#pedro pascal x daughter reader

[afictionaladventure16]

hi!! maybe a fic where pedro has been away from his daughter for a while due to filming and just before a few days before he’s supposed to come home, he calls her saying he has to stay for a couple more weeks. she gets upset and maybe rebels and acts out in some way. the eventual reunion could either be a angsty or fluff depending on what ur goin for!! love ur writing btw!!

Broken Promises (Pedro Pascal x Daughter!Reader)

Pedro Pascal Masterlist

Word Count: 4,516

A/N: First of all, thank you for your kind words! It means a lot! <3 I live for angsty requests! This one was fun to write! I kind of took what you asked and did some twists... I hope you like it, though!! Requests are open to anyone who wants to send something in! Also, I don't know if Pedro's older sister has a husband so, i made it up. ALSO, 4.5 k words! This might be my longest one yet. I stayed up till 4:30 am writing this one....

You anxiously looked over at the clock that was mounted on the wall, “The more you look at it, the slower it’ll move,” your tia commented as she noticed you looking at the clock for the seventh time in the past five minutes. “He said he’ll call before he got on his flight, his flight isn’t until Seven. Hours away, so would you please finish your homework before your father kills me because your grades slipped while he was away.” 

You groaned, “It’s killing me that he hasn’t called to let me know he made it to the airport, not even a text!” 

“He’s a busy man, Y/N. Plus you know how he is, he forgets where he places his phone like ever single minute, that’s why he’s so attached to that damn iPad,” Your tia commented as she continued to chop up vegetables for dinner. But she had a point, he could have let his phone in his carry on, or some obvious place that was in plain sight. 

You knew your dad too well, sometimes you thought you knew him better than he knew himself. Sometimes it was true and it scared you. Why? Maybe it was because he was everything to you and you were everything to him. It had just been the two of you since your mother passed and it was as if her passing brought the two of you closer. You bonded over her death in a morbid way. 

His mother passed when he was young, so he knew how to be a shoulder to cry on.

 He knew the right things to say and the wrong things to say. 

He knew the things you would want to avoid, the people you wouldn’t want to see. Overall, he just knew the pain you would go through. Ever since you were just this dynamic duo. 

When he was away filming, you missed him dearly, but it gave you time to spend with your cousins and family you don’t get to see as often. 

“Any plans for his return home?” your tia asked, interrupting your thoughts. 

“Well, I do have my tournament coming up, which is out of state and papi said we can go on a road trip. Take the scenic route and do all the stops.” 

“He did mention that, he sounded pretty excited.” 

“Yeah, plus this tournament is a pretty big deal, the top four teams will be competing to go to championship,” you explained. You wouldn’t say that soccer was your life, but you did love playing soccer. There was something about being on the field and just leaving everything on the sidelines, leaving all your trauma and past for a few hours and just being free. 

You had gotten into soccer when you were fairly young. You remembered your parents always cheering for you in the sidelines and then it was just your dad, then sometimes it would only be your tia who always had her phone up with most likely, your dad on the other side of the phone. Slowly the emptier the sidelines got, the reason for you to play grew, the more you wanted to just be free from your mind. 

The sound of your phone ringing interrupted your thoughts, you jumped up and ran towards your phone that sat at the kitchen counter. “Papi?” You said as you answered the call. 

“Y//N,” he began to say. 

“About time you called, I was beginning to worry you had missed your flight or something. Are you at the airport already?” 

“No,” He sighed. 

“You’re kind of cutting it close, you know that right?” you glanced at the clock, six thirty, it had read. 

“Cariño, I need you to listen to me,” he sighed. 

You sat back down at the kitchen table, “What’s wrong?” you asked. Your mind was quick to race to certain thoughts, someone could be dead, you thought. Who could it be? You had been with your tia Javiera for the past month and she was the oldest. Usually she was the first to know everything. 

“I’m sorry, Cariño,” he began. Your heart began to race, an uneasy feeling crept over you like storm clouds. “I’m gonna have to stay here for a few more weeks.” 

“A few more weeks? B-But you’ll be here for our road trip right?” You were met with silence, a sinking feeling took hold in your stomach, “Right?” you asked again. 

“Mija,” he muttered. Pedro spent the whole day putting off this phone call for this reason. He had gotten your hopes up and he knew you weren’t going to take it easy. 

“Did you tell them no?”

“I can’t tell the directors no,” he answered. 

“Did you even try?” Your voice choked with disappointment, he couldn’t be doing this. He promised he wouldn’t become that parent.  

“Mija, I can’t say no, I have to stay here and do reshoots.” 

“But our road trip!” You exclaimed. 

“I know and I’ll make it up to you, I promise.” 

“Just like you promised to take me on this road trip?” 

“Mija, por favor, Don’t do this to me,” he said, Pedro felt his heart heavy, he knew he was disappointing you and as much as he wanted to tell the directors to shove it and say no, he knew he couldn’t. 

“Or like how you promised you’d never do this? How you promised you wouldn’t become that person.” 

“Y/N,” When the first name came out, you knew he was beginning to get upset. 

“Mija, give me the phone,” your Tia stepped in. She knew someone might say something they might regret and she didn’t want to see either of your hurt. But she forgot to realize you were her brothers daughter and just like him, you were stubborn too. 

You held onto the phone, “You promised,” disappointment written over your voice, tears began to well up in your eyes. 

“I know,” he whispered. If you had only seen how torn your father was at the moment, maybe you would have been okay with situation. Or maybe things would have turned differently, but you could only hear his voice and although, you heard the disappointment in his voice, you couldnt be bothered to care about it. All that mattered to you was that he had broken his first promise and you didn’t know if this was going to be the first of many and if so, what was next? 

Would you be one of those kids that grew up only seeing their parents on the holidays and eventually writing a book titled, “My Parent, the Mandalorian, and the neglect I endured.” You never wanted to be one of those kids and when your dad first began to get bigger roles, he had promised you that you wouldn’t. That he wouldn’t become one of those famous parents. 

You remained silent, hoping it was some kind of sick joke and maybe he’d say something along the lines of ‘Gotcha!’ or maybe he’d say ‘I’ll be there tomorrow, don’t worry!’ But seconds pass and he didn’t say any of it. “Okay,” you finally said. 

“Mija,” Pedro began to say but you handed the phone to your tia. 

“Pedro, it’s Javiera,” your tia said, a somber look fell on her face when she had heard him apologizing when she first took the phone. She felt bad for her little brother, but she also felt bad for you. 

“Is she still there?” Pedro asks

Javiera looked at you, you wiped away tears that were managing to escape. You groaned to yourself, irritated with everything around you, you left the room. “She just left,” she replied. 

“I fucked up, didn’t I?” 

“Yeah,” she sighed. 

“How do I fix this?” Pedro pleaded. Ever since your mother passed away, Pedro called his big sister for any little thing on parenting, he felt like every choice he made was the wrong one. Most of the time, it wasn’t, he was just overthinking it. 

“There really is no way out of the reshoots? No way to reschedule?” 

“Directors call,” he sighed. “I really fucked up, Javiera. No me va a perdonar” (She’s not gonna forgive me). 

“No mas nicesieta tiempo. Let me talk to her, but for now… give her some space.” 

“Are you saying not to call her?” Pedro questioned. 

“Or text… just for a couple of days. If anything send her a goodnight text, but let’s not anger her more.” He let out a small sigh, Pedro always texted you. Even if he went the whole day without responding, he made sure to send a goodnight text every night. 

“Alright,” he muttered. “I’m gonna need you to get in contact with the school, she’ll have to go with her team to the tournament.” 

“I’ll contact them, and Pedro?”

“Mande?” 

She let out a deep breathe, “It’s gonna be fine.” 

Pedro tried his hardest to give himself a smile, to reassure himself that it would be fine and eventually it’ll pass, but he couldn’t. At the moment his heart was utterly broken, he had broken a promise, what felt like a sacred vow and now he had disappointed you. It probably wouldn’t be the first, but he sure as hell, hopes it wouldn’t become a habit. 

Over the past week, you only left your room to go to school and shower. Your cousins dropped off your food in your room every day, you felt like they were somehow on your side. Your friends eventually began to blow up your phone, not only had you been distant with your family, but you’ve also been distant with them. 

You felt your phone vibrate beside you, you groaned at the thought of getting a phone call from anyone. Picking up the phone you realized it was one of your teammates, Cassandra, “Yeah?” 

“Finally you pick up,” Cassandra muttered. “Look, a bunch of us are going to go on a drive later tonight with Justin’s brother, he just got his license and we wanted to know if you want to join.” 

“Can’t.” 

“Oh come on, Y/N! You’ve been so distant and what will it hurt? You’re dad isn’t home anyway so he can’t say anything!” 

You let out a sigh, she had a point, “I still have curfew.” 

“So? Sneak out.” 

You had to admit that Cassandra was a bad influence. She wasn’t your best friend, she was one of the girls in your soccer team. She was part of the older group in the varsity team, but she always invited you out. Part of you felt like she only did it because of your dads social status which is why you always declined her offer. That and because your dad didn’t really approve of you hanging out with her, he could always tell when someone was a bad influence. But Cassandra was right, he wasn’t here. 

“Fine.” 

“Really?” Cassandra asked taken back by your response. 

“Like you said, my dad isn’t here, so it shouldn’t matter right?” 

“Trouble in paradise?” She chuckled. 

You rolled your eyes, “What time should I be ready?” 

“We’ll pick you up at midnight, we’ll shoot you a text when we’re down the block,” Cassandra said before she hung up the phone. You felt your nerves beginning to get worked up, you had no idea what you just got yourself into, yet something inside you felt carefree. 

If your dad were home, you knew he wouldn’t approve of you going out so late. He definitely wouldn’t have approved of you going on a joy ride with someone you didn’t even know and had just gotten their license. He wasn’t here though. 

You remained in your room while you waited, your Tia Javiera came to check on you before she went to bed. Soon after you heard your phone vibrate on your desk, for a moment you thought it was Cassandra but it was still an hour away from midnight. You glanced at your phone, 

Goodnight, Mija ♥️ 

It was a message from your dad. You rolled your eyes and put your phone away. You spent the rest of your time getting ready, you wore something simple, but made sure to cover up from the cold. A few minutes past midnight you received a text from Cassandra saying that they were waiting down the block. You began to quietly make your way out of the house.

“Where you going?” you heard someone whisper. 

You turned around to see your cousin Pedro in the middle of the kitchen, “Pedro, what are you doing up?” 

He held up a sandwich, “where you going?” 

You looked at him with pleading eyes, “I’m only going to be gone for an hour, it’s just a drive around the block with some friends.” 

He chuckled, “I don’t care what you do, Y/N. I’ve been there before. Have fun and if you go to McDonalds bring me some fries, kay?” 

You rolled your eyes, “whatever.” You playfully flipped him off before walking out of the house. You made sure to close the door softly behind you. Once you were in the clear you booked it down the street. You spotted Cassandra waving you down from a dark green Tahoe. 

“This car is a piece of junk,” you commented as you got into the Tahoe. 

“Hey, no disrespecting Hilda!” The driver who you assumed to be Jasons brother, exclaimed. 

“She’s a piece of junk but she’s Marty’s piece of junk,” Jason commented. 

“Correct!” Marty said. “Now let’s get this party started!” 

~~ 

Pedro woke up in a startle to the sound of his phone ringing, at first he had thought it was just his dream, but the sound slowly began to get louder and louder until finally he woke up. He groaned, “who the fuck is calling so early?” he muttered to himself. 

“Hello?” he answered in an annoyed tone. 

“Pedro?” he heard his sister on the other line, her voice sounded strain. 

“Javiera?” Pedro quickly sat up. 

“Pedro,” Javiera’s voice trembled, there was some ruffling sounds on the other line. 

“Javiera?” No answer. “Javier, que te pasa?” 

“Pedro?” Javiera’s husband had taken over the phone. 

“Augustine? Que esta pasando?” (What’s happening) Pedro was no sitting on the side of his bed, he no longer felt drowsy. 

Augustine sighed, “Pedro, no se como dicier te. Y/N snuck out a few hours ago,” 

“Shit,” Pedro let out a deep breath he didn’t know he was holding in. His mind had been racing to a million scenarios. “Well that’s a first,” he chuckled. 

“Pedro,” Augustine said softly. 

Pedro closed his eyes, the way Augustine said his name, he knew what it meant. “Is she okay?” Pedro asked as his voice trembled. 

“She was in a car with a bunch of her friends and some drunk driver, he was driving over a hundred miles, the kid didn’t have a chance to react.” 

“Augustine, is my baby okay?” Pedro was beginning to get ansty. 

“She’s in the ICU,” Pedro could hear his sister crying in the background. 

“Is she okay?” Pedro asked again. 

“You need to get here as fast as possible, Pedro. She’s at Saint Mary’s Memorial Hospital, you know where that is?” 

“Saint Mary’s, yeah,” Of course he knew where it was. He could never forget, it was the same hospital you were born at and now you were there again, but in different circumstances. Pedro was quick to hang up, calling his Director in the middle of night was something he would never do, unless it was something like this. Something like his daughter was hanging on by a thread and he didn’t care about anyones sleep, he just needed to get on the first plane back to New York. 

The directors were understanding of the situation, they even helped Pedro get back to New York within the hour. He had never received treatment like that, but he was thankful for it. 

Pedro had just a carry on, leaving most of his luggage back at the hotel with his assistant. He didn’t need much anyway, just the essentials. 

Once he got out of the airport, he flagged down a taxi. The ride to the hospital seemed to be the longest ride ever. Pedro was anxious to get there, anxious to see you and to make sure you were okay. She’s in the ICU, Augustine’s voice kept repeating those words in his head like a broken record player. The sound of his sisters cries over the phone brought back memories he had thought he buried. 

His thoughts were quickly interrupted by the brief halt of the car, Pedro looked out of the car window to see that he had arrived to his destination. “Thanks,” he said to the cab driver as he handed him some cash before bolting out of the car and into the hospital.

The sun was beginning to rise when Pedro finally arrived, he rushed over to the front desk. “May I help you, sir?” 

“Uh- my, my daughter,” Pedro let out a shaky breath. 

The receptionist knew that look too well, she had seen it so many times. “What’s the name?” she asked softly. 

“Y/N Pascal.” 

SHe was quick to type the name in, knowing that the last thing he wanted to do was wait any longer. “Take the elevator to floor three.” 

“Thank you!” Pedro ran over to the elevator, punch the button for floor three. 

He ran out of the elevator once they opened. 

“Pedro!” He heard his sister exclaim. 

Pedro let out a sigh of relief, he ran over to her and gave her a hug. 

“I’m sorry,” she sobbed. 

“It’s alright,” he looked over at his nephews, they both were distraught of the situation. “You boys okay?” 

Young Pedro looked over at his uncle, tears in his eyes, “I should’ve stopped her, Tio. I’m sorry.” 

“It’s okay,” he pulled his nephew into the hug. Pedro didn’t know why he was trying to comfort everyone at the moment, maybe a part of him felt like it was his responsibility because he felt so much guilt. “Where is she?” 

“The doctors have her in surgery right now, she had some internal injuries they hoped to repair.” Pedro choked back the tears, he sat down on one of the chairs nearby. “They said by the looks of the crash site, she got the worse of it. She was sitting in the spot the car impacted with.” 

Pedro pinched the bridge of his nose, “How bad is it?” 

“The doctors said something about possible physical therapy,” Javiera added. “It’s still all unknown at the moment.” 

“This is all my fault.” 

“Don’t say that, Pedro.” 

“She isn’t that kind of kid, Javiera! She would’ve never done this unless she was really mad at me,” Pedro let out a shaky breath. Javiera placed a comforting hand on her brothers shoulder. “I can’t lose her, Javiera,” Pedro sobbed. 

“I know,” she whispered. She let Pedro cry into her shoulder and he cried for a while. After about an hour, he began to calm down, everyone sat in silence as they waited for the doctors to come out. Hours passed by when finally a doctor walked out of the doubled doors and to the Pascal family. 

“Family of Y/N Pascal?” the doctor nervously figeted with his hands. 

Pedro stood up quickly, “How is she?” 

