#which is funny because my numbers are terrible

[carriesthewind]

WOW.

Okay, after a night's sleep, I have decided that yeah, there is value in responding to this absolutely steaming pile of ignorant, self-centered, self-important, anti-intellectual, b.s.

It looks like a number of people in the notes were swayed, at least to some degree, by this garbage, so I think it is worth trying to show why it is nonsense.

(Also it's possible I'm still spoiling for a fight after being denied an evidentiary hearing on Friday.)

I'm not reblogging the post because folks don't need a self-aggrandizing tantrum on their dash, but I do think it is worth taking a look for yourself, in order to practice your analytical skills. Some questions to consider as you read:

(1) What is OP saying in her original post? What claims is she making?

(2) How, if at all, does the poster respond to claims OP made? What claims is the poster saying that OP made? Do these match what OP actually said? If not, (a) what techniques does the poster use to transform what OP said into the claims the poster is claiming OP made? (b) What rhetorical purpose does it serve for the poster to warp OP's claims?

(3) What affirmative claims is the poster making? What evidence or arguments do they provide to support their claims? Do they explore any of the specifics or real world implications of their claims? If not, what real world implications of their claims can you think of?

(3) What other rhetorical techniques does the poster use to bolster their argument? Do these techniques actually enhance and support the substance of their argument?

(4) Relatedly, how does the poster play into the biases of their assumed audience (tumblr users with generally progressive policies). What claims do they make to play into those biases? What evidence or argument, if any, do they make to support those claims? Are these claims by the poster reasonably related to the claims made by OP?

Now, let's explore their response in detail!

(Also obviously don't harass the poster, and I would recommend not directly engaging with them at all. Harassment is vile and makes you far worse than them. And earnest engagement is unlikely to be productive - the OP tried to engage with them politely (and even offered to help) in the notes of poster's original post. In response, the poster (1) implied that OP is an obsessive rude busybody. (2) Told OP to "Shhhhh. Chill." (in response to (paraphrased), 'hey, the advice someone else gave you is probably a waste of time and effort'). (3) And finally, after condescendingly telling OP, "Breathe. Practice radical acceptance. Know that I am here on the other side of the internet, flagrantly wasting my effort and thinking of you every second of that time," proceeded to prove that they were, in fact, "thinking of [OP] every second of that time" by searching OP's blog to find this post by OP and dumping this Arrested-Development-level demand to be taken seriously in the reblogs.)

(All of which is to say: hi, poster who was "being vagueposted about." I assume you are reading this, because you demonstrably don't have the good sense to block and move on. I'm not going to block you in advance, because I think you have the right to make your own terrible decisions, and I suspect any response you make is going to be *very* funny. See you in the notes!)

So, let's go through the poster's response, paragraph by paragraph.

They begin by doubling down on the stance that, "any sufficiently deep enthusiasm is indistinguishable from academic rigor." This, they say, is their defense of that stance. Let's see how it goes - but first, I think it's worth remembering, OP's original post is literally a single sentence long.

OP's claim, paraphrased, that the claim that "any sufficiently deep enthusiasm is indistinguishable from academic rigor" is incorrect and anti-intellectual. If we read the OP's tags, she clarifies that enthusiasm is valuable, but different from expertise.

The poster starts their defense with a long...explanation that the structure of their claim was a reference to the Arthur C Clarke's third "law" (read: sci-fi fiction adage).

*deep breath*

Ok. I'm a big a fan of wordplay as the next person. And I know from personal experience that it can be really frustrating to do some fun wordplay to make a point, and then get misinterpreted here on tumblr.com.

But. The wordplay has to make a point for it to be relevant to your defense. OP's claim wasn't "this poster did a bad job with the linguistic structure of this sentence and is not familiar with classic sci-fi." How does the "rhetorical structure" of the poster's claim support the substance of their claim???

It doesn't, is the answer. The poster explicitly asks this question later down, but then they never actually answer it. Instead, the rhetorical effect of this whole digression is just to throw out surface level references to things (Arthur C Clarke! "AI"!) that might make the poster sound more thoughtful and knowledgeable. It also creates distance from OP's actual point - as the post continues, the poster has to remind us what they're talking about. This gives the poster more control over the narrative, over what claims are under discussion.

Which leads to the poster's next paragraph: the unanswered question of why the poster structured their claim to resemble a sci-fi author's famous quote, and a baseless attack on OP.

And I think it is worth really lingering on this attack on OP. The poster claims, OP perhaps is "misreading or misinterpreting" the poster's point. But what on earth is the poster talking about? OP literally just quoted the poster's exact words and then said that they think this is anti-intellectual. What "misreading or misinterpreting" is being done?

No. Instead, this attack rhetorically sets up the poster's next couple paragraphs: not actually defending their claim as OP originally quoted, but reinterpreting their own words, providing their own special unique meaning that they will then proceed to use for the rest of the post. They are redrawing the rhetorical bounds of the conversation. Rather than defending their stance, they are redefining their stance so that it matches the defense they now want to make.

(Which is still bad. It's a bad defense and it makes me very angry.)

The poster proceeds to define "academic rigor" in a way that just means, "enthusiasm." Notice how no part of their definition includes things like critical thinking skills, building up a knowledge base, testing ideas, receiving criticism (wow I wonder why), or any expertise or action to build up and test that expertise. It's just what a person "cares very much about," how much "curiosity" they have; some inherent quality someone who "NEEDS to know." (Also hit the bell for another surface level reference - this time to Herodotus - to make the poster sound more knowledgeable.) If you actually read the poster's definition, it is entirely "idk vibes i guess."

Now, having defined "academic rigor" as enthusiasm, they successfully declare that enthusiasm is a necessary precondition of enthusiasm.

And then, we get the best paragraph of this entire tantrum of a post: "Any sufficiently deep enthusiasm is indistinguishable from academic rigor. It's like a fractal -- the closer you look, the more complicated it gets." No only is this another attempted surface level reference, this time to fractals, but just. What is this supposed to mean. At a glance, it seems like it kind of follows from the last paragraph - maybe, the more an enthusiast looks at something, the more there is to know? But the closer you look at this sentence, the more nonsensical it gets. What does things getting more complicated the more you look at them have to do with academic rigor (either a real definition or the poster's enthusiasm-based definition)? More importantly, what does it have to do with proving the point - that enthusiasm is indistinguishable from academic rigor? (You might as well say, "the further you fall down the rabbit hole, the deeper you realize it goes," except then more people would realize you are expressing straight conspiracist reasoning oops.)

Now, several paragraphs in and having firmly taken control of the rhetorical boundaries of the argument, the poster finally decides to provide some context to the original statement (and needlessly insult OP for trying to be helpful again).

The poster correctly quotes relevant parts of the discussion (although mischaracterizes their own responses as "polite" instead of "incredibly condescending and rude"). However, the poster then immediately characterizes OP's response as "muddied." Because words have objective meanings, however, we do not need to accept this characterization. OP expressed her argument very clearly. Rather, it is the the poster who claimed that OP was making an argument that she was not, which we can paraphrase as, 'passion and capacity for learning are limited to formal education at academic institutions.' It would be convenient for the poster if OP was making this argument, because it could be easy to argue against. But since OP clearly stated that she does not believe this clearly incorrect thing that the poster made up in her head, the poster claims that her response was "muddied."

The poster emphasizes this false claim in the next few paragraphs. They say, "to me she seems to be arguing that one MUST (?) receive formal training at an academic institution ("academic training" "trained expertise") in order to achieve that level of rigor." But OP simply doesn't say that. You can look at the reply the poster quoted, it doesn't say what the poster says it does.

Now, this is speculation on my part, but I think the poster really believes that OP is saying 'passion and capacity for learning are limited to formal education at academic institutions.' I think they believe this because its how they feel when they hear the (correct) statement that enthusiasm does not equal expertise. The poster repeatedly says that they think that enthusiasm for learning is the same as expertise. They throw a tantrum after receiving the slightest, politest, disagreement. They think someone giving them advice that hey, maybe its a good idea to get a basic foundation of knowledge before cold-emailing experts is a busybody who is obsessed with lecturing them. The poster simply, demonstrably, doesn't believe expertise is real, and refuses to admit that someone else might know more or better than them. If they "care very much about getting it right," how dare you say they aren't as good as anyone with "academic training," fuck you very much you elitist jerk.

This sense is emphasized by their next paragraph. First, they shift the rhetoric framework of the conversation again. The actual claim the poster says they are defending is that "any sufficiently Deep Enthusiasm is indistinguishable from Academic Rigor" (emphasis added). Now, they are claiming that OP means that no one outside of an academic context "has the capacity to learn what rigor means in their field." These are very different claims, but the poster shits between them seamlessly.

Second, they just completely misunderstand what academic rigor is. I'm sorry, you can read every book and article and (*sigh* dear god) TED talk in the world, that doesn't make you an expert, and that's not academic rigor. A large part of academic rigor is in how you critically engage with what you read. Otherwise you just end up, at best, with a bunch of shallow facts that you can "whip out at dinner parties to impress [your] acquaintances" or sprinkle as references in arguments on tumblr to make you sound smarter.

But no, the poster confirms in the next paragraph, you don't need critical thinking or training or people who will tell you that you are wrong. All you need is the information. And if you disagree, you are arguing in favor of "the ivory tower." (Take a drink.)

In the next two paragraphs, the poster pays lip service to the idea that sure, it's easier to learn in academia. But even then, they imply that somehow that's the easy route, that good learning environments create weak men, that people who are self-taught are the ones who are actually building up the critical thinking skills because someone doesn't just "tell them the answer."

Then, before the readers have a chance to absorb, wait, did you really just say that academia is really just having someone either tell you the answer or where to look for the answer and therefore unsuitable for "sincerely love to learn," (because you are, in fact, anti-intellectual), the poster then throws in a bunch of shallow buzz phrases about how higher education isn't available to a lot of people.

And I say these are just shallow buzz phrases for two reasons. First, the poster never actually engages with this lack of access. It's just sprinkled in, like the references to Arthur C Clarke and Herodotus. (For example, no, actually, "any sufficiently MOTIVATED person" can't actually access all this information that is online. You need a stable internet connection, devices to allow you to make use of that connection, to speak or read the language those materials are published in, enough time and sleep and food and goddam shelter.)

Second, this doesn't actually have anything to do with the actual claim that the poster is supposedly defending. Remember that? Remember the position the poster is arguing for? "Any sufficiently deep enthusiasm is indistinguishable from academic rigor." How does, "some people can't go to college" support that claim, specifically?

It doesn't, which is why the poster's next paragraph instead claims that OP is arguing that "those people do not have the ability to hold themselves to a rigorous standard of learning."

Which just.

Fuck you?

Because yeah, that would be a shitty opinion to hold! And you are the only person raising it! You are explicitly making the claim - fuck, perpetrating the anti-intellectual worldview - that anyone who suggests "caring about something does not inherently equal subject matter expertise" is an elitist who thinks that everyone else, ordinary people, real Americans, are stupid.

I'm gong to be honest, this is the part of the poster's claims that made me mad enough to respond.The notes include people agreeing that academics and "experts" are actually pretty elitist, aren't they, and they deserve to be "taken down a few pegs," that suggesting that you need a baseline level of knowledge or vocabulary before you can engage deeply with a subject is "gatekeeping."

The U.S.'s institutions are crumbling as they are dismantled by people that are making these exact same arguments. There is no meaningful difference in the reasoning of the poster's argument here, and the argument that "alternative medicine" hacks who never completed their medical training have sufficient credentials to run goverment agencies, and that if you bring up their lack of credentials, well, that just proves what an elitist you are.

The "worldview" the poster does not accept - is telling you not to accept - is the idea that expertise exists at all.

And because that is an incorrect and harmful worldview, the poster has to use a bunch of rhetorical tricks to hide what they are doing. And then to sell it, they throw in a bunch of words to stir up the audience's preconceptions and biases. OP's claim (again, that enthusiasm and academic rigor are not equivalent) is "racist and imperialist." Why? Don't worry about it. Something something college is expensive and inaccessible to a lot of people. All you need to remember is that these ivory-tower academics are The Bad Thing.

*deep breath*

Anyway, knowing we need a laugh to bring the mood back up, the poster then says someone on reddit criticizing your argument is an "informal version[] of the peer-review process." Besides betraying a deep ignorance of the nature of peer-review (I guess even knowing how academic processes work is also elitist?), I think this means that the poster has to be cool with my post here, right? Because I'm just doing peer review? (Because also, just to be clear: "the academic structure of the peer review is a formalized process of the very human impulse to gleefully tell other humans when they’ve stuck their foot in their mouth." No. This is just. No.)

Next, more misstating OP's original claim. The poster says, "An institution of formal learning is not a prerequisite to pursue and absorb information," which OP already agreed with in the comments of the poster's original post.

In support of this claim that no one is arguing with, the poster than makes up a "guy at the model airplane shop who seems to know absolutely everything that has ever been known about WWII planes," and asks, "why don’t we acknowledge him as a legitimate expert?" The poster implies that this is because this guy is autistic and OP is a bigot.

But the real answer is simpler:

Unless you are referring to something you chose not to link for some reason, he's made up. He's a made up guy in your brain. And OP never said anything about him, so it's really weird for you to criticize OP for not sufficiently praising him as an expert. Fanfic isn't reality.

To the extent we are talking about real phenomenons - who do you mean by "we" and what do you mean by "acknowledge him as a legitimate expert"? There are lots of people with legitimate expertise, and in my experience, they often are recognized as such. And I don't know where you live, but outside of revenge-fantasies of conservative pundits and the people who are mislead by them, most academic experts aren't exactly exhausted and prestige and praise.

'Knowing a lot about a subject' is not the same as academic rigor. This isn't a criticism or insult to people who know a lot of things, despite your weird, self-centered hang-ups. Let me be clear here, actually: I am not an academic. I am a lawyer. I know a lot about the law in the areas I practice in. I do not practice the law "with academic rigor" because that's not really meaningful. I also like to constantly learn more about the law, including in many areas I don't practice in. I am not an expert in those areas. Just as an academic who studies the law and legal practice would not necessarily be good at actually practicing the law, my enthusiasm does not mean I have academic expertise (and my academic training is rather rusty, this many years out). This is normal? My ego is not threatened by acknowledging different kinds of expertise and knowledge exist?

And perhaps most to the point - "seems to know absolutely everything that has ever been known about WWII planes." "Seems to." An important part of academia - part of what makes it rigorous, if you will - is that you actually have to prove your expertise to other experts. They are then "recognized" as experts because there is a process the public can usually trust that they don't just "seem to" know what they are talking about. If you are talking to an amateur enthusiast - how do you know you they actually have the expertise they claim to have? Because I know of some guys who are really enthusiastic about the, claim to be experts, and have a lot of strong opinions about how they have reclaimed their Sovereign Identity by not capitalizing the letters in their name.

I agree with the poster's final paragraph. I love learning. But I can't see this as anything other than a manipulative postscript, a rhetorical trick of ending on a point of agreement and mutual enthusiasm. By a person - and I can't emphasize this enough - who refused assistance in learning and threw an enormous tantrum because someone suggested hey, maybe its a good idea to get a basic foundation of knowledge before cold-emailing experts.

[michaela-o]

Random things i think Cybertronians would find adorable about humans~♡ Pt. 2

1. Us getting scared by small things

Humans jumping or screaming at a bug, sudden noise, or a scare prank would probably seem hilarious to the bots, who would be 100% amused by how easily humans can be startled. I bet MANY bots would take advantage of this when there would be a lil human on the lost light. Bots like Whirl, Trailbreaker sometimes Swerve that would like to scare the human despite them telling him not to.

Ya all know the vine video? With guy that goes: "Aaah stoop im gonna drop my criossant."

Yes that XDD

2. Us getting lost even with maps or GPS

I personally have terrible sense of direction and orientation (*p_q*) And some bots catching humans struggle with directions, even with GPS, would be both puzzling and funny to them. They always wonder how humans get lost so easily. But come on give the lialison a break the lost light is fucken HUGE.

3. Getting “hangry”

I mostly get tired when i'm hungry but when im also irritated i become hangry. I think bots would find humans getting irritable when they’re hungry both funny and perplexing to them who might see it as an amusing “malfunction” due to our a basic need.

4. Human body “glitches”

Hiccups, sneezes or random muscle twitches and similar reflexes would be entertaining to the bots, who’d find these involuntary responses both weird and amusingly unpredictable especially when we tell them that we can't control them. Get ready to be friendly bullied for this by some of the bots.

Human sitting over on Swerve's bar counter: *sneezes*

Whirl: What the frag was that sound? A sparkling's war cry?

Human: ( ｡ớ︿ờ)

5. Collecting random souvenirs

Humans collecting small souvenirs, like seashells, keychains, or mugs from places they visit, would be amusing to Cybertronians, who might see it as an odd way of marking memories. Since from what i was reading in comics i didn't see any bots do this and i think they would find this pretty adorable. Almost like we materialize memories.

We are all like crows :3

6. Huddling for warmth

When humans instinctively huddle together or bundle up in thick layers when we're cold. Bots would simply find it cute amd definitively have to fight the yrge to just- squish-

Our need to find warmth and the cozy solutions we come up with would seem quaint and endearing (*´˘`*)

7. Gathering in groups for safety

The way we instinctively form groups, especially in unfamiliar or intimidating and scary situations would be both cute and a bit amusing to bots who might see it as humans’ way of finding strength in numbers despite their physical smallness. But we find great comfort in it ( *^艸^*)

8. Soothing or hugging each other in stress

When we instinctively comfort each other with hugs or reassuring words would be adorably puzzling to the bots, who’d find it endearing that humans can find peace in such small, gentle gestures. I bet a bot that is visibly sad would be pretty surprised when the human lialison comes up to them and just hug their servo and ask if they want to talk about it. It personally makes me happy when i can comfort and help someone in need ( ｡ớ ᴗờ)

9. Making eye contact to connect

Humans instinctively make eye contact to establish trust or share feelings, which many bots would find very intimate, sincere and honest because it shows how deep the personal nature of human connection can go ( ⁎ᵕᴗᵕ⁎ )

(bots getting lost in human's eyes is one of my guilty pleasures)

10. Fighting for what’s important

We humans naturally stand up for our values, friends, and families, often driven by an instinct to protect or defend what we love. I think bots would find this fierce loyalty and bravery adorably noble for such a small species such as us. I even think that many would take us for an example in this (｡>ㅅ<｡)

11. Helping others instinctively

Cybertronians would likely find this endearing that humans instinctively help each other out—whether holding open a door, picking up dropped items, or offering support without being asked. This is the very nature that makes us human (*´▽`*)

12. Blushing when embarrassed or flustered

The way our cheeks turn pink or red when we're shy, embarrassed, or flustered would be extremely cute to the bots, who’d see it as a “giveaway” that adds to our vulnerability and the fact that we just can't hide our emotions makes us very emotionaly transparent is just straight up adorable.

13. The way the human brain is so simple

I personaly am very simple human being and i find many stupid and simple things funny and laugh at them. I think because of this many bots would find us very innocent and adorable

(｡>▽<｡)

AAAAARRRGH there's so many other things i wanna write but i decided to make part two of this bc i enjoy writing this stuff. Dis a good soup :33

(i might add a small masterlist to my pinned post :3)

[perreqult]

THE ‘COUGAR TYPE’ ✶ will smith

summary: will shoots his shot with an older woman (fork found in kitchen)

word count: 1.6k

contains: drinking, swearing, cougars (me core), think that’s it

notes: written by a ‘cougar in progress’ ™. also this is unedited so don’t expect this to be good at ALL.

“Who are you staring at?” Macklin asks, searching around to find who Will’s gaze landed on. He spots you, sipping a coors light, leaning up against a wall with your friends.

“Oh God.” He mumbles, knowing exactly what Wills thinking. “Are you seriously going to go try and flirt with her?” Macklin teases, looking over to Will and laughing, placing his hand on Will’s shoulder. Will’s face flushes and pushing Macklin’s arm right off of him.

“Fuck off.” Will tells him, rolling his eyes. “You do know she’s probably just gonna tell you ‘No.’ as soon as you walk over there, right?” Macklin says, teasing him and placing his arm on him once more.

“You..You don’t know that!” He says, probably louder than he should’ve because a few people around them turn their heads for a moment.

“Okay. Sure, go shoot your shot.” Macklin jokes to him, lifting his hands up and sighs. “It’s gonna be really funny when she immediately turns you down.” Will continues to roll his eyes with every word out of Macklin’s mouth.

“Wait! I need to go get Ekky, he’ll be laughing his ass off.” He runs off, bringing his other teammate back to where Will is standing, pondering thoughts.

“Macklin, what?” Eklund says through slurred words, as Macklin clearly didn’t tell him the reason to be brought over here. “Will wants to go hit on this girl. He seriously thinks he’s got a chance.” He tell him through giggles.

“Ok, number one; don’t point at people, that’s rude, number two; who cares?” Eklund sighs out, lecturing Macklin like he’s his mother.

“Okay, but even you know he doesn’t have a chance!” He says, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “Who are we even talking out?” Eklund asks, looking around.

Macklin points over to you and Eklund just laughs. “Oh yeah, Macklin’s right.” He tells Will, patting him on the back.

“What?” Will practically jumps up, breaking his silence, “How do you know?” He asks, worry covering his face. “I met her a while ago, her sister does social media stuff for the team.” He says, answering his question.

“She’s older than you—” Eklund says, trying to continue but being cut off. “Okay? That doesn’t matter.” Will says defensively. “Yeah, I don’t think she’s the cougar type is all.” He replies, backing up and throwing his hands up. Macklin is having a ball as he’s laughing in the most obnoxious way he could.

“Okay I don’t really care what you guys say. Fuck off.” He sighs and pouts and pushes his drink into Macklin’s chest and makes his way over to you.

The last thing you remember is your friends making a stupid joke about some stupid movie that came out recently, disassociating from the conversation completely. You snap back into reality when you hear what sounds like a 17 year olds voice.

“Uh, hey.” Are the words that draw your attention as you look over. It’s a kid. Looks—what, 18? not this shit again. “Hey.” You give a dry response and you can see the light in his eyes practically disappear.

“Trash ass party, huh?” Hey jokes nervously, trying to save his terrible introduction. “Yeah, why are you here? You’re not dressed like a frat boy but you have the look of one.” You joke to him and jester to his outfit which isn’t the typical frat attire.

“Yeah I uhh.. I get that a lot.” He says, continuing your joke. Just by the way he acts you can tell he doesn’t get told that a lot, but he’s clearly trying to save your awkward conversation.

“So what’re you? 18? Or do you just look like a child?” You ask. He gets flustered and looks down like he’s embarrassed before he says anything. “Oh, no.. um I’m actually 20.” You seriously don’t believe him.

“Are you joking?” You laugh out. “What? No. I really am.” He sputters out, embarrassed. “Uh I have my license I’m not lying.” He tells you, fishing into his pocket and pulling out his wallet and license.

Sure enough, “WILLIAM SMITH— 3/17/2005– EYES: BLUE— HGT- 6’-0–”You’d stopped reading at that point, not caring all too much about his address.

“Your name is Will Smith?” You ask, looking up at him. “Yeah. More common of a name than you’d think.” He jokes with a nervous chuckle. He does seem genuine but you can’t help but laugh.

“That must be inconvenient.” You tease, giggling through your words. He blushes as he lets out a flustered laugh.

“Now that you’ve interrogated me about my age, think I could learn yours?” He asks, trying to be smooth but seeming like anything but that with his beet red face.

You tell him your age, name, where your from, basically everything that is included in a conversation. You do happen to notice—what look to be— his friends staring over at you.

“Those your friends?” You ask, gesturing your hand towards a brunette laughing his ass off and someone familiar— maybe you met him through your sister or something— laughing along with him.

Will whips his head back and you can’t tell he wants to rip his hair out when he sees them. “Oh.. um, yeah. They’re my friends but they act sorta weird sometimes— I’m sorry.” He says, embarrassed.

“Why don’t you bring ‘em over here? That brown haired one seems wasted. I’m dying to meet him.” You say, looking over at them both belly laughing.

“Oh, oh ok.” He tells you before darting off to go bring them over to where you’re standing. You can see him grumble something into the brunettes ear looking pretty serious.

“So um.. this is Macklin” He nudges the brunette one. “And this is Will but we just call him Ekky.” You chuckle. “Yeah, I know him. At least i think I do— ‘looks pretty familiar.”

There’s an awkward setting of silence before Macklin soon breaks it.

“So are you like a cougar or what?” Macklin asks you drunkenly, slurring it all together. Will gets even more red—if that were even possible— and elbows Macklin in the stomach. “Ekky” just laughs, spurring out some of the drink he was sipping on.

“Oh wow, that was bold.” You joke to him, acting fake surprised. He quickly replies, “Well are you?” He asks before taking another sip of his drink, probably his second or third by the way he’s acting.

“From time to time.” You answer, looking over to Will as you say it. Macklin and Eklund look like they’re trying to resist the urge to burst out into laughter when they see Will’s nervous expression.

“Macklin how about you.. go sit down or something?” He tells him, clearly just wanting him out of there. He looks like he’s about to protest but walks away slowly, rolling his eyes.

“I, will go watch him.” Eklund slurs out, pointing to Macklin, who’s stumbling around the room, confused and dazed.

“Yeah, when I said they were weird I wasn’t really lying.” Will tells you, looking back at them, Macklin waving goodbye to you.

“I mean they’re definitely funny.” You giggle out, waving back at Macklin before Eklund smacks his hand down and drags him to a couch.

“You’re pretty funny too, kid.” You point out before finishing your drink, reaching your arm around to discard it on the table behind you.

He practically explodes hearing this but try’s to keep his composure, he fails terribly, a flustered grin spreading across his face. “Cute, too” You continue, smiling at him.

Will intended to say something but the words were stuck in his throat. When he finally musters up something it’s something stupid, “Oh.. um, thanks.” He wants to die. A hot girl that thinks he’s funny just said he’s cute and that was all he could say? He squints his eyes out of embarrassment.

“This party’s lame. I’m heading home.” You say plainly, yawning, patting down your pants to make sure you had your phone.

“Oh.” He says, disappointed, trying to hide it but yet again, failing miserably.

“It’d be a little less lame if I left with your number.” You say, waiting for him to process what you just said. Just like you expected his eyes almost pop out of the sockets, and he fumbles with his pocket before pulling out his phone.

“Uh here.” He tells you as you two exchange phones, saving eachother’s contacts. “Um.. thanks.” He sputters out. He thinks that was even worse than his response to when you called him cute.

“I’ll see you around sometime, kid. Don’t let my number go to waste.” You tell him, bidding him goodbye as you walk out with your friends. He just waves, too nervous to say anything back.

“That was an all star level performance, Smitty. Didn’t know you had that in ya.” Eklund says, leaning over his shoulder behind him. “He barely even said anything!” Macklin replies, wrapping his arm around Will’s shoulder, teasing him.

“Shut up.” He just says, tired and heart still beating out of his chest, removing Macklin’s arms from his shoulder and gently shoving Ekland off of him.

12:17 PM — next day

Do you think you’d let a kid take you out on a date?

↳ is he a cute guy with blue eyes and blond curls? if so sign me up

[crossingthedreams]

medication — gregory house x f!reader

a/n: posting this late, as always, for @angstober day 06 — medication. this is inspired by a real life scenario that happened with someone I know. please, if you’re suffering through any sort of violence, reach the authorities. I am not, nor will ever be, specialized help, but I am available to listen in my dm’s should anyone need to vent. always, always, always put your safety and well being first. 

summary: you meet your former lover once more, but in the worst possible scenario. 

word count: 584

warnings: domestic violence. angst. horrible relationship dynamics. mentions of family death. abortion. mentions of past relationships. reader is injured. 

TRIGGER WARNING. Domestic violence. Abortion. Please proceed with care. 

“You should leave him”.

You couldn’t bring yourself to look at the man at the door. Instead, you kept your gaze fixed on the medication falling in small drops from the transparent package into your veins. 

Hospital rooms had such a surreal vibe to them. Nothing seemed real, as if the words you uttered in there weren’t important and would have no impact on your actual day-to-day life. 

It was why you brought yourself to say, still not taking your eyes from the clear medication. “I wish I could”. 

You heard his steps approaching, hitting the floor rhythmically with his cane. 

His staff must have been so confused when he decided to be the attending doctor on your case. It was almost funny imagining the reactions, even though you never met the three young doctors working under his wing. 

You weren’t a mystery, and your case was just boring. You fell down the stairs and broke a couple of ribs, and got a black eye in the process. Nothing much, right? 

Wrong. And Gregory House saw right through you. 

He knew very well you didn’t fall, and he knew that black eye was a result of a very specific injury. 

In all the years he’d known your family, he never would have imagined you would lie for a man who was hurting you. 

The thing is, he didn’t know the whole story. The nuances, the finances. The reasons why you couldn’t just get up and leave. You didn’t deserve to leave.

You turned your face towards him. He was close enough now, so much so you could see the specks of light green in the baby blue of his eyes. He put a folder carefully on the movable table in front of you, and seemed to ponder on what to say next. 

You didn’t want to hear it. “There’s a lot of strings attached”, you simply said, hoping this would end the matter once and for all. “You knew my father and you are a smart guy, you can figure it out”.

“You’re pregnant.”

“No, I’m not.”

He tilted his head. “Sorry, who is the doctor here again?”

You shook your head, as if the motion itself could stop reality. Your eyes filled with tears, but you didn’t want to cry. Not here, not in front of him.

“You don’t have to go through with this. And I mean both the pregnancy and whatever hell you are living back home”, he said in the sweetest way he knew how. He took a small bottle from his coat and held it out in front of you. “Take one pill, and he’ll never know. Doctor-patient confidentiality”.

You smiled a little, mostly because of his tone. House never tried to be funny, but at least he was trying to lighten the mood.

“Your father was a terrible man, and I hated him almost as much as he hated me. Of course, he didn’t sleep with my daughter, so there’s that”.

You rolled your eyes, which hurt due to the bruises. But still, the small smile lingered. House brought up the torrid affair you two shared before your father passed very rarely, and never without a motive.

“You should leave him, kid”, he repeated. Your smile faded, and your face showed only pain. “If you ever need anything, you have my number, my work address and my home address. Call me”. 

He left the bottle of medication on the table before leaving. Confidently for once, you took it. 

[gildeddlily]

absolutely losing my mind because of these two!!!

so.

are these two actually toxic, or are they just kids who don't know how to communicate? easy, they're just kids! (this was fast)

reading the manga will not make you understand that (or im just stupid), and this is why I'm thanking the author on.my.knees for the spin-off!

so.

after watching the anime I fled to ao3, of course. read some works about Rin and Isagi, managed to not spoil myself anything.

then i read the U20 arc. after reading every ryusae I could find (writing one myself rn, doing god's work) I finished to read the manga cause, yk, I wanted to know what would happen with my babies and then boom! Reo and Nagi!!!

I didn't particularly care about them at first: Nagi was strong ofc, but kind of boring? he's not my favourite archetype, and while I loved Reo I hated their fight and wanted nothing to do with them. key word(s), at first.

then, then! I randomly read some fics about them cause they'd started to grow on me, and boom, tons of fics about their breakup/makeup. stunning works, ofc, but I started to see so many "Reo's fault" "Nagi's fault" "toxic relationship" that I kind of started to get uncomfortable (sometimes people throw around the word toxic when it's nothing like that), so what's to do? read the spin off ofc.

that I did, and now not only I love them both with all of my heart, but I'm Reo's number one fan (and kinnie)!

and I developed a deep hatred for those "toxic x" theories and takes. SO. let me blabber and rant.

they love each other so much!!

this is Nagi.

he thinks "damn, soccer/football is a pain, I hate sweating and running, but I don't hate Reo" even though most of the time he spends with Reo is spent playing soccer/football (I won't choose one english is so confusing- in italian it's literally called kick).

he doesn't feel forced to be Reo's friend, he likes it.

because Reo loves him, it's as simple as that.

he wants to be Nagi's friend "despite" Nagi's personality: this is something he currently says through the spin-off, which made me cry- Reo truly is the first person who ever accepted Nagi as someone who is lazy and unmotivated, who complains a lot, who doesn't put any effort in what he does, who doesn't offer much.

