amy dragged you to meet him in the stables, all wide, pleading eyes. “It makes no sense.”

You shrug uncomfortably, staring at the horses relaxing in the stables with a critical eye. “My dad was a cowboy but he died when I was little. My mama grew up Cheyenne, so we moved back there for a long time and only came to Wabang when my granddaddy left her the bakery. So I just … never learned.”

You wrapped your arms around your torso as you spoke, curling in on yourself in embarrassment, eyes self-consciously locked on the far wall so you could avoid seeing the judgement on Rhett’s face. It was why you startled slightly when you felt Amy’s little arms hug you out of nowhere, the feeling of her tight squeeze making you let out a deep breath of relief.

“Don’t worry! Uncle Rhett can teach you, he and dad taught me and he’s really good!” she assured you and you laughed softly.

“Thanks, Ames,” you said, softly brushing some of the hair that escaped her braid back from her face. You cast a tentative look up at Rhett, who was smiling softly at you. “Whaddya say, Uncle Rhett? Willing to take on a new student?”

The cowboy said nothing, though his eyes were bright with amusement as he made his way over to one of the stalls to start getting one of the horses ready for you, Amy bounding behind him.

You couldn’t stop smiling as the 9-year-old narrated everything her uncle was doing, beaming brightly when he praised her for remembering certain tidbits that he had shared with her over the years. Her enthusiasm went a long way towards making you more comfortable, as did the teasing words and glances that Rhett shot your way the whole time.

But that smile was wiped right off your face, when he held out his hand and beckoned you over. “C’mere, I’ll help you get into the saddle,” he said softly and you felt all of your blood rush into your face.

“Aren’t there like, stairs or something I could use?” You asked, knowing that the second you put your hand in his, all of the tempting thoughts about him that you’d successfully shoved down would come rushing back into your head. His blue eyes shone as he shook his head, explaining that they put it away somewhere and it would take too long to find right now.

“I won’t let ya fall,” he said, those beautiful eyes locked on yours. “Promise.”

As Amy urged you along from the back of her own horse, you tentatively reached forward and took Rhett’s big hand in yours. It was like you could hear your heart beating in your ears as he tugged you over and instructed you to put one foot in the stirrups and your free hand on the saddle horn.

“I can give you a boost if ya need,” he added, his voice low and grumbly and far, far too close. You must have nodded absently, because the next thing you knew, Rhett placed your second hand on the saddle horn and moved around to lightly grasp your waist.

Your skin burned where you felt those hands on you and even though he kept them in a perfectly respectable place — perfectly polite for someone who was engaged to his brother — you couldn’t help but imagine the heat of them in other, less savory places on your body. The way those calloused palms would feel brushing over your lower back, how his hands would span the entire distance of your neck, how those long fingers would feel filling up your —

“Ready?” he asked, hot breath against the back of your neck.

“I think so,” you responded weakly, and you felt him chuckle. He murmured a low countdown and at the number “three” you hoisted yourself up and swung one leg over to the other side of the saddle, feeling a little lightheaded at his little grunt of effort as he helped lift you up off the ground.

Once you were in and settled, you expected him to back away, but instead, Rhett leaned over your lap to gather up the reins and hand them to you.

“There ya go. You’re a natural,” he said, voice still gritty enough to feel like a gut-punch when it was paired with the heat of his gaze on your face. He was so close and so beautiful and you could catch the faintest whiff of that intoxicating, woodsy scent if you just leaned a little closer —

“Let’s goooooo,” Amy called, wiggling a little impatiently in her saddle and effectively startling your out of our fantasies.

You’ve gotta stop this. You’re engaged, for chrissakes.

“We’re comin’, we’re comin’,” Rhett grumbled, heading over to his own horse and swinging into the saddle with grace. “You gonna be late for some cartoons or somethin’?”

The pair set out, with you slightly behind them, head still swimming with shameful thoughts of your fiancé’s brother and face still burning. It took a while for you to let the pair’s teasing distract you from the feeling of guilt that had made a home in your stomach since the day you met Rhett, but eventually you were able to let go and enjoy your time on the trail.

And if you stared at the ceiling later that night, mind replaying the way Rhett’s eyes darkened and his lips turned up into a little smirk when he helped you down off the horse at the end of your outing, well, nobody needed to know about that.

