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sarahjkl82-blog · 3 years

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Artistic Instinct Chapter Eight

Header thanks to the lovely @yespolkadotkitty

Summary: Marcus Pike and OC Anushka Pierce have been selected to work on a 5 eyes (Australia, Canada, NZ, the UK and US) intelligence team to track down art forgeries as a part of taking down an international white terrorism cell. Marcus is trying to escape his broken heart, Anushka is just trying to escape what the world expects of her.

Word count: 5,600

Warnings: Language as always, mentions of drinking, alcohol and drunkenness, mentions of sex OH AND HEARTBREAK

Pairing: Marcus Pike x reader (OC)

This comes with a MASSIVE THANK YOU to the lovely @yespolkadotkitty , who read, re-read, pointed out the constant flipping between tenses and gave me the confidence to try to write something. This is the first thing I have written since angsty poetry as a teenager. Apologies if it is shit!

The right person, the wrong time.

The right script, the wrong line.

The right poem, the wrong rhyme.

And a piece of you

That was never mine

K Towne Jr.

Chapter 8

The black topped streets of Lewisham radiate the day’s spring sunshine as if intent upon sending the heaven sent warmth back up through Marcus’ soles. The evening’s golden light creates a love song in his heart - one that morphs from the irritation and melancholy of the morning to a happier more uplifting tune.

When did that mood change? Oh yes, that embrace.

Nush.

Marcus hadn’t realised just how low his battery was for touch until you threw your arms around him. How much much he’d needed your body close to his again. Feeling your softness against him, inhaling your intoxicating scent. How he’d longed to kiss your forehead and stroke your hair in that cuddle. Remembering the pain of breaking that contact, plastering on a smile and kicking himself for it.

Constantly having to watch his need for your touch and tempering it within the normal parameters for a working relationship, Marcus has found himself reaching out for you- making excuses to touch you as you passed him, finding imaginary eyelashes on your face. Being around you felt like a breath that he was unable to release, continuously having to dampen down his natural instincts to hold and stroke you.

Kiss you.

Taste you.

Had he been back in the States, he would have said fuck it and asked you out, but that didn’t exactly go well last time. The pain of knowing exactly what he wants and it just being beyond the reach of his fingertips plagues Marcus daily with the dream of coming home to be loved, nurtured and protected and offer it in return. How do you ever allow yourself to become vulnerable to that risk of failure again? One thing he is certain of, is your current ignorance of the true level of his feelings. The kindness you show others - so much care for everyone around you, albeit through a thinly veiled layer of sarcasm and swearing- and the love your friends show for you, demonstrate that you would be nothing but clear if he was to reveal his true feelings.

Squeezing politely through the crowds, between the narrow shack-like stalls of the fairy-light illuminated market, Marcus heads towards the Highline where Andy had told each of you to meet him. Before he could start climbing the staircase up, a large hand grasps his upper arm, another patting the space between his shoulder blades. Marcus spins, slightly surprised by the touch, to be greeted by Andy’s grinning face.

“Looking good, Sir. Bit sharper than at lunch today,” Andy observes, giving Marcus’ leather jacket, Henley and indigo jeans a once over, “and before you complain, I am going to get you a beer because of the day you’ve had. You can do your management thing of buying the first round in a bit, and I won’t take no for an answer.”

With Andy’s face explicitly telling Marcus not to disagree with him, he nods, definitely needing that drink. As they head together towards the bar, they are both absorbed into the throng of a hundred voices holding loud conversations as they compete with the soundtrack from the decks. The crowd is a mixed bag of teenagers, students and families - the children chasing or trying to catch the sparkling spotlights as their parents reminisce over large gin and tonics about lie-ins and late nights not hunched over a crib.

Winding their way through the laughing and dancing bodies, they head in the direction of the alcohol to order some locally brewed ales, bumping into an already buzzing Kiritopa at almost the front of the queue. After a round of handshakes, back slaps and hearty laughs, they edge ever closer to their goal of amber nectar. Before their drinks are poured, Marcus’ eyes scan the market for the rest of the team when they are caught by a flash of colour. Bright turquoise stockings, a mustard corduroy pinafore, red and white striped T-shirt - oh, it isn’t you. Your wildly coloured legs bring so much colour to his day and they are the first thing he checks as he enters the office. Elbow nudges and a pint glass from Andy brings his attention back to the men in front of him for a quick cheers-ing of glasses before heading out of the melée.

The table on the Highline that Andy had reserved was utterly perfect. It afforded a bird’s eye view of the market - a true dream come true for any avid people watchers, whilst also allowing everyone to talk and be heard by each other with its one storey elevation from the thronging crowds. Andy and Kiritopa are animatedly talking with each other lounging amongst the piles of cushions and blankets on the pallet seating, while Marcus leans against the walkway, clutching his beer, staring off into the urban sprawl of concrete car parks and fried chicken restaurants but only looking for one face.

“Hey, what time do you call this...Whoa - Nush, is that makeup? On your face?” Andy’s eyes are utterly saucer-like in this discovery.

“Hush your mouth - she did it to me,” you jab your finger in Dian’s direction, pouting your lips at the indignation and as Andy goes to make another quip, you add- shoving some chips in his mouth, “Dirty masala fries- thought we’d need something to line our tummies this evening. Although equally, they’ll do a wonderful job of keeping some people’s mouths shut!”

“I think I did a great job- she looks stunning!” having put three portions on the table, Dian steps back to admire her handiwork as you pull a duck face pout at her.