The doctor cleared his throat, he never like this part of the job, speaking to the family. “There was a lot of damage and we did the best we could,” Pedro felt a sob make its way into his throat, he tried his best to hold it back, it wasn’t bad news yet. “But she’s steady now.” Pedro let out a deep breathe. “This isn’t the end of her journey yet, she has a long road of recovery. She’s lucky to be alive.” 

Pedro had tears falling from his eyes, his baby girl was okay. “Thank you,” he said to the doctor, “Can I see her?” 

“Of course, I’ll take you to her.” The doctor led Pedro through the doubled doors, “She’s in the post Surgery, we’ll be moving her back to the ICU later today.” The doctor stood beside one of the doors, “She’ll have a lot of wires surrounding her, it may look scary but it’s what’s keeping her alive. She might not wake up right away, if anything we don’t expect her to wake up for a few days. It’s common in severe crash victims,” the doctor explained. “The tube in her throat will be taken out once she can breathe on her own.” 

“Can I touch her at least?” 

The doctor nodded, “It’s like handling a newborn, you have to be a bit careful.” The doctor tried to give Pedro a reassuring smile. 

“Thank you,” he said softly before opening the door. The doctor was right, the way the wires surrounded you scared Pedro. “Oh baby girl,” he said softly as he walked up to the bed. “I’m sorry,” he let out a sob. He sat on the chair beside your bed, taking your hand into his, he placed a kiss on the top of your hand. “I’m sorry I broke our promise, but you need to wake up for me okay?” He slowly moved a strand of hair out of your face, careful to not touch the tubing and wires. “Te quiero mucho, Y/N. No puedo vivir sin ti.” (I love you so much, Y/N. I can’t live without you). 

As the days passed, Pedro stayed beside your bedside during the day and during the night. He never left your bedside, not even to shower although he was beginning to get remarks about how he smelled. He didn’t care, he wanted to make sure he was there when you woke up. 

It had been a full week and you still hadn’t woken up. The doctors were beginning to worry, they started to do more tests to make sure they didn’t miss anything before or to see if anything new showed up. 

“Pedro, you need to go home and at least shower,” Augustine said as he placed a plate of food on a small table nearby. 

“I’m fine,” Pedro said as he kept his eyes on you. Augustine sighed, it was no use, there was really nothing that was going to convince Pedro to leave the room. 

“Come on, Cariño,” Pedro said softly. “You need to wake up.” he squeezed your hand gently. Pedro was about to let go when he felt you squeeze his hand, his eyes widen and he squeezed your hand again. Few seconds later your squeezed his hand, “Yes!” he exclaimed. He got up from his chair, “She squeezed my hand!” he yelled out to the nurses that were outside the door. They came rushing in, beginning to check your pupils and your vitals. 

“Get the doctor,” one of them commanded the other. 

The doctor was ecstatic to see the vitals go up, “Y/N, if you can hear me, squeeze your dads hand.” You squeezed your dads hand again. Seconds later your eyes fluttered opened, you winced at the brightness of the room. You felt something lodge in your throat, you lifted your arm to touch it, “no, no we’ll take it out for you, dear.” 

“She’s awake,” Pedro said in disbelief. 

“We’ll need to get the tubing out,” the doctor said. Pedro got up from his spot on the bedside, let the doctor take the tubing out from your mouth. “Your mouth is gonna feel dry for a couple of days, it’s common,” he began to say as he checked your pupils again. “Do you know where you are?” 

“The-” you coughed, a nurse handed your cup of water. “The hospital?” 

“Good, what year is it?” 

“Twenty Twenty Three.” 

“What’s your name?” 

“Y/N.” 

“And who’s that?” The doctor pointed over at your dad. 

“My dad,” you said softly. 

The doctor smiled, “We’ll run some more tests later,” he said to your dad, “I’ll leave you two alone for a now.” 

Your dad thanked the doctor, he waited until they all left to go back to his spot by the bedside. You bothe remained quiet for a few minutes, one waiting for the other to speak. The other trying to get the courage to speak. 

You let out a shaky breath, “I’m sorry,” you whisepred. “It was really stupid.” 

Pedro shook his head, pulling you into a warm embrace, “It doesn’t matter,” he said softly. “All that matter is that you’re here and you’re alive.” He let go of the embrace, holding your head in his hands, “that’s all that matters to me right now, okay?” You gave him a nod, “I thought I was gonna lose you,” he choked out. 

“I’m sorry,” you trembled. 

“Que paso, Amor? How did it happen?” 

You shrugged, “One second we were heading back and the next thing I know, I heard screaming and it was dark,” you sniffled. “Is everyone else okay?” 

Your dad nods, “You got the worse of it. Cassandra was pretty shooken up, but they all got minor scratches and concussions.” 

“Lucky me,” you said sarcastically. Your dad kissed the top of your head, “I really am sorry about everything.” 

“No, I’m sorry, I broke a promise.” 

“I overreacted,” you confessed. 

“I don’t think you did,” he said softly. “I mean, I get it, we had a promise I wouldn’t break promises or cancel on you for work, especially with thing like your tournament. I wouldn’t let you become one of those kids with a book on how their parent was the worst parent ever.” you chuckled, causing your dad to smile, “I broke that promise and it scared you, and I’m sorry.” 

“Thank you and I’m sorry I overreacted and landed myself in the most expensive place on earth that isn’t Disneyland.” 

Your dad let out a laugh, “Forgiven.” 

“Forgiven,” you repeated. “Now, how bad is this?” you gestured to your broken leg, “Is my soccer career totaled?” 

“Soccer career? I thought you wanted to become an actor like your old man?” 

“Well, acting wasn’t my first choice, but depending on this, it might just become my first choice.” 

Pedro rolled his eyes, “Well, you’ll have physical therapy for sure, but let’s talk about it when we get there.” 

“Alright, but can we talk about something else?” 

“Dime (tell me).” 

“Can you go shower?” you scrunched up your nose, “I’m pretty sure your B.O. is what woke me up!” 

Pedro rolled his eyes, “Alright, alright, I’ll call your tia over to be with you while I go shower.” Pedro watched as you covered your nose in exaggeration, usually he would say something petty, but right now he just wanted to admire you and the fact that you were still alive. “Te amo, mija.” 

“Y yo a ti, papi,” you gave him a smile, knowing that everything was going to be okay and that if you did write a book in the future, it’d probably be about how you grew up blessed to be Pedro Pascal’s daughter.

Pedro Pascal Taglist: @Sophieelizabeth01  @tracysnookok  @cilliansangel @change-the-world-someday @graciegoeskrazy

To be added CLICK HERE

[simp4pedropascal75]

Nightmare (Pedro Pascal x Daughter)

Word count: 830

summary: you’re at your aunts house and you hadn’t a good day at school, and its really bothering you. Your dad, Pedro Pascal, is an event and doesn’t know anything of what happened. You go to bed and have a bad nightmare, but when you wake up, your dad is there to comfort you.

trigger warnings: angst (anxiety in school)

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

You’re at your Aunts Javiera’s house and watching TV with your two cousins, Pedro, and Bruno. “Es mi personaje favorito de la serie.” (He’s my favorite character of this series), Bruno says while being focused on the TV. Suddenly Pedro and Bruno start arguing about who the best character is, but you’re just in your own thoughts, thinking about your presentation you had to do in school today.

-

“T-the French R-Revolution began…- uh…”, you stuttered, and your hands began to shake. Everyone was looking at you, everyone. “When did it begun huh? Stop stuttering!”, one of your classmates shouted into the classroom. “It began… b-began..”, you couldn’t stop stuttering and started gasping for air. The feeling that everyone stared at you, let you feel so much more uncomfortable, and you started to panic even more.”, finally your teacher did cut you off. “How about the others start first okay? You can go out and take a deep breath”, your teacher said with understanding. You immediately rushed out of the classroom into the toilets, where you locked yourself in. You felt how it was harder to breath for air and tears ran down your cheeks.

“Y/N? What do you think?”, your cousin Pedro asks you, ripping you out of your thoughts. “U-umm… I guess I like everyone”, you say a little bit overwhelmed. “Are you okay?”, Bruno asks you while raising his eyebrows. “Yeah sure, I’ll go to bed now guys, good night.”, you say with a fake smile and making your way to your room. You see your aunt coming towards you with the laundry. “Tía, do you know, when dad will come home?”, you ask her. “No, not really. I guess he will come back at midnight”, she says with a smile, placing a kiss on your forehead. You nod and go into your room. You let out a loud sigh and directly lay down on your bed. Your dad, Pedro Pascal, is now at an event, you don’t even know what kind of event. He didn’t have any time the last few days, because of work and that’s why you’ve been staying at your aunt’s. You anxiety got a lot worse because he wasn’t there. He always knows how to comfort you. Of course, you wanted to write him after what happened at school, but you thought you’ll just distract him.

You lay down on your bed and it doesn’t take long that you directly drive off to sleep.

-

You’re in your classroom again, standing in front of your classmates. “Are you serious? Why are you stuttering?”, one of your classmates’ yells and you gulp. Everyone was looking at you again, and they started to get more. You run out to the hallway, but everyone comes to you and circles around you, everyone just stares. “P-please stop…”, you whisper while starting panicking again. “Are you being dramatic again?”, someone says and the voices start to get more and louder. “You’re just overreacting!”, you hear another voice say and everyone starts to get nearer. “N-no, p-please”, you start crying.

-

“Stop!”, you yell and wake up sweating and crying out of your nightmare. You feel a hand on yours, and you flinch. You look up and its your dad. “Mi cariño…”, he mumbles soft and you directly wrap your arms around his neck, hugging him tightly. You can tell he just came home because he’s still in his suit. “It’s okay… You’re safe, darling..:”, he whispers and caresses your head. Your breath starts to slow down and take a deep breath. “It was a nightmare…. A really bad one “, you mumble and stop hugging him. “Did anything happen today because you had this nightmare?”, he asks a little bit concerned, while taking a seat next to you laying his arm around your shoulder. You sigh and rest your head on his shoulder. You take a deep breath and tell him what happened in school today.

“Why didn’t you told me, mi cariño?”, he asks while giving you a kiss on your forehead. “I just… thought I would distract you…”, you whisper exhausted. He takes your face into his hands, directly looking into your eyes. “You would never distract me, honey. You’re the most important person in my life and you’re all I care about… You can always call me even if I’m at work.”, he says in a soft, but serious voice. You smile slightly and nod. “Te quiero…” (I love you), you whisper and a smile appears on his lips. “I love you too, my darling…”, he says and pulls you into his arms.

You wrap your arms around him and just enjoying his presence. You rest your head on his lap and you directly notice how tired you get. He strokes a strand of hair from your face and start caressing your head again. Before you drive off to sleep, you hear him whisper:

“I’m here… you’ll never be alone; I will always be there.”

[xchxrryblossomx]

My little Angel

Summary: You are your dad Pedro having quality family time together

Warning: None

A/N: In this, you're 15 and your mom died after giving birth to you and it was just you and Pedro together as a happy family, and once again [...] is the translation so sorry cuz I'm using google

You just got home from school and saw your dad. You did what you usually did, you ran up to him and hugged him. "Hola papá", [Hey dad] you smiled. Pedro smiled and said, "Hola cariño, ¿cómo estuvo la escuela?" [Hey sweetie, how was school?] You sighed and Pedor immediately knew it was horrible.

"Qué ha pasado Y/n?", [What happened Y/n] he asked and you frowned. "My stupid math teacher gave us a test I wasn't ready for then people were asking me if I had answers from the homework which I did but I didn't want to give the answers to them". Pedro chuckled and patted your head, "How about we go out and buy some snacks so we can watch a movie to make you feel better". You smiled and nodded "¡Sí, papá, quiero bocadillos y películas!". [Yes dad I want snacks and movies!] He chuckled and you dropped your school bag in your room then you both got in the car.

Once he reached the store you both got out and walked in. You grabbed your favorite snacks and favorite drink while Pedro did the same. Once you both got what you wanted and paid you went to the Redbox outside of the store and looked at the movies. That's when someone noticed you both and took a picture. They then walked up to you both and said, "May I get a picture with you both?". You looked at your dad and he nodded so you said yes the person then took the photo and thanked you and Pedro for letting them take a picture.

The person then started a little conversation and made a joke both you and your dad laughed at then they left to go home you were guessing. After that, you and Pedro picked a movie you walked back to the car and got in. On the drive home you were looking threw Instagram and saw the person post the picture of you and Pedro and the post said, "Look at this adorable family. I'm so glad I got to meet them and take a picture with them. They were so nice and friendly". You smiled and said, "Dad the person who took a photo with us said we were an adorable family and very friendly".

You giggled and Pedro said, "Well he isn't wrong, we're very friendly and adorable". You both then started to laugh. Once you got home you went into your room to change into pajama pants and an oversized shirt. Pedro had some sweats and a red shirt that says "#1 dad". you bought him the shirt for his birthday last year and he wore it like every night. You just remembered that you both usually make a pillow fort so you quickly ran to grab pillows and blankets then you quickly went back to the living room.

He chuckled when he saw all the pillows and blankets you had, "Hija mía, ¿por qué tienes que correr? Podrías tropezar, ten cuidado, por favor." [My daughter why must you run you could trip, be careful please] You giggled, "estare bien papa". [I'll be fine dad] He looked at you, "Yeah until you fall". You giggled, "I won't fall". just as you said that you dropped a pillow and tripped but luckliy your dad caught you before you hit the ground. He started laughing, "You were saying".

You then started laughing, "I mean at least you caught me dad". After he picked up the pillow that fell you both then started building the fort and you put the movie in the DVD player and started it. Pedro smiled and said, "You know when you were 7 we made a fort like this and you always insested on watching a movie or show with me in it. You used to also get so upset if we didn't, it was funny". You smiled, "I know dad I remember, but I always wanted to watch the same show or movie over and over again".

"Those are some of my favorite memories". Pedro smiled, "Yep, those are some of my favorite memories too". You both then started watching the movie eating snacks and drinking your drinks. You fell asleep halfway threw the movie and Pedro paused the movie. He then picked you up carefully and walked to your room moving the blankets on your bed then laying you down. He then pulled the covers over you. "Buenas noches mi hija dulce sueño, te amo". [Good night my daughter sweet dream, I love you]. He kissed your forehead and turned off the light and shut the door half way. He then cleaned up the mess and went to bed.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I hope you enjoyed have a wonderful day/night ♡

[oceandolores]

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐫'𝐬 𝐝𝐚𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐞𝐫 | masterlist!

Dbf! Joel Miller x female reader

"God loves you but not enough to save you,"

summary: In the small town near Austin, Texas, you are trapped in a life of rigid expectations and silent suffering. As the preacher's daughter, you endure the mental and physical abuse of your father while your mother, bound by obedience, offers quiet love. Your longing for a father's warmth finds an unexpected solace in Joel Miller, your father's best friend and neighbor. In Joel's presence, you discover a forbidden sanctuary, where your yearning heart is met with a gentle strength you've never known.

warnings: 18+ only, Minors DNI, AU, No outbreak. (TW) mentions of substance abuse/alcohol use disorder, adult content, religion abuse, violence, blood gore, mentions of death, sexual abuse, sexual content, domestic violences, ped0ph!l1a, cann1bal!sm, human traff1ck1ng, dad's best friend!Joel, HUGE age gap (i will not specify her exact age, but she's legal and Joel is 49), daddy issues, mentions of toxic family dynamic, Joel is widowed, Ellie is 16, angst, smut A LOT, forbidden relationship, soft and protective Joel, innocent and pure reader. your last name is Gibson. any other details will be explain throughout the story. inspired by the album Preacher's daughter by Ethel Cain and also mix with lana del rey vibes.

𝐞𝐩𝐢𝐠𝐫𝐚𝐩𝐡

❝ to my love, Joel.

,...found you just to tell you that I made it real far, i never blamed you for loving me the way that you did.

while you were torn apart, i would still wait with you there.

don't think about it too hard, honey. or you'll never sleep a wink at night again.

and don't worry about me and these green eyes,

baby, just know that i love you. and i'll see you when you get here.

i love you forever, Joel... ❞

THE PLAYLIST! (on spotify)👰🏼‍♀️

the preacher's daughter ▪️ dbf! joel miller

MASTERLIST!🐇

Chapter 1: "But I always knew in the end, no one was coming to save me,"

Chapter 2: "Because that's how my daddy raised me,"

Chapter 3: "I watched him show his love through shades of black and blue"

Chapter 4: "He looks like he works with his hands, and smells like Marlboro reds,"

Chapter 5: "Because for the first time since I was a child, I could see a man who wasn't angry,"

Chapter 6: "Let him make a woman out of me,"

Chapter 7: "You wanna fuck me right now?"