The air at the rodeo was electric, the excitement infectious and the smell of fried food making everyone salivate as they made their way to the stands. You hadn’t been to the rodeo since high school, more interested in chatting with your friends or trying to spot your crush than in the actual events, but this night was making you regret all of those years you ignored its presence.

It helped that Amy was practically vibrating with excitement, tugging you around by the hand as she babbled on and on about her favorite food stalls and rattling off stats about the various bull riders. Of course, none of them compared to Uncle Rhett in her mind, but her knowledge of the sport was truly impressive.

“— but the bull they gave Uncle Rhett that time was a bad one, everyone knew it, and anyway he got another shot and that time he came in first place because he’s the best —“

“Amy, Amy, slow down,” you chuckled, head spinning as you tried to both keep up with the conversation and keep her from crashing into anyone at the same time.

“Come on, we have to get popcorn before the bull riding starts, I’m always in the stand for Uncle Rhett,” she powered on, not even pausing for a second as she continued on her mission, a crisp five dollar bill in her hand, courtesy of Cecilia. “There! Come on, come on!”

You could feel the heels of your shoes practically skid in the dirt as she took off towards the line and you had to stop short when she finally, abruptly stopped walking to join in. You took a deep breath, relieved to be able to pause for a second and take in the atmosphere, when you hear her shriek beside you.

Your heart stopped for a second as you wheeled around to spot her, only for it to skip a beat for a completely different reason when you realized that Rhett had snuck up behind her.

His grin was blinding as he picked her up and swung her around in a tight circle, her delighted squeals flying through the air. It only got wider and more brilliant when she began playfully hitting his chest after her put her down, and he pretended that her blows were about to knock him down.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I couldn’t resist,” he got out between laughs, and you couldn’t stop your own smile from breaking out across your face.

“I almost had a heart attack when she screamed like that,” you admitted and his cobalt eyes moved from Amy to meet yours.

“My apologies, ma’am,” he said with an exaggerated drawl, playfully tipping his cowboy hat at you in mock apology. You had to fight the urge to duck your head as you felt your face heat up at his actions.

What was this effect that he had on you? You had never been the type to giggle and blush at any guy before Rhett, but there was something about him that just made you feel like a teenager with her first crush all over again.

“Apology accepted, cowboy,” you managed to get out and his eyes danced with mischief. “Shouldn’t you be getting ready for your big ride?”

“I was, I just had to come say hi to my favorite lady,” Rhett said, giving a gentle tug to the end of Amy’s ponytail. She looked up at him with a giant smile, clearly pleased to hear that she was her uncle’s “favorite,” and your heart melted at the sight. He gently pushed her along when it was her turn to order popcorn, and you stepped out of the line as she made her way up.

“So, you’re sticking around for my ride?” he asked.

“Of course,” you responded, a little surprised that he thought you weren’t here to watch him alongside his family. “Wouldn’t miss it. I haven’t even been to the rodeo in years, it’s really exciting to know one of the competitors.”

“Well, hopefully I manage to make your return to the rodeo an exciting one,” he said, hands settling on his waist, right next to his big, silver belt buckle.

You were grateful that Amy bounded back over to the two of you then, effectively preventing you from all of the dirty thoughts that you were about to have about what might rest behind that gaudy buckle. Rhett gave his niece another hug — and sent a wink your way that you were definitely not going to spend the night thinking about — before you went your separate ways.

By the time you made it back to the Abbotts in the stands, you were just as excited for Rhett’s ride as Amy was.

Your heart was in your throat for the entirety of the bull riding competition, because of course, Wabang’s hometown hero had to go last. When it was finally his turn, Amy gripped your arm tightly as you both watched, unblinking, for them to open the gate and begin his ride. You weren’t sure you took a single breath for the entirety of his time, those 8 seconds feeling like an eternity as you watched Rhett hold onto that bull for dear life.

When the buzzer finally sounded and he was back on his feet, it was like all of the blood in your body came rushing back into your veins, heartbeat thumping in your ears.

And then, there it was, right at the top of the leaderboard: R. Abbott.

Amy’s excited cheer was more like a shriek as the four of you jumped up and down in the stands, popcorn trampled below your feet as you celebrated with his family. With your new family.

And if you wanted to believe that Rhett was looking at you, in particular, as he pounded his chest with pride, well, you allowed yourself that one, tiny indulgence.