Or at least he thinks that he doesn't have anything special to offer, until Reo arrives.

he still has those terribly self-deprecating thoughts, but now he has something to offer, his talent.

(and after a period of happiness, their honeymoon phase one could call it, he starts to doubt the sincerity of Reo's care. from thinking "i'm not his slave, i'm his partner" he starts to doubt Reo's honesty: "maybe he only wanted to be my friend because of my talent, a talent he knows how to use"- since he still thinks that he's got nothing to offer! but we will talk about this later.)

this is Reo!

he thinks "I wanted to be the one who could make you love soccer/football, the one able to light up something in you" but he also thinks "seeing you like that, even if it wasn't me who'd done that, made me happy".

he's so jealous he's almost funny, and isn't that the most teenager thing ever?

who wouldn't be jealous after working so hard to be special to someone, just for someone else to take the place you're working so hard for?

it's terrible, but still, it doesn't stop Reo from being happy that Nagi found something exciting.

something that made Nagi as happy as the combo Nagi-soccer/football made Reo happy.

the thing is, Nagi thinks he's Reo's friend because of his talent, which maybe it's true. maybe, hadn't Nagi been a genius, they wouldn't have become friends, but his talent was the sparkle that made him become Reo's treasure.

Reo is someone who has everything, who gets everything he wants, or as he says everything except what he really wants.

for that, he has to work.

so, what he wants is to play soccer/football, and to play it with Nagi.

(in order to be Nagi's friend, he needs to work hard, because he needs to be honest and gain Nagi's trust- this is how friendship works: even when it seems flawless and easy, there's so much work behind it, and knowing it is important. most of the times we only realise it once we lost that bond- for example, Nagi. Reo already knew it, and this is why he tried so hard to not leave Nagi's side)

at one point, the two things became linked to one another, and his dream turns into "winning with Nagi, my partner". Because Nagi is talented, is special, and Reo saw his talent, and how Nagi was unable to do the same. He wants to show Nagi that soccer/football is fun, that his talent isn't a pain, that he is special, because Nagi doesn't know it, and for Reo a star that doesn't see his its own light? is just preposterous.

He cares for Nagi and loves everything about him, even all the "bad" things, and he doesn't think that Nagi has to change, and this is what, for me, makes their break-up way more serious and relatable for a lot of people.

it triggers a "I'll change to be better" "for me you never had to change" "I need to change for myself" dynamic.

2. changing and longing is way more fun when you're doing it together!!!

so they split up.

Nagi doesn't do it because he likes Isagi more, or because his style of play is more interesting, he does it because Isagi was stronger than Nagi and Reo: entering Blue Lock, Nagi had trust in Reo's ability to use his talent to win, he didn't even think about failing, and while Barou came close to making him feel like he could loose, Nagi overpowered him at the end- but then Isagi beats Nagi, and Reo with him.

Nagi understands that Reo's dream can't become reality if they aren't the strongest, and if being together doesn't work, maybe they should split up, part ways, become stronger and then join forces again, and win everything. win the world cup.

while his friendship with Isagi is sweet and I love them, for Nagi Isagi is like a cyclette.

he'll use the cyclette to get get fit and make his bf swoon over his legs, he won't stay with the cyclette once he doesn't need the training anymore. and even if he will, it will always be just the cyclette he uses to get fit "for" his bf.

(metaphor isn't metaphoring)

Reo doesn't know that.

he knows he's strong, but he knows that Isagi and Nagi are on a whole other level and he feels threatened. he fears that Nagi will choose Isagi instead of him, and he tries desperately to not loose Nagi.

Nagi is his dream. Slowly, day after day, Nagi became part of his dream, and now he's losing not only his best friend but the dream that made him free.

Reo says it himself- he knows that Nagi did the smartest thing by leaving, but he's young and scared and sees it as Nagi leaving him.

He feels abandoned, and he thinks that Nagi is abandoning his dream to go with the bigger fish, the apex predator, in order to become the best striker, by forgetting the promises they made at the start of Blue Lock, to stay together til the end.

Neither of them forgets the other.

Nagi leaves, and all he thinks about it "I need Reo to see this" "I can't wait to let him see how much I've improved", and he misses Reo, just as much as Reo misses him.

the only difference?

Reo is oblivious about Nagi's real feelings and thought process, and his thinking of Nagi turns into spiraling into depression and self-hatred.

so Nagi changes.

he starts to see the beauty in soccer/football, he finally sees what Reo had tried to make him see for months, and he's thrilled. he's having fun. he's grateful that Reo convinced him to not discard Blue Lock immediately. he's different.

different why? because Isagi beat him? because Blue Lock happened?

he changed not when Isagi beat them, but the moment he became Reo's friend, and found a reason to do something.

because Reo was the first person to ever tell him that his laziness, boredom, his oh so troublesome antics were alright, that he was what he was, and he was enough not only for Reo, but for the whole world.

Reo accepted him even when he was set on being static, made him want to change, and now that he's changing he feels worthy of being loved so much.

"you saw something in me back then, you forced to me work hard, and now thanks to you I ('m on my way to) realised my own worth, now I found something exciting"

he changes.

Reo sees him after what, a few days, and he's already improved so much.

and he thinks that he was Nagi's cage, his personal dead weight, that Nagi may have been his treasure but he wasn't Nagi's. that Nagi doesn't need him anymore. if Nagi doesn't need him, what will be of his dream?

(we could start a long-ass post ab mental health and recovering but I won't for my own sanity)

what's his worth then, since he got into Blue Lock just to stay with Nagi till the end- especially when he can't even be number two, with Isagi there- and Nagi won't be with him anymore?

he needs to change too.

3. destroying yourself in order to change (no fun)

Reo says that he isn't brave enough to destroy himself like the others do.

Isagi, Barou, Nagi, Chigiri, they all destroy themselves in order to become stronger and change, evolve, but Reo can't. he's scared, he's confused, the whole arc is just him looking like that. then what does he do?

he lets Nagi destroy him. "If I can't do it, Nagi will" don't you understand you're doing exactly what you say you're unable to do? the fact that you're not the one pulling the trigger doesn't mean that you're not killing yourself

he pushes Nagi until he snaps and tells Reo to fuck off, that he's a pain, that he's weak and someone Nagi doesn't want anything to do with, because that's what Reo thinks.

He thinks Nagi doesn't want to be with him anymore, he's feeling guilty for what he thought (later later), he's insecure- and instead of being reasonable, he founds a way to confirm his "irrational" fears.

"I'm not being insecure since Nagi confirmed it"

he sabotages himself. that's the nail in the coffin.

instead of destroying himself with football/soccer, by learning from a lost match, he destroys himself with life, by putting on the line his relationship with the person he (not exaggerating) loves most in the world.

he's unable to distinguish life from soccer/football (and this will be the aspect that makes him so different from most of the other characters), because since meeting Nagi they've become one thing. soccer/football is his life, Nagi is his life, because they're his only chance at being happy.

(Nagi is able to distinguish between the court and Reo: this way, Reo is just as special as Isagi is, since Isagi may have made him see the fun in soccer/football, but Reo made him get angry. Nagi who thinks that his strong quality is the fact he never gets angry, that he's a pacifist. Isagi is his soccer/football revolution, Reo is his life revolution.

Reo can't. they all insult each other on the field, but they're all friends afterwards. not Reo. not yet)

now he's lost Nagi, and his dream, and he has to pick himself up from the ground.

this is how Reo changes.

4. miscommunication is a beast

As I said before, Nagi starts to think that Reo only cared about him because of his talent. he's angry at Reo. he doesn't understand why Reo said those things, why he was so stupid, why he didn't understand Nagi.

he says "I'm not his toy" and he isn't, but really, try to get into his shoes.

he thinks his partner, his best friend, doesn't believe in them as a duo anymore, doesn't want to believe in them like he used to now that Nagi has changed, now that he's more "independent" from Reo.

"what, now that I know how to fight alone, he doesn't want me anymore?" that would be anyone's first thought.

and he doubts Reo's trust in their dream.

when did Reo start to have so little faith in them, in Nagi? when did he give up on them? he thinks that, after spending weeks trying to improve just to make Reo's dream true.

and he's angry, but he still hopes to play with Reo again.

he still want to, because him and Reo are partners and Nagi still believes in their dream. because he remembers Reo's passion, and he believes in him.

+) 5. being relatable as fuck

(what kid with absent/abusive parents never thought back on their action and went anxiously all "Am I just like them?")

Reo begs Nagi to stop being so strong, stop improving so quickly, stop running towards a place Reo can't reach yet, and isn't this a human thing to do? He desperately wants to be with Nagi, and thinks that he'd rather stop him from improving rather than lose him. He thinks "Please, give up on your dream, your ego"- and isn't that familiar?

he just thought the same thing his father, a man he hates and despises and who doesn't believe in Reo, told him. and he said that to Nagi. Nagi who gave him a ticket to the top by being at his side, who let him see hope.

he panics. am I just like him? Am I cruel enough to wish for someone to give up on their dreams, just to get something out of their failure?

he's different from his father, because he's seventeen, he's scared to lose his best friend, and we can be irrational in situations like this one. does he know it? no, the same way he doesn't understand that Nagi didn't left because of him.

so yes, he's in the worst head-space ever.

isn't he relatable? this is what that made reo my favourite character in a second, probably. he's so human and he makes so many mistakes and he's so stupid sometimes, but I can see myself in him very clearly.

and now.

in what way is their relationship not balanced? their love and care not mutual? in what way one used or manipulated the other?

I think they're flawed, and they made mistakes, and they hurt each other, but I also think that we throw in the word "toxic" the moment a relationship isn't perfect.

they're friends and they're teens, they will make mistakes and they will hurt each other, and their friendship (and they were roommates) won't be perfect- this doesn't make it less genuine or beautiful.

don't get me started on what happens in the manga (really don't do it) (all of this was just nagi's spin off!!!)

[gracieheartspedro]

Lotus Eater | chapter 5 - 4.2k words

my main masterlist - eddie masterlist - series masterlist

previous chapter - next chapter

summary: you needed way more money than initially thought to fix your car. so, you work through thanksgiving break. but not without eddie trying to ruin your groove and make you actually have fun.

warnings: slow burn, 18+ mdni, bullying, discussions about drugs, eating food?, eddie is fully flirting, reader isn't picking it up at all (or is she HA), mention of reader’s terrible parents, drinking alcohol, mentions of hellfire being weird with reader, gareth is kinda pushy but not without eddie keeping a close eye on him, jokes about religion and summoning satan, reader gets pretty drunk, forced proximity.

a/n: thank you to all the love y'all have given this fic!! i love writing it!! this one was so cutesy to write!

After the Kacey incident, Eddie was practically attached to your hip. You were not aware at first, simply just continuing conversations in the hallways when you arrived at school. Walking to class together because the rooms were across from one another. He was always just there.

But rumors were easy to pass along in the halls, and your former best friend was adamant about convincing the entire school that you two were a thing. It bothered you, but not in a way that you could pinpoint.

You had never been linked to a guy at school before. You never had a boyfriend or a guy that you would hook up with. You spent most of high school avoiding the guys you had crushes on and now you were forever associated with the one guy you actively dodged most of high school. And for some perplexing reason, it did not eat away at you. Being around Eddie was convenient and in some fucked up way, comforting.

When Eddie brought the rumors up to you one day after school, you told him you did not like the thought that people could not let the opposite sexes be strictly friends. He giggled, telling you it was pretty intolerant and dense of people, but you should not fret too much. 

“You are more worried about that and not the fact that people think you’re dating me, the Freak?”

Your lip quirked as you shook your head, “Oh trust me, I’m worried about that, too. I just didn’t want to make you upset. I committed social suicide the moment I arrived at school with you two months ago.”

His nose scrunched, his cheeks rising as he smiled, “You wound me, sunshine.”

-

The diner was buzzing with people. It was the first day of Thanksgiving break, which meant former locals coming in to order their favorite comfort food and the normal customers coming in to bother you about your Thanksgiving plans. You do not have any currently. If you are lucky, you will be the only one in the house and you could make yourself some instant mashed potatoes. 

In the midst of your daydreams of creamy potatoes, you watch a familiar van pull up into the busy parking lot. 

You roll your eyes immediately, knowing Eddie would only distract you from helping your two four tops. You position yourself near the kitchen, watching him, Jeff, and Gareth pour into the establishment. They are laughing loudly, disturbing the peace the moment they enter. You cannot imagine something is that funny. 

Eddie always has a way of finding you. His eyes immediately meet yours as he slips into a booth right next to your other tables. He has layered his denim vest over his hodge-podge leather jacket. You had added two new safety pins on the sleeve of that thing this past week alone. He would not let it go.

You groan dramatically as you pull out your notepad and pen. 

He has this shit-eating grin plastered on his face, his eyes playfully scanning your waitress uniform. It should make you feel insecure, like when every other man checks you out in your uniform, but you know Eddie is concocting some stupid jab at you.

He puts a toothpick between his teeth, rolling it back and forth. 

You did not want to admit to yourself the number of times you found yourself admiring the guy over the last couple of weeks. Your intuition was simply to push those feelings down and continue with your annoyed temperament with him. It was much easier than letting those thoughts creep in. 

“What can I get you guys today?” You ask, your body directed at Gareth and Jeff as they fuck with the menus.

“Coke,” Jeff says, matter-of-factly.

“Coke, please,” Gareth orders, emphasizing his pleasantries. 

You can always feel when Eddie’s looking at you. His big brown eyes practically pierce through your skin, “What are the specials, sweetheart?”

You lull your head back, snapping it back to finally look at him. You did not want to entertain his antics, but you had an audience with Jeff and Gareth, “Lima beans.”

Eddie’s nose scrunches, still shifting that toothpick around between his lips. “Really?”

You shake your head, placing your hands on your hips. That makes Eddie’s eyes roam down again. You know he wants to make a joke about your outfit so bad.

“No, Eddie.”

Jeff giggles at your condescending tone, all the while Gareth is still fiddling with the menu and not really paying attention. You break into a small smirk, eyeing Eddie with raised brows. 

He looks at his friends, then you, then his friends, then you again. He looks puzzled, playing up his completely oblivious act.

“Well then?” His voice rises as he pulls the toothpick out of his mouth. You watch his hand rest on the table next to the menu, his pointer and thumb rotating it. You are so fixated on his hand that you have completely forgotten the topic of conversation. When he repeats your name, you finally look back up at him. He has this knowing expression on his face like he caught you in the act. “The specials?”

In the most monotone voice, you recite the same thing you have said to all the tables you have had all day, “$5 open-faced turkey platter. With fries and gravy.”

He nods immediately, putting the toothpick back in his mouth. “I’ll take that, sunshine.”

“Gravy over the fries, okay?” You jot down on your pad, scribbling something that is not even legible to you. 

“Smother them suckers,” Eddie jokes, his voice deepening. 

“And what do you want to drink?”

He thinks for a beat, “Any drink specials?”

“Cool, so you’re actually getting a water.”

-

Your other tables leave you a combined $10 tip. No too bad, but for having to deal with their badly behaved children for an hour and a half, you were expecting a little bit more. 

You deliver Eddie’s food as soon as it is in the window. The evening has slowed down some and you have already done most of your sidework, so you nudge Eddie with your knee as soon as you place Gareth’s plate down in front of him. “Scoot. Need to get off my feet for a minute.”

He happily obliges, moving over in the booth to give you a place to sit. You sigh, leaning your head against the padded back. 

“What are you doing after you get off?” He asks, grabbing a smothered fry and devouring it in one bite. You look outside at the sun setting and shrug. You never had plans and Eddie knew this.

“My mom is supposed to be picking me up,” You explain, tilting your head so you are looking at him. He eats every meal like it’s his last and this is no exception. You never found the diner’s food that groundbreaking, everything mainly being carb overload, but Eddie eats it like it’s the best thing he’s ever tasted. When he brings his fingers up to lick the excess gravy, you feel your mouth go dry.

“And after that?” He interrupts your thought process, his eyelashes fluttering towards you.

You huff, “Bed.”

He and the guys both wince and groan at your response. You look between them, trying to act like they are the crazy ones. What was wrong with going to bed after a long shift?

“It’s a Friday night, sunshine. Why don’t you come to the kickback with us?” Eddie proposes, dropping his water cup a bit too hard on the table.

“Kickback?”

You had never been invited to do something like that and you were not keen on exploring what the Hellfire Club’s kickback would look like. You imagine it involved a lot of marijuana and alcohol, two things you were not particularly fond of. And while over the last month, you have been able to hold more conversations with the guys, you were not excited at the prospect of being around them while they were intoxicated.

Eddie nods matter-of-factly, “Yeah, Gareth’s parents are out of town. We are going to his house to smoke and hang out by the fire.”

Gareth speaks up with his mouth full of burger, “We are burning palettes.”

Like that was going to change your mind for some reason.

You grumble, trying to act very interested, “Sounds like fun for a bunch of losers who aren’t working.”

As you say it, an older couple comes in and sits in your recently cleaned booth nearby. Duty always calls at inconvenient times. You stand up while the boys snicker at your retort. Eddie rolls his eyes, grabbing your arm before you can walk away.

“Come on. Live a little. You work too hard,” He pleads, his bottom lip jutted out. You have to work tomorrow at noon, so it would not hurt to go. It was just not in your nature to entertain a party of sorts with the rest of the crew. Any after-school activities were always a no-go. Unless it was Eddie taking you home, of course.

You shake your head, trying to get him to see your side. “I get off at 10. I will be tired.”

“I’ll make sure you get home by 1. How’s that?”

He’s not giving up, but you’re not giving in. You are too set on being able to curl up in bed with your favorite book and get some early shut-eye. 

“I’ll pass,” You turn away, heading to your next table, “You guys enjoy.”

-

Of course, your mom does not show up when you get off. 

You stand at the pay phone, tapping your foot anxiously. Your legs cannot stop moving, having no protection from the elements. When the home phone continues to ring without a pickup, you slam it back on the receiver. 

Unreal. But it's not shocking. 

You almost decide to start walking home in the crisp autumn air, but instead, you spot a recognizable hunk of metal parked at the mini-mart across the street. Better than walking miles and miles in the darkness.

You curse your mother the whole time, stomping into the store with your oversized windbreaker swishing around. You see him and Jeff at the beer cooler, grabbing a couple six six-packs. Once Jeff catches your eye, Eddie turns around with a curious look painted across his face. It relaxes the moment he sees you. A hint of concern and understanding of the situation spreads across his face when he notices your disheveled appearance. 

“Didn’t show?” He asks simply, tucking the 6 pack under his arm. You scrunch your nose, placing your hand on your hips. After two months, Eddie is pretty well versed in how much your parents let you down. Neither of you needs to elaborate in these situations. Eddie just nods, disguising his annoyance towards your own mother. You look at Jeff and he is standing there observing you two like you are telepathically speaking to each other. 

He turns to the guy, handing him a twenty-dollar bill and the other 6 pack. “Check out and we will catch you outside.”

You watch the guy struggle to grab all the things from Eddie, somehow managing everything in his arms. You are not sure why Eddie is practically escorting you outside, his arm hovering over your shoulders to usher you to his van. 

“You want me to take you home or are you down to hang out with us for a bit?” 

Your head cranes up at him. You felt bad because you were pretty sure Gareth’s house was literally a hop and a skip from where you were, as opposed to the 10-minute drive to your house. Not wanting to inconvenience Eddie any more than you already were, you give in. Finally. 

“I can hang out.”

The smile that takes over his face is genuine and a bit wicked. “Atta girl. I knew you’d wanna hang with the cool kids outside of school eventually.”

You cannot lie, his praise makes butterflies scatter in the pit of your stomach. You know it’s just a passive statement, so your eyes roll to the back of your skull,  “All it took was me being stranded somewhere with only one person to come save me.”

He places his hand on your shoulder, giving it a slight squeeze, “I’ll always come save you, sunshine.”

-

Eddie is never pushy, but his friends surely are. Especially Gareth. 

When you arrive at his house, you take note of the middle-class life the kid leads. Two car garage, a large living room, and an even bigger backyard. Sprawling with trees that have shedded most of their leaves. When Gareth spots you, his eyes light up in excitement. 

“I thought you weren’t coming,” He says, shoving a beer into your hand. You were not planning on drinking, but you grabbed the bottle anyway. You can feel Eddie’s eyes lock on to you two even though Grant is ranting about whatever new grievance he had today. 

Gareth grabs the neck of the bottle in your hand and pops the top for you as you mumble through an explanation. “Mom didn’t show. Eddie to the rescue, per usual.”

He smiles as he clicks off his own bottle top, “Well, I’m glad you’re here nonetheless.”

Out of all the guys, Gareth’s interest in you was the most obvious. At least, that’s what you thought. You could always be reading the signs wrong. He was always slinging compliments at you, checking you out as you sat down at the lunch table, asking you questions about yourself when everyone else seemed too afraid to. You never fully entertained him, but sometimes you would shoot him a brighter smile than usual or compliment a button on his jean jacket. 

“Thanks for having me,” You reply, cheering your beer to him. 

That’s when you note his eyes raking down your body. He had not looked at you like this earlier, so it must be the multiple beers he had before you showed up. You were surprised by the obvious display and due to it being painfully awkward, you took a swig of the beer. You instantly wince at the flavor, wanting to gag it back up. 

“You’re drinking?” Eddie taps your arm, grabbing your attention away from the curly-headed weirdo in front of you. You take another sip, hoping it would be better the second time. Nope. 

“I guess so,” You move towards him, trying to get out of the way of the other boys carrying large palettes towards the fire. “I’ll need at least one watching these idiots set these things on fire.”

-

You have more than one. Because after one, Gareth asks if you need another. And due to the effects of the first drink making you feel lighter, you say yes. Eddie’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise, but he does not reprimand you. He’s never one to tell you what to do.

You and Eddie have found some plastic chairs near the fire, laughing amongst each other as the guys jokingly act like they are starting a summoning circle around the flames. Between them loudly chanting fake Latin and blundering some random Catholic prayer, you and Eddie are practically in tears as you drink your beers. 

You never expected you would ever be here, but in your tipsy little brain, you are so glad you took the chance and came. Your mom’s failure turned out for the better. No thanks to her, plenty of thanks to Eddie. 

And talking to Eddie was easier. Honestly easier than Kacey before the drugs. He guided the conversation so seamlessly, never prying when it was serious, and only ever taking a joke too far when he was in a group setting to get some extra laughs. 

Everyone eventually calms down, sitting around the fire and sharing random stories. You already feel quite fragile, so once Grant starts telling ghost stories, you know it’s time to wrap up your time with everyone. 

You look down at Eddie’s hand, perfectly propped up on the arm of his chair. You tilt his watch towards you to check the time. 

1:04 am. 

“I should get home,” You say, tilting the remainder of your beer into your mouth. You have not even tried standing up yet, but the moment you do, it’s like you are walking on a tightrope. Eddie’s quick to catch on to it, too, standing up and grabbing your arm to balance you. His rings feel colder than usual. 

He giggles as you try to hold your arms out and find some sort of stabilization, “You’re pretty drunk.”

His hand is still on your forearm. You look up at him, trying to gauge if he is sober enough to drive. The bloodshot eyes and relaxed shoulders tell you that he’s not. 

“Yeah, so are you.”

His eyes soften towards you. There’s a shift in the air and somehow, the other guys catch onto it. Gareth is the first to slice through the silence. 

“Y’all can crash here,” He advises, tilting his beer towards his house. The idea that you would stay in the same house as 5 other guys was insane. You never had many sleepovers in the first place, let alone as the only girl. 

You are quick to shut it down, “No, that’s fine.”

“I got some clothes you can wear,” Gareth ignores your rejection, standing up from his chair and stumbling a bit towards you. You start to feel this unexpected panic like you are going to be stuck here with just Gareth. 

“No, I’m fine.”

Eddie’s hand wrapping around yours takes you off guard. Somehow, in some strange way, you feel your heart rate start to slow back down. His big brown eyes are always fairly reassuring, “Gareth has a guest room, sunshine. Lemme get you set up in there. Come on.”

“Eddie-“

“I will take you home in the morning. Promise,” He says earnestly, his thumb brushing across your knuckle. You squeeze his fingers, reluctantly agreeing. As long as he’s staying with you, you feel a bit more secure in this drunken decision. 

-

“I am good on the couch, Eddie.”

Eddie reenters the last room on the left. He had left you to get changed in some clothes Gareth had lent you. 

The room is right across from Gareth’s but it’s a bit smaller. You had peeked in his space when he was digging through his drawers trying to find some clothes you could wear. The bed in your room is a queen and takes up most of the square footage. But it’s very comfy with a mountain of pillows on top. As desirable as the spot was, you felt bad for the other guys who would be sleeping on the area rug in the living room or on Gareth’s dirty laundry that occupied his floor. 

Eddie shakes his head, smiling at the baggy sweatpants you are now sporting and the Hawkins P.E. t-shirt,, “No you’re not. Lay down. I’ll get you more blankets.”

You watch him pull open the closet near the door. You can tell he’s trying to accommodate you, but you are already a bit overstimulated.

“Eddie-“

He throws a blanket your way, halting you from continuing whatever shit you were about to talk to him, “Stop saying my name. Let me help you.”

“I don’t want help,” You demand, tossing the blanket onto the bed. You slightly change the weight onto your other foot, but you feel your knee buckle a bit. The alcohol makes your body practically feel like jello. 

He giggles at the way you practically tilt horizontally on the flat hardwood, “You never do but I still want to.”

Your eyes burn into his for a second. He tilts his head, revealing his Adam’s apple bobbing. You lose the topic of the conversation immediately. “Want to what?”

Your drunken mind makes those thoughts creep in even more. Sitting around the fire earlier, you realized you really enjoyed the sight of Eddie’s squinty laugh. He only does it on rare occasions, but when he does, you cannot help the wide grin that creeps across your face. Eyes completely closed, head thrown back, and his carrying cackle. You also took notice of the way his lips curl inward when he is listening intently to someone. Occasionally his tongue gets caught between his teeth when he’s really focused on something, like messing with the fire poke. 

“Help you, sunshine.”

“You’re always helping me,” You explain as you pull the blankets off the bed back. The sheets looked silky, much more improved than the old stained sheets on your springy bed. “You take me to school. You let me sit with you and occasionally steal an orange from you. You take me home from school. You save me from being stranded at work. You do too much helping.”

He just smiles, helping you settle into the bed. He pulls another blanket on top of you, jokingly laying it over your face. You pull it away instantly, shooting him a faux annoyed face.

“You comfy?” He asks, looking down at you like you are a little kid he is tucking into bed. 

Your displeased expression fades, settling into an at-ease one, “Yeahhhh..”

He giggles at that, slowly creeping backward towards the door. For some reason, that familiar nervousness starts to bubble in the pit of your stomach. A feeling only he made go away by being close to you earlier around the fire. 

“Okay,” He whispers, tilting his head towards you, “Goodnight, sweetheart.”

You sit up straight in the bed, pulling the covers over your chest as you do, “Wait!”

It was a stupid thought, but it etched its way into your brain. You could not stop it.

His eyebrows shoot up, “Yeah?”

“Where are you sleeping?”

“Why?” He presses with an even more confused air to his voice. 

You feel like an idiot almost immediately. You wanted him near you. You do not know why. Maybe it was being an unfamiliar space and he’s the only person you really knew. 

But that would be admitting that you like having him around. You were not too sure you wanted him to know that.

“Because I want to know,” You try to sound obvious, but your voice cracks a bit. You clear it before continuing, “In case I need to find you.”

The sly smirk that creeps across his face makes you want to crawl under the blankets and never come out. “Why would you need to find me?”

“If I have a nightmare,” Another lie and he knows it. You know it, for fucks sake. “I don’t know Eddie, just cause!”

The latter half of the ‘explanation‘ gets him. He steps towards the door frame, leaning against it with this arrogance only Eddie could pull off, “Probably on the couch.”

“Why don’t you sleep in here?”

He is surely not expecting you to say it. You do not even know where it came from. It was the alcohol. The smell of clean sheets. The fluffiness of the feathered pillows. 

He points a finger gun at you, his shift in demeanor feigning awkwardness. “Because you are sleeping in here.”

All you could do was double down. Your brain truly gave you no other choice.

“It’s a queen size bed, Eddie.”

His eyebrows raise under his frizzy bangs. He leans forward towards you, then back, shooting a glance down the hallway. It’s almost like he’s checking to see if the coast is clear. You can hear the other boys stumbling in, being loud and rambunctious as they set up the living room to sleep. 

You can see the wheels turning in his head, “Why do you want me to sleep with you?”

“Not sleep with me. Sleep next to me,” You had to correct, wanting to make sure that this was all it was. His presence is close to you. Not… inside you.

You had never really craved a guy’s attention like you craved Eddie’s. While it was not something you really wanted to explore, you knew that it was still something. You had never been intimate with another person, only kissing a boy named Greg in 7th grade, simply for a dare. You were inexperienced in wanting someone. 

Did you want Eddie? 

You could not. You will not. 

He pulls you out of your conflicted expression, giggling as he sulks towards you. He kicks the door with his foot slightly, hinging it shut, “I am a snuggler, sweetheart. You don’t want to sleep next to me.”

Eddie holding you sounds like a dream. Like a dream that you are not sure you want to have. 

You imagine it in your brain before you speak up, a small smirk morphing across your lips. His tattooed arms sliding across your waist, holding you taut with his warm chest. It fills your entire being with a sense of calm. When your mind turns into imagining him on the couch, too far away for comfort, it feels like a jab to your heart. 

“I’m drunk enough to let it slide.”

dividers from @/saradika-graphics

taglist: @moon-esque @walleloveseve @kellsck @awkward00noodle @person-005 @emxxblog @mediocredreams @justalotoffanfiction @kelsiegrin @whenimhomealoneijustdance @cherryheairt @thejordiverse @3rd-conchord @micheledawn1975

@littlemissholy @jeangeniex @heart-eye-love @thelastemzy @katsfandomcorner @itmightbehayley @cowboylikemunson @amanitacowboy

[lilliezzzzz-fics]

Mario Karting

including: alex albon, yuki tsunoda, dino beganovic, lance stroll + isack hadjar author's note: blame my mario kart addiction for this <3 also finally writing for dino, which is great because i love him, but also means i have a chance to include swedish in my writing! hooray! reader is gn, no use of y/n <3 warnings: mentions of food (yuki). minor swedish dialogue (dino), i think that's it? just fluffy ! word count: 1.3k (200-ish each)

★ Alex Albon

he always—and i mean always plays yoshi

if anyone else tries to take him from him, he gives them the dirtiest glare

whenever he and you play against each other, somehow one of your pets always end up in the way

either sitting in his lap or yours, or maybe even sitting in front of the screen somehow

then, when he makes his kart he does speed > acceleration > grip > handling > weight

his favourite cup to play with you is the lightning cup

he gets to first and then gets red shelled like twice in a row and falls down the pack to like 7th

gets so, so stressed but he hides it well, just lets out a heavy sigh when the race is over

he's very competitive too―he probably uses all his items on you whenever you're in front of him

lets out such a laugh when you get mad at him

it's the funniest thing ever according to him

although, if you get above him he gets very happy because you seem very proud of yourself

probably complementing you with a smile on his face

but when you threaten to steal his seat at williams he takes it all back

“Mate, that's just not fair, now is it?” Alex exclaims, his hands gripping the controller.

“What happened?”