She always looks beautiful.

“So, what’s on these fries?” Marcus asks as he desperately tries to avoid the other thoughts running through his head of how that pencil skirt runs along the curve that falls and rises from your waist to your hips beautifully or the horizontal stripes of your t-shirt - an outfit winning in its quest to distract.

As for that goddamn red lipstick…

It would leave a mark all around my-

“Ok, so they’re skinny French fries with spices shaken over them and a dollop of channa masala on top. Oh and that white shit is garlic mayo to dip them in,” you grin broadly as you pass him a portion - the picant vibrancy of the food telling stories of the fresh, bold flavours to come. Always being a believer in food being one of the ways that you can love a person, the mouthful of potatoes, spices and chickpeas envelops Marcus in an all encompassing hug. His belly sings with happiness with each mouthful he consumes, his tongue delightfully tingling from the chilli powder.

“Y’know Nush. Not had one of your curries for a while,” Andy not-so gently hints.

Marcus can’t help but raise his eyebrows, “Nush, you make curries? How many other hidden talents?”

“She also plays the piano and did ballet until she was fifteen,” Andy adds, ducking as you lob a cushion at him - your face reddened with a mixture of embarrassment and rage.

“Badly according to my mother,” you say, rolling your eyes as you shove another mouthful in, “Mine aren’t particularly elegant but they are edible. Well they are now anyway - there was one, a keema matar, that I made as a kid where I didn’t realise that chili develops over time. Put in roughly five tablespoons by the end. Could have been used for chemical warfare. Never lived it down but it got me out of cooking for a while.”

The table explodes in uproarious laughter, earning several odd looks from the patrons nearby.

“Well, I’m considering this an invitation to try one of your edible curries as you so eloquently call them,” Kiritopa rubs his belly in anticipation, chuckling at your modesty, “When can we get a date in the book?”

“I love a good curry, so count me in,” Dian chimes in as she pops the chickpeas like sweets into her mouth.

Marcus watches you shift uncomfortably in the spotlight of demands from your co-workers, “If I do this, I need a bigger space to work in as I can’t fit you all in my flat. I’ll need to borrow somewhere that can fit more bums.”

“Could use my apartment to cook and host, if you like?” Marcus proffers, secretly hopeful at trying some of your dishes and perhaps more than a little excited at the thought of spending some one on one time with you.

“Shall we do Sunday evening, if nothing turns up from work?” Kiritopa asks hopefully.

Marcus shrugs by way of confirmation, catching your gaze, drinking in the swirl of colours in your iris, to give you a nod.

With a sigh and a roll of the eyes, you exclaim, “Andy- what the fuck have you started? You’ve all grossly overestimated my skills, and now I am going in search of alcohol to dull my senses and make poor decisions,” you dramatically announce with a theatrical bow, “What can I get everyone?”

Seeing an opportunity open up, Marcus touches your arm as you go to leave, “It’s my round. Help me carry them?”

“Deal,” Marcus feels his heart grow as he sees your smile reach every corner of your face.

Before reaching the top of the stairs, Marcus moves himself around to walk in front of you. His body on an autopilot of manners. On reaching the bottom step, he reaches back - unthinkingly - to grab your hand so as not to lose you amongst the multitude drinking, eating and dancing the night away. The momentary panic that spread at the thought of you rejecting him recedes as your fingers thread between his.

Sending a warm smile at you over his shoulder, you follow in the wake of him quietly.

The people near the bar are flowing like rivers, never stopping for obstacles but twirling, swirling around them nevertheless Marcus guides you through, never letting go. The noise of the chatter and throb of the music surrounds you, not allowing for much verbal communication so he settles for small movements and gestures with the hand that is holding yours. When you finally arrive at the queue by the bar, that is when you can speak a bit more freely albeit in theatrical whispers in each other’s ears.

Marcus watches how the evening breeze kisses you, blowing the strands of your growing-out fringe into your face. How you gaze around and observe people whilst also managing to make him feel like he’s the only person there. The way your eyes crease into crescents when you laugh or smile and how much he wishes he could thank all those people jostling you into him. But like all moments with you, it ends too quickly as soon you’re both heading upriver against the current with your trays of drinks.

“Nush, I’ve always thought it was some kind of miracle that you never spill alcohol,” Andy teases you as you bring the drinks to their owners.

“Hah! I don’t waste the good stuff,” you mutter indignantly, “Although perhaps if we want to protect the office carpets, I should…”

“No,” Marcus mock-sternly interjects at the thought of you being drunk and the chaos that would bring, “No day drinking at work, Nush. I’d prefer the coffee stains.”

Your pout and subsequent upward glance through your eyelashes, makes Marcus turn towards the railings, hiding his thoughts in his beer.

Fuck, Nush.

If you only knew what you do to me.

“Hey Kiri, isn’t it? You playing in the tourney tomorrow?” a deep, cut glass accent calls out, cutting through the crowds surrounding them. Marcus turns towards where the sound is coming from and as he does, he catches a strange look cross your face.

“What the fuck are you doing here and how the fuck do you know Kiritopa?” The tone of your voice, narrowed eyes and furrowed brow makes Marcus turn back towards the group inquisitively.

“Nush! Haven’t seen you in a long time but you are looking amazing,” the voice is attached to a face, the kind that would stop anyone in their tracks, “can barely recognise you with makeup on- you should wear it more often.”

You breathlessly mutter, “Fuck off, that’s never going to happen.”