You were still breathless as you made your way out of the stands a little while later, following Royal, Cecelia and Amy as they made their way to find and congratulate Rhett in person. The four of you were almost at the riders’ entrance when you heard someone call your name from the crowd.

“Evening,” Royal said, tipping his hat at Joy Hawk after she managed to get everyone’s attention.

“Hi there Royal, Cecelia,” she said, nodding at them both in turn before turning to Amy. “Hi Amy. How’re you doing, sweetie?”

The 9-year-old excitedly told her all about Rhett’s ride as she smiled and agreed that it had been “one heck of a ride.” After a minute, she turned to you and said you name again. “Could I speak to you for just a moment? One-on-one?”

“O-okay,” you agreed, confused as to what she could possibly want.

After giving you a look that you translated to “we’re here if you need us,” Cecelia explained that they would go and wait for Rhett while you chatted with the deputy sheriff. “I’m sure you’ll just be a moment,” she added, before taking Amy by the hand and leading her away with one last look.

“Is … is everything okay?” you asked tentatively as Joy sighed deeply.

“I would have preferred not to be the one to tell you this, but, well, I can’t seem to get ahold of Perry —“

“He’s out of town,” you said quickly. “Is he okay?”

“Far as I know he is,” she reassured you before taking another deep breath. “I saw you two had filed for a marriage license and well, the thing is, he’s still married. To Rebecca.”

“But she … left. She’s not part of their lives anymore. Not part of Amy’s life,” you said, not quite following what she was telling you.

“Right, right. She’s a missing person. But see, the thing is, as long as she’s a missing person — and we don’t know that she died, god forbid — Perry is still legally married to her. Their marriage is still valid until either they manage to file for divorce or she’s declared … dead.”

“Oh.”

The news hit you like a ton of bricks. What did this mean for you? For your relationship? You had been planning a wedding and this whole time, Perry was still married? So what was the point of all of it?

“Now, you two can still have a wedding, I’m not gonna stop you from that,” Joy continued, her tone soft and comforting. “Y’all just won’t be legally married until this all gets sorted out.”

“And … how long would that take?”

Joy sighed heavily, her hands coming to rest on her hips. “I don’t know. Depends on whether or not Rebecca … comes back.”

You nodded absently, feeling your whole world tilt on its axis. You hadn’t even considered the possibility that Rebecca would be found or return of her own volition. If that happened would you just be pushed out of the family again? Would you still be able to see Amy?

Did that mean that the best case scenario for you was that this precious little girl’s mother was dead? How could you hope for something like that?

“I’m real sorry to break the news to you like this. Like I said, I’ve been trying to get ahold of Perry, but he and I can go over everything when he gets back,” the deputy sheriff said, patting you kindly on the arm.

You murmured your thanks before spinning around and making your way over to the Abbotts, head still swimming with questions.

By the time you made it there, they were chatting with a grinning Rhett, who was carrying Amy on his back. His smile faltered when he saw you and the dazed look on your face and you did your best to paste on a smile of your own. It must not have been totally convincing, though, because he let his niece slide down off his back as Royal and Cecelia exchanged looks.

“You look like you could use a drink,” Rhett said, his blunt words making you huff out a laugh. “I’m going to celebrate at the Handsome Gambler — come with me.”

The last thing you needed to do was be alone with Rhett Abbott, especially if alcohol was involved. But the world had just thrown a huge wrench in your plans, so you weren’t even thinking about it being a bad idea when you agreed.

“You ready to tell me what’s got you so spooked?” Rhett asked, leaning across the table so you could hear him over the music. You were both a few beers in — though Rhett had also enjoyed a handful of celebratory tequila shots that some of the locals had bought for him — and his cheeks were flushed pink from laughter and booze.

You contemplated telling him for a second, letting all of your frustrations and anxieties spill out (it turns out that Perry is still legally married so this whole engagement is more of a farce than it seems and if she comes back she’s probably not going to let me see Amy which is the main reason I said yes in the first place) before you remembered that he and Perry still had a complicated relationship.

As torn up as you were, you didn’t want to do anything to damage that bond even more.

“It’s nothing,” you said, shaking your head and taking a swig of your beer as if you swallow your words back down. “Anyway, we’re not done talking about that amazing ride of yours, cowboy.”

You attempt at distraction clearly didn’t work; Rhett just leaned further across the table, those damn blue eyes roaming all over your face.