“I just got fucking red shelled twice!” He groans, “I swear, like, they're targeting me or something.”

You laugh at him, softly bumping his shoulder with yours, “maybe you're just bad.”

“Take that back!”

★ Yuki Tsunoda

i think he'd play like tanooki mario or baby mario

his karts always priorities speed over all else, less weight too―he probably doesn't have too much acceleration on them though

he loves the shell cup, he is actually godlike at moo moo meadows

and he is so incredibly competitive, like he starts kicking you whenever you get too close to his character―ending up in a semi-brawl against each other

he's surprisingly strategic too, like purposely falling back a little to get the bullet, then getting to the front with mushrooms and just dominating

takes it super seriously. it's his life on the line, actually

oh and he makes sure to have snacks for you two ready 

dried fruits, chocolate, chips―pretty much anything that you want, he has on the table

even homemade snacks if any of you are craving them

though he denies that he made it for you, for his pride, he insists

he actually screeches whenever he gets hit by a projectile, blabbering curses to whoever threw them

even at you

but in the end it's all just in good fun, he never actually gets mad nor do you

except when he throws a blue shell when you're in front, of course

then it's over for him

“Haha!” Yuki grins as he flies to the front with his items.

“How did you get that?!” You pout, eyes still locked on the screen, watching as he passes by you with a golden mushroom.

“Strategy, obviously. You're just not Mario Karting on my level.”

★ Dino Beganovic

he mains koopa troopa for no reason other than “he’s funny”

and his favourite cup is the egg cup, he just really likes dragon driftway

talking about drifting

he is actually incredible when it comes to drifting and doing tricks

he never misses a singular one, and you have zero clue how he does it

it’s like magic or something

but he also gets terrible luck when it comes to items, and he’s not particularly good with them either

the number of times he's either a) thrown a bomb and proceeded to drive into it, and b) thrown a green shell that just ends up hitting him couldn’t even be counted on two hands

not only that, but he fumbles or gets shelled so much

it’s kind of pitiful, like you feel so bad when you see his number just fall from 1 to 3, to 4, and even 6

and he doesn’t rage much, but when he does he rages in swedish

he does refrain from doing so majority of the time, but it is fun to witness

either way, when you do start to feel bad when he falls down the pack, it usually doesn’t stay that way long

somehow he always manages to climb back into top 3

it gets irritating sometimes, however, that never lasts because he just looks so pretty when he’s proud of himself

give him a little victory smooch for me, please <3

“Men asså! Din jävla—ugh, gud…” Dino groans as yet another shell flies into him, “Jag svär om det kommer en till-”

There’s a brief pause, and you can’t help but snicker at Dino’s dramaticism.

“Calm down, it’s not like it’s the end of the world.”

“But it is!”

*translation 1: "oh my! you fucking—ugh, god..."

*translation 2: "i swear if there's another one-"

★ Lance Stroll

he’d main rosalina, maybe? or maybe lakitu or shy guy—any one of them

his favourite cup by far is the flower cup, mainly because first off, it’s not too intense

and secondly, he just thinks it's cute

whenever you play, it’s usually very casual—you mostly play on either 100cc or 150cc if you’re feeling a little competitive

the two of you just laze on his couch with your limbs entangled, eyes trained on the screen and just having fun

it’s genuinely very sweet 

he never really rages at mario kart either, he doesn’t take it serious enough

although whenever he wins or gets top 3, he does get happy (even though it is almost every race that he does)

just this silly cute grin plastered on his face

especially when you’re also winning with him!

just smiling softly while saying, “did you see that drift?”

and you just smile back

he’s so cute!!! how could you not?

The two of you are sitting on Lance’s couch, in his living room, your head resting on his shoulder, your eyes glued to the screen as you drive around the Mario Kart racetrack. 

There’s only you, him, the TV, and the game's sound. It’s comforting, warm, and Lance’s heartbeat is a steady rhythm beating by your ear.

“Ooo! Did’ya see that?” he murmurs against your scalp, his voice is soft—barely audible as he presses a soft kiss against your head, “that drift was insane.”

“I’m sure it was.”

★ Isack Hadjar

he’s a toad main, and i feel like further elaboration is unnecessary

playing mario kart is basically him driving f1, it’s life or death for him, and he will play as competitively as possible

in a boyfriend™ way, of course

the two of you play on 150 or 200cc at all times, always fully locked in

his favourite cup is also the triforce cup because he thinks it is hilarious when you either fall off the map or something

(he gets mad when he does, though)

when you get too close, just like yuki, he will kick you 

it’s all fun and games, though! he only does it when he knows you don’t mind

oh whenever he sees you in front and he just happens to have a projectile—he throws it immediately

just to see that grumpy expression 

he genuinely just says something like, “tough luck, babe” and laughs

karma is a bitch, though, and like ten seconds after you see him fly past your screen but backwards because he got hit by lightning and then red shelled

he also swears in his mother tongue, like yelling because this game is broken! 

afterwards, the two of you make up with a soft exchange of kisses and watch youtube, muttering truce? truce.

A wave of pride washes over you as you see the number in the corner turn into a one as you overtake Princess Peach for first place. You let out a triumphant yes! and the exact moment you do, you hear a mischievous laugh from Isack.

You feel doom approaching as you hear how a shell approaches. 

“You are fucking with me, Isack! Seriously?”

“Blame the game, not the player.” He laughs.

©lilliezzzzz-fics: please don't copy or distribute my work on any platform

[absurdthirst]

The Rebound {Marcus Pike x F!Reader}

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 28.1k

Warnings: Drinking, despression, flirting, sexual overtures, going home with a stranger, one night stands, oral sex (male and female receiving), vaginal sex, multiple positions, spanking (slightly), giving Marcus his confidence back, multiple orgasms, post sex snacking, miscommunication, hard feelings, pregnancy, yearning, idiots who don't talk, repressed feelings, childbirth, post baby body issues

Comments: Going out for a drink lands you in the same space as newly dumped Marcus Pike. Sharing a drink and going home together changes both for your lives.

Co-written with @storiesofthefandomlovers

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|| MasterList || Marcus Pike MasterList ||

Click Keep Reading only if you have read the Rating and Warnings and understand the warnings may not be complete to avoid listing spoilers. As AO3 says 'creator chooses not to use warnings'. You also agree that you're the right age to be consuming anything here.

Your glass of white wine isn’t that great, but it’s better than the whiskey sour that some suit that looked like one of those Wall Street wannabe bros who had started taking over the happy hours here, sent over with his number on a napkin. The band was playing, although there weren't a lot of people listening, everyone was having their own conversations. Except one. 

He’s sitting at the bar by himself. A glass of whiskey and a beer sitting in front of him. You’ve seen him already down one of each, so it seems like he’s on a mission to get drunk. Looking miserable and lost as he stares at the wood grain on the bar top and continuously looks at his phone. Like he’s waiting for someone to call, or hoping they do. He’s handsome. Neat, short, slightly wavy brown hair. Clean shaven, wearing a suit, although the jacket is thrown over the back of his chair and his sleeves are rolled up. Like it’s been a horrible day. You aren’t close enough to see what color his eyes are, but you pick up your wine glass and walk towards him, headed for the empty seat beside him. He looks like he could use a friend. 

Marcus looks up as you sit beside him and his eyes widen. You’re beautiful. He doesn’t know what to say. Apparently he’s terrible with women. Teresa dumped him two days ago for Jane and all his dreams of a wife, two kids and a dog in D.C went up in flames. “Can I help you?” He asks, genuine and not rude. Marcus can never be rude. Unless he’s really pissed off.

You smile at him, pleased to know that your theory that he had warm brown eyes was right. They look like they are normally kind, although right now they are clouded with confusion and sadness. “That’s funny.” You tell him, taking a sip of the wine. “I was just about to ask you that same question.” You settle into the seat beside him and turn your body to face him. “You look like you could use a friend right now.” 

Marcus sighs, rubbing his cheek, “am I that obvious?” He asks and you offer him a sympathetic smile. You are even more gorgeous when he’s looking at you. “I- I just got dumped and my pathetic ass is trying to find happiness in a beer which I know isn’t the right place but a man has to do what he can, huh?” He asks, picking up the bottle and tilting it towards you.

“Hmmm.” You shake your head and lift your glass to the mouth of his bottle and tap it gently. “Unless there are some serious red flags that I am missing, I have to wonder what kind of idiot you were dating?” You snort and tilt your head curiously. “Because I see a really handsome man who looks like he’s a decent person and…” you lean in and take an exaggerated sniff. “Yep, smells great too.” 

Marcus can’t help but chuckle, you are making him feel better which he didn’t even think was possible. “I - uh, she was in love with someone else. I proposed. She said yes. We were gonna move to D.C and then she called me and said she wasn’t coming. I bought a three bed townhouse and she dumped me over the phone before getting with the man she loved.” It sounds pathetic to his own ears.

“Damn.” You wince and shake your head. “You poor bastard. You were the hook character.” He frowns in confusion and you shrug. “You were the catalyst for your ex-finacée and her boy-toy to realize their feelings for one another.” You hate that he was hurt, it seems like he had plans for a life and the confidence to back it up. “An innocent that was sacrificed for their story line.” 

You talk about him like he’s a character on a show but you’re not wrong. “Ouch. When you put it like that-” He waves down the bartender, “another round and whatever the lady is having.” He says and you order another glass of wine. “What about you? What’s a beautiful woman doing talking to me and not going out on a date?” He asks, certain that you are taken. Anyone with eyes would be an idiot to not take you for their own.

“Bored.” You shrug slightly. “My apartment was driving me crazy tonight for some reason.” You smirk. “A pizza and re-runs didn’t sound appealing and so I’m here, with you.” You make it sound like it’s the most reasonable thing in the world and you tell him your name. “What’s the name of my new friend?” You ask curiously, interested in learning about him. 

He smiles and says, “Marcus Pike.” You love how he says his full name and he bites his lip, “so you’re single? I find that hard to believe. Surely you have someone. Boyfriend? Girlfriend?” He questions, knowing that you could have someone at home. The thought makes his stomach twist with sadness but he pushes that aside.

“Unless you count the pet rock named Steve, I’m hopelessly single.” You like the sound of his laugh, his smile is nice and his teeth are white and pretty damn straight, at least on top. You always appreciate a nice set of teeth. The way his eyes crinkle makes you think that laughter is one of the little things in life that he enjoys. “Too busy for relationships.” You admit. “I work for myself and spend too much time doing it.” 

His brow furrows, “you must be busy. You gotta be getting hit on, left and right.” He says with sincerity, knowing that he’d be flirting up a storm if he wasn’t jilted but he’d come to realize when Teresa dumped him that maybe he jumps in too fast. “Well, hopefully you enjoy your work and you’re good at it.” He says and you nod, “I like to think so.” The bartender sets the drinks down and Marcus pushes his empty beer bottle aside to grab the new one. “To being single.” He toasts and you clink your wine glass against his bottle.

“To being single.” You take another sip of your wine and then decide to ask. “So what is it that you do, Marcus Pike?” You ask, smiling at him.

He smirks, tilting his head slightly, “if I tell you, I might have to kill you.” He teases and you giggle, “must be top secret.” He chuckles, “I, uh, I work for the FBI.” He confesses, “art department.”

"The art department." You are impressed and you lift your brows to show it. "Surrounded by beauty all day, I'm assuming you must spend a lot of time looking at naked paintings." You tease, giving him a playful wink. "The porn of the ancient world."

Marcus blushes a little, knowing he might’ve spent a little too much time studying those pieces that were revealing too much. “Exactly but it’s…it’s not just one type of body. It’s every body type. All walks of life are depicted in beauty and painted with passion. It’s - it’s not heartless and pre-produced. It’s raw. It’s - it’s emotional.” He says passionately, knowing that the pieces he rescues are worth it.

“I don’t blame you.” You agree. “I love real artwork. Reality of bodies, of beauty.” You shrug. “Sometimes I wish that more people produced something real rather than filling their houses down the latest little trendy knickknack.” You take another sip of your wine. “It sounds like your job is a perfect fit for you.”

Marcus likes the way you talk and the way you look. A normally intoxicating combination for him to be flirty but he holds back a little. “I love it.” He confesses, “it’s tough but so rewarding.” He takes another sip of his beer, “you asked about my red flags earlier…mine are that I jump in too quickly, put my heart on the line, and act like a lovesick fool. What about you? You’re single. You got a dead body in a closet or something?” He teases, offering you a wink.

“Boy, it would be a mistake to tell the FBI about the bodies in the freezer!” You joke, reaching out and giving him a playful shove. “You don’t put them in the closet until they are skeletons. That way they don’t stink.” You snort. “No, my red flags are that I don’t really trust myself.” You admit. “I manage to find assholes. They talk a good game, treat me well to start and then it’s just a classic bunch of lying, cheating assholes.” You shrug. “So I’ve stopped looking for now. Taking a break and just having fun.”

Marcus likes you and that scares him. He just got his heart crushed but you’re making him believe that maybe there’s hope for something good in his life. “So no dead bodies.” He hums, “beautiful. Funny…sexy.” He adds after a pause, “and you don’t like cheating assholes. That’s it. You are too damn good to be having a drink with me.” He declares and you scoff but he continues, “let alone come home with me.” He says that without thinking too much, hoping you don’t slap him and laugh in his face.

You’ve told him that you just wanted to have fun and he’s obviously on the rebound from having his heart broken. This wouldn’t be a permanent thing, but it could be a good night for you both. Maybe a little self confidence booster that both of you need. “My place or yours?” You ask curiously, tilting your head and smirking at him.

He raises his eyebrows at your confident response and he smirks, gesturing the bartender over without taking his eyes off of you. When the bartender arrives, he briefly looks at him to ask to close out his tab, “add her drinks to it.” He says and turns back to look at you, “whatever you’re most comfortable with.” He responds, knowing you might feel better in your own space. He’s not unfamiliar with a walk of shame.

Biting your lip, you reach out and pat his chest, feeling a little bit of firm muscle underneath. He’s not just a suit, but he’s also not a meathead. “I’m assuming your ex spent plenty of time in your bed?” You ask, smirking when he nods. “So we will go back to yours and the next time you go to bed by yourself, you’ll be thinking about how I looked sprawled out and moaning your name.”

He almost wants to ask if you’ve fallen out of his dreams and he offers you a slightly cocky smirk after he hands his card to the bartender when he returns with the check, “and hopefully you’ll leave my bed thinking about how I made you moan my name.” He drags his tongue along his lower lip, “even when you are married with kids in years to come.”

Standing up, you finish your wine and grab your purse. “Why don’t we go find out, Mr. Pike?” You ask playfully. “I need a new fantasy to replay in my head when I’m all along with my vibrator.”

He quickly signs the check and puts his card in his wallet before he stands and wraps his arm around your waist. “You drive here?” He asks and you shake your head, “me neither. Let’s get an Uber and I’ll drop you home in the morning. Or pay for your cab.” He promises, wanting to be a gentleman first and foremost.

Smiling as you walk outside, you turn and press your lips to his. “Green flags so far.” You tease. “Order that Uber so we can get there faster.” You order him, eager to see about making this sweet and handsome man have a fantastic ending to his night. “Faster we do that, the faster I am sucking your cock.”

He groans and fumbles with his phone to order an Uber and when he does, he reaches for your waist, dragging you against him before his lips press against yours. Your arms wrap around his neck and he smiles against your lips for a second until he’s tilting his head to deepen the kiss by sliding his tongue into your mouth.

People coming and going from the bar see you, but you don’t care. Let them see. You moan softly and kiss him back, finding that this man has some passion to temper his sweetness and that turns you on. You press against him and smirk into the kiss when you feel that he’s already starting to harden against your stomach.

His phone buzzes a few moments later and he nudges his nose against yours before he pulls his phone out and looks up, “Uber is here.” He says and looks out for the Toyota Camry. He reluctantly lets you go and takes your hand to guide you over to the car. He checks the plate before he opens the door and the driver says “Marcus?” Your drink buddy says yes as he slides in beside you in the back seat and shuts the door. The driver nods and pulls away from the bar while Marcus rests his hand on your thigh. “You know…I don’t usually do this. I’m more of a relationship kind of guy but you…you make me wanna be spontaneous.”

“Don’t worry, I’m not judging you.” You promise, smiling at him, “honestly? I don’t do this often either. But I think that tonight, we need this. Both of us.” You lean in and nip the edge of his jaw. “And what’s that old saying? To get over someone you need to get under someone new? I’ll ride you and make that reality.” You whisper in his ear before you lick the shell playfully.

He groans, squeezing your thigh and he turns his head so he can kiss you. His tongue slides into your mouth again and his free hand cups your cheek. He doesn’t care that this might affect his 5.0 Uber rating when you feel so good.

You spend the rest of the ride kissing Marcus. Neither one of you starts groping, that would be too much, but the kisses are passionate and promising so much more to come. When the Uber slows down, you pull away reluctantly. “We’re here?” You ask breathlessly, eager to be at your destination.

Marcus pecks your lips, loving the look on your face as he thanks the driver and mentally makes a note to tip the man a little more as he opens the car door and holds his hand out to help you out. “We’re here.” Marcus says, looking up at the townhouse he bought with Teresa in mind. He fumbles for his keys in his pocket and guides you to the steps to the front door.

“Oh this is lovely.” For a townhouse, the place is quite spacious. It reminds you of the old Brownstones in New York. “You must have gotten a hell of a deal. I’ve been looking for a place for forever.” You tell him, setting your purse down. “Reason four hundred and fifty-five that your ex is an idiot.”

Marcus chuckles as he takes his shoes off near the door and locks it behind you when you are in his hallway. “Four hundred reasons so far?” He teases and you take off your shoes to leave them next to his. He looks down at that for a second and his heart aches, knowing they will be there for tonight but he wants to have someone’s shoes next to his for the rest of his life. “You want a drink?” He asks, walking ahead into his living room with the open plan kitchen. This place was a hell of a deal. A tip off from a coworker living in D.C whose friend was thinking about selling so he got the place before it even hit the market.

“Whatever you are having.” You don’t miss the way his face falls for a second and you follow him. “Tonight I’m completely open to whatever you want to do.” You grin when he looks back at you. “Charades, using your handcuffs. I’m assuming you have handcuffs?” You waggle your brow. “I’m down for whatever.”

He chuckles, “I do have handcuffs.” He pours a glass of wine for you and one for himself, happy to have a glass of Chardonnay. He hands you the glass after you sit down on his sofa and he takes a sip once he’s sat beside you. He’s still half hard and he watches you for a second. “Anyone ever told you you have gorgeous hands?” He asks, his eyes dropping to your fingers wrapped around your glass.

That’s a new one for you and for a moment, you pull your hand away so you can look at your hand and the glass. “I can’t say that I have.” You admit, smirking slightly as you take a sip of your wine. “Want to see them around your cock?” You ask, reaching over and sliding your hand up his thigh. 

Your hand on his thigh makes his cock twitch in his pants and he groans softly, leaning over to take the glass from your hand and he sets the glasses down on his coffee table. Turning back towards you, he reaches for your hand to place it higher on his thigh as he cups your cheek to press his lips to yours.

There’s always that little fluttering of anticipation in the beginning, swirling in your stomach and turning into slick between your thighs. Kissing him back, you slide your hand up to cup his hardening cock through the slacks of his suit and moan when you feel him twitch and thicken even more. He’s got a great cock, you can just tell. You manage to grip him through the material and squeeze before moving to his belt buckle. He’s gotten dumped and feels down, and you know that a blowjob would make him feel better.

He moans into your mouth when you fumble with the buckle of his belt and he pulls back, eager to help as he reaches down to undo it and you grin, “eager?” He chuckles, “you have no idea.” He is excited by you, by the way you touch him and he wants more. When you unbutton his pans and pull the zipper down, his groan is muffled against your jaw when you reach in to grip his cock. “Fuck.” He hisses as you pull him out and he loves how hot your hand is around him.

“Holy shit.” Your eyes widen and you look down at the thick length that is already red and leaking around the head. “Her new boy toy has to be hung like a fucking buffalo.” You snort, shaking your head and looking back up at him. “Reason four fifty-six.” You hum before you lean in to kiss him roughly as you slide off the couch to and to your knees between his spread thighs.

He watches you with rapture, unable to push you away when you look so hot on your knees between his spread thighs. His cheeks are flushed and he watches as you take him into your hand again. “Fuck. You look so pretty like this.” He compliments breathlessly, his hands turning into fists when you lean closer.

You hum in delight and start to slowly pump his cock. Kissing the tip before you run the flat of your tongue over it. Groaning at the salty taste of his precum. Dragging your tongue around the perfectly cut head and looking up at him as you start to take him into your mouth.

Marcus tilts his head back slightly, groaning your name as you take him deeper and he closes his eyes before he decides he wants to watch you. He rolls his head back to rest his chin on his chest as he watches you, your eyelashes fluttering as your mouth engulfs his length.

Especially the first time you blow a guy, you want it to be good. Nice and wet and slow as you take him deeper and swallow around the head. Marcus looks completely enthralled and almost starry eyed, making you wonder when the last time his ex had sucked his cock. You’ve always enjoyed it, it turns you on, and you can’t imagine he’s the type of man that never reciprocates.

“Jesus.” He hisses as you swallow around him and he reaches out to caress your cheek. “You’re so fucking gorgeous.” He coos, complimenting you as you suck his cock like you love it. “You like having my dick in your throat?” He asks, his voice raspy with arousal and his cock twitches when you moan around him.

Fuck, his voice goes straight to your pussy and you imagine how he would sound while he’s buried deep inside you. You shift to cradle his balls in your hand gently while you start to bob your head up and down on his length.

Marcus hisses, his fingers curling around the edge of the sofa as you start a pace that has his toes curling against the rug. It’s so good. Teresa never gave him a blowjob. Said it wasn’t her favorite thing and he never pushed her to do it but you seem to love it. “Fuck. Fuck. Oh shit.” He gasps, feeling his balls tightening in your grip as you roll them in your fingers.

He’s about to cum. You can tell and you hum around him, encouraging him to cum down your throat. Sucking a little harder and swallowing around him, you keep your eyes on his wrecked face.

"Jesus Christtttt." He hisses before he falls over the edge. His cock twitches in your throat before he starts to spurt hot seed into your mouth and you swallow around him. His groan is wrecked as he squeezes his eyes shut and nearly rips the sofa cushion.

You swallow him down, trying to keep any of it from spilling out of the corners of your mouth. Working him until he is slumped down into the couch with a soft moan. Only then do you finally let up, pulling off him with a small pop and smiling as he gives a huge sigh.

He inhales deeply, feeling like he’s outside of his body, until he opens his eyes and looks down at you. You have a cocky grin on your face and he growls, suddenly desperate to touch and taste you. “Strip down. Now.” He demands, wanting to see you.

You lift your brow at the command in his voice, finding it sexy and you push off your knees to do just that. Since you had gone out tonight, you had decided on a dress and now reach behind you to unzip it. “Everything?” You ask, happy you had worn sexier undergarments than usual as your dress falls to the floor and you step out of it, revealing your lacy bra and matching panties.

He groans at the sight of the lacy bra and panties, leaning closer as he unbuttons his shirt after pulling his tie from his collar. “You expecting to be going home with someone?” He teases as he shrugs his shirt off and he stands to shove his pants and briefs down his legs so he’s standing naked before you.

“Not really.” You admit with a smirk. “But I wanted to feel sexy.” Your eyes slide up and down his body and you lick your lips. “Fuck, you are handsome.” Reaching behind you, you unclip your bra and toss it down on the floor. “Where’s your bed, handsome? I want you to fuck me in it.”

He reaches for you to drag you against him, his lips pressing to yours as he slides his tongue along your lower lip, loving the way your breasts feel against his chest. His hands slide down to your ass as he guides you to the stairs that lead to the bedrooms in the townhouse. “Upstairs and to the left.” He says when he pulls back, wanting to watch you walk up his stairs.

You smirk over your shoulder, knowing he’s watching you and when you turn back to watch where you are going, you wiggle your ass at him playfully. “Come and get me, g-man.” You tease, starting to rush to get to his bed. This is the most fun you’ve had in a long time.

He growls, gripping the bannister as he makes his way up to his bedroom to find you sprawled out on his bed, a cheeky smirk on your face. He chuckles and strides over to the bed, grabbing your ankle to pull you down to the edge and he leans over you to take your nipple into his mouth, his other hand squeezing your breast.

“Oh fuck, Marcus.” You moan softly, closing your eyes as your fingers dig into his hair. “That feels so good baby.” You whimper. “Bite it.” You don’t mind it being a little rougher and you want to see what this man can do to you.

He follows your demand, biting down on your nipple, his other hand pinching your other nipple and he loves the way you cry out his name. He cups both breasts and alternates his mouth between them, loving the way you throw your head back.

Marcus apparently loves to lavish attention on his partners and you are enjoying it. Your legs pull back, feet propped up on the edge of the bed and you roll your hips up wantonly. “Fuck. Shit, I love having my tits played with.” You admit breathlessly.

He groans and lets go of your nipple, deciding to kiss down your body until he’s kneeling at the foot of the bed, his fingers digging into your thighs as he drags you down until your pussy is in his face. He kisses your inner thigh, loving the way you whine and he chuckles, his hot breath washing over you until he’s sliding his tongue through your folds.

“Yesssss.” You moan, eyes rolling back from the feeling of his tongue carving a path through your core. “God, I-“ his tongue flicks over your clit and your body shivers. “You’re good, Mr. FBI. Fuck, you are goddamn amazing.” You whine, pushing your hips down and begging for more. He’s just as eager to lick your pussy as you had been to suck his cock and your folds are soaked slick with arousal.

He pushes your thighs further back, eyes closed as he flicks his tongue over your clit and groans when your fingers tangle in his hair. He wants to hear you cum. Wants to feel you cum on his tongue so he pushes his tongue deep into your pussy, his nose pressed against your clit.

You keen in pleasure and look down to see him between your thighs. His eyes seem to be smirking when he opens them, well aware of what he is capable of and how he is going to take you apart. Some ego coming out and you find this just as sexy as everything else about this man. “So good, baby.” You praise in pants. “So good, oh fuck!”

Your praise makes his cock harden and he laps at you, shaking his head back and forth as his hands explore your flesh. He laps at your clit and slides one hand up to squeeze your breast, pinching your nipple.

You groan in pleasure and bite your lip. Tugging on his hair sharp enough to make him hiss and it makes him double down on his efforts to make you cum. “Oh fuck, I’m so close.”

He hisses into your flesh as you tug on his hair and he loves it. Groaning, he pinches your nipple again and sucks on your clit, loving the whine you give him in response and he knows you’re so close.

Your core twists in pleasure and you are making these little sounds that come out when you are about to cum. “Marc-“ you gasp out, right before your entire body lurches at the next flick of his tongue. “Marcus!”

He smirks against your flesh at the way you cry his name and he flicks his tongue, working you through it as his hands caress your body, his cock now hard and pressing into the foot of his bed.

You moan, your thighs tightening around his head and you jerk your hips away when it becomes too much. “Fuck- fuck baby, come here.” You beg, desperate to kiss him again.

“Do we, fuck, need a condom?” He asks you, feeling desperate to be inside you. He’s aching again despite you making him cum earlier and he hasn’t felt this passionate during sex for a long time.

Normally you insist on it, but right now the idea of feeling him hot and bare inside you is intoxicating. Not smart considering he’s just out of a relationship with someone who might have been sleeping with someone else. You aren’t thinking about that right now though. “I’m safe.” You promise, reminding yourself to take your birth control in the morning.

He should be sensible but there’s something about you that has him throwing caution to the wind. He nods, trusting you even though he doesn’t know anything about you except how you taste and sound. He grabs you, lifting you up the bed to place your head on his pillows before he kneels between your legs. His cock in his hand as he strokes himself while he looks down at you. “You’re so beautiful.” He murmurs as he shuffles closer to slide his cock through your soaked folds.

“So are you.” You promise, looking up at him and spreading your legs wider. Propping them on his hips as he moves to hover over you. “Fuck me, Marcus.” You beg.

How can he deny you when you beg him? He groans as he notches his cock at your entrance and starts to slowly push into you. Shifting to press his body into you while keeping his weight on his elbows, he hisses when your hot velvet walls engulf him.

His cock feels even better than his tongue. Your head pressed back into the pillow, you moan his name as he breaks you open. Sliding silkily inside you and scrubbing wonderfully against your walls as he bottoms out. “Fuck.” You gasp out. “This cock- fuck, baby, you could win awards with it.”

He blushes as he looks down at you, his lip caught between his teeth until you press your lips to his. “You are  - you feel fucking perfect.” He groans against your lips, “so tight.” He moans as he starts to rock his hips, his pace sedate to allow you to get used to him.

“Everyone had to be tight to you.” You huff, turning and kissing along his jaw. “But you’re so deep inside me. Later I want to feel you in my guts.” You whisper and lick his sweat slick skin, tasting the salt there.

He groans as rocks his hips a little harder, pushing deep inside you, and he turns his head to press his lips to yours, his tongue sliding into your mouth and it’s messy but the hottest kiss he’s ever had as you wrap your legs around his hips.

You don’t let him do all the work, rolling your hips up to meet him. Using your legs to push him down into you. Telling him exactly how good it feels every time you whimper and moan into the kiss. He fucks like a god and if it wouldn’t hurt him, you would remind him exactly how stupid this woman is to have left him. Instead, you just try to show him how eager you are for him to be pounding into you.

Marcus groans, rocking into you, and his mind is clouded by you. How you feel. How you sound. How you smell. He’s overwhelmed in the best way and he pulls out of you after a moment, making you whine. He shifts to lay down beside you, dragging your body back against his, and he grabs your leg to lift it over his hip. He grips his cock when your leg is hooked over his and positions himself back at your cunt, pushing into you in one swift movement.

“Fuck.” Your eyes roll back, grabbing onto his arm around you. He’s deeper in his position . He likes to change things up and not just keep to one position. “Marcus.” You reach down and push in on your stomach, feeling him move inside you. “Fuck- that’s- holy shit you’re so deep.” You whimper, loving how the pace has changed, gotten rougher.

He lifts his leg as he thrusts into you, harder and  faster than before, his skin slapping against yours and he grabs your leg, wrapping his arm around it to keep it lifted so he can look down and see where he’s disappearing inside your tight cunt. “Feel - feel so good. Taking what I give you.” He grunts, his jaw clenched as he watches his cock push into you.

That cocky confidence he is displaying is fucking sexy. You moan in agreement, panting slightly as he pushes into you again and again. Scrubbing against your walls and making that tension coil inside you and your head rolls back to lean against his shoulder.

He lets go of your leg and slides his hand up to squeeze your breast, pinching your nipple as he rocks into you. You moan and your head lolls against his shoulder as you take his cock, and he knows what you need. He slides his hand down to your clit, rubbing circles there and he chuckles when your walls flutter around him. “That what you needed baby?” He asks, voice rough and raspy.

“Fuck yes.” You roll your hips into his touch and shudder in pleasure. He knows how to touch a woman, apparently aware that not all women cum from just a cock ramming into them. “Fuck, you- you’re gonna make me cum, baby.” You babble. “So good, I’m gonna cum all over you.”

“Do it.” He demands, “I wanna feel it. Wanna hear you.” He rubs your clit a little harder and you whine, arching your back into his chest, and he loves it. “That’s it. Cum for me, baby.” He murmurs, kissing your shoulder.

It doesn’t take many more thrusts for you to do just that. Stiffening in his arms, you cry out his name while your cunt clenches down around him, soaking his cock in your juices. “Marcus! Fuck- fuck baby!”

He groans at how tight you grip him, how wet you are when you gush around him. His chest tightens and he works you through it with a hiss when you squeeze him so tight he can hardly keep moving inside you. “Oh shit.” You pant and he growls, moving again without pulling out of you. He rolls you onto your stomach and straddles your thighs, his hands caressing your ass as he starts to move again.