Chapter 8: "The fates already fucked me sideways,"

Chapter 9: "Christ, forgive these bones I'm hiding,"

Chapter 10: "and that's why I could never go back home,"

Chapter 11: "I don't care where as long as you're with me,"

Chapter 12: "If it's meant to be, then it will be."

Chapter 13: SOON

Chapter 14: SOON

Chapter 15: SOON

Chapter 16: SOON

Chapter 17: SOON

Chapter 18: SOON

Chapter 19: SOON

Chapter 20: ENDING

read it on wattpad!

the preacher's daughter by babyvenoms

ENJOY! and if you guys have any like visuals to this, or art that you made for this I would love to put it here, just let me know! thank you!! 🩵

[heartshapedbabydolls]

On a sheep farm with Joel 💌🌾

[marieslittlecorner]

My Joel 🌾

[wardenparker]

Hummingbird Has Landed, ch 1

Marcus Pike x female reader Co-written with @absurdthirst

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

Rating: Mature, but this blog is always 18+ Word Count: 14.4k Warnings: *Blanket warnings for this series: occasional mention of American politics, pregnant character, food/alcohol consumption, mentions of clothing/regulated dressing for occasions, mentions of therapy because we believe in self care here, reader is in a previous relationship, love triangle* Not much for this chapter! Mostly fluff, a little flirting, and playful but on-point use of the term 'tramp stamp'. Summary: On a failed date at the local market, Marcus runs into an old friend and gets an invitation to visit. The beautiful inn and fantastic food were explicit in the invite -- but you are a complete surprise to him. Notes: Welcome, welcome, welcome my lovelies! As a girl who grew up on The West Wing and fosters an unapologetic love of all things romance, a story like this has been on my wish list to write for a very long time. I hope you're all ready for a cast of new characters and the grand appearance of Pedro's character from Graceland, because it's time for Marcus Pike to meet his soulmate! 🧡🧡🧡

There’s something about the hustle and bustle of D.C., that while it can invigorate someone and inspire them to live life as fast as possible, it can also drain them. At least, that’s what Marcus Pike has learned from the last three years of therapy. That and he’s prone to rushing into relationships, being in love with love, as Dr. Barnes would caution him.

It seems sometimes as if he’s unlucky in love, despite the universe providing a perfect match for him, he’s never found her. Always looking, but also being open to loving someone who doesn’t share marks or scars. Someone who just wants a stable and steady man to worship them and give them the world.

He hasn’t dated in almost three years. His therapist had advised him to focus on himself. To work through his emotions of a failed college marriage, a failed engagement. To make himself happy with who he is before introducing another person into the mix. He had thought that’s what he was doing, but apparently he had been wrong.

Finally feeling ready to date again, he had dipped his toes back in the water. Only to have it backfire tremendously. So much so, that he finds himself walking around the Eastern Market on his own. His idea of a farmer’s market casual date obviously not a good one, according to the woman who had tossed the drink he had bought her on the trash and stomped off, abandoning him to feel like a fool.

Smiling faces beam back at him from the covers of glossy gossip magazines, flashing headlines critiquing fashions worn to the recent inauguration ceremony and parties. The new president and her family wave from above the fold of newspapers — the happy family that Marcus himself doesn’t have. Ignoring the rude reminder, he wanders through the stalls and vendors of Eastern Market aimlessly until he reaches the family-owned sweet shop that he’s been coming to for years now. They know him, and like him, and his sweet tooth knows no bounds. There’s another man at the counter just before Marcus so he stands back, but Jenny waves hello from behind the counter. “Morning Marcus! Gimme one second and I’ll be right with you.” She says, turning back to the order marked Juan in her big, looping handwriting. “Six cannoli, right? Two pistachio, two double chocolate, and two cherry chocolate?”

“Right.” The man in a corduroy jacket with his short hair trimmed neatly nods. “Thanks, Jen. The girls are going to be over the moon.”

Another reminder of a life he craves. Marcus frowns slightly and tries to remember what his therapist has told him. Everyone moves at their own pace. Just because he’s not juggling two kids, a dog and a lovely wife with his workload doesn’t mean he’s failing. It just means he’s not met the right person, soulmate or not.

The other man pays for his order and turns to leave but stops dead in the middle of a cordial nod when he sees Marcus standing a few feet away. Sure he had heard Jenny say hi to someone…but he hadn’t looked. Now though? He huffs a laugh at the ghost of his past. “Pike?” They’d been mistaken as brothers — or for each other — so many times back at the Academy that it would be impossible not to recognize Marcus Pike.

“Badillo?” It’s amazing to see the other agent, although he had heard that he had left the Bureau after a friendly fire shooting. He looks good though, and Marcus cracks into the first real grin of the morning since being left high and dry. “What the hell? How are you doing, man?” He asks, coming in for a friendly hug while being mindful of the box in Juan’s hand.

“Good! Good. Errands.” Juan huffs, returning Marcus’s hug with equal surprise and affection. The men had been quite good friends at one time, more than a few years ago now. “Pregnant wife gets whatever pregnant wife wants, ya know?” He grins, bright and shining. “When did you get back to DC?”

“Pregnant wife, huh?” Despite the knife to his heart, Marcus paints on a grin, happy for his old friend. “Three years ago.” He shrugs slightly. “Heading up Art Crimes now. How about you? I heard you got out.” He lifts his eyebrows, allowing Juan to talk if he wants or brush it off if he doesn’t.

“I did.” Juan nods, knowing that various stories circulated after he left the Bureau. Most of them false. “Decided to take a little road trip vacation to clear my head and ended up meeting my soulmate in Yosemite on day two of the whole thing, and I followed her East.” He shrugs, ever the unapologetic romantic just like Marcus. They had had that in common. “How’s Lara?” He asks, remembering the woman that had been Mrs. Pike during their Academy days. Marcus had been over the moon for her. “Is she liking being back?”

Marcus grimaces a little and shrugs. “She’s, uh, we got divorced about ten years ago.” He tells him. “She found out she did have a soulmate.”

“Ah shit.” Blowing out a breath and shuffling his feet, Juan rubs the back of his neck self-consciously. “I’m sorry, man. That’s—there’s just no easy way to get through something like that.”

“It’s okay.” Marcus had loved Lara, but he wasn’t going to stand in the way of soulmates. It wouldn’t be right. “It was actually a very easy divorce; she hated hurting me. More than I can say for the last date, or last fiancée I’ve had.”

“Shit.” Juan huffs again, shaking his head in disbelief. “It’s eleven in the morning but I feel like I ought to be buying you a drink, man.” Hearing that someone as genuinely good as Marcus Pike is has had his heart bashed so often is a fucking bummer, and Juan chews on his lip for a second before his head tilts in that Universal signal of natural curiosity. “I’ve got time today. If you want to hang out? Catch up?” He offers, knowing that drinks will most likely come later if the two old friends spend the day getting back on the same page.

Marcus chuckles, shoving his hands in his pockets. “Do I look that dejected?” He asks, even though he’s not really looking for an answer. “I was supposed to be on a date, I figured a farmer’s market/brunch date would be easy enough and yet thoughtful, but I was ditched.” He snorts. “I have zero luck it seems.” He nods his head towards the cannoli. “But you can’t leave your pregnant wife waiting on those.”

“No, I can’t.” Sydney is waiting back at the restaurant with bated breath, he knows that, but he does offer Marcus a smile. “But she does run a restaurant, so you don’t have to be brunch-less unless you choose to be.”

“Yeah?” He perks up at the idea of trying out a new place, always loving brunch foods. “Where at? I might have to take a spin over there.”

“Her place is called Il Corvo.” It takes a second, but Juan digs a business card for the restaurant out of his jacket pocket and hands it over. “It’s the in-house restaurant at The Inn at Jones Point in Alexandria.” He reports proudly, always ready to brag about his soulmate’s amazing success. Running a restaurant is no small feat. “I know the card says the dining room opens at 4pm, but ignore that. She does brunch for guests at the inn and for special guests from time to time.”

“Are you sure?” Marcus frowns slightly. “I don’t want to impose.”

“It’s not imposing, trust me.” Knowing his wife as well as he does, Juan is more than certain she’ll be doting on Marcus in no time. “As long as you’re on board for Italian food, come by any time you want.”

“I’m out on the bike.” Marcus tells Juan, remembering how the other agent also loved to ride motorcycles. “I might swing by sometime. Normally go for rides on the weekend.”

"Anytime you want," Juan repeats, and he hopes Marcus understands how entirely he means it. "It's good to see you again, man."

“Good to see you too.” Marcus means that, smiling at the former agent. “Nice to see that you are okay.”

The two men part with a smile and a nod, and Juan hustles away to get his precious cargo back out to his soulmate. Maybe he'll pitch the idea of inviting Marcus to their next board game night if Sydney and her best friend don't mind the extra company. Not that they ever mind extra company.

Marcus doesn’t mean for it to be two weeks from the chance encounter with Juan before he steers his bike down the country, winding roads towards this inn that he had been told about. He had a case that required him to travel. Then it was reports and the never ending budget fiascos that new presidencies always bring, his boss wanting a new projections for the fiscal year for some reason.

Now though, he’s enjoying the scenery as the wind blows over his face and he leans into the curve, enjoying the small thrill that races up his spine from the inherent danger.

The winter has been mild so far and all the snow left behind by the storm the area had gotten while he was traveling has melted, making the ride an easy and calming one. He had intentionally driven a long route around Alexandria and the surrounding area, letting him arrive at his destination a little after noon on that cold, sunny Sunday. The inn is a large brick farmhouse, probably originally colonial but it looks like it was redone sometime during the Federalist architecture craze of the early 1800s. Now its clean white painted window frames and front porch are as welcoming as the pristinely kept front garden. The Inn at Jones Point proclaims a sign out front, which is accompanied by a smaller complimentary sign with an impressionist painted black bird that reads Il Corvo in an artistic script. There are cars in the lot with a plethora of states listed on their license plates, another motorcycle that he has to assume is Juan's, and a very government-issued-looking black car parked close to the building.

Marcus is enough of a romantic to fully appreciate the appeal of the property and more importantly, grounded enough to be able to appreciate it without having a partner here to enjoy it with. Since working with his therapist, he's spent a lot of the last three years 'dating himself'. Instead of waiting to make a date to try out a new restaurant, he goes by himself. Not limiting himself to new experiences with partners, he has found that he enjoys the hunt for the perfect spots to eat. The little Indian restaurant he had found is an absolute gem and he is looking forward to discovering a new little brunch spot. If this place is half as good as Juan says, he might make it a monthly habit while he can spend some time with his old friend.

Inside, the lobby of the inn is bustling. Guests sit in plush chairs with travel brochures or excitedly type on their phones. A family is gathered around a display of pamphlets for different travel experiences and tourist attraction. Another guest is hovering around the front desk, seemingly waiting for someone to return.

From the rooms off to the left, wave after wave of stunning smells wafts past Marcus as he looks around. A set of French doors stands open but the hostess stand for Il Corvo stands empty while a small number of diners sit inside, happily chattering over their meals. The scent of fresh coffee permeates everything else just a second before he can see why, as a woman in a blue silk shirt comes around the corner with two travel cups — presumably full of coffee — for the guest standing at the desk.

“Here we are, Mrs. Richards. Thank you for your patience, the pot was just finishing brewing. These will keep you nice and warm while you walk around Old Town.” Smiling as the woman walks away, your eyes survey the room and land on the new arrival with a touch of confusion. “Good afternoon,” you greet, in your typical sunshiny tone. This man isn’t a guest and you genuinely almost thought it was Juan for a second — even though you just saw Juan in the restaurant. “How can I help you today?”

“Hi— uh, I—” Marcus realizes he knows you. Your mother’s picture hangs on his office wall next to the current FBI director’s, and furthermore, it’s hard to not see the darling First Daughter in some news story – although it doesn’t seem like you enjoy the press. “Yeah, sorry, Juan said that brunch is served here?” He asks with an apologetic smile. “I’m Marcus, uh, Pike. We were in the Academy together and I ran into him a few weeks ago.”

You’re prettier than he ever imagined the pictures and news reels, your voice curling into his stomach pleasantly. In true, Marcus Pike fashion. He finds himself instantly intrigued by you.

“Oh, you’re Marcus!” As bright and cheery as you sound, something flips in your stomach and clenches at your chest and you swallow down the oh god he’s really hot impulse that you haven’t felt in…well, in years. This guy looks like someone took Juan and gave him broader shoulders and better hair, and put a little bit more James Dean in his style. “It’s really nice to meet you.” You introduce yourself, probably unnecessarily, but it’s good manners and keeps you from getting nervous or going off track. “Come on this way. Juan said you might be stopping by but he wasn’t sure when.”

“I’m sorry, should I have called first?” He asks, feeling guilty and slightly in the way. The last thing that he wants is to cause an imposition.

“Not at all.” You slip out from behind your desk and wave for him to follow you. “He’s been excited to introduce you to everybody.” The inn is a decent size, with the ground floor being public spaces and all the rooms upstairs being ready-made for guests except for the attic apartment, and you quickly lead the way through the rooms toward the restaurant kitchen.

“It’s been a long time since we’ve caught up.” Marcus admits. “We were close in the academy, most people through we were twins to be honest.” He chuckles slightly.

“I almost thought you were him when I saw you,” you admit, glad to know you aren’t alone in it. Juan had said they look alike but it really is extreme. “Here we are.” Humming as you push open the door to the restaurant’s bar, you huff a soft laugh when a woman slightly taller than you with masses of curls in a tight bun at the nape of her neck in a black suit sidesteps the pair of you and opens the kitchen door to look inside before letting you in. “Thank you, Agent Bailey.” As odd as it is to have constant supervision like this, you’re doing your best to be patient and understanding with it. “Come on into the kitchen,” you offer to Marcus. “Brunch is almost over and this is where Juan sits when he hangs out.”

“Really? The inner sanctum already?” The tone is joking, but Marcus knows that for a lot of chefs, the kitchen is their sacred place. He wouldn’t know, because his kitchen is used to make coffee, but he’s had a few relationships with amateur gourmet cooks.

“Marcus!” There’s no question that this is where he’s supposed to be, when Juan is waving from a corner of the kitchen and immediately zips over to say hello. “How are you, man? Good to see you!”

“Hey.” He grins when he sees the other man, obviously happier here than any time in the Bureau and he’s happy for him. He seems like a completely different man, just from the quick glance. Perhaps it’s the fact that he found his soulmate. “Sorry it’s been a few weeks. Got caught up on a case.”

“I completely get it,” he assures his friend. “It’s been kind of crazy around here anyway. Weddings booked every single weekend and the restaurant stuffed full with reservations.” He beams, proud as a peacock, and waves slightly as you disappear back out through the bar to return to your counter. The inn is full up with last night’s wedding party and you have your hands full. “I want you to meet my wife,” Juan says, clapping Marcus in the shoulder and pulling him further into the kitchen.

There are only two people cooking right now and they are both winding down. Enough that the petite woman with tied-up hair and a look of intense concentration on her face can look up and smile. “I hear you talking about me,” she warns with a laugh.

“Syd, this is Marcus Pike.” Juan introduces, bringing his friend out in front of him. “Marcus, this is Sydney. The gorgeous goddess the universe decided to grace me with.”

“Nice to meet you.” Again that pesky pang of longing lurches inside Marcus but he throws her a smile and takes her hand after she offers it immediately. “I’ve only heard angelic things about you, so rest assured, he’s not talking ill.”

“He’s does nothing but tell stories about you since you guys ran into each other at Eastern Market.” Sydney tells him honestly. “Can I make you something to eat?”

“I was hoping to experience the brunch option that Juan was bragging about.” Marcus admits as he glances around, admiring the state of the art kitchen. “Didn’t expect to see this from the historical facade.” He admits. “It’s charming though.” He adds, hoping that neither one of you take offense.