“Somethin’s clearly up. Is it Perry’s fault?”

“Why do you assume it’s something Perry did?” you fire back, less out of a need to protect your fiancé’s feelings than to try and get Rhett off the track.

“Perry’s always doing something,” he replied, shaking his head. He stared hard at you for a moment longer, setting off a wave of butterflies in your gut, before grinning and sitting back down in the booth. “Okay, clearly we need another beer and then you’ll talk.”

“Rhett —“ you began, but you cut yourself off with a laugh as you watched him make a goofy, exaggerated motion to the bar’s sole waitress. “You think you can just get me drunk and I’ll spill all my secrets?”

“Oh, so you have secrets, do you?” He asked, raising one eyebrow in mocking curiosity. “Tell me a secret.”

“No,” you responded, but you were laughing still. “You don’t get to demand a secret.”

“What if I’m just so charming you can’t help but tell me?” You snorted and took a sip of your beer to cover up the fact that you did, in fact, find him charming. “Here, I’ll make you a deal: I’ll tell you a secret if you tell me one. Something you’ve never told anyone else,” he said, smiling slyly at you.

I like you so much. I can’t stop thinking about you. It makes me feel so guilty.

The words came to your brain before you could stop them. You definitely weren’t going to say them out loud — you weren’t sure you had even admitted them to yourself before this moment. But you knew, deep in your gut, that they were true.

That realization was almost more shocking than learning that your fiancé was still legally married.

“I gotta —“ you began, jumping up from the table and almost bumping into the waitress as she dropped off two new beers. “Bathroom. I’ll be right back.”

You rushed off before Rhett could stop you, weaving your way through the crowd at the bar and a few dancing couples before you found the blissfully empty bathroom. After locking the door behind you, you landed against the sink, taking a few deep, steadying breaths as the bass from the music echoed through the wall. You stared at yourself in the mirror, a long, hard look.

I like him.

I like Rhett.

I have feelings for him.

He’s my fiancé’s brother.

I’m crazy about him.

You shook your head, as if you cast those thoughts out of your brain. “Snap out of it,” you muttered to yourself. “You gotta snap out of it.”

Frantically, you turned on the water, yanking the faucet all the way to cold and ran your wrists under the stream of freezing water in an attempt to shock your system. You let out a long, slow exhale, allowing the cold to bring you back to yourself.

You’d just go back to the table, tell Rhett that you were tired and go home. Perry would be home in a couple of days and you could put the whole thing out of your mind and just focus on him and Amy. And then Rhett would be on the road soon.

Ignoring the small pang of of sadness that passed through you at the thought, you turned off the faucet and dried off your hands. Taking a moment to swipe away any mascara that had smudged under your eyes, you braced yourself and exited the bathroom determined to stay as far away from Rhett as possible.

So naturally, you barreled right into him as you turned the corner to make your way back to the table.

“Hey, hey, sorry about that,” he said, big, rough hands holding you steady. “I didn’t mean to walk right into ya, I was just coming to see if you were okay. You took off kinda quick.”

Did he know his thumbs were gently rubbing against the bare skin of your forearms? Because you did. It was all you could think about.

“I- I’m fine. Thank you,” you said, and even though you knew you should pull away from him, you made no move to do so. “Just needed some quiet for a second.”

“Alright, as long as you’re okay,” he said, giving your arms a brief squeeze before letting go. You immediately missed the warmth of his hands on your skin. “You thinkin’ ya wanna head out?”

You nodded absently and he smiled before turning around to lead you out the door. Just as you started to take a few steps, though, the song changed, an old Linda Ronstadt song that your mother used to sing along to as you both cleaned the house on a Sunday morning.

“Oh, I love this song,” you said, not realizing it was loud enough for Rhett to hear until he turned around with a smile.

“Yeah? I think my mama used to play this one in the truck sometimes,” he said, before taking a step back and holding a hand out toward you. “Dance with me? Just for this one song and then we can go. Seems a shame not to since you love it so much.”

You couldn’t resist. His eyes were shining too brightly, his smile revealing small little dimples that you had never noticed before, Linda’s voice calling for you to spin away on the dance floor. You took Rhett’s outstretched hand and his smile widened, brilliant and completely intoxicating.

The pair of you kept a respectful distance even as he spun you around, though he kept your hand in his the whole time. He laughed as you sang along to the song and then the next one and the next.