Good girl. Don’t put up with that BS. You’re better than that.

“I know Seb through rugby training,” then tilting his head quizzically, Kiritopa asks, “How do you know him?”

“Since school isn’t it, so what? Roughly twenty years? Through her brother, Adam as we played rugger together. Although, despite such a long time friendship, you wouldn’t let me in your knickers until more recently,” Seb shoots you a wink from over his beer.

The words burn through Marcus as he considers your connection with this man - his eyes narrowing, lips thinning. Loneliness echoing through his racing heart. He hadn’t considered you seeing anyone else- even for the briefest of dalliances but then not everyone is a serial long term monogamist.

Of course you’d have needs, you are an adult woman.

I just wish you’d explore them with me.

“Every now and then it’s nice to have an orgasm attached to a pulse that isn’t delivered by a battery,” you deliver, utterly deadpan.

Seb pretends to be mortally wounded by your words, playing dead into the chair next to yours, languidly flopping his limbs around. Oh, how Marcus would like to wipe that stupid smug smirk off his face!

For fuck’s sake, Pike. Why didn’t you sit next to her when you had the chance?

White knuckles wrapped around his nearly empty pint glass, Marcus silently watches as Seb desperately works to get your attention whilst you chat animatedly with Dian and Andy while Kiri downs the rest of his beer. He hasn’t noticed the pretty young woman with bouncing corkscrew curls observing him from amongst her friends on the next table along.

“Hey. You look like you could do with a drink, can I get you one?”

Abruptly removed from his poorly concealed glowering, Marcus raises his eyebrows in surprise at this question, pausing for some time before realising that it was aimed at him.

“Oh, look don’t worry. It was just a silly thought...” the beautifully tight curls go to withdraw from view and return to their friends.

“No, I’m sorry. I was lost in thought,” Marcus offers apologetically, “It’s been a day from hell. Let me get you a drink.”

“Wanted to talk to you as I was a bit concerned that you were about to break that glass with how tightly you were gripping it. Glass is an arse to get out of wounds so thought it better to save your hands before you come visit me in A&E,” she gently proposes, “There are better places to spend Friday nights!”

Welcoming the pretty distraction from his destructive thoughts, Marcus’ cheeks dimple as he nods, “I can imagine. Are you a doctor?”

“Yeah, for my sins,” she amusedly huffs, “And on a rare night out, so shall we go get that drink? I’m Kemi, by the way.”

✪✪✪✪✪

Oh, how you long to rip the makeup from your face! As a child, it had been a form of let’s pretend that turned into a mask to hide behind as a young adult as you experimented with finding your true self. Now, that you are established in your womanhood, you feel no need to add layers to your face other than when you are convinced it would be fun by a fast-becoming firm friend.

When Sebastian made a remark about how pretty you looked with the makeup, it made you want to run to the loo right then and there to claw it from your skin.

And what the ever loving fuck is he doing here? Fucking Sebastian of all fucking people, who you accidentally keep finding yourself fucking. You’d just come around to the idea that it might be ok to occasionally go out with people from work but when they meet people from your everyday life - your home life - that isn’t ok. Especially when that person is just a hate fuck. Great in bed but an odious human being as you can’t be that handsome and a decent person, it seems.

Unless you’re Marcus Fucking Pike.

Who is now grabbing a drink with an absolute goddess of a woman.

You couldn’t quite pinpoint why it had hurt so much when he’d walked off with her but there was such an ache deep in your tummy that could not be ignored. Between that and the appearance of fucking Sebastian, you just want to jump on the 178 home and throw on your jammies, curling up under the shit crocheted throw that you’d made during your leave - more holes than stitches. If it wasn’t for Dian, you would already be on your way there, demolishing something unhealthy from UberEats, glugging a wine or two.

Dian seems to pick up on your drop in mood and decides that it’s time for a trip to the tequila bar. With Andy’s husband now joining your rag-tag gang, you agree to chase some bitter hits of alcohol. As you wind your way among the dancers and drinkers, you see him standing by one of the upturned kegs, laughing at something she has said. You catch his eye, plaster on a smile and send him a wink in the hope that your wish for him to have fun seems genuine.

You sign to him whether he wants a drink but a small shake of his head tells you all you need to know before Dian tugs your hand back in the direction of the bar. Standing in front of the bartender, a moment of sadness washes over you until Kiri passes the salt, Seb licks your hand and the rest of the evening finally takes a softer tone after one, two, three.

The tequila in your tummy makes it hard to concentrate on what Dian and Kiri are chatting about while the three of you curl tipsily upon the comfy cushions as a large fluorescent pink, plastic sign declaring TREAT YO’SELF looms large over your heads. Excusing yourself to the loo, you walk past Marcus - steadfastly refusing any eye contact but ensuring he sees you. As you go to repeat the action on the return journey - not entirely sure as to why you feel the need to seek your boss’s attention - a hand goes to balance you as you walk down the final step.

“Whoa - steady, Nush,” you look up to see Marcus’ concerned face looking down at you.

“Hah! I’m ok. You having a good night?” You ask, your eyes searching his, “She’s truly stunning.”

“Yeah, um, were you guys doing shots?” he enquires, brow still furrowed.

“Yup. It's a really good tequila bar upstairs - should have joined us,” you jab him in the chest with an index finger, “So good that the world just looks like an impressionist painting. All swooshy and a little bit blurry.”