"Charming is her specialty." Sydney points her thumb in the direction of the door, indicating the main lobby of the inn. "We took over running this place about three years ago now. The previous owners weren't able to keep up anymore so they sold to her and we updated the restaurant. Modern Italian dinners and brunch for the inn's guests. It's a big step up from the B&B that this place used to be." Grinning proudly, Sydney moves over to the nearest counter and plops a paper menu down at the stool beside her husband. "What would you like?"

Marcus looks at the menu and lifts a brow, impressed by the sophisticated menu. This isn’t some little spaghetti shop that pretends to be Italian. “It’s been so long since I’ve had good Uova in Purgatorio.” He moans. “Since the last time I was in Naples.” He clicks his tongue. “But I want to try the ricotta pancakes too.”

"Then you will get both," Sydney insists, clicking her tongue and getting to work. "A G-man in Naples, huh?" She barely glances up from her work as she moves. "Art crimes must be the fancy branch of the Bureau."

“I work on international cases with Interpol and Scotland Yard.” He explains as he sits down and admires the fluidity of her movements in the kitchen. She’s completely at home in her space and it’s evident she’s in command. He’s slightly envious of her comfort in a kitchen, if he’s honest.

"Oh, so it definitely is the fancy branch." She laughs. Juan hops up from his seat to grab coffee for himself and Marcus, brushing a kiss on her cheek as he moves past, and the other woman who had been cooking moves away to the other end of the room to work on cleaning up from the brunch rush.

"Fancy branch of what?" The kitchen door swings open again and you come strolling back inside looking infinitely more tired than you had just a few minutes ago but still in a generally good mood. "The wedding party is finally gone. I am officially taking my break."

Marcus stares at you for a moment and then looks down at his hands, feeling like he might be bragging if he were to tell you what they’ve been talking about. There’s something about you that is knocking him off kilter, he’s normally a little more confident than this.

"Art crimes is swanky, apparently." Sydney tells you, never stopping or slowing as she moves around like a controlled whirlwind. "Eggs in purgatory and ricotta pancakes for your brunch? I'll make up a big batch." They're two of your favourite things anyway and it's easy enough to just make a double serving of each when she knows that your break time is always mealtime.

"That sounds incredible," you moan in agreement, making a beeline for the industrial refrigerator in the corner of the room to make yourself an iced latte that is far more espresso than milk. A generous swirl of flavored syrup joins your cup before you plop down on the edge of the counter and sip your drink with a happy sigh. Normally people exclaim over you when they realize they recognize you but Marcus Pike hasn't said a word — and you wonder if he doesn't recognize you from the papers or if you even care. It's nice to not have someone make a fuss for once. To just be nice and not suck up to you for being the President's oldest child.

“Weddings take it out of you, huh?” Marcus asks, smirking a little at the drink in your hand, although it looks delicious. “Or were they just demanding?”

"It was a big party. Very specific needs." Sipping your drink and finally sitting is immediately relaxing, and you're always ready to meet new people. Especially when they're someone that your best friend's husband speaks of so highly. "Nothing I can't handle, but weddings are always tricky. It's the most important day of at least one person's life, so you always want to try to make it as perfect for them as you can. Thankfully," you gesture around you. "I have an incredible team. Syd is the best Italian chef in the Chesapeake Bay and Juanito is an incredible event coordinator."

Marcus snorts and cuts his eyes over at Badillo. “He always did have an eye for details.” He admits, snickering at the nickname you’ve bestowed on the former federal agent. “Although it’s surprising that it’s manifested in wedding planning.” He teases playfully.

"Event planning," Juan clarifies, but he's grinning regardless. "We host a lot here. Weddings, anniversaries, holiday parties, all kinds of personal events. I get to put my organizational mind to work on it. It's actually pretty rewarding."

"Don't let him sell himself short. Juan plans a hell of a wedding." There is pride on your face, pride for your friend and in your work "We've gotten written up in a bunch of bridal magazines and on websites the last few years."

“Good job, Juanito.” If there’s anything that Marcus enjoyed more than the courses in the academy, it was busting his friend’s balls. All in good fun of course, he had taken his share of ribbing as well. It was par for the course. “That sounds like a hell of a job, making people happy and sharing in their special moments.”

"We do our best." Juan will never take the credit for himself, always attributing the effort to the team as a whole. This time, though, he flashes a knowing grin at you. "Although the next one we plan might be a hell of a lot bigger than what we do here."

“Oh?” Marcus asks, turning towards you. “Are you getting married soon?” His eyes drop discreetly to your hand and he tries to remember what he’s read about you but for some reason, he’s drawing a blank.

“No, Juan just likes to tease.” You shake it off with a roll of your eyes, knowing that — unfortunately — your friend is completely right. If or when it does happen, it will be a damn circus. “It’s this…guy that I met last year, and it’s been really good and he really took all the stress of the last year in stride, and these two love to tease.” In truth, you’ve been intentionally moving forward slowly with the junior Congressman from Maryland that you met at a campaign event you attended with your mother last year. Sam is a good guy and has big ideas for the future. It’s just that you normally dive into relationships so fast and so deep that your heart does all the talking before your mind can catch up. And now that you’re a public figure, you can’t afford to have that happen again. “I’m perfectly content to watch other people have their big days for now.”

“I can imagine that it’s hard to have a relationship right now.” He sympathizes. “The press either treats you like a darling celebrity or some kind of public spectacle, right?” He asks, curious as to your view on the entire thing. Personally, he hated the idea of politics taking on a celebrity flare and you aren’t on politics, your mother is.

“I’m honestly lucky that my younger siblings take some of the focus,” you admit. So he did recognize you. It’s nice that he didn’t fuss. You’re grateful for that. “My brother is in law school and my sister is in undergrad and they’re both living in the White House while they study but…yeah. We all agreed to give up our privacy for a while so Mom can do some good work. That means relationships aren’t easy right now.”

“It’s good you had a choice.” Marcus admits. “Sometimes I watch the campaigns for some of the politicians and it’s obvious the family would rather be anywhere else and are putting on a facade.” He shrugs, not wanting to delve too deep into a subject you probably are uncomfortable with. “Nice that you don’t have too much interference here, except for the Secret Service agent.”

"Agent Bailey's okay." In fact, she's sitting outside the kitchen door right now, giving you a bit of space and privacy to try to pretend you still have a halfway normal life. "We're still getting used to each other. I had somebody else during the campaign, but she's been assigned to my sister now. It all works out in the end." Smiling, you take another sip of your coffee and wonder why your stomach is fluttering over this very kind man who has been introduced into your lives very much by chance. It's...unsettling. To say the very least. "But that's plenty about me. How about you, Special Agent Marcus Pike? Where're you from? How are you liking Art Crimes?" You grin, throwing him a mischievous expression. "Who'd you vote for, for president?"

Marcus laughs, a real laugh that comes from his belly and he relaxes. “Let’s see…I’m from the great state of Texas - Go Rangers.” He ticks off. “I love Art Crimes, especially when we can recover sentimental pieces and keep “collectors”,” he uses air quotes, “from locking away art from being enjoyed by all.” He grins at your last question. “And my momma told me never to discuss politics or religion in social settings….but….my candidate is currently hanging on my office wall.”

"Rangers, huh?" Glossing over the not insignificant tidbit that he did, in fact, vote for your mother, you find yourself thoroughly enjoying getting to know this friend of your friend. It's usually not this easy to click with a new acquaintance, although you've become an expert at seeming interested just to be polite. That doesn't seem to be necessary at all with this man. "When we get our Phillies/Rangers series this year we'll have to come up with a bet of some kind."

“It’s gonna be a losing bet on your end.” Marcus predicts. “We’ve got Darío Álvarez and then Elvis Andrus is going to continue stealing bases.”

"Oh thank god," Sydney huffs, flipping ricotta pancakes on her griddle top and grinning as she throws you a wink. "She's finally got someone else to drag to baseball games. I'm free!"

"My alleged best friend," you smirk and decide to tease her back. "And her husband are both hockey people. So I'm generally either stuck watching the game on my own or dragging Syd along with promises of beer and ballpark dogs."

“Nationals aren’t my favorite team. Since they are National League.” Marcus smirks. “But I have season tickets since it’s too expensive to fly back to Texas for every game.”

It would be bragging to admit that you've been asked to throw the first ball out at the Nationals opening game this season as the most vocally baseball-loving member of the new First Family, so you just smile. You know it can feel like a big sacrifice to leave something about home behind. "Maybe I'll see you there," you offer instead. "The Nationals aren't my team either, but the game are pretty fun."

“Oh they always are.” He admits wholeheartedly. “Plus the Navy Yard is close so it’s always interesting.”

"Heeeeere we go." Onto the counter in front of you, Sydney heaps four plates of food – making each of you identical breakfasts. "The fruit compote for the pancakes right now is cranberry lemon. And I threw a little extra chili into the sauce for the eggs." She grins. "Some folks who stay at the inn say it's too spicy but it's how we like it," she tells Marcus.

Marcus chuckles and Juan snorts, hooking his fingers towards the agent. “This man ate his way through a five alarm chili contest and didn’t even touch his beer.” He boasts to the two of you. “If it’s not spicy, I don’t want it.” Marcus confirms with a grin. “Thank you. It smells amazing.”

"Then next time you're getting Calabrian chili instead of just the wimpy flakes." Sydney promises with glee. "That's how our girl likes it, but that's too much even for me most of the time. I have to be in the mood for it."

“You like spicy?” He asks, smirking towards you. “How do you feel about the Indian food around here?”

"There's a place in DuPont Circle that is probably the best Indian food I've ever had in my entire life." Even as you're getting ready to dig into your best friend's comfort Italian fare, your mouth starts watering thinking of curries and dal. "The kind of place where they don't make it really spicy until you've been there a couple of times and they know you can handle it. I swear I've eaten there more than I've cooked my own food since moving out here."

“Rasika’s?” Marcus groans, nodding. “I love that place. They make the best curry I’ve ever eaten in my life. I’m sweating, but I never tell them to bring me the yogurt sauce.”

"If you don't sweat while you're eating there, you're doing it wrong." It's a slight point of contention with Sam, who generally considers mustard to be too spicy most of the time, but you ignore the side eye you're getting from Sydney and dig in to your brunch. Having come in early today, this is halfway through your shift and you're going to be excited to head upstairs to your little attic caretaker's apartment when the time comes this afternoon. "Mmmmm," you groan happily and do a little wiggle in your seat unconsciously. "Syd, I swear. If you hadn't already married Juan, I'd marry you for your brunch."

Marcus takes that as the best kind of advertisement and cuts into his own meal to fork up a bite of the eggs. “Christ.” He groans as soon as the flavors hit his mouth. “That’s amazing.”

"I told you," Juan boasts, sitting up in his seat a little taller with pride for his soulmate. "She's amazing."

“You weren’t kidding.” Marcus huffs, taking another bite. “If this got out, you could run on brunch alone.”

"We're considering offering an incentive package for events." Starting to clean up, Syd watches the two of you eat while she wraps the kitchen up from brunch to get everything prepared for dinner service. "Wedding brunches are coming back in fashion, but a lot of people are wanting to do morning after brunches for their families before everyone goes their separate ways."

“I can see that.” Marcus nods. “Lara and I had a lunch thing before we all said goodbye, but that was casual.”

"Your wife?" You guess, struggling to remember if Juan had mentioned that his friend was married. He's not wearing a ring, but some men don't — a habit that generally rubs you the wrong way because those men are always the ones who basically want their wives to walk around wearing a giant 'I'm married' sign but will never show any outward signs of commitment themselves.

Marcus gives a small shrug and smiles self-consciously. “Ex-wife.” He admits, knowing that soon enough the pitying looks will start. “We divorced a while ago.”

Sydney clicks her tongue, having remembered that fact, and says nothing more. You, though? For some reason you can't help yourself. Something about Marcus Pike compels you to offer comfort in whatever way you can. "If you ever find another Mrs. Pike, you let us know. We've got you covered."

Marcus chuckles. “So far, that search has been in vain.” He admits. “Apparently it’s not in the cards for me.”

"She's out there." Juan offers with confidence. "If I remember correctly, you've even got a couple of tattoos to prove it."

Marcus rolls his eyes. “Yeah, I do.” He snorts. “If I ever find her, I want to know why there is a hummingbird tramp stamp on my lower back.” He laughs. “I get why, but why???? Why a hummingbird?”

A glare of questioning moves soundlessly between you and your best friend — the perpetually meddling woman who sat next to you when you were eighteen and challenged you to answer trivia questions while you had your own hummingbird tramp stamp inked onto your skin in celebration of your high school graduation. "Oh yeah?" She asks, raising an eyebrow at you while you furious try to communicate with nothing more than wide eyes that you do not want her to ask what she's about to ask. "What kind of hummingbird? How trashy are we talking?"

“It’s not exactly trashy.” Marcus defends. “It’s actually a pretty blue and green.“

"Interesting." Sydney hums, practically giggling with glee as she cleans up the kitchen and you bury your face in your meal like it will help you escape the entire conversation. "Maybe hummingbirds are her favourite bird?"

I'm going to kill you in your sleep says the glare you send your best friend's way.

“Totally trashed my punk rock image.” He laughs. “Although I didn’t think of that at the time. Thinking I’m this hardcore next Kurt Cobain rocker and I’ve got a hummingbird tattoo on my lower back.” He snorts, shrugging slightly. “But it’s always been a question I’ve wanted to ask. What made her choose that? What’s special about it to her?”

"Hummingbirds symbolize love and devotion," you murmur next to him, not quite looking up and wondering if the world is really turning on its ear right now or if it's just that you've been thrown off kilter by the possibilities. It's not like you're the only girl in the world with a hummingbird tattoo, after all. Far from it. "And they're supposed to be good luck."

“I like that.” Marcus hums softly. “It’s wistful, hopeful.” There could be a thousand different reasons why his soulmate chose that symbol to etch on her body and in turn, his, but he would rather it be a loving sign. You aren’t looking at him, and miss the small smile he throws you. “Poetic.”

"So she's gotta be out there somewhere." Sydney needles the point a little bit, sounding breezy as hell but just about ready to pounce on any clues Marcus offers up. "Maybe a hopeless romantic with a stubborn streak and an encyclopedic knowledge of Lost Generation authors and impressionist painters?" She shrugs like she's just pulled the example out of thin air. "Who knows?"

Throwing Juan a look, Marcus smirks. “Sounds like your husband has been talking about favorite kind of woman.” He jokes, although he’s pretty sure that he would love it if his soulmate turned out to be just that. “I just want to have someone that wants to be build a lift together. A partner.” He shrugs. “Most people think that it’s crazy, but I think that your significant other should be your best friend and your lover.”

"Absolutely crazy." With as clearly sarcastic a tone as she can possibly muster, Sydney practically deadpans in Marcus's direction. "So weird. How dare you want to spend your life with someone you loves you as much as you love them?" Every single thing she's described has been about you, and while neither of the guys are picking up on that for even a single second, the fact that you have your head down over your plate means you're reading her loud and clear. "I bet your dream girl will even have a thing for your old rockstar days," she goes on, as if she's stringing out a hypothetical and not explicitly describing your opinion that musicians are sexy as hell. "Don't tell me. You were a bassist, right?"

“And vocals.” He admits, shaking his head ruefully. “It’s alright if she doesn’t like that. God, it’s been years since I’ve picked up my bass.” He realizes. “I should do that. Between the bass or the motorcycle, I just spent more time on the bike.”

Bass. Vocals. And motorcycle? You practically groan out loud but barely manage to swallow the sound and instead hop up from your seat immediately to hopefully combine the noise you just made with all manner of other commotion. "Just grabbing another drink," you explain, when all three of their heads turn toward you at once. "You, uh...you should do what makes you happy, Marcus. If that's not overstepping things for me to say. We just met today. But I've always heard that the best things in life tend to fall into your lap when you're not looking for them. So maybe just...enjoy yourself? And who knows what can happen."

“That’s what I’ve been trying to do.” Marcus admits. “My therapist agrees with you. That we need to enjoy ourselves and not just search.”

"Our therapists agree with each other, then," you admit with a chuckle. "I started seeing someone when Mom decided to run for president. I figured it would be good to have someone to check in with and make sure I was handling my stressors in a healthy way." The conversations you had had with them about whether or not to factor your soulmate into future plans when you had never met them were slightly less straightforward.