“Fuck me.” You beg, pushing your ass up as much as you can with him pinning you down. “Destroy me. Fuck, I want to feel how hard you can fuck me.” You beg, wanting him to just lose control and take what he needs from your pussy. “Use me. Fuck, Marcus. Move baby, please, you feel so good.”

Your words make his mind cloud with lust and he responds by slapping your ass. Your squeal makes him grin and he rocks his hips harder than before. His eyes rolling into the back of his head at how tight you are in this position. The headboard bangs against the wall and he grabs your ass cheeks, spreading them to watch how he disappears inside you.

Your whines are getting louder, punched out of you by every thrust of his cock. His grunts behind you are sexy, passionate as he rocks into you and you wish that you could see what he looks like right now. “Fuck- more-“ you whimper, reaching up and grabbing the headboard. “More, baby.”

He grunts, bracing his knees as he fucks you hard and fast. Your ass jiggles with each move and he grabs onto the flesh, keeping him grounded as he fucks into you like it’s the last thing he will do. He wants you to cum again for him before he cums.

The way he spears into you makes you squeal. The angle surprises you into another orgasm that makes your toes curl and you scream his name this time, another torrent of your juices coating him while your walls pulse around him.

You cum so unexpectedly and that makes Marcus groan, working you through it and the room fills with a squelching noise until you are boneless beneath him. He pulls out of you and shifts to lean back against his headboard, “come ride me, baby. Wanna see you.” He demands, slapping his thigh and his cock is dripping with your juices, still hard and almost a violent purple from how pent up he is.

You moan and wrap your hand around that thick cock, twisting around to suck on the tip for a second and not caring about your juices on him. Marcus groans your name and you quickly shift to straddle his thighs and lean forward to sink down onto his cock. “This what you need, baby?” You coo breathlessly. “You need to see my tits bounce while I ride your cock?”

He nods, reaching out to cup your tits, and he leans in to take a nipple into his mouth. He groans when you start to rock on top of him and he loves it. You’re so beautiful and he can’t believe you came home with him.

Your arms are around his shoulder, holding him to your breast as you rock on top of him. Grinding his cock deep inside you and then pulling off to bounce back down on it. It’s perfect and sexy, wonderful and erotic all at the same time as your finger curl into his hair and you tug on it. “Yes baby, fuck, suck on my tits while I ride this amazing cock.”

He bites down on your nipple, making you squeal, and he chuckles against your flesh as you rock on top of him. He only had a few beers but he feels drunk on you, on your perfume, on your pussy. He hisses when you tuck his hair and pull his head back so you can press your lips to his.

This kiss is sloppier, wetter than before. Hungry for each other as you kiss. His arms wind around you and pull tight, wanting you close and you can’t believe that woman gave up this man for anyone. Your walls are pulsing around him and you purposely squeeze him tighter as you ride him.

He groans into your mouth, cupping the back of your neck while his other hand slides down to squeeze your ass cheek. "You got one more for me?" He asks, sliding his hand around to rub your clit, wanting to watch you cum.

“God- you’re - insatiable.” You pant into his mouth, eyes rolling back when he rubs just right against the bundle of nerves and his happy trail is grinding against your lips. “Fuck- I’m gonna keep you.” You giggle, tightening up in his arms as another wave of pleasure threatens to wash over you again.

Secretly he hopes you'll agree to a date when you wake up in the morning and he continues to rub your clit. It doesn't take long for you to fall apart for him again, collapsing into his chest and he groans. He wraps his arms around your body, allowing himself to let go as he thrusts up into you, his cock twitching violently inside you as he gets closer.

“Cum for me.” You pant into his neck, kissing his pulse and then up his jaw. “Cum for me. I want to see it. You’re so fucking gorgeous when you cum.” You’ve only seen it once when he was cumming down your throat, but you want to see him in all his orgasmic glory as he fills you up. Your teeth nip his jaw. “Cum, baby.”

He groans, eyes squeezing shut as he follows your order and fills you up. He hisses as he pushes deep into you and starts to paint your walls with his hot seed. Your name choked out as he twitches and his fingers dig into your flesh.

You pet and coo at him as he rides out his orgasm. Watching his face twist in pleasure, you plant kiss after kiss on his lips. He deserves it for making you cum three times. “You’re so good Marcus.” You moan softly.

He calms down but his heart is still racing as you caress his cheek and he slides his hands along your back. "Jesus." He murmurs, unable to remember the last time he had sex like that. You brought something out of him he's never experienced before. "You are incredible." He murmurs, kissing you softly.

“Me?” You scoff quietly and grin against his lips. “I don’t know if I’ve ever cum three times before.” You admit, kissing him again. “Ten out of ten, would recommend this ride.” You tease and playfully clench down around his softening cock still inside you.

He smiles and nudges his nose against yours. “You hungry?” He asks, “I can order a pizza or order you an Uber. Whatever you want to do. You can go or you can stay.” He offers, wanting to be considerate to you.

“Perfect.” You moan, rolling your eyes. “You’re fucking perfect. Now I need to see your closet for those dead bodies.” You joke, winking at him playfully.

He chuckles, "go check. I'll order the pizza and get you the wine we left downstairs." He says as he pulls a pair of briefs from his dresser and makes his way downstairs to find his phone and allow you a moment.

You left your panties downstairs so you walk into the bathroom to use it. His house is stylish and tastefully done, although it is masculine. He really is a wonderful catch.

He orders the pizza on his phone and he realizes your clothes are downstairs so he takes them upstairs to you. “You can borrow one of my shirts if you want.” He says, knowing that your dress is pretty but not that comfortable for laying around in.

“Do you mind?” You don’t wait for an answer, just opening his closet and you chuckle when you see boxes still needing to be unpacked. “I’m going to borrow this!” You tell him, bringing out a large, comfortable looking sweater.

He nods and pulls on a pair of sleep pants and he hands you your glass of wine from earlier. He slides onto the bed and watches as you tuck your legs under you after you put his sweater on.

“So how are you feeling now?” You ask curiously, watching as he leans back and you notice the book he has sitting on the nightstand on presumably his side of the bed.

“I feel…good. Not totally over all the shit I’ve been through but you definitely helped.” He offers you a smile and you chuckle, “a good orgasm definitely helps.” He smirks and takes a sip of wine, “how was it?” He asks, biting his lip, and he’s a little curious because he just got dumped for another man.

Normally, a man wanting you to rate his performance would annoy you, most just wanting the praise. This man wants to know that he’s not lacking. “She’s fucking crazy.” You shake your head. “You are charming, sweet, handsome and fuck like that?” You snort. “She should have been running to Vegas to put a ring on it, baby. That was-“ you hum. “I’m going to feel you tomorrow and even when the ache disappears, it’s gonna be a long goddamn time before I forget tonight.”

His answering grin makes you giggle and he’s relieved that you think he did a good job. It’s obvious that you aren’t lying and he smirks to himself a moment later, “I’m glad you enjoyed it. I definitely did. You- you’re gorgeous.” He compliments you, “and I’m lucky you came home with me.”

“I’m lucky you asked.” You admit with a small shrug and a smug smile. “I was going to have a couple of glasses of wine and probably go home to use my vibrator.” You wiggle your toes and stretch. “This was much better. And now I even get pizza.”

He chuckles and checks his phone for where the pizza is. “It’s on its way.” He promises and reaches for the Tv remote, “I’ve been watching this series…Narcos? Have you heard of it?” He asks, curious if you want to chill and watch TV with him instead of rushing off.

Your grin is wide and you nod. “Yeah, I fucking love it.” Your brows pinch together and you tilt your head as you examine him again. “You know….you kind of look like him.” You tell him as he pulls up the show. “The guy who plays Peña. Hair’s darker, and he has that porn star mustache, but you could be his brother.”

Marcus scoffs, "even I can tell he's hotter than me. Maybe I could grow a mustache." He teases, rubbing his chin, then he works on getting the show on the TV he installed in his bedroom.

“I don’t know…..” you set your wine glass down and straddle his thighs and run your hands down his chest. “He’s an actor, playing a DEA agent.” You lean in and kiss his jaw. “You’re a real FBI agent.” Your hand slides down to cup his soft cock. “And I bet your cock is better.”

He groans, turning his head to kiss your lips. He cups your cheek while one hand slides down to squeeze your ass through his sweater. “Where have you been my whole life?” He asks, “you’re so amazing.” He kisses you again, unable to believe how good this feels when you met in a bar hours ago.

You hum, leaning into the kiss and you would deepen it if it weren’t for the doorbell ringing downstairs. “Oops.” You giggle, kissing him one last time before climbing off of him to let him go get the pizza. “Do you eat in bed, or should we go downstairs?”

“Fuck it. Let’s eat in bed. You stay here and I’ll go get it.” He says, pecking your lips before bouncing off the bed and down the stairs to get the pizza. He’s back moments later with plates and paper towel, setting the pizza down on the comforter. “So, now are you gonna tell me how you’re single?” He asks once you’ve gotten a slice.

“It’s not a very interesting story.” You warn him before you take a bite of your pizza. “My last boyfriend cheated on me, I dumped his ass and decided to say fuck it, I would stay single for awhile.” You roll your eyes. “My friends keep trying to get me to go to some online dating site, but I don’t like those things, it’s so impersonal.” 

He nods in agreement after taking a bite of pizza, “you can’t tell chemistry through an app.” He says and shakes his head, “your ex is a fucking idiot. I hate cheaters. Just have the balls to tell someone you don’t want to be with them instead of cheating and lying behind their back.”

“Thank you.” You roll your eyes and huff. “How is that so hard? I find people attractive all the time, but I don’t have to sleep with them.” You take another bite of your pizza and smirk. “Unless his name is Marcus Pike. I think I’ll name you my Hall Pass.” You tease and shoot him a wink.

He blushes, loving how you have enjoyed your time with him, and he swallows his bite. “Do you want to go on a date with me? Like, dinner?” He asks, flustered but eager to spend more time with you.

Your brow lifts and part of you wonders if this might be a bad idea. He’s rebounding, you should encourage him to be by himself for a bit. But you honestly like him. “That sounds like a hard thing to do.” You admit, taking another bite of your pizza and talking around it. “How the hell are you going to top eating pizza in bed on a dinner date?”

Marcus chuckles, “you’d be surprised. I can be pretty damn inventive.” He promises, reminded of all the first dates he's been on including those with his first wife and Teresa. “Is that a yes?” He asks, biting his lip in anticipation.

“That’s a yes.” You agree, enjoying the boyish grin that lights up his face when you say you will go out with him.

Marcus grins, “it’s a date.” He declares then takes another bite of his pizza while Narcos plays in the background. After Teresa left him high and dry, he wasn’t sure if he’d ever feel confident in himself but you’ve given him so much tonight. He’s excited to take you out. After you finish eating, he takes the plates and box down to the kitchen and offers you a new toothbrush. “I always keep spares. For me.” He clarifies, not wanting you to think he hooks up with a lot of people.

“Very responsible.” You tease, leaning in and giving him a kiss. “I have about ten under my own sink. Buy them on sale and then I’ve got them to change out and if someone crashes.” You shrug. “My friends. Not hookups. Did you know you are actually supposed to change your toothbrush out every six months? I change mine every three.”

Marcus shakes his head, “I gotta be honest, I just change it when it looks like it needs to be changed.” He confesses with a slight blush and opens his bathroom door. You both brush your teeth in silence, watching each other in the mirror and to Marcus, it’s crazy how easy this feels. He washes his face and leaves you to finish up while he prepares the bed. He has one single decorative pillow that came with the set so he tosses that onto the chair in the corner. When you appear, he pulls the duvet back and pats the space next to him. “Come on.” He orders playfully and he leans over to turn off the lamp when you’re under the sheets. He sighs and shuffles closer when he’s in bed, holding his arm open in a silent invitation and he smiles when you snuggle into his side. “Goodnight sweetheart.” He murmurs, kissing your hair and you smile against his chest, “night, handsome.” He falls asleep with a smile on his face. Maybe things happen for a reason.

****

Checking the time on your phone, you sigh. The morning had been rushed, both of you oversleeping and you had decided to just meet at the bar tonight for your date. You don’t even have his number but maybe that’s a good thing. You’ve been stood up. Finishing the rest of your wine, you stand up and sign the bill before sticking your credit card back in your purse. Marcus Pike had apparently changed his mind about dinner and right now, you don’t know if you’re angry or hurt. All you know is that you are going home.

To say he’s frustrated is an understatement. Marcus went into work with the biggest smile on his face, eager to see you back at the bar, when he was called in and told he’s going undercover. “You’re the only person who knows this kind of network.” His boss had told him about the artwork the mafia was transporting. “The assignment will be for as long as it takes. They have been using the artwork as a cover for drugs and arms. We need to find out the source. You’ll go dark until you uncover it all.” He orders and Marcus frowns, “when am I going in?” He asks, thinking he will be told a few days but he hears, “you’ll be taken to a briefing room and given all the details and then you’re in.” Marcus shakes his head, “but I have plans tonight.” His boss says, “cancel them. From now on, you’re Mario Russell.” Marcus swallows harshly, cursing himself for not getting your number so he can message you. He doesn’t know how long he will be undercover. He’s missing his chance with you and there’s nothing he can do.

Sighing to yourself, you hate that you are still out. Wanting nothing more than to be home in the rapidly too small apartment in comfortable clothes and not wearing a bra, you push the shopping cart through the store and groan at the smell coming from the deli. You need the hot wings, even though you will pay for them later.

Marcus feels like everything is a blur as he’s given the details on his assignment, handed his new paperwork and license and memorized everything about the man he is pretending to be. It’s been a whirlwind and he’s sitting in a van, waiting to meet the man who will employ him to assist with transporting the artwork illegally. His contact, a fellow undercover op, is making the introduction and Marcus can only think about you. He hopes you don’t hate him for not showing up. He was allowed to go home for an hour to sort his place out for his departure and he had swung by the bar to leave a note for you with an explanation. He hopes you got it.

****

“Hi, uh, I’m sorry.” It’s been two months since you’ve heard from Marcus and you need to talk to him. You’ve gone to his townhouse, but he’s not home and you’ve left notes. Now you are pretty desperate and thought it would be a good idea to call the FBI. It wasn’t, but you need to talk to him. “I’m looking to talk to an Agent Marcus Pike.” You are nervous, but you manage to keep your voice steady. “In the art? Department? Art crimes? Art something?” You sound like an idiot, but you don’t have much more to give the operator that answered.

“I’ll put you through to someone who can help you.” She says and the phone beeps before music plays while you’re redirected. “Art Crime Division.” The receptionist answers and you gasp, “yes. Hi. I need to speak with Agent Marcus Pike.” You say and she looks through her notes to show Marcus is out of office. “He’s not in office at the moment. Can I take a message?”

You sigh, closing your eyes and nearly about to cry. “Yeah uh, if you could have him call me.” You give the receptionist your name and telephone number. “It’s really important.” You stress.

“Sure. I’ll leave a note for him to call you.” She takes your name and number and hangs up, looking over at the empty office for Agent Pike. The office that has been empty for 2 months.

More time passes. You had left one more message before you had given up. They wouldn’t tell you anything when you called the second time too, just that they would pass the message and you got the hint. It hurt, but you had known that it should have just been a one time thing when you went home with him.

Marcus sighs as he sits in the van. Another exchange. Another night he pretends to be someone he’s not. The target believes he is who he says he is. There’s no risk of exposure, but he’s growing tired of being undercover. It’s been 4 months and his beard is itching. His eyes widen when he gets out of the van after the truck shows up and the man he is looking for arrives. “I want the money first.” He demands and Marcus presses the phone in his pocket, calling his pre-programmed number to bring in backup. The asshole boss that’s put Marcus through the wringer argues about the money for several moments until cars screech into the parking lot. Marcus had managed to get a message back to the office that he was potentially meeting the target and his backup has arrived. The target tries to run but he’s caught and Marcus holds his hands up, acting pissed that he’s getting arrested even though he will be released as soon as he’s away from the scene. He looks over at the assholes in handcuffs and realizes it’s over. Finally, he can go home.

Life has gone on, you are touring new apartments, trying to forget why you need that extra space but it’s hard when you are showing now. That one night with Marcus had resulted in a very unexpected pregnancy and you haven’t heard from him. You stroke your stomach as you look around the apartment you were viewing. It’s a good size but it’s in a horrible neighborhood and it’s just outside of your budget. “No, I’m sorry.” You shake your head and give an apologetic smile. “This isn’t the one for me.” You explain to the agent.

It’s difficult for Marcus to return back to reality. He went back to Texas to see his family and give his final report and that’s when he saw Teresa and Jane. He got closure knowing that he deserved better and he’s glad she didn’t come to D.C. The night he met you - God he still thinks about it - put everything into perspective and he realized he was never friends with Teresa, he never truly knew her. Returning to D.C, he settles back into his home and the first night back, he remembers the note he left behind the bar with his number. You never called him. His phone was given back and he didn’t have any missed calls from an unknown number apart from spam calls that went straight to the tone when he called them back hoping it was you. He doesn’t allow himself to dwell on things. It wasn’t meant to be. Maybe he will see you again one day. Just as he has that thought, his doorbell rings and he frowns, making his way to the front door to see who it is.

Standing on his doorstep is probably stupid, but you had driven by the townhouse you had spent the night in months ago. Honestly still a little jealous of the room and the potential for a family when you are struggling to find a place so that your baby doesn’t have a closet for a nursery. You had seen the lights on and now you are angry. Angry that he’s been ignoring your messages and leaving you to deal with this. He doesn’t owe you anything, but it would be fucking nice if the father of your baby knew you are pregnant.

Marcus opens the front door and his jaw drops when he sees you standing there. “Oh my God. It’s you. I- holy shit.” His grin is wide, so happy that you came back and he’s so excited to see you until his eyes drop down and they widen at the sight of your belly. “Holy shit.” He repeats with a gasp.

You snort, thrown off guard by his unbridled happiness at seeing you until the shock of your belly breaks through that grin. “Surprise.” You manage to keep the sarcasm out of your tone, but just barely.

He is shocked but he knows you wouldn’t be standing on his doorstep if it wasn’t his baby. He only knew you for one night but he didn’t get the sense that you’re the kind of woman to pass off another man’s baby as his. “You’re pregnant.” He chokes and his eyes drift up to find yours again. “I- shit- why - how - I left a note at the bar for you.” He spits out, his head whirling.

“I didn’t get it.” You don’t know if that’s a cover, but you hadn’t gotten the sense that Marcus Pike lies a lot. It was why you had been so upset. “Um- I- this was a bad idea.” You admit with a sigh. “I was all prepared to rip you a new asshole and it seems like whatever happened, you didn’t get my messages.”

He shakes his head and reaches for you before he thinks better of it and lowers his hand. “You’ve been trying to reach me?” He asks and you nod. He curses under his breath, “I know you won’t believe me but I’ve been undercover. I- shit. I didn’t even have my phone. I was involved with the mafia so I went dark.”

“Undercover…..” His hair is longer and there is some scruff on his cheeks that wasn’t there when he had taken you home. “For nearly six months?”

He nods, “bastards were tricky to lock down and we couldn’t afford to risk going too early and the whole op was ruined. I- I’m so sorry. I just got back. Today. They arrested them in the early hours.” He confesses and his eyes drop down to your stomach again, “and I - wow. You really have that glow.”

“Look- I don’t-“ you sigh softly, at a loss for what to do now. “Can I come in and we talk?” You ask, feeling a little vulnerable out here on his front step. “Unless…”

He shakes his head, "come in." He steps aside and you walk past him while he shuts the door behind you. His heart is pounding and he can't believe this is happening but he's not upset. Freaking out but not angry. "You must hate me. Thinking I got you pregnant and ghosted. You, uh, want some water?" He asks, wanting a whiskey but that would be rude.

“Sure.” You huff out a small laugh. “I would really love a drink, but that isn’t possible right now.” Your hand rests on your little bump. “Although you look like you need one.” You admit as you follow him into the townhouse. “So- uh, the baby is yours. If you want, we can do an in utero paternity test in about three weeks.” You offer. You don’t expect him to just accept your word for this. “And I’m sorry, I guess that two percent caught us with our pants down. Literally.” You snort.

Marcus shakes his head, “this isn’t your fault. I know - we were both there and I said it was okay. Accidents happen and we are both adults. You’re six months along. Did you - did you consider…?” He doesn’t know how to word it without it sounding like he wishes you had gotten an abortion but he wonders why you kept a baby you conceived with a virtual stranger.

“No.” You shake your head and swallow harshly. “I’m, uh- I’ve been told since I was younger that my chances to have a baby were going to be slim.” You shrug and rub your hand over your stomach again. “I couldn’t imagine terminating. Even if it’s not the best case scenario.” You look up at him, “and if you don’t want to be involved, I’m not going to expect anything. I just….wanted you to know.”

He nods in understanding and your face falls, “I want to be involved. This is our child. I’m so sorry I haven’t been here but I’m here now and I’m going to be their father. We can figure everything out.” He promises as he pours two glasses of water and hands one to you. “Have you got everything you need? I want to pay for it. Crib. Stroller. It’s - I have missed so much already.”

You shake your head. “Right now, I’m just having a hard time finding an apartment.” You admit. “The market sucks and I live in a one bedroom that is tiny.” You take a sip of the water.

Marcus frowns, not liking that. “Move in here.” He offers after a moment, not wanting you to have his child living in a one bed or something in a shitty area. He’d never forgive himself and he can’t allow it when he has a perfect home for a child.

You hadn’t come here to beg for a place to live. “Marcus, I can’t do that.” Your eyes widen and you hate yourself for immediately loving the idea. “This is your house.” You remind him. “You don’t want that, you barely know me.”

“It’s my house and it’s too big for just me. I know we barely know each other but I want to change that. I want to be there for our child. Please. Let me - let me be there now. Move in. You can have a room and we can decorate a nursery.”

You shouldn't, you feel like you are taking advantage of him. Biting your lip, you know that this is the best option that you have right now. There is nothing out there that is safe and affordable for you to have your baby live. Plus, it would give Marcus a chance to bond with the baby you will share. "I'll pay rent." You tell him. "That's not up for debate. I won't live off you."

Marcus sighs but nods, knowing he will put the money in an account for the baby. “Do you…did you find out the gender?” He asks, curious because he wants to know how you can decorate the nursery. You don’t have a lot of time to get everything ready.

"My appointment is tomorrow." You admit softly. Glancing at him and seeing the way he keeps looking at your stomach with the gentlest yearning. "Do you want to come? If you can't- I know it's last minute."

He nods without taking a moment to think about it. “I have a couple of weeks off to process after being undercover. They don’t want me back in the office yet so I’m free.” He promises and he can’t believe this is happening but he can’t deny that he’s always wanted to be a dad.

"Okay." You nod. "My appointment is in the morning. They are doing the ultrasound, so I was hoping that I would find out if it's a little boy or a little girl." You bite your lip. "Do you have any preference? Not that it matters, we are going to get what we get."

He shrugs, “I don’t care. As long as they are healthy and safe. I never - I always wanted a child and I can’t believe it’s finally happening.” He confesses and offers you a soft smile. “When does the lease on your place end? We can get your things tomorrow after the appointment if you are ready to move.”

You laugh softly. “I’m month to month.” You admit with a shrug. “I don’t want to put you out though. Do you have furniture in the other rooms? I can pay to store it.” You offer

“Don’t be silly. We can move some things around. I, uh, haven’t really had a chance to furnish everything fully except the living room and my bedroom, a basic guest bed, since I moved in. Don’t really get time to go furniture shopping. Let me organize some movers and we can get your things moved in.” He says, reaching for his phone to start researching. “Just so you know, I don’t have any genetic issues in my family that I know of. We are all pretty healthy.” He says, knowing you have no idea about who he is apart from one night.

“My apartment was furnished.” You sigh softly and shrug. “I just have personal things. So I can buy some furniture.” You smile. “I’ve been saving for all of that, and outfitting a nursery.”

“I planned on a guest bedroom set up, so you don’t need to buy bedroom furniture and for the nursery…I want to buy that.” He says, “let me do something since I haven’t been here for six months.” He pleads softly, “I want to do right by you and our baby.”

You can’t deny him when he is begging to be involved. “If you want, why don’t we go shopping together after the appointment?” You offer quietly. “I took the rest of the day off of work to look at apartments, but I guess I don’t need to now.”

“Good. Yeah. Let’s do that.” He grins and looks back at his phone, “I’ll find a mover that can help us and get you in here.” He smiles, heart thumping, and he’s nervous but the shock is receding. “You hungry?” He asks, knowing he could eat and he wants to care for you.

“I’m always hungry now.” You admit with a small grin. “Can you tell me about your time undercover?” You ask. “I had called and left messages at your office. I thought-“ you shrug. “I just thought you were blowing me off.”

He shakes his head and leans against the counter, “I promise you this isn’t an excuse. I can get my boss to vouch for me. I am newer so I was the only guy for the job as the mafia bosses know our team pretty well here in D.C. they were smuggling painting - rare paintings - out the country stolen from private homes and concealing drugs and guns so I had to go undercover to get involved, figure out their suppliers. The shipment pattern. How they evaded the law. It was…intense. I didn’t hear my real name until I got back to the Hoover building.”

“I believe you.” You admit. He has no reason to lie, he has no reason to do anything for you. Yet he is moving you in and wanting to take responsibility for the child you created together. “I’m not ready to throw something at you anymore.”

Marcus offers you a soft smile, "good. I, uh, I just got back so I don't have any groceries. We can pick up some things tomorrow when we are out. For now, I can order something. You want Chinese food?" He asks, his stomach growling. You groan and he chuckles, handing you his phone, "pick what you want, sweetheart."

You open the app and quickly pick out a meal and hand his phone back to him. “So I guess this isn’t the night that you had expected to have.” You joke. “Welcome home, daddy.”

His stomach twists at hearing that but not in disgust, in excitement. He quickly picks his usual and adds some appetizers before hitting ‘order’. He leans against the counter, "I always dreamed of being a daddy." He confesses and you smirk, making him chuckle, "not like that. I just - most guys want to play the field. Sleep with as many women as possible. I always imagined a family. Settling down."

“And how will your parents feel about you having a child under these circumstances?” You ask, curious about how he had grown up, the relationship he has with his parents. Your own have never seemed to have much of an interest in you. They were just self absorbed and rarely reached out.

Marcus sighs, "they will be surprised but they will support us. They live back in Texas. My dad owns a ranch and always wanted tons of grandkids running around it over the summer. They will be happy to have a grandchild." He nods, "and my mom...she hated my ex. Wanted her head on a spike when she dumped me. She just wants me to be happy and this - this has made me happy."

“You’re happy?” You are pleased to hear it, and grateful. “That’s good to know.” You admit, winching when the baby kicks you. “Quick, give me your hand.” You grab Marcus’s hand and put it over the spot so he can feel the baby. “You feel that?”

His eyes widen as he feels the baby kick against his hand, "oh my God." He chokes, "our baby." He stares at your stomach and his eyes flick up to yours, a grin slowly appearing on his face.

“Our baby.” You murmur, finding him so handsome as he lights up with joy. He really is a good man. “Feeling like they are doing summersaults inside me.” You joke. “And I have to pee all the time.”

He chuckles and caresses your stomach before he pulls his hand away, knowing you probably don't want him touching you for too long. "Don't worry. I am here now for all things baby related." He promises and you nod. The food arrives after you and Marcus settle on his sofa and he asks you about your family.

You shrug. “I’m not close to my parents.” You admit. “They didn’t seem like they wanted kids when I was growing up and after I moved out, I’m like an afterthought.”

Marcus frowns, “I’m sorry. That - some people aren’t built to be parents but I want us to be there for our baby. I’m all in.” He promises as he uses his chopsticks to pick up some noodles.

“It’s their loss.” You have dealt with things as best you could and therapy helps. “I want to be the mom I always wished I had growing up.” Your hand drifts over your stomach again. “And I’m happy you want to be a part of their life.”

He’s pleased to hear you say that. It’s obvious you’ve thought a lot about this baby and he’s glad you’re not just jumping in without thought. He is right now but he knows he will lose sleep tonight going through every scenario. “I’ll be here no matter what.” He promises with a soft smile.

You smile, although you know that he might change his mind. This isn’t fair to either of you and you are practically strangers. “How do you want to raise your children?” You ask curiously. “Are you religious?”

Marcus shakes his head, “not really. I was raised in a Catholic family but my parents never enforced it. I- I believe in God but I wouldn’t force my child to believe unless that’s what they felt they wanted. It’s their decision to be involved in religion. Not my place to force them.” He decides, knowing he thought about this a lot when he worked on a case a few years ago that involved a family who got sucked into a cult.

“Progressive.” You hum in approval. “I like that. I have been studying a lot of different religions, I like to learn about them.” You shrug slightly. “It was never a very big thing in my house, I don’t even know what my parents were.”

He reaches for an egg roll and nods, “so we are on the same page there.” He smiles then takes a bite of the egg roll after dipping it. “So are you- have you seen anyone since you-?” It’s a hard subject to broach but he wants to know what to expect.

“No.” You shake your head. “I felt kind of weird about that.” You admit, taking a bite of your food. “Plus, I never realized how many men had some kind of pregnancy fetish.” You snort. “I’ve been hit on so much since I started showing, but I’ve avoided that.”

Marcus raises his eyebrows, surprised but not entirely at that. You are a gorgeous woman and you are glowing. He has to admit his cock has twitched looking at you in his home. "Me neither. Obviously. I don't - there's no thought about dating. My priority is you and the baby." He promises, not wanting you to think he's going to go out and hook up.

“I don’t expect you to do that.” You protest. “You - I know that this is crazy, but I don’t want you to feel like you owe me anything.” He hadn’t mentioned trying a relationship with you, so you won’t ask for that. Perhaps being co-parents is the best thing.

"I owe you so much." He argues, "I have been missing for six months. I've missed so much and I want to be the best father I can be. I don't need to complicate things by getting into a relationship." He doesn't mention that he still finds you insanely attractive and he isn't sure he can find anyone to match you if he tried.

“Okay, but if you meet your perfect girl, I don’t want you missing the opportunity because of me.” You tell him. “I know how much you’ve been hurt in the past.”

He sighs but doesn't argue any further and he watches you continue eating. You seem to be starving and that makes him frown, wondering if you've been eating enough. "You want to head home or we can go get your things now?" He asks, wanting to see the place you've been living.

“Um-“ you finish your last egg roll with a sigh of happiness. “I guess we could do that.” You make a face. “I have to warn you, it’s a small, dumpy little place. I was saving money to buy a place but then the market went insane.”

Marcus shrugs, trying to act nonchalant and he smiles at you, "don't worry. You won't be there for much longer." He promises and you offer him a smile that makes his stomach twist. After clearing up the food, Marcus drives over to your place, his eyes widen at the shitty neighborhood you live in. He's heard about so many murders and crimes here from his colleagues.

“Yeah.” You huff out an embarrassed laugh when you see his face. “Now you know why I was looking really hard. I’ve not had problems here, thank God, but I wanted somewhere safer for the baby.”

“Yeah.” He nods, “not the best place for a kid.” He admits and he’s heard horror stories. He had spoken with locals about trying to open an activity center but his idea fell flat to the people in charge who don’t give a fuck. When you’re inside your apartment, Marcus frowns even more at how little you have. “Get what you need.” He orders, looking up at the mold by the window and he twists his lips as he places his hands on his hips.

“I haven’t bought much.” You snort, trying to look at this through his eyes. “But I have a lot of money saved up.” You promise, hoping he doesn’t view you as a charity case. “I was hoping to buy everything new when I found a house.” Getting your clothes together takes some time and you ask Marcus to pack up the few kitchen items that are obviously yours from their better condition.

Marcus watches you for a moment before he works on packing up your kitchen items. Most of this can be taken back in his car and he is eager to get you away from this place despite knowing your circumstances.