You watch Marcus scratching his neck, “Anyway, what on Earth are you doing here with me? Go get her, idiot.”

“Ah, here you are Bad Idea Puppy- thought you’d fallen asleep on the loo. Although that wouldn’t be the first time would it?” Sebastian brays, stepping between you and Marcus as he grabs your hand to lead you onto the dancefloor. Allowing yourself to be led away, you look back over your shoulder at him, mouthing go get her with a wink as if that would soften the pain that had appeared with her.

The music flows through you - the clearest way to communicate you have ever known- your body rolling and swaying with the sensuality of the music. Sebastian moves effortlessly around you thanks to his mother, who having had only sons, deciding that her youngest would get the dance lessons that she’d hoped the daughter she never had, would take. The two of you vent in movements all of what you could never be said between you or to anyone else aloud. As you twist together under the orange stained hazy night sky, you notice the goddess’ hand on Marcus’ face, stroking his cheek. The poisonous ache returns to your tummy and however your face contorts, causes Seb to pull you closer, cradling your head into his neck. You know how the night will end and the loneliness stings.

✪✪✪✪✪

His mouth bone dry, Marcus awakes fully dressed, on top of the comforter, with a cool bed surrounding him. Reaching for his phone, pulling the charging cable from it, he flicks through messages and emails trying to work out what had happened from when Kemi had left him in the bar to rejoin her friends. Her words still ring in his ears - you didn’t come alone tonight - when she had watched his eyes trace your path out of the market. How he’d initially thought about taking her up on her offer to help him forget, wanting to obliterate last night from his memory and lose himself in her eyes and lips. Her final words to him, cutting him to the core- she must be really special and if she is as special as you think she is, you fight for her.

Bloodshot eyes and deep creases stare back at him from the mirror. More grey. They say that age exchanges beauty for wisdom but they are the same mistakes he keeps repeating. A strangled gasp escapes him as he tries to regulate his breathing, lifting his chin trying to fill his lungs with more oxygen. His shoulders are racked by gut-wrenching sobs and like an overwhelmed dam, the tears spill in hot torrents down his cheeks. Marcus slides onto the floor, allowing the grief to pour forth.

His first marriage was too much, too soon, too young. An art historian and an artist in love with creating and observing beauty until the former decided to change tack after being recruited by the FBI. The long hours of training at Quantico, the subsequent hard days and irregular nights as he worked his way through the ranks of the Art Crime department, wrung the patience from his wife. Gradually growing further and further apart until all that was left were two strangers constantly at odds, her cutting comment about how she felt that he gave her only apathy - never coming to her when she needed help or affection. She hated him for the choices he made - feeling that his work was merely interacting with the meaningless. The law enforcer spent more time at work to hide from the inevitable ending until the artist found someone who appreciated her and the beauty she created.

As for Lisbon. Was she really ever his? Wasn’t he really just a footnote in the Patrick Jane story? The whirlwind romance that progressed and extinguished again at such a heart attack inducing pace, emphasised by that stupid-ass move to DC. Although, if it wasn’t for that move, he wouldn’t be here in London now. Oh yeah. That was out of the skillet and into the fire, Pike. Another excellent career move.

So much love to give and nowhere, no one to give it to. The lessons he has learnt and is still learning but oh, just to find that person with whom you can drop that mask and enjoy togetherness, warmth and serenity.

The side of the bath offers a solid cool support to Marcus as he sits there on the herringbone tiled floor, sobbing into his arms. There is only one voice he needs to hear right now. Grabbing a tissue from the side to noisily blow his nose into, he rubs the heels of his palms into his eyes before putting his glasses on. Phone in hand, he dials the number he knows better than his own name.

The familiar dial tone is like a lullaby in his ear, “Mamá?... Hey! How are you doing?... I’m sorry Mamá - I forgot about the time zone difference... I’m ok, just missing you… It’s just been a long week and... Yeah, London is awesome and I managed a trip to France this week which was incredible to be back there. So weird having so many different countries within such easy reach…Come visit me soon?... Thank you... I miss you… Te quiero mucho Mamá… I’ll ring you in a couple of days. Hasta luego.”

Hanging up, everything feels a bit more manageable and less painful- I wish I could bottle my Mamá’s voice. Hauling himself off the bathroom floor, he turns on the faucet to splash icy water on his face. Sniffing his t-shirt, realising the shower could wait - perhaps a good run to get the endorphins pumping would be his best move. Or perhaps a text to Nush to check what ingredients he’d need to have in for the curry tomorrow?

Stop it, Pike. You’re just fucking torturing yourself.

Opening a drawer, he pulls out basketball shorts, a clean t-shirt and a pair of sneaker socks to throw on, discarding last night’s clothes in a heap by the washing machine.

AirPods in and classic nineties dance anthems to pace himself to, he gives his quads and hamstrings a quick warm up by the front door before it is time to convert the emotional pain into miles.

One of the many things that Marcus loves about London is the constant greenery with every second corner a park or stretching heathland. Texas is so proud of its big sky country status and yet, there are parts of central London where you could lie down and not see anything but skies around you. It is truly hard not to fall in love with such a beautiful, historical and spacious city.

Pounding the pavements towards the park, his feet hit the concrete slabs softly, sending small shockwaves to his brain. Whilst Marcus knows that the power in his thighs could have him across the park in seconds, he savours each step. The precision in his movements is perfect as he takes lungful after lungful of the sunshine filled air. It feels like part of a meditation - a mindful prayer. Dodging around errant dogs and small, clumsy yet terrifyingly aggressive children on scooters, he winds his way through the avenues of trees until he comes across a small lake.