“That’s always a good thing.” He nods quickly. “I’ve never been one to think that therapists are a waste of time.” He shrugs. “My mom was a therapist all my childhood.”

"It's an incredibly important profession. And an incredibly important resource to have." Seeing as Marcus's mug was empty as well, you bring back two glasses of water to the counter and sit down again, hoping that Sydney won't keep pushing. Or at least that she won't reveal things if she does. "My little sister is a psychology major. She's thinking about medical school next, and talking about different paths she might taken with her studies. Therapist being one of them."

“It’s a good profession.” Marcus admits easily. “Just- let her know, most therapists have their own therapists they see. It’s draining to take on everyone’s secrets and burdens, trying to do the best you can to give them the tools to help themselves. So tell her that there’s no shame in that.”

"I will." It isn't worth negating the kindness of Marcus's thoughts and advice by telling him that all three of the First Kids started therapy at the start of the campaign. It's the care he has for other people — people he has never met and may never meet ever in his life, that touches you so very deeply. "Thank you, Marcus. That's very kind of you."

He nods and picks up the glass of water, needing to wash down the remnants of the eggs before starting on the pancakes. “So, Juan, how did you and your lovely wife discover you were soulmates?” He asks curiously.

"Uhm..." Juan chuckles, rubbing the back of his neck and looking to Sydney for her permission to tell the story.

"Go ahead," she laughs. "I've go to start dinner prep. Tell him as much as you want."

"It's not exactly PG," he admits, still laughing softly to himself. "The polite version is that we compared tattoos."

Marcus isn’t the head of his department because he’s dimwitted. “One night stand?” He asks, lifting his brows in surprise. It wasn’t like he had never had them himself, but both men had preferred to be in relationships rather than sleep around. Not that he’s judging.

“I was willing to take whatever that goddess was willing to give me,” Juan admits without shame. “One night would have been a memory to cherish. But the universe said it should be a lifetime, instead.”

“I’m happy for you.” Marcus promises with a slap on the back for his old friend. “You deserve it. Glad you found her.”

“You say that now.” His friend smiles happily though, beaming at the commendation. “But now it’s going to be my mission to find you that girl with the hummingbird tattoo.”

Marcus smiles, a little sadly, but he just shrugs. “I’ll find her when I’m supposed to.” He reasons. “Knowing my luck, she’s happily married.”

“Not as happily as she would be with you.” He’s confident in that, and Juan looks to you to bolster his encouragements. “How could anybody not be ecstatic to have a guy this good, right?”

It feels rude. Like a trick from the universe that you do not like one bit. Like the powers that be are rubbing your nose in your defiance of their plans. “They’d have to be blind.” You offer, with a smile that doesn’t quite reach your eyes. Sam is a good guy. He’s been a good boyfriend and has made you happy. Why are you suddenly thinking about someone else after an hour of knowing them? That’s utterly ridiculous. “You…never really know how the universe is going to have things work out.”

She’s just being polite. Marcus realizes that when he sees your smile, his stomach churning unhappily. It doesn’t matter, you’re seeing someone. A woman in a relationship has always been off limits to him. He doesn’t like, nor respect cheaters and yet he’s upset that you don’t seem that attracted to him. Or, you’re reluctantly attracted to him. He stares down at his pancakes and sighs. “All that matters to me if that my soulmate is happy.” He decides.

Juan and Marcus talk about this and that for the next few minutes, but you quickly finish your pancakes and excuse yourself. It was very nice to meet Marcus, and you tell him so, but you’re a little rattled by the possibility that was just laid out in front of you and you need a few deep breaths of fresh air before your break is over and you have to go back to solving guest’s dilemmas.

Juan doesn’t miss the way Marcus’s eyes follow you out of the room and he smirks. “Thinkin’ about it?” He asks, knowing you are the other man’s type.

“No.” He shakes his head quickly. “I mean, I would if she were single, but she’s not.” Deciding to change the subject, he leans in. “Did they heighten security here, or just the one agent?”

“Updated cameras and increased security personnel. We turned the spare office into a surveillance room but her Secret Service detail doesn’t butt in on anything they don’t need to.” Juan shrugs, knowing that things always change over time. “So far.”

That’s good and Marcus nods. “Sounds like you might have had some input.” He knows that Juan is very analytical, he would know what the weakness were in a place like this.

Juan snorts, taking a sip of his drink and shrugging vaguely. "My wife's childhood best friend is the First Daughter of the United States. If I can help her be safe, I'm going to."

“I can certainly understand that.” Marcus admits.

"It's a good system." Juan acknowledges. "She always has a detail agent nearby and the place needs the security because we've gotten a hell of a lot busier since the campaign last year."

“I’m sure.” Marcus snorts. “Everyone wants to claim they have some insider pull.” He says, a little cynical, but he looks around. “And I’m sure a lot of it is the fact that this place is a little gem.”

"272-year-old farmhouse with restored gardens and a barn and a gazebo from 1823. The place has had so many owners and been used for so many things." It's clear that Juan has nothing but affection for the place, and that he really has leaned into a fully civilian life. "I'm glad you came out to say hi," he tells Marcus honestly. "Hopefully we'll see more of you around here."

“With food like this?” Marcus groans, throwing his buddy a grin. “Those are the best damn pancakes that I’ve eaten in forever.”

"And considering you're a certified pancake expert, that says something." Juan chuckles. When Marcus hadn't shown up for a few weeks he was afraid that maybe he had said something wrong or that his old friend had moved on from the comradery they used to have, Apparently, neither was the case.

“Still love pancakes. It’s finding the time to eat them, that’s the problem.” He snorts. “It’s getting better now that I run the department, but after I ran into you? I was flying out two days later.”

"Sounds like you earned a day to relax." Sounds like he earned a lot more than just one day, but Juan knows how the Bureau works. A single day can sometimes be a miracle to come by. "There's books and board games in the library if you want to stay and spend some time relaxing."

“What do you have going on?” Marcus asks, tilting his head curiously.

“It’s…board game night.” As silly and domestic as it sounds, it’s a nice tradition that they’ve managed to keep going among friends. “Every month we have a group of friends over and we do a potluck for dinner. Just to unwind and be social. Just catch up, eat some good food, and play board games. You’re more than welcome to join us.”

“I don’t want to impose.” Marcus shakes his head, wondering if he’s so desperate that it sounds like great evening or if it just really was.

“It’s not imposing,” Juan assured him. “We bring new friends all the time. There’s about six of us usually, so it fluctuates depending on how many other people we bring or if someone can’t make it.”

“Well, is there a store or something?” He asks. “I can pick up some wine or something to contribute.”

“Old Town has some good liquor stores.” The historic district of Alexandria has become increasingly popular in the last several years, and the revitalization of the neighborhood has helped the inn as well.

“Anything else you could possibly want?” Marcus asks seriously. He’s willing to go get anything that could be thought of, the prospect of not spending the night alone incredibly cheering.

“Get whatever you want,” Juan encourages. “Every once in a while someone will show up with something they’ve never tried just try to it together. So really — anything you want.”

“Okay.” Marcus grins, excited about this and reaches out to slap Juan on the back. “Do you still ride bikes or have you given that up?”

"Hell no." Juan tuts, glad to see the smile back on Marcus's face. "My Indian is back at our house. We take rides when we've got time off together."

“That’s good. Although the rides have taken a pause since the pregnancy, right?” Marcus asks. “I can’t imagine a doctor signing off on a pregnant woman on the back of a bike.”

“Yeah…these days we take rides in the station wagon.” He chuckles at that, and Juan knows how ridiculously domestic it sounds but he really doesn’t care. He’s in love with his life in a very unexpected way, and that’s okay. “It’ll be nice to have someone to ride with again.”

“I can imagine.” Marcus is missing that, but on the bright side, he rides when and where he wants. “Do you guys know what you’re having yet?” He asks.

“Not yet.” Juan is excited, though, as evidenced by the way he lights up when asked about it. “It’s still too early to find out. Obviously we don’t care, as long as they’re healthy and happy.”

“Congrats, man, you’re living the dream, you know that?” As envious as he can admit to being, he’s also incredibly happy for Juan. “You deserve it. Especially after, you know…”

“Life is totally different now.” Leaving the Bureau is what was best for Juan. He knows that now, even if it was a painful decision to make back then. “I’m not going to ever downplay the things in my past, but the future is looking pretty fucking good, man.”

Completely understanding the fact that Juan doesn’t want to talk, he nods. “I’m happy for you. Truly.”

“I appreciate that, man.” Juan grins and pats Marcus on the shoulder. “Enjoy some time in town and come on back here around seven tonight. Syd isn’t working the dinner rush tonight so we’ll all be able to relax.”

“That sounds good.” The comfortable jeans and a sweater will still look sharp enough for game night and he sends his friend a smile before he walks out of the kitchen.

Things have calmed down in the lobby when you return to the front desk to pick up a few papers and check in on your concierge before retreating into your office for the rest of your shift. The inn may have calmed down but you're still spinning wildly on the idea that your soulmate might have walked through the door of the inn this morning with absolutely no fanfare and a nervous smile on his incredibly handsome face.

Nope. Stop it. Sam is coming for board game night tonight and you really fucking like him. Don't give up your whole stance on freedom of happiness just because some absolutely dishy FBI agent has your tattoo.

"Everything going okay, Malachi?" You will be professional, and not a blithering mass of nervous energy. Even if it takes all the energy you have to force it.

“Everything’s fantastic, we had another couple call to book a room for next weekend. So we officially will have no vacancies.” He reports proudly, like he had recruited the couple himself.

"Good. That's actually excellent. That means we have no vacancies at any point for two week on either side of Valentine's Day unless someone cancels." It's always possible. After all, break up happen around that particular holiday. But with the way they've been booking rooms lately, they should be able to fill a hole more easily than not. "I'm going to go to my office and work on the schedule. If you need me, just call."

“Of course.” Malachi cranes his neck as that handsome guy walks out to a beautiful motorcycle. “But before you go.” He hums. “Who is that?”

You can't help but chuckle, your concierge's obvious interest making you recognize the ridiculousness of the whole situation all over again. "That's Juan's friend," you tell him, gathering up your paperwork. "He'll be around more, and he's allowed into the kitchen. So you know he's special."

“And does Juan’s friend have a name?” He asks, smirking slightly.

"Special Agent Marcus Pike." You smirk right back at him, giving Marcus's title along with his name. By now Agent Bailey has probably done an entire workup on the agent. Why wouldn't she?

“Special Agent.” Because it’s the two of you and there’s no guest around, Malachi watches out the window with unabashed interest. “He can mount me like he mounts that bike any time.”

"Mal!" There's no reason for you to be taken aback by that comment considering how well you know Malachi Debose, but you still find yourself stifling a laugh with wide eyes. You tell yourself to joke, ignoring the twist in your chest at the idea of Marcus with anyone else. It's not up to you. He's his own person. And he might not even be your soulmate to begin with! "I'm pretty sure he's straight, honey, but you never know. It would not be the first guy you've swept out of the closet who didn't even realize they were in there in the first place."

He sighs dramatically, even though he’s smirking proudly. “You’re right.” He admits. “We’ll see how mister Special Agent Marcus Pike acts and then I’ll decide.”

"Behave yourself." Is the playful warning you give him before turning and nodding to Agent Bailey. "Time to sit in the office while I swear at my computer," you tell her. As the Secret Service agent who is with you most of the time, Kendra Bailey has learned your past, your friends, your job, and your habits like a book. She appreciates that you're not throwing yourself into politics because it means her days are a little calmer than they could be, but the coming and going of all sorts of people through the inn on a daily basis presents its own challenges.

She nods, already curious about the FBI agent that she’s encountered here. It’s not unusual to run background checks on people who continuously hang around the inn, and it sounds like he will become a fixture for the foreseeable future. “Of course, Hummingbird.”

You groan softly, realizing that that is going to get said around Marcus Pike at some point or other, and just try to shake it off for now. "You can call me by my name around here, you know." She won't. You've had this conversation more than once, but sometimes you think you'll never get used to being ma'am or Hummingbird at all times to your Secret Service detail.

“Yes ma’am.” She nods, both of you aware that she’s not going to break protocol like that. Instead, she’s turning to the chair that has been placed outside your office, tucked into a discreet corner so it’s not completely obvious that you are being guarded. Giving you the illusion of privacy.

"Someday I'm going to get you to at least come into the office." There are rules. A hell of a lot of them, in fact, and you know that they exist for a reason. But Agent Bailey is allowed to be in your office with you, and you hope it won't take your mother's entire first term in office for her to get comfortable enough with you to do that.

“I understand that, but if I’m in your office, you won’t concentrate.” She reminds you with a small, unseen smile. The first time you had insisted, you hadn’t gotten anything done.

"Too social for my own good, I guess." With a small smile exchanged between the two of you, you nod in agreement before heading down the hall to your office. She's right, and you both know it.

Outside, a snazzy sports car pulls up. Not too flashy, because a junior congressman from Maryland can’t be seen throwing money away frivolously, but sporty enough to make him grin as he changes gears. The door pops open, sunglasses tossed on the dash and Sam hustles out of his car, eager to see you.

"Hey Sam." Malachi looks up from the desk when the door opens and offers up a smile. Professional, but friendly. So far, Congressman Chase hasn't done anything to warrant the cold shoulder. "Is she expecting you?"

“Not until later, but I was hoping to surprise her.” He admits, sending the concierge a wink. “She in her office?”

"Just went in to work on the schedule." Malachi reports, but his smile morphs from professional to earnest in half a second. "The new software is giving her a headache and a half. I bet coming in with a cup of coffee with also be a welcome surprise."

“You are a good man, Malachi.” Sam slaps the antique reception stand and grins. “Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.” He lifts his brows and points at him as he changes directions to the kitchen to beg a cup of coffee from Sydney.

A knock on the kitchen door is odd but not unheard of, and Sydney glances back over her shoulder when the swinging door pushes open to admit the six-foot Congressman she now affectionately calls, "Sam Sam! As happy as I am to see you, your lady friend is not in the kitchen."

“I know.” Sam tosses the chef an easy grin. “A little birdie told me that she might appreciate a cup of coffee, so I’m here to be her runner.”

Sydney smirks, never ceasing in her work but nodding to the coffee pot in the corner of the kitchen. “Go right ahead. I’m sure she’ll be grateful.”

“Thank you.” He immediately beelines for the coffee maker, intent on also making himself a cup. Though he would prefer a cocktail. “It smells great in here, like always.” He tosses over his shoulder.

“Flattery will get you everywhere.” She hums happily in return. “I made a lasagna for game night. Are you staying?”

“Unless an emergency session is call.” Sam snorts. “And you know half those crusty old bastards don’t want to work.” He adds some creamer and sweetener to his, doctors yours and turns back. “Is this the lasagna with the pancetta?” He asks, giving her a pleading look.

“It is, and I did a little something different with the ricotta layer this time, so you’ll have to tell me what you think.” One hand shoos him playfully away, but she does laugh. “I’ll feed you later. Go see your lady.”

“Thank you!” He laughs as well, zipping out the door to head in to see you. Hopefully you aren’t working on anything too important that you can’t steal away some time for him.

Two short knocks on your door could be anyone, but you save your progress in working on next week’s schedule and call for them to come in. It’s probably Malachi with a guest accommodation question, which is no problem. You can hit pause on scheduling the housekeeping staff around their various class schedules to answer just about anything.

After getting the okay to enter, Sam juggles the cups and pokes his head in the door. “Can you spare a few minutes, beautiful?” He asks.

The grin that spreads on your face is surprise and relief, and you hop up from your dream to open the door fully. “If that’s coffee in your hands, I can spare more than just a few.”

“Of course it is, fixed just the way you like it.” While he doesn’t drink it nearly as sweet as you do, he also doesn’t make fun of you for it.

“To what do I owe the early visit?” The door clicks shut behind him and you sit back in your chair with a happy sigh.

“We let out early.” Sam explains. “Figured we could spend some time together .”

“I’m always glad to see you.” It’s true. It genuinely is. Which is why you hate the nagging guilt of the fact that you had just been telling yourself to stop speculating about your possible soulmate and focus on work.

“That’s a good thing.” Despite the idea that dating the First Daughter was good for his career, Sam genuinely cares for you. It might not be the passionate love he had imagined years ago, but he’s mature enough to understand that a solid connection was a good thing.