You lost track of how long the two of you had been dancing until he tugged you a little closer when a ballad came on, Hank Williams crooning low and slow as you breathlessly wrapped one arm around his shoulders.

Your actions seemed to embolden Rhett, who dropped a hand to your waist and pulled you in even more.

You could see every freckle on his face, every shade of blue in his eyes, how the pupils dilated as the two of you swayed together, lost in the moment. You licked you lips unconsciously and you watched his gaze dart down to your mouth before he purposefully looked back up, into your eyes.

“I like having you ‘round, you know?” he murmured and your heart began pounding erratically. “You make things brighter. And I like seein’ Amy so happy.”

“I like being around you, too. All of you,” you said, feeling a little dizzy as his words echoed around your brain. “Feels like I … fit. I’m not used to that feeling.”

Rhett smiled at that, so you continued. “And I don’t think I’ve laughed this much in a long time. With Amy, with you …”

“Happy to be of service,” he chucked. “You have a great smile. Real pretty."

Your face felt so warm, it had to be obvious to everyone in this bar just how much this cowboy was making you melt. “You’re not too bad yourself, Rhett Abbott.”

He dropped your hand for a second to tilt his cowboy hat up so you could see his face more clearly, before sliding it back around you, warm and possessive against your lower back.

“It’s a real shame Perry met you before I did,” he murmured. “Kinda wish it was the other way ‘round.”

Oh.

Oh, no. That was the wrong thing for him to say to you. This was only going to make your little crush on him worse. Because sometimes you felt the exact same way.

Because sometimes as you drifted off to sleep, you imagined what would have happened if you did meet Rhett first, if you were engaged to him instead of his brother.

Your shock — and maybe guilt — must have shown on your face because Rhett quickly let go of you and stepped back.

“Sorry. I’m sorry. Shouldn’t have said that,” he said quickly. “I’ve been drinking — let’s just blame it on the tequila, okay? I say dumb shit when I’m drunk.”

“It’s fine, it’s okay,” you reassured him. “We’ve both been drinking. It’s fine.”

“Lemme — we can just head home, okay? We’ll just get out of here and forget about it,” he continued, already making his way back to the entrance.

But you weren’t sure you’d ever be able to forget it, even if you wanted to. The low, soft way he spoke, the way his eyes were locked on your face, the shape his lips made as he said it. I wish it was the other way ‘round.

It was everything you wanted to hear. It was the absolute worst thing he could have said.

You kept your distance from the Abbott ranch in the days after the rodeo, buried in work, in cleaning your little apartment, in helping your mother around her house, at the bakery, anything to keep yourself from thinking about Rhett’s words.

By the time Perry was home from his trip, the guilt was eating you up inside.

You couldn’t even bring yourself to be excited as you drove over to meet him and Amy for dinner, stomach churning with doubt and confusion and guilt. How could you sit down with this man — this man that you were engaged to for chrissakes — when you couldn’t stop thinking about his brother? How could you pretend that you were a happy family when you wanted to play house with Rhett instead?

Your thoughts were swirling like the dust under your tires as you pulled up to the Abbott ranch to see Perry sitting on the porch. He smiled an waved as you parked the car and pulled you into a hug as you stepped up to meet him.

“How was your trip?” You asked, swallowing around the lump in your throat.

“It was … good. Yeah, it was good. I needed it,” he said.

“Your … business trip?”

He shrugged a little sheepishly, before gesturing to the rocking chairs on the porch. “Yeah. Yeah, lemme — let’s talk for a second.”

He knows. Rhett told him.

Fighting the urge to puke over the porch railing, you gingerly sat down next to Perry, who pulled your hand in his and absentmindedly rubbed his thumb along the back of it as it spoke. You didn’t want to admit it, but it felt wrong when he did it, as opposed to the thrill that ran through you when Rhett touched you.

“Is everything okay, Perry?” you asked softly.

“Yeah, yeah. Look, I should — I wasn’t totally honest with you before I left. I didn’t go on a business trip. I went to … well, I went to try and find Rebecca one last time.” He grimaced slightly as you gasped softly. This was not what you expected when he asked you to talk. “I couldn’t stop thinking of this one place we used to go before Amy was born, this little hiking trail out east. We’d stay in these cabins for the weekend, just the two of us.”