You stuff your clothes into your luggage, figuring that was the most practical thing and it was a good thing you had a few boxes already to put your toiletries and extra in. Figuring you can just bring the toilet paper over. Now that things are decided, it looks like you won’t spend another night here, which might be a good thing. “I think that I’m mostly packed. I just need to come back tomorrow for the small things, and clean.”

Marcus shakes his head, "I have a friend who owns a cleaning business. We will get her in here and you can relax. You need to put the baby first, sweetheart." He says, knowing it's not good to be around the chemicals, "I'll pay for it." He says without allowing you to argue as he carries your things to his car to load it up.

“I have a feeling this is going to be a regular thing, isn’t it?” You snort, even though you have to admit that it feels wonderful to have someone care about your wellbeing enough to go out of their way for you. “You wanting to pay for everything?”

Marcus nods, a soft smile on his face, "better get used to it, baby. You are carrying our baby. You are gonna be a princess." He promises with a wink and he carries your suitcase downstairs to his car. It doesn't take long to get most of your things in his car and he watches as you lock up and make your way down the stairs to leave your building.

You can feel Marcus hovering behind you, watching to make sure that you don’t fall. It’s sweet and you chuckle quietly when he gets you bundled into the car. “This was not the way I expected the night to go.” You admit with a small sigh as he pulls away.

He slides into the driver's seat after shutting your door, and he frowns, "what did you expect?" He asks, curious about what you thought would happen when you arrived at his home.

“I honestly didn’t expect to see anyone here.” You admit. “I had dropped by a couple of times, but when I saw the lights on, I wasn’t sure what would happen. I was kind of mad until I saw your surprise and happiness when you saw me.”

He nods and sighs, "I never - I wanted to see you again." He promises as he starts the car, "but I got dragged into the op and I barely had time to tell my parents but I put a note behind the bar. I wish you had gotten it." He shakes his head as he puts the car in drive and makes his way through the neighborhood.

“I showed up that night.” You tell him. “I think there might have been some issue with the servers or bartenders or something.” You shrug. “It is in the past. It’s not like you could have contacted me while you were undercover anyway.”

He nods, "yeah, but you would've known that I didn't stand you up." He says and navigates the roads back to his townhouse. "It's been - this year has been a whirlwind for me." He admits with a huff and a shake of his head.

“Engaged, moving to a different state, engagement broken, having an amazing one night stand, going undercover, coming back and finding out you’re having a kid with said one night stand?” You laugh. “Yeah you’ve been having a year.”

"And you. Home shopping in a shit market. Knocked up by a one night stand who ghosted you and left you on your own until he was home one day. I can't even imagine what went through your head when you took the test." He confesses, adjusting his grip on the steering wheel.

“I was shocked.” You admit with a small snort. “I didn’t think I would ever have kids, but I was on birth control to try to help the horrible periods I have with PCOS.” You explain, knowing he will know more about your health than he probably will want to in the coming months. “And we still managed to create this little one.” You look over at him. “Do you want the paternity test now or when the baby is born?” You ask. “I think we should, just so there will never be any question.”

“I don’t need one. I was there. I know what we did and I am a good judge of character after my job description. I feel like I’d know if you’re lying but if you want to do it just in case, that’s fine with me.” He promises, knowing that he won’t deny that he still has a small inkling of doubt but he is pragmatic and knows that it’s highly likely this is his child.

“I want it.” You nod. “I have nothing to hide and would rather everyone know that.” Your worst nightmare would be for his parents to doubt that your child was Marcus’s. “I appreciate your trust in me though.”

“It’s gotten me in trouble before…how trusting I am.” He confesses with a sigh as he pulls onto his street and he turns to look at you, unable to deny how beautiful you are. “You really have that pregnancy glow.” He compliments you.

“Thank you.” You smile and reach out to touch his thigh. “I promise that you won’t ever have any reason to be burned by trusting me.” You promise. “And if for some reason, you feel that changes, talk to me.”

He offers you a smile and pulls up outside his townhouse. “Take my keys and get settled. Alarm code is 1975 and I’ll get started on bringing your things in and up to your room.” He says, reaching for your hand to squeeze it until he lets go.

“Thank you Marcus.” You murmur softly. “I know you don’t have to do this, but I do appreciate it.”

He puts the car in park and turns off the engine, watching you get out of the car and make your way up the few steps to the front door with his door key. He will have to get you a key from the spares he has. He grunts as he gets out and starts carrying your things into his home, now your home.

**** 

The nurse calls out your name and you tap Marcus’s arm. “That’s us.” You grunt, pushing out of your chair and he quickly scrambles to his feet after you. He's been jittery and nervous all morning and you hope it’s excitement and not regret. “Now, I’m trusting you not to go blabbing my weight.” You huff playfully as you follow the nurse to the little area where she will take your weight and blood pressure. “I am growing a kid.”

The nurse chuckles as Marcus averts his eyes to be polite as she weighs you. “It’s our secret.” She winks, “and hopefully daddy is keeping baby fed.” She looks at Marcus and he smiles, his chest tightening as he hears the title for the first time from someone else. “He’s feeding me up.” You wink at Marcus and he chuckles as you step off the scales and the nurse starts to check your blood pressure.

After the test is done, she guides you into a private room. “Gown is on the table.” She knows you are aware of the routine. “The doctor wants to check your cervix, so panties off.” She reminds you and closes the door. “Uh-“ you look over your shoulder at Marcus. “You don’t have to cover your eyes. It’s not like you haven’t seen it all before. It’s just a lot bigger in the middle now.”

He nods, nervous and he wipes his hands on his pants as he sits down on the plastic chair and he bites his lip while you take your shirt off. He looks over at the stock photo of the Washington Monument as you undress, wanting to be considerate.

You glance back at him and giggle slightly, amused and touched by his consideration. “Do you want to be in the delivery room?” You ask, wondering his thoughts on that. Maybe he wouldn’t want to be present, but you want to ask.

He nods, “absolutely. If you want me there.” He adds, not wanting to assume that you want him in the room. “It’s our baby. I want to be there with you and be there for the moment they come into the world.”

“I don’t mind you being there.” You promise, stripping down and slipping the gown on with the opening to the front and climbing up on the table to spread the little paper blanket over your lap. “It’s safe to stop staring at the poster now.” You tease.

He turns his head and blushes slightly at all the posters and diagrams of the female body. He’s not prudish but this is outside of his comfort zone, especially when he’s here as the father. The doctor comes in with a smile, “hello mama. How are we doing?” She asks, reaching for the rubber gloves from the box on the wall.

“Feeling like I have to pee every thirty seconds.” You admit with a laugh. The doctor had stressed how important it was to be hydrated and you started carrying a water bottle around with you at all times. “This is Marcus.” You introduce him to the doctor. “He’s, uh, the father.”

Her eyes widen before she composes herself. Marcus shifts, rubbing his hands on his pants, “I, uh, I’ve been out of town for months and I just found out so, uh, yeah. Making up for missed time.” He chuckles awkwardly, watching as the doctor touches your bump over the gown.

“Any spotting?” The doctor asks. “Even after intercourse?” You shake your head. “No.” It’s easier to just say no than to explain you haven’t slept with Marcus again. She hums and nods as the nurse takes notes. “Ohh they are active.” She chuckles when the baby kicks against her hand. “Well, are we ready to see if we can determine if you have a little boy or girl?” She asks, looking between you and Marcus. “Oh yes. I want him to hear the heartbeat too.” You had cried the first time you heard it and you want Marcus to be able to experience that as well.

Marcus is anxious and nervous as he sits, waiting as the doctor opens your gown and he swallows harshly at the sight of your bump. He wants to touch it without the barrier of clothing but he knows that’s inappropriate. He averts his eyes again when the doctor puts your legs up so she can inspect your cervix and he only looks when the doctor chuckles and says “I’m sure you’ve seen it before, daddy.” The doctor grabs the ultrasound wand and you look over at Marcus, holding your hand out, “come here, daddy.” You tease and he stands up, shifting closer to you and his heart thumps as he waits to hear the heartbeat for the first time.

You don’t look at the screen this time. You are watching Marcus as the small screen takes on the shape of a blob and it’s a second before the rapid pulsing beat of a heart coming through, sounding like it’s underwater, which it technically is. You see the tears pool in his eyes and you grab his hand and squeeze. “Our baby.”

He inhales sharply, his chest tightening as he stares at the screen like it’s the best thing he’s ever seen in his life. “Our baby.” He chokes out as tears escape and slide down his cheeks. “Our baby.” He repeats and kisses the back of your hand. “Thank you.” He murmurs, knowing you could’ve made a different decision and you would’ve been within your right to do so but this decision gives him what he’s always wanted: To be a father.

You bite your lip and reach up to wipe away your own tears. You’ve always wanted a baby, to be a parent and that’s going to happen. Even better it will be with a man who apparently wants it just as badly as you do. “Are mom and dad ready to find out the sex? The doctor asks as she focuses on the baby in your stomach and tries to get into a position with the wand to get a good look.

Marcus looks at you and you nod, squeezing his hand, “we are ready.” Marcus bites his lip, eager and anxious to find out. He truly doesn’t mind either way. Just wants a healthy and safe baby. The doctor moves the wand around a little more until she grins, pointing at the screen. “That’s your little girl.” She smiles and Marcus grins, a sob escaping his lips. “Our little girl.” He chokes, leaning in to press a kiss to your forehead before he can think better of it.

“Our baby girl.” You murmur softly, emotional and wishing you could kiss Marcus for real. Instead, you squeeze his hand and grin at the screen. The doctor will give you pictures and you can show Marcus the others you have already gathered. “Now we have to figure out nursery themes.”

Marcus chuckles, “you pick. I build and decorate.” He says and the doctor chuckles, “you got a good one there. He knows the drill.” She winks at Marcus who flusters at the compliment, wanting to be the best dad he can be. “I’ll print off some copies and you can get dressed. Everything looks good, mom and dad.” She smiles and presses some buttons to print copies before she puts the machine away, leaving you to get dressed after she shuts the door. “Can you-?” You ask, needing help off the table, and he nods, taking your hand to help you down.

Marcus bites his lip and shuffles slightly. “Can I- uh, touch your stomach?” He asks softly. “Without- without the clothes?” He knows you might tell him no, but he wants to be as close as he can to his child. “Of course.” You are still wearing your bra and you immediately bring his hand to your stomach, his bare skin touching yours. “You can touch my stomach anytime. You can talk to her, cuddle with her.” You smile. “I want her to know your voice too.”

“Our girl.” He grins and caresses your stomach, he’s so happy you are allowing him to touch you. “She’s gonna be beautiful. Just like her mama.” He says, his eyes flicking up to you and you do look gorgeous. Part of him wishes he could kiss you but he knows he’s emotional and that’s not the right thing to do. He shifts to kneel down, cupping your belly and he leans in to press a soft kiss to your skin, “you’re already so loved, baby girl. Mama and I are gonna be the best parents we can be.” He promises her in a soft voice.

He’s such a good man. Your heart melts when you see him talk to your belly with the softest, most loving voice. He’s going to be such a good daddy and it makes you tear up. “Yes we are.” You promise thickly and smile when he looks up at you. “Gonna give her everything we can.”

“Why don’t we get some food and stop by the baby stores?” You suggest. “Start putting together the nursery?”

He nods, agreeing to that idea and you dress before you head out to set your next appointment. The nurse hands you an envelope with the scans in and Marcus wants to take your hand to guide you outside but he settles for his hand on your lower back.

“Let me buy you lunch?” You offer, almost certain that he will not let you. “You bought dinner the last two times we have eaten together.”

He sighs, not wanting you to pay when you’re carrying his baby but he nods, knowing it’s best to let you win sometimes. He hates how this could so easily be a relationship but he hardly knows you and it would be risky to jump in when you are going to be co-parents. “Lunch then you can use my card for baby things.” He winks.

You snort and lift a brow. “I hope you’ve got the credit line.” You tease. “While I wish I could have sushi, how do you feel about that salad place?” You ask. “I’m feeling like a big salad and maybe some soup.” You decide. “Oh and a cookie.”

​​Marcus nods, “whatever you want, sweetheart. You are growing our baby girl. You can have whatever you like.” He promises and he guides you out to the car. “And when she’s born, you’ll have as much sushi as you want.”

“Right in the delivery room.” You snort, practically drooling at the idea. “Just a huge platter.” You try to ignore the way your stomach flutters when he calls you sweetheart. “But for now, I can’t risk it. And she’s worth it.” You coo, rubbing your hand on your stomach.

He grins, “biggest platter they sell.” He promises, “and deli meat.” He chuckles and guides you out to his car, his hand hovering over your back as he unlocks the car and opens the door for you. This feels so real now. He’s having a daughter.

“Now you’re talking.” You groan. “I never knew what all went into a pregnancy diet and I am not amused. Charcuterie boards are sometimes all I live off of.” You joke. “Although I have been eating more ice cream.”

“Isn’t that known online as girl dinner?” He teases, knowing his coworkers have joked about cheese and meat being ‘girl dinner’ like it was dubbed online. You chuckle, surprised he knows about that, and he smiles, pleased that he made you laugh.

“What does your boy dinner look like?” You ask when he gets behind the wheel. “Lazy, easy meal? Are you just an order take out kind of guy?”

He lifts his shoulders playfully, “yeah. I - I like…I kinda like gas station hot dogs.” He admits with a wince, “my dad - we used to go on the road for the weekend fishing and he couldn’t cook for shit so we’d stop off and in the middle of nowhere, it was sketchy diner food or gas station food so I kinda got used to gas station hot dogs. I want one every now and then.” He admits, knowing it’s not the best food.

“Hot dogssssssss.” You groan and nod. “The shitty gas station roller dogs are the best. I’ll even risk the chili for a chili cheese dog with onions and relish.” You agree. “I could have the all beef ones.” Your eyes light up. “Ohhhhh.”

He grins, amazed that you aren’t grossed out. Teresa definitely was when he said he had a late night craving after a show he took her to. “You wanna get one?” He asks, tilting his head.

“Let’s do it!” You nod eagerly. “Do you know where to get the nastiest, best hot dog?” You ask him. “I want that and a Sprite. Ohhhh and some Cheetos.”

Marcus chuckles, “your wish is my command, milady.” He bows his head and after you’re settled in his car, he takes you to a gas station across town that has what he swears is the best damn hot dog. All beef and typical gas station.

“Ohhhh they have slushies.” Your mouth waters when you walk in. “I know it’s pure sugar, but I love a blue raspberry slushie.” You admit as you walk into the gas station and see the machines lining the back of the store.

"Get one baby. You're pregnant." He says, having seen that you are cautious with what you eat and you deserve a treat. He walks over to the hot dog roller and asks you what you want.

"I might regret it, but I want chili, cheese, onions, relish and mustard." You list off. "Ooooh and ketchup." You bite your lip and shoot him a grin before you're quickly moving over to the slushie machine.

He nods, working fast to put your hot dog together and he sets it aside while he gets his own, watching you create a multi color slushy. Shit, it would be so easy to fall in love with you. He's pretty sure he's halfway there but he can't do it. He needs to control his emotions and not jump in. He has to think about his daughter and co-parenting peacefully. He can't fuck this up.

Happy with your mixed drink, you are sucking on it with enthusiasm when you come back over to find Marcus has made you the perfect chili dog. “God, you’re perfect.” You groan. “Another reason on the list justifying that your ex was insane.” You bite your lip after the comment comes out. “Sorry, I- I shouldn’t have said that.”

Marcus shakes his head, "it's okay. I- I am over her. Four months undercover kinda gives you a fast track to get over heartbreak. Well, and a one night stand." He offers you a wry smile, "you want a Sprite?" He asks and you nod so he heads over to the soda machine to get your drink.

You grin as he remembers the drink, even though you have the slushie in your hand. Walking by the chips, you grab a bag of Cheetos and bring it up to the counter. “Get something else too!” You call back across the store.

He grabs some candy and some pringles, scanning the aisle until he appears at the cash register with your food. The attendant chuckles when she sees you are pregnant. "I remember the cravings. I ate an entire lemon once. Rind on." She shudders, "but it's all worth it in the end." She says with a smile, "and you two are a gorgeous couple. You are gonna make a cute baby."

You can see Marcus doesn’t know how to answer that but you just smile as you pull out your wallet. “Thank you.” You tell her. “We just found out that we are having a little girl and we are over the moon.” You look over at Marcus. “After this feast of junk food, we are going to go pick out alllllll the baby things.”

The woman grins, "oh daddy...your wallet is gonna hurttt." She sings playfully and Marcus chuckles, "oh I know but she's worth it. They both are." He smiles at you and she coos, "you got a good one." She winks and Marcus flusters, picking up your food. "Thank you." You say and the woman grins, "congratulations." She says and you thank her again before you leave the gas station. "She's right, you know." Marcus says when you're back in the car, food balanced on his console. You turn to look at him, tilting your head. He continues, "our little girl is going to be gorgeous...because she's going to look like her momma."

“You’re just lucky you haven’t seen me hanging over the toilet bowl looking like a death warmed over witch.” You joke, enjoying the little flutter in your chest at his compliment. “But I hope she looks like a good mix of both of us. You are a very pretty man yourself.” You wink at him playfully.

Marcus can’t help but fluster, cheeks reddening at your compliment and he takes a sip of his soda to cover his embarrassment. “She will be a looker. Good thing I have my gun.” He jokes and picks up his hot dog after he sets his soda down.

You snort. “You can’t shoot all the boys.” You remind him playfully and quickly pick up your hot dog to take a bite, “cheers for the heartburn that will be completely worth it.” You joke before taking a bite and groaning happily.

He grins as you take a huge bite, loving how happy you look right now and he’s glad he could do that for you. Provide for you. “God that’s so good.” He groans, taking his own bite and he knows this is so bad but it’s so good, bringing back memories.

“Soooooo good.” You wiggle in the seat a little, doing a little happy dance as you take another bite. “This is going to become a problem.” You groan. “I can see craving this every day. Or maybe every week so I don’t live off Tums.”

Marcus chuckles, “I'm at your command. Just tell me the craving and it’s yours.” He promises and you giggle, “except sex.” Marcus’s chuckle turns a bit stiff and he hates the air that suddenly covers you. He really does like you. Thinks about that night together quite a lot but you are co-parents. That’s all. “Any food item.” He clarifies playfully, “or drink.”

You nod, understanding the boundaries that Marcus is setting. You want sex, you crave it, but obviously he’s not going to want a sexual relationship with you now. “I’ll try to keep the cravings between business hours.” You tease, reaching for your slushie to take a sip.

Marcus chuckles, “any hour for a craving.” He promises that and watches as you take a sip of your slushie. “I’ll do whatever you want for our girl.” He promises and you hum, not wanting to answer when it’s clear he doesn’t feel the same way. 

**** 

“What about this one?” Marcus asks, walking over to a crib that he likes. You’ve already picked a stroller and a high chair. His parents had offered to buy some things after he broke the news and he wants to do a video call with them so they can officially meet you.

“Oh that’s sweet.” You are emotional, and have already cried over how cute some of the clothes are. The hormones and the nesting urge is starting to get to you now that you have realized that you aren’t alone anymore. “This one also becomes a toddler bed.” You show him the mention on the paperwork. “That could be good as she grows older.”

Marcus nods, liking to be practical. “That’s great. God, how are we gonna handle a toddler?” He asks with a chuckle, “I can already tell I’m going to go gray early.” He smirks and his eyes watch as you read the price. “Don’t worry about the price.”

“I didn’t think a bed would be so expensive.” You snort and shake your head. You have money, but Marcus doesn’t seem to be too worried about everything. “Oh, um, can we run by a clothing store?” You ask. “My pajamas are getting too tight and I think I’m just going to get some nightgowns.”

“Of course, sweetheart. Whatever you need.” He promises, using the scanner the store gave you to scan the bed you want so it can be delivered. He saved a lot of money preparing for a wedding to Teresa and he’s only too happy to spend it on his daughter instead. He’s excited to become a father and today has made it even more real.

“Do you think you will have paternity leave?” You ask, unsure of the FBI’s policies and what they are doing for new fathers. “Although I’m sure they will be surprised that you are suddenly expecting a baby.”

“I spoke to my boss this morning and he said I get six weeks of paternity leave. Apparently the FBI wanted to keep morale high and changed the policy so I’m here for overnight diaper duty.” He teases and scans some bottles you’re picking up.

“That’s good.” You laugh. “We can be sleep deprived together.” Marcus grins as if the idea of no sleep and dirty diapers sounds like the best kind of work to look forward to. “So seriously. What do you think about me pumping? So you can feed her too?” You ask, stopping at the pumps and turning to get his opinion.

You’d talk about wanting to breastfeed and he supported you in whatever decision you want. He was bottle fed and it didn’t do him any harm. “Whatever you want, sweetheart. I’m happy to feed her if you want to pump.” He offers you a soft smile and he’s excited, loving shopping for the baby things. “We need to pick out a paint too so I can get started on painting her nursery.

You bite your lip, imagining him rolling the walls, and trying not to let your neglected libido take over. "How about a neutral soft color?" You ask. "Like a buttery yellow or a light green?"

“Whatever you want, baby.” He promises as he reads the label for the pump before he scans it, his mind focused on that and not what he calls you as he picks out the best for your baby girl. “I’ll get the paint this weekend so it’s ready for the furniture delivery.”

"This is coming along quicker than expected." You admit, happy that Marcus is a take charge and get things done kind of guy. "Ohhh we need to get a monitor system. Maybe see if they have one that has a camera?"

“I heard the Nannit is a good one.” He says, walking along with his scanner, “they’re not cheap but it’s peace of mind. It has an app.” He says, knowing his coworker told him about it and it sounds like the best.” He scans it without thinking and you continue picking things out. This feels real to him. Like a real relationship, and it’s scary. He can’t lose you or his baby girl but he can’t risk telling you that he wants more. He will settle for what he has. It’s more than he thought he’d ever get.

"Wow." You are impressed and your face tells him that. "You've really done your homework." You smile and nod. "Okay, but why don't I buy that?" You ask. "Since you are buying all the furniture? I think that's fair."

He knows he doesn’t want you to feel inadequate so he nods, “sure thing, sweetheart.” He is excited to be the best dad he can be. “Come on, let’s go get this paid and ordered and then we can get you some sexy nightgowns.” He teases, knowing you want to be comfortable.

Laughing, you shake your head. “Yep, gonna be the sexiest beached whale this side of the Atlantic.” You joke, rubbing your hand over your growing stomach. “It’s starting to get in the way of tying my shoes. I’m going to have to switch to just slip ons.”

Marcus chuckles, “we can get those too.” He promises and you smile, making his heart flutter. 

**** 

Marcus wipes his brow as he bends over to put more paint on the roller. He’s finally taken his shirt off, sweat beading on his skin as he works hard. The D.C summer is in full swing and his AC is working overtime while he puts the nursery together.

“Marcus, do you want-“ you stop short, a drink in your hand and drool. Marcus is still handsome, but apparently he had been working out while he was undercover because the softness of his body from before had become lean muscle. Your baby daddy is sexy and it’s even sexier that he has a paint roller in his hand as he paints the nursery. “I made some lemonade.” You manage when he turns towards you. “Figured you might need a drink?”

Marcus nods, “Thank you. It’s been kille in this heat.” He admits, “and wearing a damn suit and tie still during the week.” He goes into the office and he’s working hard to set up his paternity leave and make sure people don’t have too much to do while he’s gone. “Be careful when you get in there.” He says, “I’ll be done in a bit. Gotta wait for this coat to dry.”

"I will." You nod and quickly walk out, the paint fumes heavy and you know that he will not want you there. It would be bad for you and the baby. 

Since it's so hot, you decide to just put on your bikini, your bump on display and you are thankful that the little patio off the townhouse is covered so you aren't baking in the sun. Your own glass of lemonade and book are already out there as you step outside to climb into the pool. You bought one just a few days ago to try to cool down. 

Marcus washes his hands and wipes his brow after he puts the paint supplies away, needing to finish another coat tomorrow, but for now, he makes his way downstairs to find you in the inflatable pool. His eyes widen at the sight of your body. You were gorgeous before you were pregnant and now? He’s jerking off every damn day in the shower because he is so attracted to you. Knowing you have his baby inside you has him rock hard. “Are you enjoying that?” He teases as he approaches you.

“God yes.” You groan, eyes closed behind your sunglasses as you lean against the edge of the inflated pool. “I could live in this pool.” You admit shamelessly. “Sell tickets, it would be like going to Sea World.” You joke, feeling more and more like a seal or a walrus every day.

Marcus scoffs, “you are glowing and growing our baby. You are gorgeous.” He promises just as his phone dings. He pulls it from his pocket and reads the message, a frown appearing on his face. “What’s happened?” You ask and he sighs, locking his phone, “Teresa and Jane just got married.”

You see the way his expression changes and you wonder if he is still in love with her. “I’m so sorry.” You murmur, reaching out and touching his arm gently before pulling back. He might be wondering where he would be if she hadn’t left him. It could be possible she would be carrying his baby instead of you. He might regret this now.

He reaches for your hand, squeezing it. “It’s not - I’m not upset that she is married because I still love her. I’m upset that she married him when she told me she couldn’t marry me. It’s - it makes it real. The fact that she never really loved me.” He admits and looks down at you.

“You deserve so much more.” You promise him, feeling a little bittersweet because it won’t be you. He’s amazing and exactly what you want. “I told you, she’s fucking crazy.” You scoff. “You are the FBI’s most eligible bachelor and I know you will be a hit at playgroups when our daughter is older.”

Marcus chuckles, “isn’t that a dilf?” He teases and you nod, smirking, “I’ll be fighting all the moms.” You promise and his stomach twists, wishing you would claim him as yours. What he had with Teresa…it pales in comparison to his relationship with you. With you, it’s as natural as breathing and he doesn’t feel like he has to go all out to impress you, you are happy with him being there. It would be so easy to lean in and kiss you but he can’t. He can’t ruin this.

Wanting to lighten the mood, you lift your hand and flick some water at him playfully. "Come join me." You urge him, "the water is cool and you need to rest too, Mr. Dilf."

He chuckles, reaching for the hem of his shorts, and he groans as he sits in the water in his briefs, not caring about changing into swimming trunks when he’s around you. “Better enjoy it while we can. She will be here soon enough and fall will be in full swing.”

"Cooler temperatures will be welcomed." You grin. "Although I think we need to figure out what our little girl will be wearing for her first Halloween."

Marcus grins, “I, uh, I was thinking maybe dress her up as Pebbles and Fred and Wilma.” He smirks, “I loved the Flintstones as a kid.” He confesses, “I’d love to dress up but never had anyone to do it with.”

"Ohhhhh we could do that!" You love the idea, although it would make everyone in the neighborhood think that you are a family. You are, in a weird way, but you aren't a couple. "That's what we will do." You decide with a nod before you take a sip of your lemonade. "The baby furniture should be here tomorrow. They called while you were finishing up."

“Oh good. I just need to finish the final coat of paint but I can do that later.” He says as he lounges in the water. He’s excited to see the nursery finished and he is nervous to become a father for the first time.

"Soon enough, she will be here." You hum, rubbing your hand over your stomach gently and laughing when she kicks. "God, feel this." You grab Marcus's hand and put it on your stomach. "She's a kicker."

Marcus loves any chance to feel her kick and he grins, “she’s gonna be trouble.” He says despite grinning, he’s so excited to meet his daughter. 

**** 

Marcus sits on the sofa, glasses perched on his nose as he reads a baby book. You have been to pre-natal classes together and he’s determined to learn everything he can about his daughter. He hates that he’s getting older, his eyes going as he ages so he has invested in reading glasses.

"Hot dad alert." You are waddling now, having to pee every five minutes and holding your back like it's about to break. Any day you are going to bust this watermelon open and give Marcus a baby, but does he have to look so fucking sexy all the time? You groan as you come around the edge and flop down next to him in a less than graceful landing. "Fuck, she's dropped, she's lower than she was yesterday, isn't she?"

He looks at you with his glasses on the end of his nose, closing the book after marking the page, “she looks it.” His hand finds your belly without permission after you told him he can touch it whenever he wants.

"The bag is packed." You promise him with a grin. "Mine and hers." You lift your brow. "Do you have yours packed, or have you decided to not stay?" You had told him that he could be in the delivery room, but he might not want to stay in the hospital with you depending on how long you have to be there. You wouldn't blame him for that, although it was sweet that Marcus's parents had asked to come out for the birth, or at least when you come home from the hospital to meet their grandchild. They would stay in a hotel room and it was nice to feel like you had a support system since your own parents have barely seemed interested in remembering that you are having a baby. You'd sent them a text and they have only called you once since then. You had no interest in even letting them know when you go into labor.

Marcus adjusts his glasses after pulling his hand away, “my bag has been packed for weeks.” He confesses, “it’s in the back of my car. I bought travel size everything and you are talking to a g-man, baby. My entire job depends on me being organized.” He winks at you, “and my parents are all set. They can’t wait to meet you and the baby. We still need to decide on a name, or some options so we can decide when we meet her.”

"So I wanted to talk to you about that." You bite your lip and reach for his hand on your stomach. "I want her to have your last name." You confess quietly. "How do you feel about that?"

Marcus raises his eyebrows and he grins, “you want that?” He asks and you nod. He inhales deeply, “I’d love that.” He promises, lifting your hand to press a kiss to the back of your hand. He doesn’t mention the thought that comes to mind that he’d love you to have his last name too. Living with you has been so easy. Like you’ve always been here, like it’s meant to be. It was never this easy with any of his exes and that scares him. How easy it was to fall in love with you when you don’t want to be with him.

"Good." Your heart flutters at the kiss and you wish you just could tell him how you feel, but you don't want to make things awkward. "Now, we need to pick out names that go well with Pike." You hum. "What about your grandmother's? Any good names there?"

He chuckles, “my grandma? Her name was Magnolia. Proper southern charm and could tear a man down with a look, let alone a few words.” He says with fondness, “her middle name was Annabelle.”

"Annabelle?" You try it out and love it. "Annabelle Pike." You hum as you look at him questioningly. "How about Annabelle Marie Pike?" You ask, always loving the name Marie since you had a childhood friend with that name.

He wonders how it’s so easy. He knows he would’ve been arguing with his ex wife about this for hours but with you, it takes moments. “I love it. Annabelle Marie.” He coos, caresses your stomach before he leans in to press a kiss to your covered bump.

You smile softly and reach up to run your fingers through his hair. "You are going to be an amazing daddy." You murmur quietly, loving how affectionate he already is with your daughter and she's not even here yet. He will be the best girl dad imaginable and you are so grateful if you have to have a baby with someone, that it is this man.

Your due date is any day now and Marcus is anxious. He's cut back on his hours and assigned cases to his team who are aware that any day is his daughter's arrival day. He opens the fridge, reaching for the carton, and he opens it, about to lift it to his mouth when he reminds himself. He was a single man, the milk carton was his alone, but you told him to use a glass. Not in a nagging way but a reminder to be a damn adult. He smiles to himself and sets the carton down to grab a glass for himself.

Panting, you hold onto the wall as you slowly make your way down the stairs. You have been having pains since first thing this morning and you tried to ignore it, but it's getting stronger. "Marc-" you call out breathlessly when you are halfway down the stairs. You had heard him down here after you went to the bathroom and decided that it was time to tell him. "Marcus."

He sets his glass down, milk covering his upper lip. He licks it off and frowns at the tone in your voice. You sound like you're in pain. He rushes over to the bottom of the stairs and looks up at you, "you doing okay, baby?" He asks and you shake your head, gripping the bannister. "It's time." You gasp and his eyes widen, "it's time. Shit. It's time." He rambles, starting to rush around before he runs up the stairs to help you down. "We gotta get you into the car and get your bags and - you okay?" He asks, his dark eyes finding yours.