“So your meeting went alright?” The committee that he’s on had an unofficial lunch meeting today, which must have gone well if he’s already here saying hello. “I was afraid they’d have you all day and you’d miss out in lasagna and the new Clue game that Sydney’s sister picked up.��

“No.” Sam snorts. “They wanted it done as quickly as possible.” He tells you. “I’ve got to admit that I’ve never seen people that hate to work more than politicians.”

“Well that’s hardly encouraging,” you snort, and shake your head before taking a sip of hot coffee. “I guess you’ll just have to whip them into shape, Congressman. No two ways about it.”

“I’m trying.” He laughs and shrugs. “Right now I equate it to herding cats.” He jokes, sitting down on the other side of your desk and watching you for a moment while you savor your coffee.

“That’s the nicest thing anyone has ever called a member of the House of Representatives.” The two of you share a laugh, and you shift in your seat a little with an awkward expression before talking again. “I…got an email this morning. From Mom’s office. Informing me of my first few expected photo ops as First Daughter.” It’s a big part of the job, for you at least, to look the part and play the part and help the country to see your mother as not just the president, but a family-oriented professional as well. Being the first female President has its challenges and your mother is plowing into them head on. Which, honestly? You give her a lot of credit for. “They asked if I would be willing to release some social media photos from our Valentine’s date…” The fact that you hadn’t planned one yet is slightly beyond the point. Now you pretty much have to.

“Well, what kind of pictures would you like?” Sam asks easily, aware that you don’t relish the attention, but it’s part of the job. “We can do a dinner at home, appeal to the base of Americans.” He suggests.

“I don’t love the idea of someone recognizing an aspect of your house or neighborhood and you getting doxed for it,” you admit ruefully. It would have to be Sam’s house, since you don’t actually have one. You can’t exactly put out photos of your attic apartment and expect the White House press core not to make noises. “I was thinking we could put the spotlight on a minority-owned small business or go to some low-key arts event? If they’re going to ask me to be in the spotlight then I want to use it for good.”

“Do you want to decide?” He asks, aware that you can be quite choosy at times. He doesn’t really mind. “Or do you want me to come up with something?”

“It’s probably easier if I figure it out.” You admit. It’s not your favorite option, all things considered, but since it’s dumb for you to be even vaguely upset that your boyfriend didn’t announce he had secret plans already in the works — which your stupid romantic comedy loving brain had hoped for but knew was a longshot — it’s better to just be practical. “So the Secret Service can tell me if wherever I pick is insecure or something like that. Even though I can’t imagine that anybody is out to get me. That’s absurd.”

“You’d be surprised what humans are capable of.” Sam reminds you, having read some of the most horrific reports imaginable. He likes that you are practical, even if you are a bit naive.

“Not a super fun thing to hear from your boyfriend, but okay.” It’s nothing you can’t brush off, and you do so with a wave of your hand. “There is also a state dinner coming up in a few weeks that I definitely do not want to go to without you.”

“I’m available.” He promises. “I’ve got a couple of events in my district coming up. But I’ll mark that on my calendar.”

“Thank you.” Though you aren’t blind to the ways that attending these things helps him, you appreciate the company. You aren’t effortlessly charismatic like your brother or a star student with enigmatic insights like your sister. You’re the least comfortable in the public eye out of your whole family, and that is what it is. At some point in the night when he inevitably veers off to shake hands and schmooze politically, you’ll sit quietly at your table and smile politely while you wait for Sam to come back, and that’s okay. “I really really appreciate it.”

Sam huffs, sending you a small smirk. “A night where you are wearing a beautiful dress, we eat an elegant dinner, what’s not to love?” He leaves the part about making connections unspoken, both of you know how this game is worked. “And maybe you can come spend the night at my place after.”

"What an absolutely scandalous suggestion." One hand clutches your nonexistent pearls, pretending to be aghast, but you throw him a wink. Intimacy in your relationship unfortunately does have to be scheduled at a certain point...just on the basis that you have a Secret Service agent you can't simply ditch, and he has a personal assistant that might be even more invasive than the Secret Service. "I love it."

“Good.” Sam smirks back at you and sends you his own wink. “I’ve missed a cute little snore, and I need to get some cuddling in.”

"I do not snore." Despite pouting at him – and knowing that you do, in fact, snore – you end up grinning. "But we have been low on cuddle time lately, I agree."

“Yeah, I know my job is hectic and yours isn’t a walk in the park.” He acknowledges wholeheartedly. “But I want this to work. Maybe we just need to move in together.” He hadn’t meant to just blurt that out, but he’s been thinking about it.

“I—what?” You nearly spit out the sip of coffee you had just taken and sit up arrow straight in your chair, staring at him without the ability to stop yourself. “You—you want me to—to move in with you?” It’s never been discussed. Not really. At least not with a timeline, and that’s probably your fault. You’re so prone to jumping into relationships head first that you had told yourself you would move slow with Sam. That…seems to not be the case now.

“It doesn’t have to be now.” He promises. “Just something to consider. That’s all. We would get more time together.”

"I can honestly say I was not expecting that today." It's shaken you up a little, if you're honest, but you reach over your desk and squeeze his hand before leaning out of your chair to kiss him.

“That’s not a bad thing, is it?” It’s not quite the reaction he was expecting, if he is honest with himself.

"No, not at all!" You're quick to reassure him, realizing that Sam's expression is a little more guarded than usual. You've disappointed him. That's not a feeling you like at all. Not even a little. "I'd say the fact that my boyfriend wants to spend more time with me is a very good thing." If it's such a good thing, why is your mouth dry and why are you all tense with nerves? "And I want that, too. You just surprised me, that's all."

“Of course we need to talk about it more in depth.” He relaxes slightly, happy that you are at least open to the idea.

"Is that...something you want to talk about soon?" There are ideas rolling over in your head with varying levels of comfort, but the fact is that you hadn't realized that Sam was already there. Sure you had said your I love yous already, but you really had been trying to go slower this time, and that pace had seemed to suit Sam just fine. And why is it suddenly now that your mind is stuck on the idea that he isn't your soulmate? Is it just because you met a man who could be? You had always told yourself it didn't matter before now...

“We are coming up on our one-year anniversary of dating.” He reminds you, wondering why all of a sudden you look like you’ve seen a ghost. He’s been patient, letting you move slowly since you were afraid of diving in too much too soon, but this is the natural next step. Otherwise, it will be random sleepovers whenever you can manage it for the rest of your lives and Sam doesn’t want that. “I figured we could discuss what our next steps were.” He smiles softly. “I want the next steps, whenever you’re ready.”

"You're right." He is right. The logic is there, and the sweetness, and you do genuinely like him. In fact, loving him came easily and naturally. It's just that today has you a little shaken up and you don't want to admit it to yourself. Any other day and you would have been ecstatically throwing yourself into his arms. "You're absolutely right. This is definitely next." Composing yourself into a smile and reminding yourself to goddamn relax, you pick up your now cold coffee and finish the cup. "Why don't we pick a night this week to cook dinner together and talk through what we want our future to look like?"

“That works.” He flashes you the boyish grin you claim to love and nods. “Little food. Little wine, little….cuddling while we talk. It’s exactly what we need. You’ve been peddle to the mettle lately, and so have I. It will be good to decompress and hash out our concerns.”

"Perfect." And you will, you tell yourself sternly, get your shit together by then.

“But tonight…” he winks at you. “I’m going to whoop your ass at Clue.”

Because it's your turn to host, your small apartment has been cleaned top to bottom in preparation for the night. Sydney took care of making dinner, you have dessert in the refrigerator, and you have it on the authority of the group chat that garlic bread and salad are both coming as well. Juan said he and Marcus were supplying drinks, so everything is set up with plenty of time for everyone to arrive.

Agent Bailey is sitting on the couch waiting for her evening relief so she can go home to her own family and Sam is setting a stack of mismatched plates on the dining room table when Juan, Marcus, Sydney, and her sister Anna Leigh all show up very promptly on the turn of the hour.

Marcus is a little nervous aware that he has a tenuous tie to the game night, but he is quickly at ease when everyone starts greeting people like old friends. He hadn’t quite known what to get, so he had bought several bottle of whiskey and wine, figuring someone would appreciate it. The bottle of ‘76 Statesman Reserve a personal favorite of his and the little store he had stopped at had one last bottle.

"Hey, we didn't scare Marcus off!" Maybe you're a little happy to see him, but you excuse that as being glad that Juan has his friend back and ardently ignore the way your chest clenches when he walks into your little apartment.

“Hope you don’t mind.” He offers instantly, holding back from flirting like he wants to. You are seeing someone. “But I brought gifts.” He holds up the bottle, the others in his bag.

“Statesman.” You practically groan with delight at the sight of the bottle. “When we were campaigning in Kentucky, my little brother and I toured their distillery, I love this stuff.” Fighting the instinct to offer him a hug — and it really is an instinct — you grin and wander toward the kitchen to complete introductions. “You already know Syd and Juan, of course. The beautiful agent of chaos currently throwing garlic bread in the oven is Syd’s sister Anna Leigh, and the intimidating lady on the sofa with the New York Times crossword in her lap is Agent Bailey. I don’t know if you two officially met earlier or not. Looking around, Sam is not in sight, but you chew your lip for a second and smile. “My other half seems to have disappeared, but I’m sure he’ll be right back.”

“Oh, okay.” He shouldn’t be disappointed that your boyfriend is here. That’s what he keeps telling himself. “Congressman from Maryland, right?” Okay, he might have read up on you.

“Right.” There’s a note of something off in Marcus’s voice but you can’t figure out what, so you just smile. “I promise we don’t use official titles over board games.”

“Good.” He cracks a lighthearted grin. “I hate when I’m made in charge of the jail in Monopoly.” He jokes. He hands you the bottle and looks around the little apartment. “Anything I can do to help?”

“I think we’re just waiting for Issy and then everyone will be here. So for now if you want to maybe pour drinks while we all get settled?” This is always an informal setting and you want everyone to feel relaxed as much as possible. “Let me give you the grand tour first?” What a stupid thing to say in your little, tiny space. But now you’ve said it, so you just have to pretend it was something charming to say instead of awkward.

“That sounds good.” Marcus quickly agrees, although it’s obvious that there’s not much to the small space. “The private sanctum.”

“Eat it kitchen.” Is the space you’re standing in, with a too-big dining room table that is also your prep counter because there is basically no counter space — just enough to put a few grocery bags on and nothing more. “I have an unholy love of dinner parties, hence the big table. Over here is the living room. Mandatory bar cart with the tv, and as many throw pillows as the couch can hold.” Agent Bailey currently has her arm resting on the head of a pillow shaped like a horse that you brought back from a campaign trip out West. “Bathroom is down the hall, just here.” The door is closed, so that must be where Sam is. “And just turn the corner and you’re in the bedroom-slash-library.” You have to call it that — you really have to, because the entire room is covered in wall to wall bookcases that are pretty much entirely full. The only exceptions are where your sleigh bed and writing desk sit on opposite ends of the tight room. “It’s more library than anything else.”

“Obviously like to read.” He nods. “What genre? Or is it too embarrassing to mention in company?”

“I’m not embarrassed at all to read romance novels.” A whole section of the shelf by your bed is dedicated to them, in fact. Healthy sexuality and healthy explorations of that sexuality are vital, but you won’t get that far into the topic. “I have a lot of various things here, but the majority are probably mystery, thrillers, and classics from all over the world.” The shelf you’re standing by has your collection of writing by both F. Scott and Zelda Fitzgerald, and you smile. “Of course, some of the classics are romances. That’s to be expected.”

“They are. I find that if you limit yourself in what you read, you are missing out.” He looks over your shelf with interest. “It looks like a wonderful collection.”

“Thank you. A compliment for my books is the highest compliment possible.” There’s a warm smile on your lips when the bathroom door pulls open a few feet away and you feel like you’ve been caught although there isn’t a single thing wrong about showing a new friend around your apartment. There’s no reason to jump out of your skin, but here you are with burning cheeks feeling embarrassed.

“Hey, sweetheart.” Sam doesn’t frown, but he wonders who this man is and why he is in your bedroom.

"Hey." Your smile does widen of its own accord, and you motion between the men in a sort of vaguely formal way that is definitely odd for you. "Sam, this is Marcus. One of Juan's old friends. He came by the inn earlier today and we thought it would be nice to introduce him to the group." It's awful, and very unnecessary, how heavy your tongue feels when you go to make the introduction the opposite way. "Marcus, this is Sam. My boyfriend."

It’s a little awkward, Marcus can admit that but he extends his hand. “Nice to meet you, Sam.” He offers, smiling in a friendly, first meeting kind of way. “My connection to the group is through Juan.” He explains. “We were at the academy together.”

"Ah, a government man." That seems to win Sam's approval, though his handshake might be just a hair tighter than it would otherwise be based on the tension in the air. "Well, welc—"

"Babe!" Sydney's voice comes loud and clear from the other room as the door opens and the sound of chaotic friends can be heard. "Issy's here! Let's gooo!"

The introductions are interrupted and it’s probably not a bad thing. Marcus lets go of Sam’s hand and immediately makes for the door. “Guess that’s our queue.”

“Coming!” You call back, eager to be standing anywhere but your doorway between these two men. “Issy is a friend from college.” That’s the easy explanation you give Marcus as Sam steers you back to the kitchen with his hand on your back. “Syd, Anna Leigh, and Issy and I were suite mates at Mount Holyoke.”

Marcus nods, committing everyone to memory. “Nice to meet all of you. Thank you for letting me join you tonight.”

Getting everything set up doesn’t take much longer, and a buffet of cheesy garlic bread, a huge salad, Sydney’s pancetta lasagna, and the lemon tiramisu you made for dessert is all laid out on the counter. Everyone digs in and says a loud chorus of rowdy good nights when your Secret Service detail has its changing of the guard in the middle of it all. It’s a lot, and it’s chaos, but it’s so comforting because these are all people you love to spend time with. Even Marcus, as new as he is, fits right into the group effortlessly.

“Oh! Sydney.” Marcus dives back into the bag and pulls out a bottle of sparkling white grape juice and some sodas and grenadine. “I figured you might like my family’s version of Shirley Temple’s?” He offers. “So you can have a mocktail with the ladies?”

“Absolutely!” Syd’s eyes light up at the offer, and she brings her overstuffed plate over to the table to sit beside her husband. In her favorite baggy sweatshirt, no one could ever tell she’s pregnant, but one of her hands rests on the side of her belly anyway. “That sounds fantastic.”

“So my grandmother used to make these for all the kids, so we could feel special too.” Marcus explains as he grabs a wine glass and starts to mix together the non-alcoholic drink. “It had to be sparkling grape juice because of the bottle shape.” He chuckles now, but back then? He had felt grown up. “When she died, we served these at her wake.”

“That’s so sweet.” Sydney awes softly as Marcus carefully pours out the drink. “These are Birdie’s favorite, actually,” she points her thumb back at you while she chats at him. “We usually spike them with rum, of course. To be a Shirley Temple Black. I can’t remember the last time I just had a regular old Shirley Temple.”

“A dirty Shirley?” Marcus gasps in faux horror. “The best way to spike that is with Statesman.”

“On it!” You hop up from the table immediately to grab a glass and line up next to Sydney at the counter. “I’ve heard of people doing them with rum and vodka, but never with whiskey. I have to know.”

He chuckles and nods. “You won’t regret it. The grape juice plays off the smoky, oaky flavors very nicely.” He tells you. “It’s almost better than a robust bouquet on a red.”

“I can’t claim to know anything about wine, but I’m trying to learn.” Sam prefers wine, and you’ve been trying to not feel foolish when people discuss wine pairings at official dinners. It’s been a fairly deep learning curve. “But I’ll take your word for it.”

“More of a whiskey girl?” Marcus asks, filing away the information even though it’s not like he’s going to use it. One of those odd little quirks of his time in the Bureau, he tries to read people.

“Always have been.” As evidenced by the Whiskey Makes Me Frisky sweater still stuff in your closet from college, which won’t see the light of day again until your mother is out of office. “You too?” Your eyes widen immediately and you stumble over correcting yourself. “Guy, I mean? Whiskey guy?”