He pauses the thrumming music in his ears to just soak up the tranquility of the moment as he stretches out his limbs. The lake is the kindest of nature’s mirrors, never truly showing exactly what is above, but converting it to an image so beautifully smudgy. The weeping willow stroking its branches elegantly across the skin of the water, the clouds gliding silently above as a host of waterfowl paddle effortlessly through the cool, clear pool, all become a priceless Monet hanging in The National Gallery – all free for the looking. Sure, it is transient, changing by the day - unlike the fixed in a moment of time pieces by the grumpy old Frenchman - but that's what makes it all the more precious.

There’s a family by the water’s edge. Marcus can’t help but be amused by the toddler’s antics as they threaten to jump in and become irritated that they can’t, especially when they have their wellies on. Can’t fault that logic! The older child is gathering sticks to make a “campfire” with their dad - discarding most of their parent’s choices with withering looks and expressive rolls of the eyes. The dark-haired mom, whilst trying to reason with the toddler, is swaying with some sort of baby carrier tied around her - a tiny one clutched tightly to her chest. The infant is virtually invisible from the passes of material, only two tiny socks and its little woolly hat peeking free. A collie is also darting between and around them, rounding up his flock of sheep, taking his role as protector very seriously.

The scene makes Marcus smile as he stretches out his muscles. Whilst he can’t help but watch and yearn for something similar in his life, the mom looks up and over in his direction,

“Are you going to come over and say hi or just be a park weirdo that lurks in bushes pretending to stretch?” a familiar voice curtly teases.

Nush - what the fuck?

“Your face is a fucking picture! Take a breath - these are three of my five niblings - big one is Sophia, middle one that keeps threatening to swim in the pond is Alexa and this little dot is Oscar. As for that blundering idiot, this is Adam, my oldest brother- their dad,” gesturing towards your brother you giggle, creasing up in laughter at the sheer shock then relief on Marcus’ face, “Ads, this is Marcus, my new boss that I told you about.”

The male version of Nush outstretched his palm, offering a sympathetic look, “Hi Marcus, pleasure to put a face to a name. I’m so sorry that you have to put up with my cowbag-of-a-sister at work.”

Marcus can’t help but laugh at the friendly sniping between brother and sister, reminding him of his own teasing relationship with his sisters back home, “Hey! Your kids are beautiful. Oh, you must be Sebastian’s friend - who we saw at Model Market in Lewisham yesterday, Nush?” he questions.

“As much as Sebastian can have friends… Oh Nush, you didn’t, did you?” Adam’s face scrunches in disgust and judging in the way that only a sibling can do.

“No! Not this time,” Marcus loves the speed and vehemence to which you respond to your brother- and enjoys the sheer relief that is now guiltily coursing through his veins, “To give the man his dues, he won’t ever sleep with me when I’ve had too much to drink. Not that I was going to and not that it is any of your fucking business in the first place.” You add jabbing your brother in the softness of his tummy with every word you say.

“Nush, I was gonna text you this morning about tomorrow, if you’re still on to make the curries?” Marcus gently questions, willing you to agree.

“Hah! You’re trusting her to cook?” Adam laughs heartily at the suggestion, “I’m not sure that’s the best idea. Our mum still won’t let her near the chilli powder now.”

You growl at your brother, “I was a fucking kid at the time! And yes, I am more than happy to come and cook curries- what time suits you for me to come over? They do take a bit of time to make.”

Marcus struggles to hold back a snort of laughter, “Any time is good - and perhaps while they’re simmering, we can have some classic films on in the background?”

“Ah that sounds perfect,” your smile warming every inch of his skin.

“You sound perfect for her,” Marcus catches Adam muttering under his breath, his eyes widening at your brother’s comment.

“Shut your damn cakehole, twatface,” you slap your brother’s arm hard as you grind the words between your teeth, the two of you glaring with a mirror image of your eyebrows raised at each other.

“Um, I’d better continue my run before I cool down too much,” Marcus manages to spit out between the flushes of heat through his skin, “Great to meet you and your family, Adam. Nush, it’s lovely to see you and I’ll catch you tomorrow?”

“See you tomorrow, Marcus,” you smile at him before turning back towards your niblings, who are working together to create a den using an old fallen branch.

“I saw you running earlier,” Adam adds, “You’ve got a really good gait - as a physio, it’s great to see someone not destroying their joints. Do you do anything to support your running through cross training?”

“Uh no, but that’s a good idea as I don’t want any injuries. What would you recommend?” Marcus asks, genuinely intrigued and flattered by your brother’s compliment of his running style.

“Speak to Nush - yoga is perfect for stretching your IT bands, which as a man they’re generally always tight and only get tighter with repetitive movements like running or cycling. She’s the yoga queen and will know of a local teacher who can help you,” Adam grins, nodding towards his sister.

“There’s so much I have yet to learn about her,” Marcus shakes his head as he sorts out his headphones.

“Yeah, good luck with that!” Adam laughs as he pats Marcus on the back, “Anyway, enjoy the rest of your run and hopefully see you again soon.”

As Marcus gradually picks up his pace away from you and your family, his heart that had felt so dark and lonely, now feels light and airy. The release valve in his chest is finally loosened and there is a little bubble of excitement in his belly that he allows to build at the thought of tomorrow. The thought of your presence in his apartment, doing something as domestic as cooking, is truly a salve for his soul.