“It hurts like a bitch.” You admit breathlessly. “I didn’t- I was hoping it was gas pains.” You admit. “I’ve been -ugggghh- having them for about three hours.” You admit, knowing he will be upset you didn’t tell him sooner, but you didn’t want to panic and go to the hospital too soon.

"Why didn't you -" He shuts his mouth, knowing it's best to not lecture you right now when you are in pain. The main thing is getting you to the hospital. He helps you down and rushes around to grab the bags, "you need your jacket." He says, "and shoes." He says breathlessly, his heart pounding in his chest.

“Shoes could be useful.” You chuckle, trying to catch your breath. “I’ve got my bags in the hallway closet.” You remind him. You both had car seats installed in your cars, you having bought a new one a few months ago because you wanted a safer vehicle for the baby. “My car or yours?” You ask, smiling as he rushes around to get things together. “Yours, right? Your bag is already in the trunk?”

"My car." He confirms, bending down to slide your shoes on, grabbing your jacket next, and he is panicking but you are as prepared as you are ever going to be. He guides you out to the car, opening the door, and he rubs your back as you grip the top of the car, bending over as a contraction hits you. "It's okay, sweetheart." He promises, letting you take your time until he has you in the car and on the way to the hospital.

“I know.” You reach over and grab his hand and squeeze. “Thank you for being here with me.” You pant, scared of what is to come, but you are comforted by the strong and solid man beside you. He will be your anchor in all of this and it’s been wonderful to know you can rely on him. “We are having a baby.”

"I am always here. No matter what. Every step of the way." He promises, "we are in this together. Our little girl." He smiles and kisses the back of your hand before he lets go so he can start the drive to the hospital. He texted your doctor and she's on the way to the hospital.

On the way to the hospital, you try to breathe, closing your eyes and whining when the pains get bad. “Oh fuck.” You lean back and try to catch your breath. “I want the drugs.” You tell Marcus. “I’m not doing this without them.”

“You can have all the drugs, baby.” He promises, adjusting his glasses after he pulls them from the console, navigating the traffic a little faster than he should but he has his badge ready in case someone decides to pull him over. “Just breathe, sweetheart.” He says, knowing you could slap him but he wants you to breathe for him.

You nod, remembering the classes you had taken with Marcus and start to use some of the breathing methods. “Do you- are you going to watch?” You ask, trying to distract yourself from the pain. “Cut the cord? Or just wait for the baby to come out?”

“I’m going to be there for every single step.” He promises, “you can squeeze the shit out of my hand and I’ll cut the cord. I promise you, I will be by your side.” He vows as he pulls into the lane to the exit for the hospital.

You laugh quietly and sigh in relief. “Oh thank god.” You whimper in thanks that you are at the hospital. “I can’t wait to get hooked up to machines.” You snort. “But I want that little needle in my spine.”

“You’ll get it.” Marcus promises and pulls up outside, wanting to get you in before he parks the car. The nurses come out and help you into the wheelchair and Marcus smiles, promising you he will be right there with the bags after he parks the car.

You are questioned from here to eternity and given a ton of paperwork to fill out. “Marcus- he’s the father.” You look over your shoulder for him. “He’s coming with me.” You worry that they will give him a hard time since you aren’t married. “He’s- oh there he is.” You smile when you see him dragging all the bags with him.

Marcus offers the nurses an excited and nervous grin before he follows you to your room with the bags. His heart is pounding and he had texted his parents when he parked to tell them it’s time. He’s so nervous he feels sick but he can’t let you know that. He has to be there for you.

It takes some time to get settled, changed into a gown and hooked up to all the machines. “Lord.” You shake your head and flip your head back onto the pillow. “You would think that someone is having a kid or something.” You joke when you are finally left alone for a moment with Marcus.

“Crazy, right?” He teases, reaching for your hand to kiss the back of it. “How are you feeling?” He asks and you chuckle, “like I’m about to push your daughter out of my vagina.” Marcus squeezes your hand, “you’re gonna be great. At birth and as a mother.” He promises. “And they are bringing the drugs.”

“Oh thank god.” You groan happily. “For a while I was really scared that the old tale about growing a watermelon in your stomach was true.” You joke. “You make big babies, Pike. How much did you weigh when you were born?”

His ears redden as he blushes, “I was nine pounds two ounces. Hence why I’m an only child.” He admits bashfully, knowing his mother reminded his father of how big his son was when he was born.

“I’m going to give birth to a football player,” you moan playfully. “And you’ve got fucking broad shoulders. Bet those baby pics show that too.” You roll your eyes and sigh dramatically. “You’re lucky I’m going to have drugs so I don’t curse you.”

“You can curse me all you want. As long as you’re safe and sound and our baby girl is here.” He squeezes your hand, “and I’ll be here. No matter what.” He vows and he knows you’ll be cursing his name later but for now, he’s happy to be here for you and support you.

The next few hours are painful. It seems like your labor has stalled and you aren't dilating as fast as you were when you came in. "OH shit." You whine, closing your eyes and rubbing your stomach as you hold onto the IV pole. The nurses have wanted you to walk around and you are currently halfway down the hall from your room with Marcus supporting you. "You know the worst stomach cramps you've had in your life? That's what this is on crack."

“I’m sorry, sweetheart. If I could take it away or take it from you for a bit, I would.” He promises, rubbing your back again. “And don’t forget the sushi platter. The biggest one you’ve ever seen after she’s born.” He reminds you with a smile.

"I'm gonna hold you to that." You pant, shaking your head and starting to shuffle closer to your room again. "I just want it to be closer to that sweet, sweet time that I can have that epidural." You step and feel a rush of liquid. "Shit."

Marcus looks down, “oh shit.” He echoes and his heart pounds as he calls a nurse over. “I think - her water just broke.” He rushes out, a little panicked now that things are moving along.

"We need to get you back to your room." The nurse rushes over and helps Marcus to get you back to your room and settled into your bed. You definitely didn't pee yourself. "I'll send the doctor in immediately."

Marcus reaches for your hand, “she is going to be making an entrance. I can tell.” He smirks and leans in to kiss your forehead, “drugs soon.”

The labor manages to kick into high gear. The contractions coming closer and closer and the pain blooming until the doctor comes in to administer that epidural. That's when it turns into a lovely experience. You can't feel your pain anymore, resting slightly before you are going to have to push. "I hope she looks like you." You tell Marcus, smiling over at him. "You are so handsome. You would make a pretty woman."

Marcus blushes, shaking his head, “I hope she looks like you. I’ll have to fight every romantic prospect from here to L.A but she will be beautiful like her mama.” He smiles and watches you relax now the pain has subsided.

"You won't have to worry about that." You snort, closing your eyes and squeezing his hand gently. "She's going to be a daddy's girl." You predict. "Completely in love with her daddy."

Marcus grins, “I can’t wait to meet her. I know we had an unconventional start to this journey, but I’m so happy you made the decision to keep her. I thought, well, I thought my chances to be a father were over. Thank you for giving me this.” He says, his eyes sincere.

If you can't be honest when you are actively giving birth to his child, when can you be? "It's no big deal." You joke modestly. "Just had an amazing night and then fell in love with the father of my baby. What could be easier?"

Marcus's eyes widen at your confession, and he is still, silent, for a few moments. You frown and it deepens the longer he's silent. "Baby, I-" He starts but you cut him off, "no. It's okay. I - I shouldn't have-" He cuts you off, "I love you. When I was undercover, I couldn't stop thinking about you. I have fallen more in love with you every single day and I have struggled with not being with you and raising our daughter together. I want you. I love you. I'm in love with you." He confesses, eyes wide and anxious.

"We picked a hell of a time to have this conversation, didn't we?" You ask, laughing slightly as you reach out and caress his cheek. "I love you, I'm in love with you too and after we go back home - I want to see what can happen if we are together."

Marcus chuckles, leaning in to press his forehead against yours. “I love you.” He murmurs, tilting his head so he can press a soft kiss to your lips. He doesn’t linger too long, knowing that you are busy having his baby, but he kisses your forehead and smiles, “our life together begins.” He promises and caresses your bump.

​​You laugh as the doctor comes in, all smiles. “Well, it looks like the drugs have kicked in.” She comments as she gloves up. “Time to check you.” She tells you before she lifts the blanket over your legs. “Oh there’s the head!” She announces, sending the room into a flurry of activity.

Marcus’s eyes widen, “she’s - she’s coming?” He chokes, shocked that she is crowning and you didn’t even know. “Must be some drugs.” He murmurs, watching the staff rush and before he knows it, he’s gowned up and holding your hand while the doctor tells you when to push. “She’s coming.” He grins, looking down at her crowning head when the doctor asks if he wants to see her.

You close your eyes. "Just don't judge me." You joke. "I don't know what it looks like right now, but I'm sure that it's stretchy." You look over at a nurse when she holds up a mirror so you can see and nod. "I want to see her too." You tell her, biting your lip when you see the baby's head.

Marcus can already feel the tears forming in his eyes as you are told to push. “Just breathe baby.” He murmurs, kissing the back of your hand. “You’re doing so good. She’s gonna be here any second.”

You start to push, crying out from the pressure that overrides the drugs and you squeeze his hand. "Ohhhhhh my goddddddddddddd." You scream while bearing down and watching as the head pushes out of you.

Marcus has tears falling down his cheeks and he kisses your sweaty forehead, “come on baby. You got this.” He says as he watches you push again at the doctor's order. “She’s nearly here.”

Your eyes are closed, not watching the mirror as you focus on pushing as hard as you can. Trying to stay silent, but the whine comes out of you. Listening as the doctor says that one shoulder blade is out, and opening your eyes to look at Marcus as you give the final push to bring your daughter into the world.

Her cry fills the room after a moment of silence and he sobs, “our little girl.” He chokes and the doctor asks if he wants to cut the cord. He nods and shuffles down to grip the scissors with shaking hands, cutting the cord so the doctor can tie it off and place the baby on your chest.

Within seconds of watching Marcus's face light up in pure love and joy, the baby is deposited on your chest and you are immediately obsessed. She's perfect. Angry at being pushed into the world, although she quickly calms down against your skin and you are sobbing as you cradle her to you. "Oh my god. She's so perfect." You cry, kissing her head and looking up to see Marcus looking at both of you.

He is so happy at this moment. You love him like he loves you and you just gave birth to your daughter. It’s incredible and he is sobbing and he leans in to kiss your forehead. “I love you. I love you.” He chokes, leaning down to kiss her forehead, “I love you, my Annabelle.”

"We love you too." You promise, crying happy tears and pulling him closer so he can touch the baby. "She's here, she's perfect and she's here." You tell him, like he just hadn't witnessed her birth.

He caresses her head and watches as he tries to suckle on your nipple, recognizing her mama. He smiles and strokes her head as she settles while the doctor works on you. "She's beautiful." He murmurs, "just like her mama."

You smile up at him, before looking back down at the baby and sighing softly. You know that the nurses will need to take her in a moment, but you want this. You've waited to meet her and she is finally here. "She has your ears." You coo in delight when you see that her ears are curled slightly.

After Annabelle is taken away, Marcus wipes his eyes and leans in to kiss your lips, “I love you.” He murmurs, his heart fit to burst. After Annabelle is cleaned up, he leans over you as you cradle her, a look of love and awe on your face that takes his breath away. “She has your nose.” He says, “thank God.”

“How can you tell, it’s still smooshed from being born?” You ask, even though you adore her already. Looking up at Marcus, you wiggle to the side of the bed. “Sit down and take your shirt off.” You order him. “Skin to skin contact is good for you both.”

Marcus nods, reaching for the hem of his t-shirt and he pulls it over his head. He notices your eyes appraising him and he smirks, “like what you see?” He asks as he takes Annabelle from you, cooing to her as he settles with her on his chest. She curls into him, her mouth opening as she tries to suckle on him and he chuckles, “mama is the one with the milk. I’m your daddy, baby girl.” He coos and she squeaks before she settles down.

It’s a precious moment and you reach for your phone to take a picture, wanting to keep this memory forever. “You’re so beautiful together.” You whisper, snapping pic after pic as he looks up at you and beams in the next photo. “You are already such a great daddy and she’s not even an hour old.”

He grins, caressing her back, “is it weird if I say that I feel like I’m complete? Like this is what I was put on earth to do?” He says and you smile, caressing his shoulder, “you look like it.” He smiles and leans down to press a kiss to Annabelle’s head. “I believe I owe mommy a sushi platter.” He murmurs to her until he looks up at you.

“I did just give you a perfect little girl to spoil.” You tease, leaning over and touching her head gently. “She is worth every sushi roll I didn’t get to eat.” You promise. “I can’t believe it.” Your yawn catches you off guard, but you are exhausted from the labor.

“Why don’t you get some sleep? I’ll look after her and when you wake up, I’ll have that sushi platter ready for you to dig into?” He asks and leans in to kiss your forehead, “get some rest. We will be just fine.”

You want to argue, but you know it won’t be safe for you to hold her while you are so tired. The afterbirth has been passed and they have changed the pad up under you so you are all cleaned up. “Okay.” You agree, leaning back and closing your eyes. “I love you both.” You murmur softly.

“We love you.” He promises, shifting off the bed so you can settle down properly and he rocks Annabelle until she’s asleep and he places her in the cot they have next to your bed. He caresses her cheek as he stretches before curling back into herself and he smiles, grabbing his phone to organize the sushi he promised to get you. He’s so happy right now. Everything he’s ever wanted is right here.

**** 

Tonight is the night. You’ve been cleared by the doctors to resume intercourse and you’ve had your IUD placed this time since the pills weren’t a good option. Being home has solidified your feelings for Marcus. The love that you have and you can’t wait to touch him again. It’s been six weeks of absolute bliss with him and Annabelle. Your little family bonding and despite being a little sleep deprived, you have never felt better in your life.

Marcus cradles Annabelle, cooing to her, and he looks up when you walk into the living room. You went for your six week check up and he’s anxious to see how things are. He’s been exhausted waking up with Annabelle in the middle of the night but it doesn’t stop him from jerking off in the shower thinking about you.

“Here are my two favorite people.” You grin as you look at the sleepy smile on Marcus’s face and you know he needs a nap. Setting your things down, you come over to the two of them and drop a kiss on your daughter’s head and then give Marcus a soft, promising kiss with a bit of heat on it. “Hello handsome.” You hum against his lips.

He smirks, “now that’s a hello.” He murmurs as he leans back to see the look on your face, “I trust everything went well at the appointment?” He asks and you nod, “very well.” He rocks Annabelle as she squeaks, “she knows mommy is home. I fed her about twenty minutes ago but maybe she wants some more.”

You nod and take her from Marcus. You pump for him to feed her, but you also breastfeed. Enjoying the bonding of the act and settle down beside him as you lower your shirt to put her on your nipple. “The doctor cleared me.” You tell him quietly as Annabelle latches on and starts to eat like she hadn’t had a meal in days. She’s greedy and it makes you smile. “I got an IUD this time.” You look over at him and smirk. “So we can take a nap when this one goes down…..or….”

He stares at you, his eyes glossing over, “are you - are you sure? You’re ready?” He asks, not wanting to pressure you if you aren’t ready. He doesn’t mind waiting. “I don’t feel tired.” He adds, wanting to give you the choice to ask him to take you to bed.

“I’ve been ready.” You admit. “But I wanted the doctor to clear me just in case.” You rock Annabelle and look down at her. “I’m not tired either. And I know that we’ve been sleeping apart, but maybe we can share a bed tonight? Afterwards?”

Marcus smiles, “whatever you want baby. I’m all in.” He promises, “I want you in my bed every night if you want to be there.” He’s already half hard at the thought of touching you and he watches you as you feed Annabelle, her eyes fluttering closed as she starts to fall asleep against your chest. “Go put her down and then I want you in my bed.”

“So eager.” You tease, even though you are just as eager. You take her upstairs and lay her down in her bassinet that Marcus had put together, still in it instead of the crib, before you walk down the hall to Marcus’s room. You reach for the handle, but decide to knock, since it’s not your room yet.

He looks up as you walk into his room, his shirt off and his feet bare as he sits on the foot of his bed. His smile is soft as you shut the door behind you and the iPad in your hand with the baby monitor on the screen. “Come here.” He orders and you walk over to stand between his legs. His hands caress your legs through your leggings and he looks up at you. “You’re so beautiful.” He murmurs, “I love you.”

“You know that everything is a little more flabby, right?” You are a little worried because he doesn’t know what your body looks like now after the baby’s birth.

Marcus shakes his head as he slides his hands up to squeeze your ass, “you just had our beautiful girl. You are strong and incredible. Do you think I care about some flab? I love you. All of you. No matter what.” He promises, “you amaze me and turn me on as you are and I want to worship you.” He says passionately, “I love you. Let me show you.”

“You are so amazing.” You promise, leaning in and pressing your lips against his gently. “You can do whatever you want. I’m yours. I promise.” It’s been such a relief over the past six weeks to have your emotions known and the two of you have had several conversations and made out.

He slides his hand to the hem of your shirt, slowly pulling it over your head to expose your nursing bra and he leans in to kiss your stomach after your shirt is on the floor. He wants you to know he loves all of you.

“Marcus.” He’s so incredibly gentle with you. Your own hands running through his hair and watches as he starts to strip your leggings down. “I love you.” You grin at him when he looks up at you. “Try not to knock me up this time.” You tease.

He chuckles, “I’d be batting a thousand if that happened.” He smirks as you step out of your leggings and he slides his hand up your back to unclasp your bra. He groans at the sight of your tits, unable to stop himself as he surges forward to wrap his lips around your nipple.

“Oh god!” It’s a completely different sensation from when you are nursing Annabelle. Pulling deep inside your core and making you clench around nothing. “Marcus.” You moan softly.

Marcus groans when a spurt of milk hits his tongue but he doesn't stop. He keeps sucking on your nipple, wanting to hear your sweet moans and his hands slide down to squeeze your ass, pulling you closer to him and he releases your nipple to kiss down your torso. He slides his tongue along your stretch marks, worshiping them until he ducks his head to bury his nose in the curls at the apex of your thighs. He groans at the heady scent of you and he shifts, sliding off the bed to kneel below you so he can slide his tongue through your folds.

“Baby-“ you choke out a sound of pleasure as his tongue presses against your clit. He’s talented, you’ve known that, but it’s been so long that you are almost overly sensitive. “The- oh fuck- the last time I had this, you were the one eating me out.” You remind him breathlessly.

He groans, “and it’s going to be me for the rest of our lives.” He says as he pulls away for a second to look up at you with adoration on his face. “Marry me.” He demands, wanting to be with you. He’s impulsive but he’s sure. He wants you. He loves you. It’s never been like this. You are his best friend and he wants you to be his wife.

You choke up, tears welling up in your eyes and you nod quickly. “Yes!” You promise him, wishing that you could kiss him right now. “Yes Marcus, yes!”

Marcus grins, knowing he should kiss you but instead, he surges forward to lap at your clit again. It's vigorous and intense and everything he's wanted to do since that night you showed up on his door again.

You lose yourself in the moment, body jerking in surprise and pleasure and you moan his name softly. You don’t want to wake Annabelle but it is so good as he flicks his tongue against your clit. “Fuck baby, I love you.” You whine softly.

He groans, his hands finding your ass as your fingers tangle in his hair. He's hard in his pants, aching for you after months of jerking off in the shower. He's desperate for you and the fact that you're going to be totally his is intoxicating. He slides his tongue to your entrance, lapping at it to enjoy your arousal.

His tongue is magical and the entire thing is so much better because he wants to do this. It’s not begrudging or lackluster, he is burying his tongue inside you after a moment of tasting you with a hungry eagerness. “Fuck baby, I - I wish you would have let me blow you while I was recovering.” You admit, knowing he has been trying so hard to hide his continuous arousal from you.

He shakes his head against your cunt, “no. I don’t - you had our little girl. Couldn’t let you do that.” He groans before diving back into your flesh. He wants to hear you moan for him. His hands grabbing your flesh with a hiss and he loves how you whine when he sucks on your clit.

It doesn’t take much to work you up, you had felt so guilty about using a vibrator that you hadn’t will you were pregnant, not wanting Marcus to hear you. Your body needing an orgasm. “Marcus, fuck - I love you. I love you!” You squeal when you fall apart on his tongue.

Your cry has him twitching in his pants, aching for you, but he focuses on you, working you through it with soft laps of his tongue on your clit. “Fuck, you’re so good.” He murmurs to himself against your skin until he’s pulling back to look up at you with a slicked up chin.

“Me?” You huff out a link and reach for him, wanting him close. “Strip down, Mr. Pike.” You order playfully. “It’s been too long and I need you.”

Marcus smirks, shifting to stand and he reaches for the hem of his shirt, pulling it over his head. “I have jerked off so many times thinking about you.” He admits, “I love you.” He murmurs, nudging his nose against yours to kiss you while he works on unbuttoning his pants.

“Good to know.” You grin against his lips and pull back so you can watch. “I don’t know if I will ever get tired of this view.” You admit, admiring his body and pressing your thighs together in anticipation. “You are perfect.”

“Far from perfect.” He scoffs, “but I’m hoping I’m good enough to be your husband.” He says with a smile and he pushes his boxers down along with his pants to stand naked before you. He’s hard and aching for you, desperate for touch since he hasn’t had anyone since that night he met you.

“You will be my husband.” You promise, reaching for him. “And when we are ready, we can try for another baby?” You ask gently. You want Marcus to be present for the entire experience. “I’m kind of wanting another one already.”

Marcus lights up as he caresses your waist, dragging you up against his body. “You want another one?” He asks and you nod, making him grin. “I want another one. I want to be there for everything and have our family together.” He nudges his nose against yours, “and in the meantime, we can have fun trying.”

“Yes we can.” Reaching down, you wrap your hand around his cock and smirk when he groans your name. “I want you inside me.”

He thrusts into your grip, another groan escaping his lips as you move your hand along his length. You’re gorgeous and his making his heart pound in his chest. “I love you.” He pants, “let me - shit. Need to be inside you.” He says as he grabs you to start walking you backwards to the bed.

You let him guide you back and reluctantly let go of his cock while you fall back into his bed. Smiling when he groans and wraps his own hand around himself as he kneels, making you scoot back. “Fuck. You know the last time, we made a perfect baby girl.” You coo. “This time we are going to make love.”

Marcus smiles at your words, “to my fiancée.” He adds as he shuffles closer while you rest your head on the pillows. “My gorgeous girl.” He coos, shifting to his elbows so he can cover your body with his and he moves his hand down to grip his cock, sliding it through your folds.

Coming together is perfect. He breaks you open with an aching slowness that steals your breath and fills your heart. Emotional over the simple act that had become so much more than casual. Your hearts are involved and you have created a family together. Marcus presses his lips to yours and you let him in so easily. Groaning into his mouth as he bottoms out.

He can’t believe he has this. He has you. He has Annabelle. Everything he’s ever wanted and it’s suddenly so tangible that it makes him close his eyes so you don’t see them shine with unshed tears. It’s more than he’d ever imagined could happen. He starts to slowly move inside you, groaning your name against your lips.

You hold onto him as he rocks in and out of you. Kisses along his jaw, you can see that he is a little emotional. “I love you, baby.” You whisper, wanting to let him know how much you care about him. Caressing his back gently.

He groans as your walls flutter around him, making his chest tighten and he rocks into you. He’s in no hurry and he’s trying to control himself because you feel so fucking good around him, beneath him.

“Marcus.” You love how tender he is being, but your legs tighten around him, rocking up to meet his unhurried thrusts. “You - I love you. Can’t wait to be your wife.”

Marcus groans as you caress his back and he kisses along your neck, breathing you in. “So happy we met in that bar. I know it’s been a rocky road but fuck, I love you.” He murmurs, “so gorgeous and you’ve given me everything I’ve ever wanted.”

"It was meant to be." You promise, turning and pressing your lips to his again as he pushes deep and pulls a moan out of you. "Our story will be one our kids adore."

He chuckles, “the PG version.” He teases as he grabs your thigh to lift it higher so he can sink deeper into you. “You’re so beautiful, baby. Always thought so.” He murmurs, “ever since that night in the bar.”

“You caught my eye.” You tell him shamelessly. “I hated that a man as good looking as you looked so unhappy.” You moan again. “Best decision I ever made was coming over to talk to you.”

“I’m so glad you came over. I had no confidence. Thought I was unwanted, not good enough. She knocked me down and I was struggling to get back up until you gave me a boost.” He confesses breathlessly, “fuck - and best sex I’ve ever had.”

“We were great that night, weren’t we?” You giggle and lean up to lick his pulse. “Baby, you fucked me so good that night. I was dreaming of the next time you would take me home.” You promise. “Just didn’t know you would literally move me in.”

Marcus chuckles as he looks down at you, “should’ve moved you in sooner but I went undercover. Thought of you all the time when I was under. Jerked off to thoughts of you.” He confesses, “wanna have more nights like that.” He murmurs, biting on your earlobe .

“Every night we aren’t exhausted with the baby.” You promise, clenching down around him and loving how he chokes out your name. “Make me cum, Marcus.” You beg.

He nods, desperate to see you fall apart for him again, so he slides his hand between you, finding your clit and rubbing it while he presses kisses to your jaw, “cum for me, sweetheart. Wanna feel it.”

“Oh god, baby.” You whine when he starts to rub your clit. He’s so good to you. That coil that has been building and twisting inside you bursts under the skill of his fingers and you cry out in pleasure when you clamp down around him.

He groans when you squeeze him tight in your walls, making him hiss at how good you feel. It’s been so long since he has felt your warmth surrounding him and he feels the tingle in his belly, he’s close. “Fuck. Baby. I- shit. I can’t hold back.” He confesses, pulling his hand away from your clit to grab your hand.

“Then cum for me.” You beg. “I’m so close.” It doesn’t even matter if you cum right now. You just want to see him cum again, to feel it. “Cum for me baby. I love you so much,”

He desperately wants you to cum with him so he returns his fingers to your clit, rubbing it a little faster as he rocks into you frantically, a grunt escaping his lips as he twitches inside you, unable to hold back anymore as he starts to paint your walls with his cum.

“Marcuuuuuus.” You whine his name, eyes closing in pure bliss as the heat of his seed starts to fill you. The sensation and the knowledge that he is yours throws you over the edge, starting to shake as your walls flutter around his cock. “Marcus! I love you so much.”

He pants as he works you both through your highs and he groans when your nails scratch along his back as you convulse beneath him. "I love you." He declares breathlessly, kissing your chin after he gently bites it.

It’s so much better than the night you conceived Annabelle, the emotions heightening the sensation and making tears prick in your eyes. “I love you.” Gasp out, holding him close and panting when you are done shaking, wanting to keep him right where he is.

Marcus keeps himself above you by shifting his weight to his elbows but he leans in to kiss you, “so damn good. Wanna do that again when I can.” He chuckles, “not 18 anymore, baby.” He smiles and nudges his nose with yours.

“I’m glad you’re not 18.” You snort, kissing him again. “I love the man I have, not the one the boy could become.”

He groans as he rolls over, his cock sliding from you as he pulls you into his chest and he sighs when Annabelle’s cry sounds through the iPad. “I got her.” He kisses your forehead and shifts from the bed so he can pick up his boxers. He puts them on and comes back a few moments later with Annabelle, “it’s okay, sweetheart. Mama is here with some milk.” He promises, carrying her over to you.

You laugh as you take the baby from him. “But I have to pee.” You joke, letting her latch and knowing that you will wait. She won’t eat for long, she just always wants something when she wakes up from any kind of sleep no matter what time it is. “How about we order some pizza?” You ask, waggling your brows at him playfully. “Could be just like the first time.”

Marcus chuckles and nods, “let’s do it.” He smirks, grabbing his phone from his pants while you nurse Annabelle. He tosses his phone onto the nightstand when he’s done and he lays down beside you, leaning in to kiss his daughter’s head. “You’ve given me everything I’ve ever wanted.” He murmurs, looking up at you.

“Just wait until we have another.” You tease, smiling at him happily. “Then it will be everything you wanted.” You understand what he is meaning, though. He now has the life he had imagined when he asked Teresa to marry him, but you know he’s not looking at you like you are a replacement. He’s not that type of man. He wears his heart on his sleeve. “After she eats, I’ll get dressed and we can put her in her swing while we eat.”

“Sounds good baby.” Marcus leans in to kiss your forearm as you cradle Annabelle. 

**** 

“Babe. Can you get the burp rag?” You call out, cradling your newborn son while Annabelle naps in her crib upstairs. Marcus is preparing dinner and he sets the knife down to bring the rag over to you. He kisses your forehead and hands you the rag, caressing the baby’s head when the doorbell rings. “Who the hell is that?” Marcus frowns, making his way down the hall to open the door. He checks the peep hole and his eyes widen, “what the fuck…” He trails off as he unlocks the door and opens it. “Teresa. Jane. What - what are you doing here?”

“Marcus!” She had told Patrick that she should send him an email or at least called, but he had insisted it would be fine. Wanted to be nosy about his life was more accurate, but neither one of them had heard much other than he was still living in the house he had bought when he moved to D.C. “Hi!” She shoots him a smile and notes that he looks tired, but he doesn’t look sad anymore. Not like the last time she had seen him. “I know it’s a surprise, can we come in?”

Marcus looks over his shoulder where you are holding the baby in your arms and he frowns, turning back to the couple. “I, uh, I was making dinner and-” You step closer, “it’s okay baby.” You tell him, knowing he needs this. Marcus turns to look at you, mouthing “are you sure?” and when you nod, he opens the door. “Come in. This is my wife.” He says your name as he introduces you, “and our son, Zac.” He says and Teresa’s eyes widen as she sees you holding the baby. “Wife? Son? You work fast, Pike.” Patrick smirks and reaches to take Teresa’s coat off. Marcus shuts the door and he raises his eyebrows when he sees Teresa is pregnant.

“Oh, uh, our first.” Teresa admits, flushing slightly as she rubs her hand over her stomach. “We didn’t know that you had gotten married. Congratulations.” She offers, looking over at you curiously. You aren’t with the Bureau or she would have recognized your name. “When was your son born?”

“Last month. We have a daughter too. She’s 18 months.” He reveals and Teresa raises her eyebrows in shock. “You really do work fast, Pike.” Jane chuckles and Marcus nods curtly, guiding them into the living room, his hand on your lower back and he kisses your hairline.

You sit down next to Marcus, watching the woman who had turned down your husband. In many ways, you owe her a debt of gratitude. Without her choosing the annoying looking man beside her, you would have never had the life you have right now. Even though she had hurt Marcus, you are proud that you had brought joy and happiness back to his life and hope he has no regrets.

Marcus wants to know why the hell Teresa and Jane are in his home in D.C and he gets the answer not too long after everyone has a drink and your son in his rocker. “We wanted to apologize. For what we did.” Teresa explains and Marcus frowns, “like…breaking up with me?” Teresa reaches for Jane’s hand, “well, yes, but for how I broke up with you. I should’ve been honest about my feelings for him and that wasn’t fair to you. It’s been bothering me a lot since I got pregnant and we came to D.C for the FBI and I wanted to clear the air.” She confesses and Marcus reaches for your hand. “I was devastated at first. Couldn’t believe you just left me and I had gotten us a home, planned a future, and with a call it was all gone.” Teresa ducks her head and Jane swallows harshly, guilt in his eyes. “But I owe you so much gratitude for that phone call. A week later I ended up in a bar and met the love of my life. Your selfishness led to me finding everything I ever wanted. She makes my world spin around and we have two beautiful children. I’m happy. Deliriously so and I owe that to you breaking my heart. Thank you. I’m glad it worked out for you both. I wish you the best because you paved the way for me to get the most beautiful, smart, sexy, and utterly incredible woman to sit next to me.”