“Oh…kay?” you said, confusion evident in your voice and on your face. Perry took a deep breath, and when he let it out he looked … tired. A little defeated, a little sad.

“She wasn’t there, obviously. But when I was there I realized … I realized I’m never going to stop waiting for her to come home,” he said, the last bit coming out in a rush. “I’m not over her. I thought I was ready to move on, move forward, for Amy’s sake but I just … I’m not there.”

Though he hadn’t made eye contact with you the whole time he was speaking, he gave your hand a gentle squeeze and turned to look you in the eye. You could see the discomfort, the heartbreak swirling in his eyes. “It’s not fair to you. To be married to someone who’s always going to be waiting for someone else. And then when Deputy Sheriff Hawk called me —“

“To tell you about the license?” You asked and he nodded, looking uncomfortable.

“I promise, I didn’t know about it before then. It didn’t even occur to me that Rebecca would have to be … well, you know, before our marriage would be dissolved. I wouldn’t have proposed if I knew. Hell, I wouldn’t have even asked you out that first time.”

Perry sighed again, before continuing, “It just made me realize that I’m still married to her in my heart as well. And I just can’t do that to you. I’m sorry, sweetheart.”

You nodded absently, letting his words wash over you. “What about Amy, though? She and I have gotten so close —“

“You can still see Amy! Of course you can, she adores you. And I know how much you care about her,” he reassured you.

You felt a rush of relief. Amy was the reason you said yes to his proposal in the first place; it was almost as if the knowledge that you could still spend time with this brilliant, special little girl that you had come to consider family had outweighed any potential heartbreak from Perry ending the engagement.

But then again, maybe ending the engagement was exactly what you had been hoping for since the moment you laid eyes on Rhett.

You have to tell him. It’s only fair.

“I understand, Perry,” you said and you could see the relief visibly wash over him. “I do, I completely understand. Thank you for being honest with me.”

Before he could speak, you continued, wanting to rush the words out as quickly as possible, “I guess … I guess if I’m going to be honest with you too, I’ve been having second thoughts myself. I … I started to have feelings. For someone else. And I felt terrible about it, the guilt has been eating me up.”

Perry swallowed hard. “Did you — while I was away did anything —“

“No!” you rushed to explain. “No, nothing happened. I didn’t do anything with anyone else I just … just having feelings for someone else made me feel guilty enough. I couldn’t do that to you. But I think it’s clear we’re just … not ‘the one’ for each other.”

He surprised you by standing up abruptly and pulling you to your feet as well, before giving you a tight hug. It felt good, like a fitting end to your amicable relationship to part ways amicably.

Of course things got a little less amicable later that evening when, after you handed back the ring and enjoyed a pleasant dinner, you both sat down with Amy to break the news. She seemed a little confused at first, but brightened when she learned that you would still be around for her.

“Okay,” she said after a minute, when you had explained the situation as best as you could to the 9-year-old. “That’s okay. You can date Uncle Rhett instead! I think he likes you.”

Perry’s face turned a bright shade of red. “What?!”

Despite Amy’s permission, you didn’t start dating Rhett after that.

In fact, you were continuing to avoid him, maybe out of lingering guilt or maybe out of a fear that he didn’t actually mean those words he said that night at the Handsome Gambler.

It had been nearly two weeks since you had laid eyes on that handsome cowboy when you suddenly had a knock on your door on a late, sunny Sunday morning. You turned down the music you had been playing while you cleaned — Linda Ronstadt, of course — and opened the door, only to come face to face with the man you had been trying you best not to think about.

“Hi,” Rhett said, a little shy as he ran his fingers nervously through his hair. You could see his ball cap tucked into one of his back pockets and a small bouquet of wildflowers in his other hands and butterflies erupted in your stomach at the sweet, gentlemanly gestures.

“Hi,” you responded, a smile growing across your face before you could contain it. “It’s good to see you, Rhett. Do you … do you wanna come in?” He grinned at your words; clearly he was a little nervous that you wouldn’t be as excited to see him on your doorstep as you hoped.

He pressed the flowers into your hands as he made his way into your apartment, his big hands wrapping around yours and his shoulders taking up almost the entire doorway. After you closed the door and turned to face him, you both stood there, smiling a little giddily at one another, though neither of you moved. The tension was broken when you both tried to speak at the same time, tripping over your words as you both tried to break the awkward silence.