Marcus laughs and gives you a guilty grin. “I learned to enjoy wine. My ex was a wino to the point where we honeymooned in Napa Valley.” He snorts. “But my first love was a Jack and Coke.”

“The next time you’re sick, have a whiskey and ginger beer.” The advice comes as he hands you your glass but he looks skeptical. “I mean, it’s a good drink no matter what, but I swear it knocks out my colds faster than anything else.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” Marcus hums and decides that he will make one for himself. “Tell me what you think.”

One sip has you groaning, and you bring the glass back to the table like you’ve found the Holy Grail. “Sammy, try this. I know you’re not usually big in whiskey, but this is fantastic.”

Sam wrinkles his nose, really uninterested in trying it, but he politely takes a sip. Pleasantly surprised, he makes a face. “Huh. That’s not as horrible as I imagined.”

“And that,” you look back at Marcus and laugh. “Is the highest compliment he’s ever given a whiskey drink.”

Marcus chuckles politely and motions towards the table. “There’s a nice Cabernet that he might like better.” He offers.

“That sounds perfect.” You move back to the counter to collect a wine glass, corkscrew, and the bottle to bring back, knowing that Sam will open it far more neatly than you can.

“So how has everybody been?” Prompting conversation once everyone is at the table gets the ball rolling nicely, and conversation starts as everyone starts to eat their dinner.

“Well, everyone knows that Sydney is expecting.” Juan boasts proudly, obviously loving the prospect of becoming a father. “But she started experiencing her first cravings.”

“Oooo, what are they?” Issy sits up in her chair immediately. “Please tell me it’s something non-gourmet. If this baby is a food snob I’m not going to have anything to tease you about.”

“Right now….” Juan grins and sends his wife an utterly besotted look. “Ranch flavored bugles.”

“Oh my god!” Both Issy and Anna Leigh practically scream with laughter immediately and your jaw hits the table with maniacal giggle.

“I know,” Syd moans in embarrassment. “I know! The baby likes ranch!”

“There must be a joke there somewhere.” Marcus laughs, enjoying the lighthearted atmosphere of the group and how they are all so easy with each other.

"Syd's current greatest fear is having a kid who doesn't care about food." You explain, picking up a forkful of lasagna. "If they turned out to not like food or hockey, she'll be doomed."

“I see.” He chuckles, although he himself had a less refined pallet when he was younger. Now he enjoys trying new things.

"They're exaggerating." Sydney promises, not wanting her husband's old friend to think she's that much of a snob. "Obviously no kid comes out loving caviar and oxtail."

“No, I can see why you would expect your child to give you cravings for something like this.” He praises, lifting a forkful of the lasagna. “I gave my mom cravings for salami and bologna. Which she couldn’t eat.”

"My mom had a lot of cheese cravings." Not expecting baby-oriented conversation was probably an oversight on your part, but it's fun and your best friend just absolutely glows whenever it's brought up. "With me it was gruyere, with my brother it was cheddar, and with my little sister it was asiago." The memory makes you grin, and you laugh a little, mostly to yourself. "She ate so many asiago bagels when she was pregnant with June."

“Ohhhhh I could see how that could be an easy craving.” Issy snorts. “I have cravings for those all the time and I’m not pregnant.”

"Right?" You're nodding in agreement instantly. "I'm honored that my pregnancy craving was gruyere. That's quality cheese."

“Maybe the craving will change to truffle cheddar fries.” Marcus suggests with a grin. “With ranch.”

“See, this is the kind of encouragement we should be thinking about. Positive thinking all the way.” Sydney grins, beaming across the table to her husband’s friend. Even if her hunch about the true nature of Marcus’s soulmate marks isn’t true, he’s still a good addition to the group. “What’s everybody else been up to.”

Everyone starts talking and Marcus leans back. Watching the dynamic of the group and it’s obvious that everyone is comfortable with each other. Talking over one another and laughing, poking fun in a gentle way. It seems as if Juan - and you - have a solid friends group.

The tempo of the night is unchanged from any other — there is as much laughter and fun as any game night you’ve had in years. The joy of having your friends nearby is never tempered, but tonight it is…just a little bit different. As for first time ever — with your boyfriend sitting next to you — you have to wonder if maybe your soulmate is actually sitting there at the table. And what will you do when it isn’t the man with his arm around you?

______

Master Tags: @pixiedurango @chattychell @winter-fox-queen @lady-himbo @artsymaddie @princess76179 @paintballkid711 @missminkylove @pedrosbrat @ew-erin @sarahjkl82-blog @sharkbait77 @justanotherblonde23 @lv7867 @recklesswit @mylittlesenaar @f0rever15elf @gallowsjoker @steeevienicks @athalien @sherala007 @skvatnavle @thatpinkshirt @jaime1110 @girlimjusttryingtoreadfanfics @goodgriefitsawildworld @greeneyedblondie44 @littlemousedroid @harriedandharassed @churchill356 @ajathegreats-blog @haylzcyon   @beardsanddetectives @kirsteng42 @ladykatakuri @adancedivasmom @madiebear @tanzthompson @emilianamason @bigsdinger @xocalliexo @pedr0swh0r3 @avaleineandafryingpan @charlyrmv @avidreader73 @iceclaw101 @loveslide @elegantduckturtle @becsworld @julesonrecord @its-nebuleuse @itsrubberbisquit @mikeyswifie @guelyury @lizzie-cakes @for-a-longlongtime @vabeachazn @purplerain04 @weho2kcmo @madnessofadaydreamer

HHL: @haileymorelikestupid

My Masterlist!

[yomi345345345]

stepfather?? he was he father that stepped up.

[ellieslittleburrow]

Summary : You were supposed to come home at dusk. But the flaming sunset was too beautiful not to enjoy. Joel doesn't like that.

Warnings : None, just the very beginning of a father-daughter relationship

A/N : Comments and critics are welcome 🥺🥺👉👈 your girl needs them ❤️

------

It's....some time after dusk and your body is vibrating, endorphins being the cause of that. You rush "home" calling out for Joel as you enter the house.

"There you are" You turn to him when your eyes find him. "Youwould nnnot believe my view today." You start walking up to him, momentarily wondering why his features are still-but you're elsewhere, really it was-"Such a good view-the clouds orned the sky with like-a shit ton of colors and all the greens turned into these like-muddy greys and-

"Shut it, Y/N" A sigh of exhaustion follows his rage, causing you to shake your head in disbelief, stopping mid sentence.

"Wha-"

"When did i tell you to come back?"

"Uh" You watch the man, examining his facial traits-which now that you actually look-don't seem as amazed as you are by that story youre telling-

"I asked you a question, Y/N" he gets up and you take a step back, jerking your head again in, slowly processing things.

"You...before it gets dark-But i really didn't think it was such a big deal i mean-" your eyes widen as his face extorts.

Maybe youuuu shouldnt have said that??

"But its only been a few minutes since it got dark." You attempt a defensive response but given the bitter scoff that just left his lips- "not a big deal?" it's easy to say your attempt has failed.

"Not a big deal?" Joel's voice abruptly rises. "Do you have any idea what i had gone through in the past hour?" He leans inward and you lean away, tensing up.

"Joel i wouldnt have g-"

"Next time i tell you to do something-You do it. Get it?"

You watch him, ignoring the question.

"Get it?" He asks again, voice lower and teeth gritted.

"Joel-im sorry i didn't mean to d-"

But Joel walks away, unforgiving, causing you to unconsciously and softly launch yourself at his back, wrapping your arms around him and pressing your cheek against his back.-What else would you do- "Joel i swear i didn't mean to scare you-I'm sorry" You bury your cheek harder against his back.

And as silence sets in, His fingers softly brush against yours, and for a second it seems like he's giving it a thought-before he averts his hand away and yanks yours from his waist.

"Just don't do it again." His voice is softer than earlier, calm and more collected.

It's not your first fight, really. It's just your first....sentimental one. He's never acted this way before, and you've never actually done such a thing not on purpose. Sure, you carried a gun without him knowing for a while. And you lied to him about your whereabouts a million times. But you never even thought he'd ever get this worried.

Does that mean he's getting protective over you?

-----

@mymelodymia

-----

I've been overthinking this bitch for the past month. I'm sincerely hoping yall liked it ❤️❤️❤️🥀🥀🥀

[damn-stark]

Tragedy at the Miller’s

Joel Miller x daughter!fem-reader, Henry x fem!reader

The last of us rewrite

Summary- A simple family in a simple city. Your family may be small but it was a good family. Life was good.

That was until the day of the outbreak, after tragedy strikes, after your older sister Sarah dies everything you once knew dies with her. Now after 20 years the dad you once had is like a stranger, the world you knew is now overrun by infected, and you now have to fight to survive even if any night be your final night alive.

Yet even with the world is shit, you still want to know the world, you still crave to find love…you still crave your fathers love. Will he be everything you want, or will he replace you with the cargo he needs to smuggle across the country.

Song playlist, additional character intros

Season 1

Chapter 1 Beautiful girl

Chapter 2 Butterfly

Chapter 3 I’d make a deal with god

Chapter 4 This charming man

Chapter 5 Where has the time gone?

Chapter 6 Precious girls

Chapter 7 Blood on our hands

In-between season 1 & 2

Chapter 8 In the meadow

Additional scenes

Before dawn (takes place between chapter 1)

[afictionaladventure16]

With build a home can we get like reader comes home from school upset and finds her mom isn’t home but then Pedro is home but she doesn’t wanna burden him but it ends in them having a movie night and falling asleep on the couch please

❤️

To Build A Home Pt. III (Pedro Pascal x Teen!Reader)

Pedro Pascal Masterlist

A/N: Looooove this request!! Hope you enjoy it!! Requests for To Build a Home are open! send them in!!

Summary: Your past comes back to haunt you. You go home in hopes to find comfort in your mother but you are met with Pedro who tries his best to be there for you in dark times marking the beginning of a movement within you.

Word Count: 3,014

Warnings: Mentions of stalking

Waiting for time to go by was excruciating. The second hand on the clock moved slower the longer you stared at it, it was as if it knew you were anxious to leave this place; anxious to join the outside world and it liked the anxiety it got from you. 

You let out a deep sigh as you shifted in your chair, you had zoned in and out of today's lecture about World War II. Your history teachers had a voice that could easily be drowned out by any noise. He had no enthusiasm for any subject he taught and it showed.  

You directed your attention to your best friend who sat next to you, they had been doodling in their notepad for the past twenty minutes. You knew if your teacher had called on either one of you right now you’d be doomed. 

The sound of the bell ringing startled you, and you jumped in your seat. Your best friend caught sight of it and giggled, “Jesus,” you muttered under your breath as you packed up your backpack. 

“We still good for tomorrow?” They ask. You both walked out of the classroom and into the hallway. 

“I don’t know, my mom is still pretty pissed at me from the other day,” you commented. 

“Oh yeah, I forgot about that,” they muttered. “How is all that going anyway?” 

You shrugged, since the day Pedro took you to the aquarium a week ago, you had only seen him twice. He came over once to take your mother out on a date and for drinks after and he came over another time to cook dinner for your mother. Even though, he said he was making dinner for both you and your mother, you had found a way out of it. Luckily, you already had plans that night to go study with a group from class. You could tell he was trying to keep his distance, trying to respect the boundaries you have silently made. You respected that. You just weren’t sure how you felt about him still. 

Your mother, on the other hand, was angry with you. Angry that you were not being so easy on him and you were angry with her. Hoping she’d be more understanding with the situation. After everything the two of you had been through, you had hoped that she would be the most understanding out of everyone.  

“He’s okay,” you finally commented. 

“Just okay?” 

“I mean, what am I supposed to compare him to?” You sighed, “I don’t know him well enough to say he’s better than my dad or that he’s the best boyfriend my mother has ever had. So, he’s okay.” Okay was going to have be enough. For now. You were scared to say that he was great when in fact he wasn’t. Or to say that he was the worst person ever when he was a sweetheart deep down inside. His being an actor wasn’t adding to the equation. Every site you looked at, trying to find some type of dirt on the man always had something amazing to say. There was no way he was just Pedro. There had to be something. 

They gave you a nod, “I think any man would be better than your dad.” 

You shrugged, “I doubt that.” 

You had reached the front entrance of the school building, where parents picked up their kids and where some waited for the school bus. Your best friend scanned the cars, smiling as they spotted their dad waving at them, you couldn’t help but feel envious of her. They had an amazing dad that was always there for them, one that really cared for them and protected them. You looked around, hoping that you could spot a familiar face. Yes, you had a loving mother who was always there for you, but you were repeatedly missing something. 

“Let me know about tomorrow, yeah?” They said as they began walking away. You gave them a nod before waving them off. Watching as they hugged their dad inside the car, what you’d give to have something like that. 

You began your walk home. It was only a twenty-minute walk and you enjoyed being able to listen to music on your walk home. Just because you listened to music on your walk home didn’t mean you weren’t paying attention to your surroundings though. You were aware of the things that were happening around you, the cars that passed by, the people you saw, and where exactly you were walking. 

Meaning, that you noticed one car pass by you three times already within your walk. Immediately, you took note of the color of the car and model, hoping that maybe it was just a coincidence that you saw the exact same car three times, but it was hard to miss the big dent on the rear bumper. You doubted that there were three cars that were the exact same color, same model, with the same dent on the rear bumper that passed you all within five minutes of your twenty-minute walk. 

Feeling your heart beginning to race, you picked up the pace. You glanced behind you to see the car had pulled over, you could see that there was only one person in the car. The car inched closer, giving you a better look at who was driving. 

Your eyes widened when you realized who it was. Your father. He knew that you realized who he was, he put the car in park and got out of the car. 

“Y/N, sweetie,” he smiled. 

Don’t stop, you thought to yourself. You could hear him grunt as you continued walking down the sidewalk. Hearing the sound of the car door slamming caused you to jump slightly, you could hear the engine roaring to catch up. He slowly drove next to you, rolling down the window. 

“Sweetie, please,” he began, “how about we go for a drive and talk? Just like we used to.”  

“I’m not supposed to talk to you,” you hissed as you kept your eyes forward, continuing with your walk. 

“Look, sweetie, the restraining order is just a piece of paper, it’s not going to keep me away from seeing my daughter. Just get in the car.” 

Your house was only a few blocks away, you could run it, but running it would risk him knowing where you lived. You needed a plan and you needed one fast. There were only a few options, run back to the school and seek help there; which was the most logical and sane option. Or you run and try to lose him. 

Running back to the school did have its risks with it now being further away than your house. 

“I miss you, sweetie,” He called out. “I need to see you and I can’t just let some piece of paper get in the way of that! Look, I’m sorry for everything that has happened but I’ve changed!” 

It was always the same exact thing. The same exact words that lost meaning years ago, but they still brought you anger. 

“Go away!” You yelled before sprinting down an alley. It probably wasn’t the best choice, but you knew this alley led to a small walkway towards your street and you knew this was probably your best bet in losing your father. Once you saw the street ahead of you, you stopped to make sure you couldn’t see his car before darting across the street to your house. 

Swiftly, you pulled your backpack off your shoulders before fumbling inside the pockets looking for your house keys. From the distance, you could hear a low rumble of the engine making its way down the street. “Fuck,” you muttered to yourself. Heart racing as you swore to yourself that you left your keys in the small front pocket of your backpack that was full of pencils, erasers, and random pieces of paper. You could hear the small jingle of the keys being pushed around, letting out a sigh as you felt them against your fingers. Pulling them out of your backpack and unlocking the door as quickly as you could, you made it inside just before your father's car made it past your house. 

Locking the door behind you, you ran into the living room, “Mom?!” you yelled in a panic. “Please be home,” you mumbled as tears began to fill your eyes, you ran up the stairs, “Mom!?” 

~~ 

Down the hall, in your mother's room, Pedro heard the door slam shut. For a second, he thought that maybe Yesenia's meeting had been canceled, which would’ve ruined his surprise for her. He let out a deep sigh, thinking that he could come up with some excuse as to what he was doing, maybe find something for her to do downstairs for the next hour. He got up from his position next to the pile of pieces of wood on the floor and made his way towards the door. 

“Mom!?” He heard a voice yell throughout the house, his hand stopped just before he grabbed the doorknob. Thankful that it wasn’t Yesenia, but now he was filled with anxiety. Does he go out there and greet you or stay inside the room? Staying inside the room would probably be the worst thing to do, but he knew you didn’t like him all that much and he wanted to give you the space you needed. Pedro shook his head, he needed to at least let you know that he was in the house. He let out a deep sigh before turning the knob and opening the door. 