Your smile is proud and you can’t help but lean in and press your lips to Marcus’s cheek, Zac starting to fuss in your arms. “And I owe you for giving him the freedom for us to meet and fall in love.” You won’t tell her the entire tale, she doesn’t deserve it, but you can tell she understands you know everything that happened between them. “I’m going to go feed the baby, sweetheart.” You tell Marcus softly, feeling Zac start to root around for your nipple. A sure sign he wants to eat. “Talk as long as you need. I can finish up dinner.”

Marcus squeezes your hand, “I can handle dinner.” He says and Teresa rubs her bump, “you are happy and that - that makes me happy.” She smiles softly and Marcus sighs, “look, I don’t know why you came here. Actually, I’d assume it’s to see how your selfish actions affected me. You probably hoped I’d still be alone and miserable and pining for you. That isn’t the case. I’m happier than ever and I refuse to lessen your guilt because what you did was shitty and selfish even if it led to me finding a beautiful life. I am not here to make you feel better. So, if you don’t mind, I have to cook dinner for my family and my beautiful wife needs help.” He says, standing up, and Patrick follows, “come on, Teresa. It’s time to go. I wish you all the best, Pike.” He says, holding his hand out. Marcus shakes his hand, his grip a little tighter than it should be. “I really am sorry Marcus. I’m glad you found what you wanted.” She says after she stands and Marcus guides them down the hall to the front door. “Thanks for stopping by.” He says and they shuffle out. He doesn’t take more than a moment to shut the door behind them and he strides though the home to the kitchen where you are feeding Zac.

“I’m sorry about that, baby. They - fucking assholes wanted me to make them feel better about their selfish actions.” He shakes his head, “but fuck them. They deserve each other. I’ve got the most incredible woman in the world.” He murmurs, leaning in to kiss you. “I love you.” He declares softly and you smile, cradling the baby. “I love you too. Now, I believe I was promised dinner.” You tease and he chuckles, kissing your forehead while he strokes Zac’s cheek.

“Chicken parm coming right up for my gorgeous wife.” He winks and makes his way onto the kitchen. He takes a moment to lean against the counter. He’d often imagined confronting the woman who broke his heart and ruined his plans before he met you but now, he doesn’t care. He has everything he ever wanted and he got to thank Teresa and Jane for their mistake leading to his dream. He is happy and ready to continue enjoying his life, all thanks to that fateful night in that bar. Life happens for a reason.

[mediumgayitalian]

fic rec friday 23

hi!! welcome to fic rec friday!! every week, i pick five fics i have bookmarked and rec them with a little review. check them out!

Ribs by @buoyantsaturn

“Hi, um. Sorry, I hope I have the right number. Is this Will Solace? Shit, sorry, you can’t answer me, this is a voicemail. Um. You modeled for my life drawing class, and I was wondering if you could model for me privately? Wait, shit, that sounds creepy, hold on. Start over. My name is Nico di Angelo and I’d like to hire you as a model so I can complete my final portfolio for my class. The one you modeled for. Um. Please call me back if you’re interested. Thanks.”

OH this was so so good. first of all, love the concept of broke med student nude model will and artist nico, idk something about it seems so classic. like if i had to pick an au of them having only read pjo once and never experiencing fandom, that is what i would choose. there is also fact that it was written by cj and cj has never once missed. LOVE this fic.

2. My Neighbor, The Sex God by @cherrypie62666

Piper pursed her lips, tapping a finger to her chin; all the while her hazel eyes twinkled at him with barely controlled amusement. “So, you have a problem with your neighbor,” she said slowly, waiting for his confirmation.

“Yes,” Nico hissed, shooting the girl a withering look, which did absolutely nothing other than possibly amusing her even more.

“And your problem is… that he’s too hot,” she finished, tilting her head to the side and grinning wickedly.

“My problem,” he grumbled, brow creasing at the overly pleased look on her face. She was far too unsympathetic considering he was sleep deprived and cranky. “Is that every night when I come home, he’s standing in front of the window, completely naked! I don’t know what to do. It’s like his ass is a magnet for my eyes, and it’s always there, without fail, waiting for me to come view it.”

THIS FIC IS SO FUNNY. its not nsfw but you would think it is, mostly its just hilarious. like, first of all, What a freaking concept. lol. also the tags "inner struggle, when does nico not have an inner struggle" made me fucking Lose my mind bc so so real. this is Such a fun fic and it balances romantic and platonic relationships and its so excellent i love

3. how i became the sea by @unwieldyink

"Nico’s legs were tucked into gaps of the lighthouse’s railing, dangling over the ocean below. He rested his head on the rail as well, letting himself get lost in the rippling ocean before him. If only he could get himself a little boat, one with a nice sturdy sail on it, and get lost in the horizon in person as well as in mind." Merman Will & Lighthouse Keeper Nico AU

DUDE OH MY GOD first of all merman will. second of all THIS FIC IS SO FIRE. 1.5k of what is, in my opinion, the best au trope of all time. i LOVE mermaid/lighthouse keeper, ive written something similar and i hope to one day to write it again, but no matter what it will NEVER be as fire as this fic. so tender. such quiet love OH how i love you quiet love

4. you're both terrible by @unwieldyink

“So why haven’t you mentioned you were friends with him?” Nico was silent. Percy had to bite his lip to keep from smiling. “Is it because you like him?” . a mortal au where nico was adopted by the jacksons. short little oneshot for solangelo week on tumblr, day 5- home

OH i love me some nico & the jacksons and nico & sally especially!!! this is so supportive and sweet and such an easy read i cannot recommend it enough

5. three-in-one soap by @thelordofshrimp

Austin glared at his sister. “Will can’t lie, genius. He says that since he became head counselor, any shower that lasts more than three minutes gets interrupted by someone needing his help.” “That’s… crazy.” Nico considered the number of showers he’d taken even in his short time at camp and imagined if even half of them had been interrupted. “It is,” Jerry agreed. “Not like there’s much we can do about it, though.” “You can always do something about it.” Nico sat up. “There has to be something.” “Not unless you can somehow keep the whole camp safe at once.”

OH i love some scheming, protective nico oh my GOD!! nico & cabin seven is so special forever and this fic was such a treat. nico who is sooooooo determined to give will a break. SUCH an intriguing read

thank you for joining me this friday!! happy reading!!

[ladyinwriting18]

The Start Of Something New (Bruce BannerxReader)

Summary: Meeting you sparks something new for Bruce AND Hulk.

Words: 5,852 Warnings: Sex on the first date, PIV, Oral sex (female receiving), Hulk is a flirt, Only sex with Bruce tho.

When Tony had handed over the username and password to a newly made dating profile, Bruce had been very confused, and honestly, a tad reluctant.

However, after being hounded by his best friend to just give it a try, he gave in. The first few swipes had gone horribly. Most women unmatched with him after the first few messages. Or worse, they knew he was in the Avengers and had some sort of weird fetish about it. That is until he matched with you. Sweet, funny, beautiful, hard-working you. 

You were like a meteor that knocked him out of orbit.

Something different than anything he had experienced with other partners. Messaging back and forth in the app had quickly turned into an exchange of numbers. Texting with you had been easier because it gave Bruce time to analyze his responses, but hearing your laugh while talking on the phone? God, he was certain there was no better sound. You were so open and honest that communicating came naturally. Which wasn’t something he was used to after his failed relationship with Natasha. He pushes those thoughts from his mind and instead focuses on nervously pacing outside of the Aquarium. After a month of good morning texts and late-night phone calls—today is the day. The day the two of you would finally meet in person and go on your first real date. You two had shared coffee over Facetime a few times, but to Bruce those weren’t dates. This would decide if you’d want to continue communicating. And though you made him feel at ease whenever the two of you spoke, the thought of fucking it all up weighs heavily on him. Bruce checks his watch for the fifth time before catching sight of his reflection in the glass exterior of the building. He fixes his hair while giving himself a pep talk. “Come on, Bruce. You’ve got this. Don’t overthink it, just be yourself.” Your Uber pulls up just as he finishes his words of affirmation. He quickly straightens his back and turns to see you just as you step out of the car. You’re wearing the prettiest little sundress that sways softly in the summer breeze. He gulps. You look perfect. Jogging over to you, he holds out his hand to help you up onto the curb. “Hey!” He closes the car door behind you with a nervous smile, “T-thanks for coming. You look amazing.”

You can tell that Bruce is nervous and it warms your heart. Little does he know that you feel similar. Not only is he a brilliant scientist, but he has saved the world multiple times…what right do you have to spend time with him? You try not to let your insecurities show and squeeze his hand, not only as a comfort to him, but for you as well. “Aw Bruce, thank you. That’s so sweet of you to say.” You let yourself size him up before quirking your head to the side. “You look rather handsome.” His cheeks flush, though he tries to hide it by talking about where he’s chosen to take you for your date.

“I was glad to hear that you enjoy the aquarium.” He keeps your hand in his as he steers you towards the entrance. “I thought it would be the perfect place to bring a so-fish-ticated woman like yourself.” Bruce laughs at his own dad joke before rubbing his face in embarrassment. Tony had told him to keep the dumb jokes at a minimum. But then his ears perk up at the sound of you giggling and a smile tugs at the corners of his mouth. Just like the first time he heard you laugh over the phone, he’s instantly put at ease, “Thank you for not clam-ming up at my terrible humor.” You giggle harder, your free hand coming up to grip his bicep. “Your humor is not terrible!” you lightly scold as you approach the first tank of colorful fish. They instantly capture your attention. “Wow, they’re all so beautiful!” Your hand on Bruce’s bicep feels so warm. He can’t stop himself from staring at your reflection in the glass—you look good together. 

“Which one is your favorite?” he asks to stop himself from planning out an entire future with you. It’s too soon for that. Especially when there are so many variables that could mess things up. You tilt your head to the side, taking a moment to respond, “Hmmm, probably this one.” You point to a fish with a blend of blue and purple scales. 

He nods and looks at the corresponding identification card printed next to the tank.

“Oh look here, that one is native to Wakanda. The scales are used to produce important and sustainable fertilizer for their diverse agricultural offerings.” He realizes he’s rambling, and looks to you wide-eyed. “Sorry, I tend to ramble when I get excited.” You smile and turn to face him fully. “There’s nothing to apologize for. You’re so smart, Bruce. I could listen to you talk for hours.” Sheepishly, he rubs the back of his neck. He can’t deny that the praise feels good but he feels undeserving. “I mean I only read what the identification card says,” he deflects with a teasing grin, hoping the joke would hide his insecurities. You cock your hip before playfully swatting at his upper arm. There’s such a fire in you. Bruce adores it. “You know what I mean, Doctor Banner. Now, show me which fish is your favorite?” Your curiosity about his interests has him lighting up. He doesn’t hesitate to pull you over to another tank. “My favorite is right over here.” Dropping your hand, he instead comes to stand behind you. With one hand on your waist and the other pointing out the fish. He hadn’t meant to tuck you so perfectly against him, but he did, and now he doesn’t ever want to move away. The smell of your shampoo and perfume mix together, leaving him totally captivated. It takes all his restraint to keep talking and not bury his face into your hair. 

“That’s the puffer fish, or Tetraodontidae. They have this defense mechanism, so basically, when they are threatened, they can expand to over double their size. I guess I have a soft spot for them.” 

You find yourself leaning back against his chest as you listen to his explanation. His reasoning not only makes perfect sense but shows you how insightful he can be. “I can understand why. It’s almost like you and Hulk.” You turn your head to meet his gaze. It’s only then that you both realize just how close you’ve both become. Bruce can’t help but notice that his lips are inches from yours. “Yes. It’s like me and Hulk.” His voice comes out huskier than he intends. There’s a tension building. One that’s begging to break free. All either one of you would have to do is close the last remaining inches, but before you can, Bruce’s watch beeps. It breaks the trance and has you both stepping back from one another. He checks his watch and silences the alarm. “Shoot, we have to hurry. There’s something I need to show you!” Without another word, he takes your hand and starts leading you to another part of the aquarium. There’s a bounce in his step as he walks you to the big surprise. His whole reason for picking the aquarium for your first date is because on your dating profile, you had written that your favorite animals are otters. Bruce had tucked this piece of information away until he needed it. He had painstakingly looked for an aquarium that not only had an otters exhibit but gave people the chance to pet them. He couldn’t wait to see the look on your face when you found out. But when you both turn the corner you are instead faced with a giant sign that reads “Exhibit Closed for Renovation”. His heart drops and the blood in his veins starts to boil. He had checked the website! Had planned the entire date around this! “The website said it was going to be open!” he grits out as the hand not holding yours clenches into a fist. He feels Hulk beneath his skin, tugging to be let out. Bruce tries to suppress the feeling, but his chest begins to heave. Things have been better between them. No longer did he treat Hulk as a monster but as a part of him. Bruce made space for him in his home and life, which led to them not needing to fight one another for control. Instead, they attempted to live side by side. However, this is different. It mirrors a time when even the slightest inconvenience would trigger the Hulk. The tips of his ears and fingers prickle to a subtle shade of green. “This isn’t fair. Now everything is ruined!” He lets out a low growl and grips the hand he’s holding until you wince. You don’t have time to respond before you’re forced to rip your hand out of his grasp. That’s when you notice the color of his fingertips. Not knowing what to do to help, but not willing to abandon him, you step in front of him and cup his face. “Bruce? I need you to look at me. Nothing is ruined.” As you talk, you maneuver him backward until you’re both tucked away in a corner close to an emergency exit. You figure this is the best place for him to be if he did in fact lose control. Unfortunately, Bruce doesn’t respond. Instead, he tucks his chin to his chest and continues to breathe heavily. You say his name with a little more force, but still, nothing. He’s too preoccupied with the fury bubbling in his stomach. It causes tendrils of anger to spread through his limbs. Your words are muffled and your touch is hot. All his internal attempts to calm himself are destroyed by the deep seeded anger and self-loathing. 

“This always happens. I can’t do anything right. Everything is ruined.” You’re more panicked now, it’s evident in your tone. “Forget about the otters! I don’t care. Please, Bruce, I’m just happy to be here with you!” What do you do? How do you break him from this spell? You needed him to focus on the good! An idea pops into your mind and before you have a chance to think it over…you do it. You grip his face, jerking it towards you, and kiss him—hard on the mouth. Your arms encircle his neck, putting your all into the kiss and trembling slightly. All you can do is pray your plan works and he kisses you back. For Bruce, his world stops spinning and time stands still. The kiss is enough to bring him back to the present. His heart rate settles and his skin tone reverts to normal, but his eyes are shut tight. He can’t kiss you back, not like this. Not when you were only kissing him for your safety. So he gently pushes you away. “T-Thank you…for that but I’m…I’m sorry. You shouldn’t have had to…do that just to shut me up.” His words confuse you and you speak over him before he can continue, “I didn’t do it to shut you up! I did it because I wanted to and because I thought giving you something happy to think about would help.” You lose your nerve, faltering momentarily. “I…I’m sorry if I was wrong. I shouldn’t have kissed you without your consent.” Bruce’s brow furrows and he finally meets your gaze again. “Wait, you wanted to kiss me?” You nod in earnest and he smiles. He brings his hand to cup your cheek. “You were so brave and strong. I can’t thank you enough for being here for me.” You relax into his touch, letting your face rest in his palm. You’re so beautiful and sweet. It makes Bruce long for things he hasn’t allowed himself to want. “I’m also sorry for assuming you were kissing me out of pity. I guess I just couldn’t imagine anyone wanting to kiss…that.” He motions behind him, to where the Hulk had almost been standing. 

You tilt your head to the side, giving him a questionable look. “The Hulk is just a part of you. I know you’re used to people being afraid of him, but I’m not. I would kiss you, him, and anything else in between.” His cheeks twinge pink. Someone kissing Hulk? That wasn’t something Bruce could even fathom, but the feeling of his pulse skipping a beat tells him that his green counterpart is excited by the offer. Nervously, he chuckles at the realization. “W-Why don’t we take things one step at a time?” He says this not only to you but to appease Hulk into calming down. You take his hand and nod in agreement. The touch sends tingles from his palm and up his arm, making him feel bold. “Can I…I mean, may I kiss you? For real this time?” You nod with a smile and Bruce closes the distance between you. The kiss is soft and chaste but he can still taste the sweetness of your mouth. He hums at the taste but pulls away before he loses himself. “There’s one more thing I wanted to show you.” He extends his hand to you. “Come with me?” You take it and let him lead you to the back of the aquarium. He leads you past countless tanks of exotic fish until you come to a dark room. So dark that it’s almost pitch black, but quickly your eyes adjust, revealing tanks filled with various-sized jellyfish. You gasp at how delicate they are, their subtle glow showing their translucence. Their bodies pushing and pulling them through the water in an almost intricate dance. 

“Did you know that jellyfish are the world's oldest animal?” You shake your head ‘no’, transfixed on the tanks before you but soaking in his words like a sponge. “Scientists have found fossils indicating they preceded dinosaurs. I think they're magical.” You’re alone in this small dark space, and Bruce steps closer to whisper into your ear. “I think you’re pretty magical too.”

You gasp and turn towards him, whispering his name just before he captures your lips in another kiss. He’s more confident now, pulling you closer by your waist and gripping your hips tightly. You make out like teenagers, anxious and hungry for more. He whimpers at how good you feel and you can’t help but shudder against him in response. Your hands slide up to wrap around his broad shoulders. You feel safe in his arms so you push your body flush against him. He responds in turn, opening his mouth so that your tongues can touch. You’re so turned on that you’re certain you’ll combust, but he breaks the kiss. He’s breathing hard, clearly attempting to calm his heart rate. You give him space to do so and instead lace your fingers with his. He smiles his thanks before speaking. “How about on the way out, we take you to the gift shop so I can buy you a stuffed otter to make up for not being able to see the real ones?” You nod in excitement until it clicks that the date will be ending soon. “I would love that, but…what if after, I didn’t want to go home? What if I wanted to go home with you?” It takes Bruce a few moments to process exactly what you’re asking, but once it does his eyebrows shoot up his forehead. “Yes! Uh…I mean, I would be honored.” The gift shop, walking to his car, and the drive to his home go by in a blur. One minute, you were asking him to take you home, and the next, you were holding a stuffed otter in your lap as he opened the car door for you.

You smile at the gesture, letting him help you out of his car, and walking up the front steps to his home. Little do you know, Bruce is holding his breath in hopes that he hadn’t left his home a mess before leaving. He sighs in relief after unlocking the door and seeing that the house is relatively clean. You step forward, taking in your surroundings, but his eyes are taking in your body. He imagines taking you to his bed and undressing you slowly. You move about his home, having no idea he was undressing you with his eyes. “You have a lovely home, Bruce. Most guy’s homes are…well…gross.” You giggle to yourself before placing your otter on the couch. He says your name in a way that make the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end. It sounds hot…needy…sexual. You turn to him, and like the opposite ends of two magnets, you’re pulled together–crashing into each other. No longer able to resist, your hands grope and mouths meet. You want to beg for more but he’s already hoisting you up by the waist and carrying you down the hall. You don’t know where he’s taking you, and frankly, you don’t care as long as he keeps kissing you. 

He stumbles while pushing open his bedroom door with his foot, but quickly regains his stride over to his bed so he can carefully lay you down. Your hair fans out along his pillows and he sighs. “Fuck, you’re beautiful.” 

Hearing him curse has you biting your bottom lip. You grip his shirt and tug him towards you until he’s leaning over you. “I want you, Bruce. I’ve wanted you since the first time we talked on the phone.” He nearly chokes at your confession because he’s certain he had made an utter fool of himself on that phone call. “Please…” Your plea breaks him from his thoughts as your fingers start working on unbuttoning his shirt. “Please don’t make me wait anymore.” Shit. Shit. Shit. This was happening. This was really about to happen. Bruce’s cock jumps within the confines of his pants. “I won’t, Princess. I won’t make you wait.” His words are rushed, breathless as trembling fingers work on unzipping your sundress. “I’ve been wanting you too.” You’re both rushing to get one another naked now. His shirt. Your dress. His pants. Your bra. His cock is freed from his boxers and Bruce sighs with relief. You blush at the sight of how hard and thick he is. It would fill you up so perfectly. He looks at you with the same amount of desire in his gaze. Your nipples harden under that gaze, causing his cock to throb. And then he’s on you, crawling over your body so he can cage you beneath him. He can’t help himself from kissing his way down your chest and stomach, pausing only when he gets to the waistband of your lace panties. “May I?”

He doesn’t need to ask, but the fact that he does warms your heart. You nod, giving your consent, and he hooks two fingers under the lace. You lift your hips, making it easier for your panties to be pulled down your legs. Once free of them, you let your legs fall away to reveal your cunt to him. You blush, knowing you’re already wet with slick. “Your kisses have been making me wet all afternoon,” you whisper, embarrassed. Bruce perks up at this information, letting a finger trace along your folds. “Wow, really? All afternoon?” You nod, your face feeling hot. “I love that you’re this wet for me.” He turns his head so he can leave kisses along your inner thigh. “I want to taste,” he groans, hungry for it. So hungry that he dives his face between your thighs, licking from your slit to your clit. He moans as the taste and scent of your cunt fill his senses. You moan at the feeling of his tongue alternating between licking your clit and slipping his tongue inside. Each time, your inner walls clench around the muscles of his tongue. “Oh God, y-you’re so good with your mouth!” you pant, starting to buck your hips. Lewdly, he devours your wetness, grunting against your flesh. His arms wrap around your thighs and pull you forward so your cunt is smashed against his face. He turns his focus on your clit, eagerly sucking on it. He’s so turned on by the noises you’re making and the taste on his tongue that he can’t stop himself from rutting into the mattress to get some relief. “I want you to cum on my face,” he declares suddenly, as if the idea just popped into his head and he couldn’t stop himself from saying it out loud. “Can you do that for me?” You find that you can only nod as the pleasure steadily builds throughout your limbs. “Here, let me try this,” he says as he slips his middle finger into your awaiting hole. Instantly, you grind down on it, crying out his name when he starts fingering you harder. His mouth returns to your clit, swirling his tongue over it to drive you closer and closer to the edge. And damn are you close to that edge. You scream for him, tell him how good he’s making you feel. He doesn’t let up, and without warning, your back is arching off the bed as you cum all over his face, just like he wanted you to. He works you through your aftershocks, licking up every drop of cum that spills out of you until your body slumps back onto the bed. It’s only then that he eases his finger out and sits back on his knees. “That…was incredible,” he pants with a light chuckle and then leans over you once more to leave a kiss on your temple. “Thank you for that, Princess.” You practically purr at the nickname. Usually, names like that give you the ick, but Bruce saying it gives you butterflies. “I love it when you call me that. I like being your Princess.” You hook a leg around his waist, beckoning him closer so his cock is nestled against the cleft of your cunt. He whimpers, grinding his erection against you. He wants to be inside you, wants to fuck you hard and deep, but he needs to slow down. “W-Wait, wait,” he pleads, holding your hips firm in an attempt to keep you both in place. “We…We need to talk first.” Something about his tone gives you pause. “What’s the matter?”you ask, giving him your full attention. Bruce worries at his bottom lip, wanting to say the right thing. “I don’t want to scare you but…sometimes…uh, when I cum, I turn a little…green.” A blush works its way up from his neck. “If you catch my drift.” You sit up, more intrigued than afraid, but the man before you misunderstands and continues on nervously. “You have n-nothing to worry about, I promise you. I would never let anything happen to you.” You silence him by pressing a finger to his lips. “I’m not afraid. Not of you or of him. I want to make you cum.” Your hand drops, replacing it with your lips, whispering against his mouth. “I want to make you both cum.”

Your acceptance of him and his other half stirs an animalistic lust from deep within him. When he moves on top of you, it feels as if it’s in tandem with Hulk. They had never moved as one before. Had never wanted the same thing so completely as they do now. 

Bruce kisses you roughly, tongues rolling along one another while their bodies grind. He aligns his cock with your opening, moaning in between your kisses. “Is that what the sweet girl wants? To make us cum so hard that we turn for you?” His voice is deeper, with pupils blown wide with lust. His words have your heart racing, and although this is your first time in Bruce’s bed…something tells you it’s both he and Hulk who would be fucking you tonight. You push your forehead against his and nod eagerly. If he was going to speak, it’s cut off by the growl that bubbles up from his throat. He’s completely overtaken by his feral alter ego, and in one fell swoop, sheathes his cock fully inside of you. You yelp, tensing at the sudden intrusion, but damn does he fill you up. However, the sound seems to bring Bruce back into himself. “S-Shit, I’m sorry. Are you alright?” 

You feel him starting to pull out of your heat. “Don’t!” you cry, wrapping your legs around him to keep him in place. “D-Don’t stop, Bruce. You feel so good. Please don’t stop.”

He nods, relieved that he hasn’t hurt you, and starts rolling his hips. “Mmhh, you feel good too. So tight.” But his slow pace doesn’t last long. His hands push your legs away, giving him space to pull out and then slam back in. You both throw your heads back, swearing loudly at the first deep thrust. Your walls had clenched so perfectly around his length so he pulls out and does it again. The drag of his thick cock along your walls is making you gush. You scream his name and claw at his back. You can’t seem to focus on anything but the hard pounding rhythm of his cock. Bruce bows his head and starts kissing, biting and sucking at your breasts. He does so as passionately as he had eaten your cunt, making you wonder if he has a slight oral fixation when it comes to sex. Not that you mind. You’ll wear the marks he’s leaving on your breasts with pride. 

A hand reaches between your legs to find your clit and rub firm circles on it. You arch into his touch and thrusts, trying to meet both. It causes a wet slapping noise to fill the room as he ruts into you. 

Every thrust brings a flush of green across Bruce’s broad back. But he can’t cum. Can’t turn. 

He needs to make you cum and he needs to keep you safe. But his control is slipping the closer his orgasm becomes. “A-Am I making you feel good, Princess?” You don’t hesitate to moan your reply in between desperate pants, “Yes, fuck yes! G-Getting close. More Bruce. Fuck m-me more, make me cum!” Any momentary self-consciousness fades at the sight of you falling apart. He gives you exactly what you need and cracks his hips faster, harder, rougher, while keeping firm pressure on your clit. It has your muscles tightening, that feeling of sweet release just within reach. His movements become sloppy, unable to keep away his own orgasm for much longer. But you’re too close to cumming to notice or care. “Cum for me, Princess. I…I need you to cum with me.” His words are all you need to come crashing over the edge. Your orgasm rocks you to your core, the entire time chanting his name like he’s your own personal God. Your inner walls pulse around every throbbing inch of his cock, coaxing him to reach his own peak.

His back contorts and green flashes down his arms and legs as he cums, filling you with it as he screams, sounding more monster than man. Was he about to…turn?

You don’t have time to react, because as quickly as it started, Bruce collapses on top of you. You’re honestly too stunned to react but the sound of a whimper breaks you from it. “Bruce?” Your arms come around him so you can stroke his back and hair. “Are you alright?” 

It takes him a few minutes of heavy breathing before he’s able to lift his head.” I-I’m okay. Could we just…lay here for a little while?” He sounds exhausted and lost. It tugs at your heartstrings. “Of course, for as long as you need,” you whisper, allowing your fingers to delicately trace over the lines of his back. For a long while, you lay together with his cock still nestled inside you. Not that you mind, it feels right being close to him. When he’s ready, Bruce slowly props himself up and slips out of you before looking you in the eye. He sheepishly thanks you, looking rather flustered. “I’m uh…sorry if I scared you earlier…you just felt so good and he…” Bruce trails off, clearly too embarrassed to continue, so you sit up and cup his cheek so he looks at you. “You have nothing to apologize for. You made me cum so hard. I’d let you fuck me over and over again if you wanted to.” He visibly perks up at that and can’t stop the boyish grin from spreading across his features. You grin back. “I guess I made him feel good too…if he was fighting to break out.” He takes a calming breath and runs a hand through his hair. “He uh…still does.”

“Really??” You sound shocked but intrigued. “Do you…uh want to let him out? I wouldn’t mind meeting him.” Bruce hesitates, not knowing if letting Hulk out is a good idea, but then he looks back at you. His eyes roam over your beautiful naked body that is now sitting back against the headboard. 

An image of you relaxing in his bed every morning from now until the end of time flashes through his mind. But it isn’t just his fantasy…it’s Hulk’s. “Well…he does think you’re pretty.” “Really? He told you that?” You blush, biting your bottom lip, and Bruce can’t help but chuckle at how adorable you look. “It’s more like a feeling, but yes, in a way.” You nod in understanding and wait for his final say on the matter. “Okay, you and Hulk can meet,” he agrees, and you happily squeal. “I’ll see you in the morning?” “In the morning,” you repeat, and Bruce leans in to give you another kiss before standing. He makes his way over to his dresser and pulls out a clean pair of boxers that are enhanced to stretch to Hulk’s size. “Now, if anything goes wrong, don’t hesitate to use my phone and call Tony,” he says over his shoulder while slipping the boxers on. “Call Tony, got it! But everything will be fine,” you reassure as you reach over the side of the bed to grab your underwear, and Bruce’s discarded shirt and put them on. When you look back at him, he’s facing away from you with his back rounded. He groans as loudly as he did when he came but is undoubtedly pained. Green muscles ripple out from his spine, up his neck, and down his limbs. You watch amazed as he doubles in size right before your eyes. He sways for a moment before gaining his footing and turning around to face you. Your breath catches in your throat at the realization that the famous Hulk is standing in front of you. “H-Hi there. I’m–”

“HULK KNOWS.” His deep booming voice cuts you off. “You do?” Hulk nods. “YOU’RE PRETTY LADY.”  The pet name makes you giggle and move closer to him but still remain perched on the edge of the bed. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.” Your eyes roam over him, wondering what being held in his arms would feel like. “Is…Is this where you sleep too? Or do you have your own room?” You use the questions as a way to distract your mind from thinking about his touch. He scrunches his green nose up in distaste, “BANNER’S MATTRESS TOO LUMPY. HULK HAS BIGGER BED.” He points down the hall to where the home’s second bedroom is. “PRETTY LADY WANT TO SEE HULK’S ROOM?”

“I would love that.” You smile and he holds out his hand for you to take. You do so, and with more gentleness than should have been capable of someone his size, he helps you out of bed and leads you to his room. However, the entire way, your eyes stayed glued on Hulk–memorizing and taking in the parts of him that were still innately Bruce. With your tiny hand in his massive one, he steps inside his bedroom, no longer needing to crouch down because the ceiling is higher now. The walls are covered with photos and newspaper clippings of the Avengers and their families. You smile, it’s endearing to see that he has a soft side. Hulk flops down on the extra-large mattress with a smirk, stealing your attention away from the photographs. “HULK’S ROOM BETTER. BED SOFTER AND BETTER FOR SNUGGLES.” He pats the spot next to him on the bed, silently inviting you over.  You raise a brow in his direction.

You couldn’t believe it…he was flirting with you. Boldly flirting with you at that! As if he already knew he had you right where he wanted… Those green eyes look at you like the alpha of a pack, ready to lay beside his mate. Maybe Hulk wasn’t just Bruce’s rage personified but also his self-confidence with the opposite sex. Not having an answer, you decide to climb up and join him on the bed. If he wants to be a flirt, then so would you. You lay down beside him so you can rest your head on his rather huge bicep. “Mmhm, you’re right…much more comfortable.” You smirk up at him. Seeing the smug look on your face has him laughing, his frame rumbles with it. “PRETTY LADY LIKE HULK’S ARMS BETTER! BANNER WILL BE JEALOUS.”

You shake your head at his silliness. “I love both of your arms,” you lightly scold until you yawn without warning. “Shoot, sorry about that. I guess I’m more tired than I realized.”

Hulk shakes his head at your apology and lightly pats your head. “NO SORRY. PRETTY LADY SLEEP NOW.”

You nod, suddenly finding it difficult to stay awake. He pulls you in, letting you fully nestle against him.