Laughing, you gently placed the flowers down on your coffee table and took a step closer to Rhett. His big blue eyes were fixed on your face, bright and shining and hopeful. You gestured towards your couch, silently inviting him to make himself at home, but he just ran his hands through his hair again and continued standing.

“I know it hasn’t been very long since you and Perry … ended things,” he began and your stomach swooped like you were on a roller coaster. “But well, I talked to him a bit, and he’s not the biggest fan of the idea, but I think he’ll come around and … listen. What I’m trying to say. Can I take you to dinner?”

“What?” You asked, a little incredulous that Rhett Abbott, the guys of your dreams, was standing in your living room and asking you on a date.

“Let me take you to dinner. I can’t — I can’t stop thinking about you. I’m crazy about ya,” he said, grinning as he watched a small smile break out across your face. “We can take it slow if you want but I just — I meant what I said. I wish I had met you before Perry. That I had a chance to ask you out first. But asking you out now is the next best thing.”

“I’d love to go to dinner with you, Rhett,” you said softly, smile growing bigger and brighter as you watched his eyes light up with excitement.

“Yeah?” he asked, hopeful and puppy-like.

“Yeah,” you breathed, taking a step closer to him and breathing in the scent of his body wash, taking in the freckles across his nose and the dimples hiding next to his smile. “I’m crazy about you too. You remember when you asked me to tell you a secret?”

He nodded, one gorgeous, beefy forearm wrapping around your waist and tugging you even closer.

“That was my secret. That I couldn’t stop thinking about you,” you ran your hands up Rhett’s broad chest, feeling the muscles that lay under his soft tee shirt. “I still can’t stop thinking about you. I … I’ve never felt like this before, about anyone. Just you.”

Rhett didn’t respond. Instead, he held you close, slid his free hand up to cup your face and kissed you. And you there your arms around his neck and kissed him back.

It was like every moment, every bump in the road, every teasing glance, every little joke, every whispered confession was leading to this kiss. Rhett held you like you were precious and kissed you like it was the last time he’d ever get to do so.

But it wasn’t the last time. It was far, far from the last time if you had anything to say about it.

You felt his tongue brush against your lips and you opened your mouth to let him in, head swimming as he gripped you tighter, breathed a little heavier, kissed you a little dirtier. A little more passionate, a little more intense — a little more like you had dreamed about all those late nights when you were still pretending that your feelings for him didn’t exist.

After he pulled away, chuckling softly as your lips chased his for a moment, Rhett rubbed his thumb against your cheek, sparking a wave of goosebumps down your arms. He grinned, panting a little, those blue eyes bright and staring right back at you in adoration.

“Wait a second,” you said, a little breathlessly as one more thought occurred to you. “Aren’t you leaving soon? You have a spot on a tour.”

Rhett shrugged like it was no big deal, but a feeling almost like panic was starting to grip you. “I have a couple of weeks. We can see where this goes and maybe if you want … you could come with me?” he asked tentatively.

You didn’t respond; you just pulled him back in for another heart stopping, mind melting kiss.

Much later — after the hours of kissing in your living room, after a first date where you spent so long talking and laughing at the diner that you were practically chased out by the staff, after a night of stargazing in the back of his truck, after those blissful first weeks of a relationship, a month of painful long distance and three more of you joining him on the road, after you both settled back in Wabang with another tour on the horizon, after Perry finally came around to the idea of you two being together — you sat in your mother’s kitchen with Rhett by your side and his grandmother’s engagement ring on your finger.

She had just broken out the old bottle of whiskey she kept on top of the fridge for special occasions, when she asked you the same question she had asked a little over a year prior, when you were talking about your engagement to Perry.

“Baby, do you love him?”

You looked at Rhett, took in his beautiful face, his beaming smile, his hair, a little mussed up because he couldn’t stop running his hands through it on your way over here, and the way those blue eyes always made you feel like the most beautiful woman on earth.

“Yes, mama. I love him awful.”

#outer range fic #outer range #rhett abbott fic #rhett abbott x reader #perry abbott #amy abbott #Perry abbott x reader #moonstruck au #based on moonstruck #my fics #my writing #i love one (1) cowboy #sorry this took so long #sorry this is so long #outer ranger fanfic #sorchasromcombirthdaycelly

55 notes · View notes