Perhaps he can just make believe until it becomes a reality.

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vegetarianfreaks · 4 years

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Notes: It ended up shorter than i planned, but i hope you guys like it as much as i do. Since English its not my first language it’s harder for me to write the same way that i write in Portuguese, I hope to write larger chapters in the future, let me know what you think!

The suitcase was already closed, gently arranged on the wardrobe, which was empty besides some hotel towels and robes. He waited patiently for the days to pass, wandering in his new hotel room with big glass windows and modern design, with dark colors and luxury furniture. Watching the days go by, sitting by the fireplace, he decided to get one of his notebooks and write some poems. The last encounter was remarkably and touched his soul in a way that was never touched before. He needed to express his own emotions, which he had rare opportunities do to so. When Isabella completed her transformation, he hoped that she would feel the same way he felt, but it turned out to be the complete opposite and he felt some sort of guilty, how could that be? Was he really that uncontrollable monster that everyone thought he was? This machine without dept or feelings? He got closer to her to feel her self-control, it calmed him and made things easier. Now, this stranger had got his attention for different reasons, one of them being her will to die. He wanted to see her again, curious about her intentions of ending her own life, did she killed herself? He felt depression before, his own depression, and people who had to deal with it, it wasn't pretty or easy in any way, shape, or form. It was debilitating and devastating. But that girl was so deep in her disease and tendencies, that it had taken control of her entire life, maybe destroyed it. It was not a sadistic thing whatsoever, Jasper was so involved in his own suffering that he didn't care about anything else, but that situation was the only thing that caught his attention in a long time and he was heavily invested in it, or anything that made him remember that he was still alive. So, it was finally Friday again, the town was more active than it normally was, the main street was filled with people going to local bars and nightclubs, he noticed that, of course, people were happier and enjoying the night, besides the fact that it was cold and foggy. He couldn't see any trace of her anywhere, recognizing that it was unlikely that a person like her would be there, he took the way to the bar that nobody was interested in going to. His car was one of the few that caught the attention of the townsfolk, and he hated that, he could feel their eyes following the direction of where he was going; he missed his motorcycle more than anyone could imagine. Driving perfectly to the parking lot of the bar, he put his jacket on, besides the fact that she couldn't feel cold, and opened the door with grace, his hands tracing the door like a dance. It was inevitable that he would catch the attention of almost everyone that was inside the place, what would a man such as himself be doing in a place like that? A line of irritation crossed his face, he would walk to the table that he got in the last time until he felt that overwhelming feeling again. It was her, she was there, she was alive. His golden eyes searched quickly through the ambient until he found her in the balcony just like the last time he saw her. He walked and sit a few chairs away, without showing any sign of second intentions.

It was not one of her best days if there was a list for that. She had a hard day at work, bills on the table that she couldn't afford to pay... She could imagine clear as day what would happen after she spent her money on alcohol again in that shady bar; walk away in the cold to the bus station, take an empty bus at midnight watching the view that she hated, get home, a cheap messy apartment in the worst part of town, lay in bed all night or cry until she falls asleep. Her soul was tired of the same routine, the same life, the same intrusive thoughts, and that gut feeling that she wasn't supposed to be alive. The pain and the weight of living were so heavy. Her thoughts were racing when a fancy drink was put next to her hand which was on the balcony, excessively touching each other trying to balance the anxiety that she was feeling. Her mind stopped for a brief moment, her eyes locked in the object in question. — Sorry, I... Didn't ask for that. — She was confused while her eyes met the strange beard of the barman and his bald head, trying to avoid his eyes. — The blonde over there paid for it. — He pointed with his head in the direction of where he was. She followed the coordinates and for a second she felt numb, as she didn't exist, or was floating in the clouds. He was the most beautiful creature that she ever saw in her entire miserable life, his shoulder-length blonde hair was careless falling in front of his face, his hands with delicate fingers lay naturally on the balcony, his face was flawless, with perfect proportions, a pale complexion, and beautiful golden eyes. He was dressed like someone who didn't belong there, his posture was impressive. She asked herself why someone like him would buy her a drink, or even look at her. But he did those two things, he was looking at her with a gentle smile. Jasper adjusted his hair a little bit before getting up, putting some of them behind his ear. — May I sit here? — His voice was deep, but at the same time sounded like velvet. She didn't know how to act, so she just shook her head in a messed "yes". He sits right next to her, with the same grace as to how he walked. — I'm Jasper Hale. — He said kindly, with a smile that formed fetching dimples on his cheeks. — Theodora Howard. — She said, nervously. — But... You can call me Theo if you want. — She tried to hide her anxiety with a smile. He agreed, with the same smirk on his face. She realized, then, that he wasn't drinking anything. — Are you done for the night? — She asked, pointing at the empty space in front of him. — I don't... Drink... — He replied, almost laughing at the irony of the situation. — Then why are you here? — She took the fancy drink and drank a small portion of it, still looking at him. It was impossible to avoid his face. — It's calm, almost empty. It's hard to find a place like this on a Friday. — Jasper looked at his own hands for a couple of seconds. — I'm not a fan of crowded spaces. Or... Crowds in general. — Theo laughed briefly, putting the drink in the balcony. — I know the feeling very well. — She kept her eyes on him, exploring every bit that she could. In her life, or her world in general, these kinds of things never happen, so she would take all of it. But he seemed distant somehow, avoiding her eyes, looking at his hands, almost like this confident boy was nervous, or feeling something that he couldn't share. And he was.