“BANNER SAYS PRETTY LADY LIKES HAIR PLAYED WITH.”

At first, his words confuse you, but then you remember one late-night phone conversation when you told Bruce that having your hair played with always puts you right to sleep.

You smile at the memory, confirming Hulk’s words, and his fingers find their way into your hair. He gently strokes and pets, leaving you nearly purring.

Hulk chuckles under his breath but doesn’t stop the movement of his fingers. “PRETTY LADY SOUNDS LIKE KITTEN.”

“I guess that makes me Hulk’s kitten,” you mumble, trying to stifle another yawn.

“HULK’S KITTEN,” he repeats softly in agreement. “CLOSE YOUR EYES, KITTEN. HULK KEEP YOU SAFE FOR BANNER.”

Your half-lidded eyes finally fall shut.

It only takes another moment and you’re asleep.

Hulk watches you, not wanting sleep to overtake him, but it isn’t easy when he feels so relaxed with you in his arms. Eventually, exhaustion seeps in, winning him over. But just before he fully subcomes to sleep, both Hulk and Bruce share the same thought.

This would be the start of something new.

[copperbadge]

I'm beginning the first steps of a job search currently; I love my job but I'd love earning six figures way more, and nonprofit work is just never going to pay me that in my role. Job searching when you have a job is always funny because you aren't stressed about money and you come across shit you'd never find otherwise (my favorite is still the Army officer school hiring a Professor of Mass Destruction).

I'm looking at an interesting niche that's basically "nonprofit within for-profit" -- corporate foundations which are well-funded, so the pay and benefits are superior. It's a tough job to look for so I'm basically right now building a directory of big corporations and how they handle CSR (corporate social responsibility) and hiring for it. So far:

Lego is way out ahead when it comes to having a good CSR site and a good separate CSR jobsite, it's almost laughable how much better they are than the rest.

A number of corporations, particularly in the food sector (think McDonalds, Kraft, etc) now have Pandemic Planning offices.

I couldn't decide whether to feel skeptical or pleased by the fact that there are now Pandemic Planning offices, because corporations are terrible but at least they're planning for it, and then I realized most of them are either in partnership with or under the aegis of the supply chain logistics office. Which means they're not planning for health and safety, just for how to keep burgers in the buns.

I guess better supply chain planning is a good thing, but the Beer Game does tell us that all the supply chain planning in the world is eventually of limited use...

[scoobydoodean]

what is your opinion on people calling dean a heavy misogynist? i don’t agree personally but i feel like you could put my thoughts into better words

First, I have to chuckle a little at "heavy misogynist". Apparently, some people have begun to realize their fave is also guilty of misogyny crimes therefore they focus on making sure all of us know Sam is a light misogynist and Dean is a heavy misogynist. I just find that amusing.

This is a broad topic in a long show, so I won't endeavor to address every conceivable incidence of misogyny in the show I can think of. Instead, I'm going to create a few headings, at least one of which I think most criticism falls under.

Misogyny through the writing team

How Sam's misogyny gets a pass

Purity culture wank and Dean performing for Sam

How Dean actually treats women

Misogyny Through The Writing Team

First, Supernatural in of itself has issues with misogyny—as in, the writers of the show (including female writers) have issues with misogyny which they are happy to put on display semi-frequently. The show started in 2005, during a period of time where casual sexism was absolutely rampant on TV and no one thought anything about it. Female celebrities were regularly mocked and dragged on cable television in a way men simply weren't. They were called bitches and skanks and whores, and even "progressive" voices were inundated with casual misogyny and a fixation on purity culture (that largely applied to women only). Quite simply, I think fandom tends to be far too generous toward the writers, assuming certain things were "flaws" the writers intentionally wrote for the characters.

Put another way, there are some criticisms I prefer to level at the writing team rather than the characters, because what is written plainly reflects their ignorance in the real world rather than any intent to give Sam or Dean or any other character meaningful flaws—much less outright terrible ones that greatly harm their image. I'll give a few examples:

2.17 "Heart" makes me very uncomfortable as I sit here in 2024 and observe how Sam and Madison's romance develops. Me feeling that way does not mean the authorial intent of 2007 Sera Gamble was that I think to myself, "Man Sam comes off as uncomfortably rapey here." Hopelessly bad with women, perhaps—but not creepy.

In season 2, the writers begin to develop a running “joke” that Sam is afraid of not just clowns but also little people. The latter “joke” is (wisely) dropped fairly quickly. I have never criticized Sam for being afraid of little people, and I never will. It is readily apparent to me that this running "joke" reflects the ignorance of the writing team rather than an intent to give Sam meaningful or interesting flaws. Their intent was to use little people as the butt of a joke. I personally find this "joke" distasteful, and the idea of trying to take that and somehow "dunk" on Sam for the bigotry of the writers is more distasteful to me.

This is also how I feel about the running "joke" of a porn magazine and website (BAB) that solely features Asian women, that is put on display on multiple occasions during the show—first in 2.15 "Tall Tales", where the context is Gabriel infecting Sam's laptop with a virus from the website and making him believe Dean is responsible. BAB continues to make "Easter Egg" appearances in the show afterward. While often associated with Dean by fandom, the writers clearly think of BAB as a general, "funny" (it isn't), running gag with no more depth than "haha men like porn funny". An issue is stolen by a sentient teddy bear in 4.08 "Wishful Thinking". An issue is owned by the teenager who swapped bodies with Sam in 5.12 "Swap Meat". The Men of Letters also collected a considerable number of issues (8.17). I simply do not believe the writers thought for a single moment about BAB being a grossly racist gag. They most certainly did not write it as an intentional criticism of Dean from that perspective. It reflects nothing but their ignorance and racism here in the real world, and absolutely SHOULD be criticized from that REAL WORLD impact.

How Sam's misogyny largely gets a pass

One of the things I have not been able to stop noticing on this rewatch is Sam's issues with misogyny, and how often Sam's misogyny comes out in conflicts with Dean... starting from the very first episode of the show. Pretty much any time you get anything that feels like it might be a misogynist Dean or horn dog Dean moment... Sam either just has or is about to follow that up with some misogyny of his own.

In 1.01, right after entering Sam's apartment and meeting Jess, Dean mentions the Smurfs on Jess's shirt. We think to ourselves "Okay. A little misogynist... a little horn-dog Dean." Sam is happy to 1-Up that in two ways. First, Jess voices her intentions to go get dressed. Dean dismisses this, but while doing so, makes it clear he intends to leave the room with Sam, as he'd like to have a private conversation with Sam anyway. Sam objects, walking over to Jess and putting an arm around her, demanding Dean say whatever he needs to say right then and there. Maybe this would feel supportive if Jess wasn't in her underwear and hadn't just made it clear that now that the panic over a possible break-in is over, she'd really like to not be in her underwear in front of a stranger. But nope. By god she needs to stand there so Sam can prove a point about misogynist Dean! Second, Sam immediately (and I think quite erroneously) jumps to imply Dean is trying to cut Jess out of the conversation because she's... a woman? Or... something? He makes a big show of moving over Jess and standing beside her, saying anything Dean has to say, he can say in front of Jess. However, the moment Sam actually understands that Dean is here because John is missing on a hunting trip, he dismisses Jess to speak to Dean alone... because he's lying to her. By painting Dean erroneously with this "The men are talking" bullshit that had nothing to do with anything, Sam sets himself up to be viewed as a misogynist by his own framing of the situation and what it means to leave Jess out of a discussion. He also reveals his own alleged principles as a performative illusion. Despite being his intended life partner, Sam never intends to tell the woman he loves about his past as a hunter (he makes this clear later on the bridge). However, I think because Sam's actions usually co-occur with what gets called out more directly or more immediately recognized as misogyny from Dean (should have gotten him for the Smurf's comment, Sam!) Sam's misogyny often flies under the radar... and he's really... pretty bad.

I spoke here at length about how Sam tends to look down on women who interact with Dean (often before meeting them). There is absolutely an intersection with purity culture here and there's discussion in that thread about that as well, and whether this is a "2000s writers" issue or intentionally written flaws.

In 1.06, Sam cuts Dean off before Dean can accept an offered beer from Rebecca, but then as soon as Sam needs Rebecca out of the room, Sam asks her to not just bring them those beers... but also fix them sandwiches. Rebecca says, "What do you think this is, Hooters?" and Dean mumbles, "I wish" and we somehow lose sight of the fact that Sam literally just asked a woman to make him sandwiches which is possibly the number one misogynist man trope. Sam vaguely suggests Dean is a misogynist in 1.19 for nudging Sam to go on a date with Sarah Blake and possibly get information on the case, because that would be "using" her, but Sam wants to "use" Meg Masters in 1.22 and he wants to "use" Ruby to get what he wants, and when he said getting information from women was "Dean's job", he was also showing he was perfectly willing to use Dean and Sarah—he just doesn't want to get his hands dirty. It also comes to light in 1.19 that this is more about Sam's belief that he has to protect women from him, and Sarah herself ends up calling Sam antiquated for it.

I mentioned before that Sam doesn't plan to ever tell Jess who he is, and he makes the same plans with Amelia. Dean, meanwhile, confides in Cassie (it's what leads to their breakup) as well as Lisa.

I also have to mention... one of the funniest things I see deancrit samgirls in particular dig at time after time after time is Dean calling women "bitches". Never mind that Sam also calls women like Ruby and Bela bitches and calls a woman a bitch in front of Madison. Apparently none of these occurrences count because... *looks at notes* reasons. "Bitch" only counts as misogyny when it's Dean saying it. Also, let's not mention that Sam exclusively uses the word "bitch" to refer to women, while Dean also calls men and creatures bitches at different points so it isn't a gender specific insult for him.

Dean is definitely the "heavy" misogynist here... right? (I guess Sam is a "tall" misogynist instead).

Purity culture wank and Dean performing for Sam

Dean is commonly treated in fandom as if he's some kind of sex pest, and quite blatantly... he isn't one. Women almost always proposition Dean first (thejabberwock has sets on this here and here), but him asking people out also isn't inherently creepy in any way? Co-occurring with Sam's purity culture inundated judgements, we often see fandom's own as well, where Dean is some kind of sex pest because he... likes women? Or... because he has sex with consenting women who also want to have sex with him? Sometimes it's giving purity culture wank, sometimes it's given big radfem energy... but regardless, I sometimes see people talk about Dean like him so much as making eye contact with a woman is a violent sexual threat, and that's just laughable—as is denying the agency and autonomy of consenting women in general.

Even though it doesn’t matter in the grand scheme of things, I'll also add that Dean... doesn't even actually have sex with the frequency that people talk about it? Dean has sex with Cassie—who was a long term partner of his in 1.13. He has sex with an actress in 2.18, and with Doublemint twins in 3.01. He has sex with a waitress 4.05. He plans to have sex with someone in 3.04, but turns her down when he realizes she's a prostitute who's working. This happens again in 10.07. I'm on season 4 of my rewatch and haven't been formally keeping up... but Dean is not actually having a lot of sex? We get implications he's been out partying a few times, and can maybe infer he scored, but we don't actually know.

I'm not a huge fan of performing Dean, in the sense that I think over the years I have seen it wildly overstated far too many times. But I do think Dean sometimes plays a character for Sam especially. Dean tells us this himself in 2.03 "Bloodlust" when confiding in Gordon. He never says so directly when it comes to the sexy sex guy doing sex persona, but his actions reveal him. One can think of plenty of examples of Dean saying horny stuff about women to Sam... but what about his actions?

How Dean actually treats women

Finally, there's how Dean actually treats women... and one would be very hard pressed to prove to me that Dean is sexist toward the women in his life. He's been close friends with multiple women and worked with women on hunts on multiple occasions and never once batted an eye. Jo in 2.06 is sometimes floated as an example, but it's actually discussed within the episode. Dean makes it very clear that he thinks women can do the job just fine. What he has a problem with is Jo's lack of experience and her romanticization of the job (especially during a period where Dean has fallen deeply out of love with the job himself). Everything we see as the series progresses supports Dean's assertion as truth. He's very good friends with Charlie, Jody, and Donna and doesn't go around excluding them on hunts while favoring men. That is not a thing that happens. While he initially tries to talk Claire out of the life (as he does everybody—this is not unique to women—see Adam for example) when she decides to hunt, he supports her regardless. There is nothing uniquely overprotective about how Dean treats women who hunt. End of. Dean has no illusions about traditional gender roles or any of that nonsense, jumping to clean dishes after dinner at Jody's and cooking breakfast for Lisa and Ben. (Our knowledge of Dean and the chores he does for his family already tell us this—but regardless). Even Demon Dean, an entity with no love for anyone and close to zero principles, targeted men who abuse and threaten women, and when Crowley ordered him to kill Lester's wife to fulfill the terms of Lester's demon deal, Demon Dean instead became so deeply annoyed with Lester's hypocrisy (he cheated on his wife first) and his assertion that it's different when men cheat, that he killed him and smiled while doing it.

So anyway, nope—I don't think Dean is a "heavy" misogynist.

[gimmick-blog-bracket]

Not propaganda, but I'd love to know if you had any expectations/predictions for the contest, and if any specific blogs have broken your predictions so far?

(p.s. here's hoping for a Gavlebocken/Spore finale! I wanna see that Goat in Spore (2008)!)

Funny that you mention hasgavlebockenburneddownyet, considering the fact that it has continued to be probably the biggest subversion of my expectations. No offense to the person behind it, of course, but it seemed like a weak competitor. It was number 65 out of the 128 competitors based on my "strength points," but I guess my formula couldn't account for people who hadn't seen it before really liking the idea.

There was also the time that aroace-everyday beat hellsite-proteins, which was very surprising, as aroace-everyday was 118th out of 128 and hellsite-proteins was 8th.

But other than that, everything in the competition has been going mostly how I thought it would

Ultimately the biggest thing that does not conform to my expectations is how big this whole competition got, in all ways.

I was totally expecting for nobody but a couple of my mutuals to submit anything. I was totally expecting nobody but a couple of mutuals to vote on anything. And as boring as a competition with only 8 competitors would be, I was totally expecting for that to be the absolute maximum. But it wasn't, obviously, and more people are voting in these polls than just a couple of my mutuals. Obviously.

Whether you think this competition is cool and epic or terribly uninteresting, it only really is anything because so many of you helped it get there <2

[carleycore]

cute things i think the jjk men would do for you

genre. Fluff

notes. happy new year!!!!!! be sure to make yourself happy

Pulling out chairs/Opening doors

He doesn’t even realize he does it, but on your first date the second you try to sit down he pull out your chair which was a stark contrast compared to other men you’ve dated. At first, you thought it was just him showing off, but the further along you got in your relationship Megumi never changed.

Moving hair out of your face

Dating Sukuna was interesting to say the least. He showed love in his own sort of way which you always admired. But, he never understood why your hair was always in your face. When you woke up, it was a mess. When you were cooking or working on something there’d always be a strand or something in your face which he’d tuck behind your ear. “always having hair in your face hmm? You need to see my magnificence without your vision clouded”

Zipping up your dress

Being married to the strongest sorcerer meant going to a lot of formal events you’d rather not attend. But, on the bright side, you got to dress up and Gojo was your number one hype man. The first time he zipped up your dress it was because you couldn’t reach. Now that you saw how happy it made him for do that, you act like you cant zip anything, and he probably knows. But you’re in love so who cares.

Doing your hair

It all started when you were making pottery and forgot to put your hair up so you called your husband from the other room to put it up. At first, Nanami was terrible. He only looped it around once and didn’t even catch all the hair. You didn’t mind, and actually thought it was funny. But at 2:00AM you’d catch him watching a “how to braid your hair” tutorial while practicing on doll… that he bought? Now, he was the one to offer to do your hair, just for fun.

╰┈➤ ᴇᴠᴇʀʏᴛʜɪɴɢ ɪ ᴡʀɪᴛᴇ ʙᴇʟᴏɴɢꜱ ᴛᴏ @ᴄᴀʀʟᴇʏᴄᴏʀᴇ 2023 ᴅᴏ ɴᴏᴛ ᴄᴏᴘʏ/ʀᴇᴡᴏʀᴋ/ʀᴇᴡʀɪᴛᴇ ᴍʏ ᴡᴏʀᴋ ᴀɴʏᴡʜᴇʀᴇ.

[mostlysignssomeportents]

Google reneged on the monopolistic bargain

I'm on tour with my new novel The Bezzle! Catch me TONIGHT in SALT LAKE CITY (Feb 21, Weller Book Works) and TOMORROW in SAN DIEGO (Feb 22, Mysterious Galaxy). After that, it's LA, Seattle, Portland, Phoenix and more!

A funny thing happened on the way to the enshittocene: Google – which astonished the world when it reinvented search, blowing Altavista and Yahoo out of the water with a search tool that seemed magic – suddenly turned into a pile of shit.

Google's search results are terrible. The top of the page is dominated by spam, scams, and ads. A surprising number of those ads are scams. Sometimes, these are high-stakes scams played out by well-resourced adversaries who stand to make a fortune by tricking Google:

https://www.nbcnews.com/tech/tech-news/phone-numbers-airlines-listed-google-directed-scammers-rcna94766

But often these scams are perpetrated by petty grifters who are making a couple bucks at this. These aren't hyper-resourced, sophisticated attackers. They're the SEO equivalent of script kiddies, and they're running circles around Google:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/02/24/passive-income/#swiss-cheese-security

Google search is empirically worsening. The SEO industry spends every hour that god sends trying to figure out how to sleaze their way to the top of the search results, and even if Google defeats 99% of these attempts, the 1% that squeak through end up dominating the results page for any consequential query:

https://downloads.webis.de/publications/papers/bevendorff_2024a.pdf

Google insists that this isn't true, and if it is true, it's not their fault because the bad guys out there are so numerous, dedicated and inventive that Google can't help but be overwhelmed by them:

https://searchengineland.com/is-google-search-getting-worse-389658

It wasn't supposed to be this way. Google has long maintained that its scale is the only thing that keeps us safe from the scammers and spammers who would otherwise overwhelm any lesser-resourced defender. That's why it was so imperative that they pursue such aggressive growth, buying up hundreds of companies and integrating their products with search so that every mobile device, every ad, every video, every website, had one of Google's tendrils in it.

This is the argument that Google's defenders have put forward in their messaging on the long-overdue antitrust case against Google, where we learned that Google is spending $26b/year to make sure you never try another search engine:

https://www.bloomberg.com/news/articles/2023-10-27/google-paid-26-3-billion-to-be-default-search-engine-in-2021

Google, we were told, had achieved such intense scale that the normal laws of commercial and technological physics no longer applied. Take security: it's an iron law that "there is no security in obscurity." A system that is only secure when its adversaries don't understand how it works is not a secure system. As Bruce Schneier says, "anyone can design a security system that they themselves can't break. That doesn't mean it works – just that it works for people stupider than them."

And yet, Google operates one of the world's most consequential security system – The Algorithm (TM) – in total secrecy. We're not allowed to know how Google's ranking system works, what its criteria are, or even when it changes: "If we told you that, the spammers would win."

Well, they kept it a secret, and the spammers won anyway.

A viral post by Housefresh – who review air purifiers – describes how Google's algorithmic failures, which send the worst sites to the top of the heap, have made it impossible for high-quality review sites to compete:

https://housefresh.com/david-vs-digital-goliaths/

You've doubtless encountered these bad review sites. Search for "Best ______ 2024" and the results are a series of near-identical lists, strewn with Amazon affiliate links. Google has endlessly tinkered with its guidelines and algorithmic weights for review sites, and none of it has made a difference. For example, when Google instituted a policy that reviewers should "discuss the benefits and drawbacks of something, based on your own original research," sites that had previously regurgitated the same lists of the same top ten Amazon bestsellers "peppered their pages with references to a ‘rigorous testing process,’ their ‘lab team,’ subject matter experts ‘they collaborated with,’ and complicated methodologies that seem impressive at a cursory look."

But these grandiose claims – like the 67 air purifiers supposedly tested in Better Homes and Gardens's Des Moines lab – result in zero in-depth reviews and no published data. Moreover, these claims to rigorous testing materialized within a few days of Google changing its search ranking and said that high rankings would be reserved for sites that did testing.

Most damning of all is how the Better Homes and Gardens top air purifiers perform in comparison to the – extensively documented – tests performed by Housefresh: "plagued by high-priced and underperforming units, Amazon bestsellers with dubious origins (that also underperform), and even subpar devices from companies that market their products with phrases like ‘the Tesla of air purifiers.’"

One of the top ranked items on BH&G comes from Molekule, a company that filed for bankruptcy after being sued for false advertising. The model BH&G chose was ranked "the worst air purifier tested" by Wirecutter and "not living up to the hype" by Consumer Reports. Either BH&G's rigorous testing process is a fiction that they infused their site with in response to a Google policy change, or BH&G absolutely sucks at rigorous testing.

BH&G's competitors commit the same sins – literally, the exact same sins. Real Simple's reviews list the same photographer and the photos seem to have been taken in the same place. They also list the same person as their "expert." Real Simple has the same corporate parent as BH&G: Dotdash Meredith. As Housefresh shows, there's a lot of Dotdash Meredith review photos that seem to have been taken in the same place, by the same person.

But the competitors of these magazines are no better. Buzzfeed lists 22 air purifiers, including that crapgadget from Molekule. Their "methodology" is to include screenshots of Amazon reviews.

A lot of the top ranked sites for air purifiers are once-great magazines that have been bought and enshittified by private equity giants, like Popular Science, which began as a magazine in 1872 and became a shambling zombie in 2023, after its PE owners North Equity LLC decided its googlejuice was worth more than its integrity and turned it into a metastatic chumbox of shitty affiliate-link SEO-bait. As Housefresh points out, the marketing team that runs PopSci makes a lot of hay out of the 150 years of trust that went into the magazine, but the actual reviews are thin anaecdotes, unbacked by even the pretense of empiricism (oh, and they loooove Molekule).

Some of the biggest, most powerful, most trusted publications in the world have a side-hustle in quietly producing SEO-friendly "10 Best ___________ of 2024" lists: Rolling Stone, Forbes, US News and Report, CNN, New York Magazine, CNN, CNET, Tom's Guide, and more.

Google literally has one job: to detect this kind of thing and crush it. The deal we made with Google was, "You monopolize search and use your monopoly rents to ensure that we never, ever try another search engine. In return, you will somehow distinguish between low-effort, useless nonsense and good information. You promised us that if you got to be the unelected, permanent overlord of all information access, you would 'organize the world's information and make it universally accessible and useful.'"

They broke the deal.

Companies like CNET used to do real, rigorous product reviews. As Housefresh points out, CNET once bought an entire smart home and used it to test products. Then Red Ventures bought CNET and bet that they could sell the house, switch to vibes-based reviewing, and that Google wouldn't even notice. They were right.

https://www.cnet.com/home/smart-home/welcome-to-the-cnet-smart-home/

Google downranks sites that spend money and time on reviews like Housefresh and GearLab, and crams botshittened content mills like BH&G into our eyeballs instead.

In 1558, Thomas Gresham coined (ahem) Gresham's Law: "Bad money drives out good." When counterfeit money circulates in the economy, anyone who gets a dodgy coin spends it as quickly as they can, because the longer you hold it, the greater the likelihood that someone will detect the fraud and the coin will become worthless. Run this system long enough and all the money in circulation is funny money.

An internet run by Google has its own Gresham's Law: bad sites drive out good. It's not just that BH&G can "test" products at a fraction of the cost of Housefresh – through the simple expedient of doing inadequate tests or no tests at all – so they can put a lot more content up that Housefresh. But that alone wouldn't let them drive Housefresh off the front page of Google's search results. For that, BH&G has to mobilize some of their savings from the no test/bad test lab to do real rigorous science: science in defeating Google's security-through-obscurity system, which lets them command the front page despite publishing worse-than-useless nonsense.

Google has lost the spam wars. In response to the plague of botshit clogging Google search results, the company has invested in…making more botshit:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/02/16/tweedledumber/#easily-spooked

Last year, Google did a $70b stock buyback. They also laid off 12,000 staffers (whose salaries could have been funded for 27 years by that stock buyback). They just laid off thousands more employees.

That wasn't the deal. The deal was that Google would get a monopoly, and they would spend their monopoly rents to be so good that you could just click "I'm feeling lucky" and be teleported to the very best response to your query. A company that can't figure out the difference between a scam like Better Homes and Gardens and a rigorous review site like Housefresh should be pouring every spare dime it brings in into fixing this problem. Not buying default search status on every platform so that we never try another search engine: they should be fixing their shit.

When Google admits that it's losing the war to these kack-handed spam-farmers, that's frustrating. When they light $26b/year on fire making sure you don't ever get to try anything else, that's very frustrating. When they vaporize seventy billion dollars on financial engineering and shoot one in ten engineers, that's outrageous.

Google's scale has transcended the laws of business physics: they can sell an ever-degrading product and command an ever-greater share of our economy, even as their incompetence dooms any decent, honest venture to obscurity while providing fertile ground – and endless temptation – for scammers.

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/02/21/im-feeling-unlucky/#not-up-to-the-task

[candiedspit]

Smear Frame (1992)

The night I got home from the hospital, we had peas and squash and good chicken. Nobody spoke. The radio spoke for us; vitamin deficiencies, lights spotted across Vegas, another building demolition. The first couple of days, I stayed in my room throwing a ball against the wall, doing long division in my head. The television playing a documentary about squid brains. On the third night, mama asked what I was planning to do.

You can be a thing in the world, she told me.

We were in the kitchen, the evening light staining the windows above the sink.

You do have a choice, she continued. But you choose to suffer like an idiot. Even the rabbit knows better than to follow the wolf.

Learn something, Jane.

And she left the room. I held her words in the belly of my chest, going over them again and again. That night, I got dressed in my trench coat and went out to the middle of town. The lights were buoyant and fresh, amazing slashes, amazing range. The moon was pinned against the skies like a cop’s badge. I stepped into Lousy’s which was a bar I had been to before. I liked it because it was dark and cold. I often pretended I was in a cave or in some sort of comet, minutes away from approaching the quiet tendrils of earth.

I ordered a Shirley temple and sat at the bar watching the bartender spin and shake and serve drinks.

What’s the drink with the longest name? I asked.

A terrible, unearthed bitter and lame dirt tonic, he said.

I mused on this for a while and eventually someone spoke to me. An older woman wearing red and large earrings asked me what time it was. I shrugged.

Maybe sometime around midnight, I said.

Don’t you have a watch? She asked. What kinda man doesn’t have a watch?

The question of my masculinity continues to come under fire, I laughed.

So, what’s your problem? She asked. Why are you here at maybe sometime around midnight?

I got out of the loony bin last weekend, I said. I’m trying to map out the world again.

How long were you in there for?

Six weeks, I said.

Do they zap your brain? She asked. I had a cousin like that, always in and out of those places.

How is he doing? I asked.

On the side of the road, she said. Begging for cash, not hiding the bad time he’s having.

That’s admirable. But no, they didn’t zap my brain.

Did they strangle you with Valium?

I was never sedated, I said.

Who put you there?

My parents, I said, I was seeing the holes in the plot, could see the failing strings in the fabric of the universe, the whole picture. I stoped eating, stopped sleeping. All I did was play chess with spirits and paint my nails over and over again. I showed the woman my hands. See? They’re clean.

The woman was quiet, sipped on her drink. I continued.

It was sorta nice, I admitted, not speaking to anyone but sounding out the idea.

Being taken care of like an infant who can’t speak. You get medication in the morning and you moan about the news. Someone starts screaming. Someone stops screaming. You go into a dreamless, milky sleep. And your roommate mumbles in his sleep, sweet robotic poems. And you don’t have a pencil so you commit them to memory; a fog roars, abstain, chapel, chapel, chapel. And you disappear from the world. Headlines float around every day and you wander around the unit making funny faces to entertain yourself and someone calls you and they ask how you are and you tell them you can’t wait to go home. And then you get home and the world is indifferent.

Cheers, the woman said.

And we clinked our glasses. Around three, the woman stood up and gave me her number and shook my hand and left. I kept the slip of paper in my coat pocket. I went out to walk by the river-end, watching the rising of the waters, the night reflected on the surface, dark rivulets. A sort of vile peace.

A couple of months afterward, I found work at a fish market. Slicing trout in half and packaging swordfish into white papers. The work was mindless, bleeding work. Nobody spoke to me. I smoked cigarettes. When I got home, the house smelled of blood.

A while later on, I called the woman. I was on my way home from work. I had not spoken to another human being in ten hours. I had forgotten what my voice sounded like. I could see myself getting slower by the minute. Words died in my head like vermin. The woman answered within four rings. I explained who I was. The boy in the trench coat. It was nighttime and we spoke for a while. You were drinking a tall martini and every so often would dive into your purse to fix your lipstick.

You sound different, she said.

I feel different, I said. I feel like an aspirin. I feel like a headache that won’t resolve.

Where are you? She asked.

By the river, I said. I like seeing the water enunciate. Where are you?

She told me she was making tea for her husband.

He’s not feeling well, she said. I’m doing what people say to do; ginger and saltines and warm baths. But he’s persistent with his pain.

Some people are, I said.

The clouds are fragrant tonight, I continued.

It’s getting late. I can see my mother checking the time, fidgeting in the kitchen then checking again. It’s something I relish. Getting home late. The worry she must feel. The worst things happen in your brain. Perhaps I fell down a flight of stairs. Perhaps I cut my hand open on a knife and I’m in the hospital bleeding out beneath the fluorescent lights. She has a feeling but doesn’t want to endorse the feeling in case it becomes a truth. And when I arrive at last, the feeling subsides and instead is replaced with a mute disappointment. I am the one she loves but not the one she missed.

I began to call the woman—whose name I never bothered to ask for, I wanted to name her myself—often. When I was on my lunch break barely eating a tuna sandwich. When I was smoking cigarettes. When I was in my room reading the newspaper and playing with myself. When I was half asleep.

Once, I was naked in bed with the radio on, and there was a sullen exasperation in my stomach. I felt as though I knew when I was going to die and if I focused long enough the date would come to me, would emerge from the foggy brain matter and I would be freed. I had been thinking of death for weeks. Death was my babe, my habit. I had visions of my own death. Dying struck by a moving car and being stuck in the tire. An aneurysm so I’m alive one moment and exploding the next. Being stunned by a bullet and feeling my cells gasp in unison.

Death is an orgasm, I told the woman one night. Death is a great, wondrous love. You go into the light. You feel peace for the first time in your pathetic silly little life.

You sound twisted, the woman said. Death is what you avoid, everything you do, you do to put death out. Your bravado is not going to protect you from what will happen or what has happened.

That winter I was sleepless. I slept for thirty minutes at a time, watched the sunrise slur into my windows, made tea for my parents and gutted samurai fish and wrapped tuna and walked around town, dreaming of poisonous gas. Sometimes, I choked on my visions.

One afternoon, I felt a pop in the back of my head and walked out of work during my lunch break. And walked straight home. When my mother saw me, she placed me on the couch and pointed a flashlight in my eyes and placed a cold towel on my forehead. I mumbled for the angels.

I had been in the hospital for two weeks when I called the woman, I had been blotted out and cast into a week of sleep. I was feeling alright.

What kind of dreams have you been having? The woman asked,

I don’t dream, I told her. I stumble in and out of sleep like a newly born calf. I feel like I’m full of milk, a white calmness in my arteries, a saline stillness.

Come see me, I said. Come see my blue scrubs and bandaged fingers and dirty acne and limp, sedated gait.

I will, she said.

It was New Year’s Eve when she came. The nurses had hung up garlands and the television played the ball drop in New York City; that mirage a thousand light years away.

We were given virgin champagne and the nurses counted down with us and the woman was there, her hand on my back.

Focus on living one breath at a time, she said. Count the breaths until you forget you’re even counting.

The year turned over onto her stomach. That night, I laid down and recounted the poem again.

Chapel. Chapel. Chapel.