#twilight #twilight fanfiction #Twilight FanFic #twilight revival #jasper hale x oc #jasper hale

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loving-barnes · 6 years

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GARDEN - LOKI

(A/N): Taking care of an eight-week-old puppy is pretty difficult, especially when he wants to be only with you. I don't have time for anything and so, I’m happy I was able to ‘somehow’ finish this. It was supposed to be a chapter story like decades ago but I decided to do a short one-shot instead. Don’t expect part 2 or anything else. :)

Pairing: Loki x f!reader

Summary: Loki’s living in his brother’s shadow while Y/N in her sisters’. These two lost souls find each other in the Vanaheim’s garden.

Warning: none (maybe bit fluff)

Words: 2100+

FULL MASTERLIST // LOKI MASTERLIST

GARDEN - LOKI Soft, girly giggles were coming from a hallway and were followed by many quick footsteps. Four young gorgeous princesses were trying to run in their heels down the hallway to the coronation hall where they were supposed to meet with their parents to welcome the Allfather. The King of Asgard brought with him his wife and their two sons with the intention to find brides for both of them. The four princesses couldn’t be happier. Their dream was to become the new queen of Asgard, but mostly they wanted to be by Thor’s side. He was tall, handsome, masculine and blonde. He was, like they used to say, dreamy, brave and very attractive – a dream prince. His brother, on the other hand, was the exact opposite.

“Hurry up, sister!” one of them turned around with a huge smile on her lips and looked at the fifth girl with a book in her hands. “You do not want to be late for the King and Queen’s arrival!” and she cheerfully giggled. Her long golden locks were flying around her, making her look even more innocent.

“Stop reading the book, little sister,” the oldest one with a chestnut hair also turned around, holding a hand fan of pink colour in her right hand that matched her dress. “Why do you read that anyway? You will not find love there. You should be excited, little sister. The princes are coming and they are looking for brides. That is way more interesting and exciting than some book of yours.” And it was followed by a laugh of all four sisters. They always mocked the youngest one, because she was different.

Princess (Y/N) was the fifth and the youngest of the girls. Her older siblings were very loud, most of them lazy, pathetic or not clever at all. The oldest was too haughty, the second one too dull. The third sister was clumsy and the fourth one mostly thought about diamonds and jewellery. They were only princesses, but (Y/N) was the only one who had the true potential of becoming a queen, and that was also gifted – she could control the nature in any way she wanted. Her parents, the king and queen of Vanaheim, had no idea why or how she received the ability. (Y/N) was gifted and unique, not only because of the ability but because she was calm and nice to everyone in the kingdom. She always listened and paid attention to what her father was saying and how he was ruling. She was smart and wise enough to already take the throne and become one of the best queens Vanaheim ever had.

The voices slowly faded. The princess put the book down for a moment to realise she was alone. Her sisters were already gone. They probably ran as fast as their heels allowed them to the coronation hall where everyone was expecting their presence. With a long, loud sigh, (Y/N) closed the book and put it under her arm, trying to move faster. With fingers, she brushed a strand of (h/c) hair behind her ear and licked her pink lips. Why rush to the occasion when there were her four flawless, gorgeous sisters that wanted to get married? Why even show there when she knew no one would ever look at her. She was the youngest of them and she was taciturn.

“Your Highness! Your Highness!” a voice said loudly, trying to get her attention. When the girl turned around, she saw an older maid with a piece of clothing in her hands. “Oh, your highness, please wait. You have to wear this,” her hand waved with the fabric. “Your mother requested it.” (Y/N)’s eyes landed on the piece of clothing. The colour was beautiful. The material was made of silk, light blue colour and it was slightly transparent. The maiden pinned it up on her shoulders. “You look perfect, my princess.”

And she did. (Y/N) was dressed in light blue and green colours. The other maids that were creating her dresses and deciding what she should wear picked this one for the day.

After a couple of minutes, the princess arrived in the coronation hall. She was the last one, as usual, but no one seemed to even notice. The guards, other maidens had bowed when she stepped into the hall. The girl’s (e/c) eyes scanned the surroundings, mentally preparing for the moment when she would bow down before the Allfather. At first, she found her sisters giggling in front of Thor, definitely not acting like princesses at all.

Without anyone noticing, she rolled her eyes, stepped aside and enjoyed her sisters making fools of themselves. A rosy colour appeared on her cheeks. The girls were embarrassing the whole family. They tried so hard to get Thor’s attention. Once in a while two of them tried to talk to Loki, Thor’s younger brother, who stood behind him, pretending like he was in a different realm and not there. It was funny to see them try to get his attention when they never spoke fondly of him.

(Y/N) looked at the younger brother with the longish black hair. His black-green garment with golden accessories made him look very charming. She wondered how he looked like up-close.

Another wave of giggles was heard from the four princesses. The youngest one wanted to smack her forehead but that would be inappropriate. The girls didn’t know how to act in front of the King of Asgard and his family.

One of them discovered the youngest one standing aside, trying to be inconspicuous. “There you are little sister,” the second oldest with very long brown hair shouted at her. “What took you so long? It is rude to keep us waiting.” With that, everyone turned around, scanning her figure.

(Y/N) took a hard deep breath and bit her lower lip. She was once again the main attraction of the day and she hated it. Luckily, the official welcoming was over. This was a private gathering in the coronation hall. It was a tradition. The (h/c) haired girl slowly approached the kings, queens, princesses and princes.

“My king,” her father put an honest smile on his face. “This is my youngest and last daughter, princess (Y/N),” his hand moved to the girl who gracefully bowed down, causing a book fall down from her hands. She gritted her teeth and tried to remain calm.

She was only listening to some sounds around her when she noticed a pair of feet in front of her. A hand leaned down and grabbed the book. The girl quickly looked up, discovering that the younger brother, Loki, helped to pick it up, giving it back to the owner. She only gave him a shy smile, taking another bow as a sign of being thankful.

The Allfather with his family followed Y/N’s parents and sisters and went down the hall, leaving these quarters. Their next stop was in the royal dining hall where dinner was being served. “Forgive me, father, I will not join you today,” Y/N said loud enough to be heard by everyone around her.

“Ow, little sister is going to play with her roses and lilies,” one of the sisters remarked, snickering under her nose. The others followed. Being the youngest and most different of them all had its negative side. She lowered her head, looking down at the white ground.

The king turned around, glaring at his children. “Enough of this behaviour, ladies,” he frowned. “If you do not know how to properly behave, you will start new lessons first thing tomorrow.” With these words being said, the girls stopped talking and lowered their eyes. “Y/N,” he then turned to his youngest one, “you are pardoned from the dinner,” and he gently smiled.

Without other words, she slowly moved away from everyone, wishing she wasn’t even there. Even Odin wouldn’t stop her at the moment. Luckily, she was given the permission to leave.

Gardens were her escaping place. There were many beautiful flowers that needed to be taken care of. It was better than staying with her annoying sisters who would only mock her and embarrass her in front of everyone.

Placing the book on a marble bench in the Paradise garden, her most favourite, she went to the nearest bush of roses. Her hand rose in the air and a golden, sparkly light came out of her hand. It healed the damaged petals, making them fuller and healthier. The other hand moved up and new species came out of the clay.

“Vanaheim’s greatest poems,” a voice said behind her back, making her turn around and gasp.

Loki was standing next to the bench, holding the book in his hands and reading the words that were written there. He had a mischievous smirk on his lips, enjoying the words. Y/N immediately bowed, not looking at him until she was told to. “Prince Loki,” she whispered.

“Please,” he closed the book, stepping closer to the girl. “No need to obey the rules,” and his lips crooked into a cute one. “No bowing, no kneeling and no prince Loki,” he handed her the book.

“Uh,” she was shy. “You are supposed to be with the families on a royal dinner, no?” she asked, carefully taking the book from him.

“And so do you,” he grimaced, going back to the bench and sitting down on it. “Please, join me.”

“I do not want to intrude you,” she stepped back, lowering her head down.

“Ah, you are not intruding me, princess Y/N,” he reached his hand toward the girl, taking her soft hand into his. “It is me who is intruding you. You wanted to be alone, yet here I am. I wanted to spend some more time with you – alone.”

She looked him in the eyes that reminded her fields of green grass, instantly blushing. “With me?” she chuckled. “Why me, prince Loki? I think my sisters are a far better company then I am. One of them is the future queen of Vanaheim, one of them the future queen of Asgard. I am their youngest sister who does not possess any qualities of a future queen. “

“You could not be more wrong,” another voice said from the garden’s entrance.

The two royal people looked up, finding queen Frigga standing next to a high bush of wildflowers, sniffing them with closed eyes. “My queen,” the princess quickly stood up only to bow deeply in front of her.

“Mother,” Loki gasped, shocked he was busted by his own mother.

“Please, my children do not be startled by my presence. And you, Y/N no need to be too formal with me. After all, I am the one who is visiting your home,” she said with a smile on her lips.

“What are you doing here?” Loki asked her, voice a bit deeper than before.

“Well, my son,” she put her hands in front of the body, slowly walking toward them. “I noticed your clone was with us at the table, not you, and I instantly knew you were somewhere alone reading a book or with this lovely princess,” and she looked back at the young girl. “And you, my child,” she came closer to be able to touch her cheek gently; “you have the qualities to become a queen. Your sisters do not know how to behave properly when to talk or not, and most importantly, you possess the true power and unique power of your own. Your behaviour is accurate and you know your manners. There is this unspoken goodness and wisdom inside you.”

“W-why, I-I,” she couldn’t find the right words.

“So humble,” she giggled politely, suddenly caressing her shoulder like a mother would. “It would be an honour to have you in our family.” Her eyes moved from her to the black-haired young man. After that, she left them alone in the garden.

A silence surrounded them, leaving Y/ blushing and Loki fuming a little. “Mothers,” they both sighed at the same time. They looked into each other’s eyes and laughed.

“May-“ he started to talk which made her tiled her head. “M-May… I-Is there a library in here? I would like to borrow a book for the night and read while staying in my chambers.”

“Oh, yes, of course,” Y/N started to smile brightly. “I have my personal library next to my sleeping quarters. I can show you the best collections that I have. Maybe you would be interested in a Midgardian poetry which is very meaningful and surprisingly it touched my heart.”

He set his arm, ready to escort her wherever she wanted. Loki had a charming smile on his lips that made Y/N blush again. Together, they left the garden that brought two lost souls together.

#Loki x reader #Loki #loki laufeyson #Loki Laufeyson x reader #Marvel fanfiction #Loki oneshot #Loki fanfiction #Loki x reader oneshot #Loki Laufeyson x reader oneshot #Lokixreader #LokiLaufeysonxreader

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