“Mom?!” Pedro's heart began to race, something was wrong. He could hear the panic in your voice, and he quickly stepped out of the room. He could see you making your way up the stairs. 

“Hey, Y/n!” He said in a soft tone, you jumped a little as you got to the top of the stairs. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you.” 

“Is my mom here?” you asked anxiously as your eyes darted around the house. 

Pedro took in how wide your eyes were and how pitched your voice sounded. “N-no, she had an emergency meeting at work, she won’t be back for a while.” You took in a deep breath as your hands shook, reaching for your phone in your back pocket. “If you’re trying to call her, it won’t help that she left her phone here.” 

“Fuck,” you muttered. You lifted your hands up to your head, taking in deep breaths to control your breathing. Pedro noticed your knuckles go white from gripping your phone, the way you appeared to struggle to catch your breath. He knew what was happening all too well. 

“Y/N?” He softly said as he took a step closer to you. You took a step back.

“I-I,” you took in another deep breath, and you began to fumble with your hands. 

Pedro took a few more steps until you were directly in front of him, taking hold of your hands, “breathe with me,” he instructed. Taking in a deep breath and holding it, you followed. “And out,” he let out his deep breath, he led you in taking a few more deep breaths before helping you down the stairs and into the living room. 

You took a seat on the couch, panic still trying to make its way in. Pedro took a seat next to you, he noticed your eyes darting around, “hey, hey,” he tried to catch your attention. “Deep breath,” he coached you through another deep breath. 

Everything you had thought about Pedro went out the window. Yes, you thought there had to be something wrong with the man, something that no one knows about. A dark history of some kind, but when he knew exactly what to do without asking, at that very moment, you thought maybe there wasn’t. 

Hesitantly, Pedro pulled you into an embrace, holding you just enough for you to stop trembling. He didn’t ask if you wanted to talk or if you were okay, and for you, it was what you needed. You allowed yourself to be okay in his presence, to feel safe. Slowly you wrapped your arms around his waist. 

Pedro wanted to jump up and down with joy but he remained calm, gently rubbing circles on your back until you had fully calmed down. The two of you remained in silence for about fifteen minutes, you felt your heart slowly regain its normal pace and your breathing began to normalize. 

“You ready to talk?” Pedro asked softly. 

You let go of the embrace, tears brimming your eyes once again. “I saw him today.” 

Pedro didn’t have to ask who you saw, he just knew by the way fear took over your eyes earlier. He knew it was a touchy subject, a subject that he didn’t know you would talk to him about. 

“H-he was at my school waiting for me,” A tear made its way down your cheek. 

“We don’t have to talk about it,” Pedro suggested. 

“Please don’t let him get me,” you pleaded as you looked over at Pedro. “Please.” 

Pedro’s heart broke into pieces, the terror that man had put in you, if it were up to Pedro that man would never see the light of day. Pedro placed a soft kiss on the top of your head, “I won’t.” He let out a sigh, “how close did he get?” Pedro asked. He knew the terms of the restraining order that was held against your father, knowing that if he got within 40 feet he could go to jail. 

You shrugged, “it was close,” you sniffled. 

Pedro sighed, he knew that what you needed to do right now was calm down. He wanted to call the police right away and get the man arrested, but he knew that that was probably not the best way for Yesenia to come home. Once Yesenia came home, he’d speak to her and they’d call the police, but for now, he had other things that needed his attention. 

 “how about we watch a movie?” He grabbed the remote from the coffee table. 

“Why are you so nice to me?” you finally said. You weren’t expecting Pedro to just stop everything and be there for you. If anything, you expected him to go back to whatever it was he was doing, leaving you alone to panic. If it were any other person, they probably would’ve done just that. 

Pedro looked at you puzzled, “I-I–” 

“I don’t get it,” you began, “You come in here and you act like you truly love my mother and I treat you so horribly. I do everything I can to get you to run for the hills but you’re still here. You even dealt with our mess and you’re still here.” You got up from the couch, “So why are you still here? Why do you put up with it?  

He placed the remote back down, “If I’m being honest… I don’t know. I have this immense love for your mother and I… I just can’t explain it. I’d like to be there for you if you’ll allow me to. I know I can never replace your father nor will I ever be like a father to you because you may not allow it, but I would like to be a part of you and your mother's life in one way or another.” 

You shook your head, “I don’t understand.” 

“You don't have to,” he got up from his spot on the couch. 

Tears welled up in your eyes, “this is new to me.” 

“It’s new to me too.” 

“It��s gonna be hard for me.” He nods, “I can’t promise anything.” 

“I’m not asking you to,” he said softly. 

“Alright.” You wanted to believe that you weren’t doing this for him, you were doing it for your mother. Seeing how much joy he brought her made you happy and that should be enough, right? Right. Yet, it was hard for it to just be enough. It was hard to let someone in after years of trauma, but if your mother could do it… then maybe so could you. 

“Movie?” He asked again as he sat back down on the couch. 

You gave him a nod, taking the spot next to him. “I hear Paddington 2 is a good movie,” you commented. 

Pedro couldn’t help but chuckle, “But we have to start with the first Paddington.” 

~~ 

Hours later, Yesenia walked into the house. Exhausted from the long meeting and anxious to see how many missed calls she had on her phone. She made her way to the living room, spotting Pedro a smile formed on her lips, “surprised to see you her-” she stopped mid-sentence as Pedro immediately shushed her. She walked around the couch, her eyes beaming as she saw her daughter laying her head on Pedro’s lap. 

“She fell asleep halfway through Paddington 2, that was like two hours ago. I haven’t had the heart to wake her,” Pedro whispered. He gently combed your hair with his hands. 

Yesenia sat on the coffee table in front of them, “want me to wake her?” 

Pedro shook his head, “She’s had a bad day, let her rest.” He then looked up at Yesenia, “Her father was waiting for her at her school, I was waiting for you to come home so we could handle it.” 

Yesenia’s heart dropped, this was one of her worst fears. “I’m sorry you have to deal with our drama, Pedro. I understand if-” 

“Don’t you dare finish that sentence,” he immediately responded. “I don’t want to break up, I don’t see that happening anytime in the future.” He sighed, “I can help.” 

“I couldn’t ask you to do that.” 

“I’m offering,” he looked down at you before looking back up at Yesenia, “let me help.” 

As much as Yesenia wanted to decline his offer, she knew she couldn’t do this alone again. She didn’t have it in her anymore, she needed the help. “Alright.”

Pedro Pascal Taglist: @Sophieelizabeth01  @tracynooks @cilliansangel  @change-the-world-someday @graciegoeskrazy @oggystine93 @t-stark35 @twkobii @picklehat3r @welcometomyworldwithoutrules @white-wolf-buckaroo @steadydragongalaxy @rooting4theantihero @soupinasock @tracysnook @ilovehotdadsandshit @dzaga890 @marantha @emmasauger @marysucks-blog @pcotato @scrappybear89 @dlwrish @what-ever-man213 @boiohboii @drowning-in-paragraphs @stoneredsword @xmurph7 @sleepylunarwolf @glossy01 @aot-task141-lover @uwiuwi

[daughterofthequeen]

Incorrect Quote:

(Based after season 3 episode 2 so spoilers in a way)

*Bo-Katan and Din on the ground after she saves him from drowning with Y/n kneeling over Din to make sure he’s ok*

*Grogu staring at Din and Bo-Katan in concern while Y/n runs back over to put her face back into the water*

Bo-Katan: Kid get out of there!

*Y/n with her head finally out of the water staring straight ahead sitting on her knees not moving an inch of her body*

Y/n: Oh. My. Maker.

Din: Y/n are you okay?

Y/n: *Calmly* A beast so large and so long it rivals cities. A species so old they were known as a myth. The original natives of this amazing once beautiful planet, the Mythosaur.

Bo-Katan: *Whispering* Is she okay? Where is she going with this?

Din: *Whispering back* Idk this is the first time this has happened, just roll with it.

Y/n: The species that is only heard of in stories, an amazing creature thought extinct. Right under us in these mystic waters.

Y/n: . . . .

Y/n: IT’S. SO. CUUUUUTE.

Bo-Katan: 😑

Din: *sighs*

Bo-Katan: She does know that a mythosaur is a predator that would eat her given the chance right?

Din: Unclear.

*Y/n running around*

Y/n: THE MOST BEAUTIFUL CREATURE I HAVE EVER SEEN.

Din: She loves animals.

Bo-Katan: I see.

Grogu: *Staring and cooing in worry*

Y/n: *Starting to run towards the water* IM GONNA HUG IT

Din: NO!!!

Bo-Katan: NO!!!

Bonus:

*Din carrying Y/n over his shoulder after her almost giving him a heart attack*

Y/n: *😭😭😭* But I want to give it looove.

Din: *😒🙄* It’s a killer.

Y/n: *😫😭* IT’S MISUNDERSTOOD!!!

Din: *sighs* Come on Grogu.

Grogu: *Coos in agreement*

*Bo-Katan talking to Grogu*

Bo-Katan: You have a weird family

Grogu: Tell me about it.

Bo-Katan: *😳*

[j0elmill3r]

The End Of All Things

Pairing - Joel Miller x  Young!Daughter!Reader

Summary - The one where Joel loses fucking everything - including his youngest daughter.

Warnings - Child death, angst, character death, sad Joel, emotional trauma?

A/N - Is this thing on? Yes, I'm back, maybe not as much as I once was but im back! Stay tuned for updates!

Word count - 2.2k words of pure, unadulterated angst.

Joel Miller was not a god-fearing man.

And given the current circumstances, he feared he may now be facing the consequences of it. Living in a post-apocalyptic world, having lost his daughter. Well, his oldest daughter. He still had you, his last bit of sunshine in the dark world that the survivors of the cordyceps infection now found themselves living in. You were only 3 years old at the beginning of the outbreak, meaning you weren't quite old enough to remember your older sister, Sarah, but Joel was thankful that you weren't old enough to remember her death - it did, however, break his heart that you would never remember how much she loved you. You were lucky enough to not understand the severity of what had happened the night of the outbreak, just that in the days following you sat squashed between a backpack and your dad's back. It was fortunate that you had found an abandoned farmhouse in a secluded area that Joel had deemed safe enough for you to lay low in for a while - the 'a while' in this case is the past 4 years. You liked to play outside, but only where Joel or your Uncle Tommy could see you - Joel especially needed the closure of knowing where you were at all times, he couldn't lose you, especially after losing your sister, who your memories off had slowly faded, her face one you couldn't make out anymore.

Joel liked to tell you stories about Sarah, about how at first she wasn't entirely thrilled about no longer having all of her dad's attention, but how quickly she'd grown to love you; About how she used to help you build a fort in your room to read you stories in, often ending up in both of you falling asleep in it, leaving Joel to find and put you both to bed. The stories your dad told you always brought a sombre smile to his face and a glaze of tears in his eyes, which he tried to hide from you. As Joel finished up his telling of sleeping beauty to you, you fell into a coughing fit.

"Woah, it's okay baby," Joel assured you, sitting you up and rubbing your back. What was coming never crossed his mind. "Here," He handed you the glass of water that was sitting on the nightstand of the room you slept in, watching as you gulped down half of the glass. "That better?" He asked you, pushing your hair back from your face as you lay back down.

"Yeah, thanks daddy," Your speech sounded a bit slurred to Joel, but he put it down to you being tired. Your dad kissed the top of your head as he tucked you in.

"Goodnight baby girl, I love you," Joel told you quietly, noticing that you had already started drifting off to sleep. As he left your room, he duly noted your symptoms, a pit opening up in his stomach as he started thinking through all of the symptoms of the Cordyceps infection that had been broadcast by FEDRA. He managed to somehow gaslight himself into thinking that children your age were immune to the infection.

The next morning, however, confirmed Joel's worst fears.

You were infected.

Your mood change was the biggest indicator. You were agitable and grumpy, something that Joel could confidently say you never were. He tried not to get angry or upset with you during the course of the day, he hoped you were unaware of the infection that was attacking your brain and body,  and ultimately be the cause of your death. Tommy, while upset at the expectant loss of his last living niece, had agreed to let Joel spend your last day with him and only him. He'd go on a run to try and find a strong enough sedative for you. Joel, had somehow managed to source some paint and paper.

"Y/N, come here," He said gently, trying not to upset you, since you had thrown a tantrum over the way he had spoken to you previously. You tentatively took his hand and let him lead you out to the porch, where he had set up a rolling tray he'd found in the attic and filled with paint.

"What are we doing?" Your speech had gotten more slurred since last night, further confirming your infection. Joel sat down behind you and sat you between his legs, your back to his chest as he pulled the tray forward.

"We're gonna make your handprints, baby," He said, the same tone as before, carefully dipping your hands in the paint tray and then onto the paper. He quietly sighed as you tried to resist, but he was quickly able to overpower you.

"Why?" You asked, your tone irritated. Joel couldn't tell you the real reason why. That you were doing this so he could keep a piece you with him all the time because you were dying, but you didn't need to know that.

"Because..." Joel scrambled for an excuse, he realistically knew anything would do, due to the fact that your brain probably didn't have much function left before you became like the runners. "I want to remember you being this little." Because you won't get to be any bigger than this. The thought made Joel tear up even more. The small blue handprints brought a small smile to his face, although it didn't last long, as you looked up at him, he could tell by the absent stare in your eyes that you didn't have much long left before you became nothing more than the victim of the infection running rampant in your body.

"Okay?" You asked in reference to your handprints, lethargically running your hands down your dads shirt, marking it a royal blue, a bright contrast against the black material of his shirt. He sniffled and nodded, picking you and your handprints up and bringing you indoors.

"They're perfect, baby girl," He put them on the table to dry and went over to the dusty sofa, he didn't care much for the dust on the sofa, just wanting to hold you close for a while until Tommy came back. As much as Joel knew this was the right thing to do, to keep his memories of you as his happy baby, he didn't want Tommy to come back with the drugs that would aid in killing you - but he also knew that it wouldn't be fair to let you become one of those...things. You didn't deserve that, at least this way, you would go peacefully, being held by your dad. The sound of Tommy pulling into the driveway didn't even alert you in the slightest, but to your now severely under-functioning brain, you were just happy to be with your dad. Tommy came in, a box in one hand and a solemn look on his face as he looked over at his older brother, who sat holding his daughter. He went upstairs to retrieve the half empty glass of water in your room, crushing up the sedative pills and mixing them into the water, tears springing to his eyes at what's about to happen. If he felt like this, he couldn't imagine how Joel was feeling. He grabbed your teddy before going downstairs, handing the glass to Joel, and your teddy to you. "Y/N?" It took you a minute before you hummed in response. "You know I love you so much, don't you?"

"Yeah daddy," You slurred out. Joel didn't know if he could do this. He didn't want to think of all the lasts with you. That last night was the last time he'd ever put you to bed and tuck you in, that those stories he told you of Sarah would be the last stories you would ever hear. But the more he thought of the thing you would become if he didn't do this, the more he knew it was the right thing. He handed you the glass and watched as you gulped the rest down, unaware of why the water was so cloudy, or why it tasted so bitter. You gave the glass back to your dad, who then handed it back to his brother. Joel put both arms around you, so that you knew he was there, if your brain could still function enough to recognise him. The rising and falling of your chest became less rhythmic, until it just stopped completely. The dam building behind Joel's eyes finally burst, the realisation that you were gone now fully hitting him; He hugged your lifeless body as he sobbed, fully realising that both of his baby girls were gone.

-16 years later-

Joel had changed, a lot. After all, the deaths of both his daughters would do that to a person. He hadn't seen Tommy in months, and had now somehow adopted a stray cat of a girl who was immune to the infection - Oddly enough, she reminded him of you, but painfully of your death. You would be alive if you were immune, you'd be 23 years old now, but instead, you've been gone longer than you ever got to live for. If the whole thing hadn't ever happened, Sarah would be 34, Joel often thought about you both, how you'd get along, if either of you would have had kids, how you would have looked; if you would have outgrown your baby face.

But that's all they were, they were only what if's.

He kicked a log over to pose as a bench for himself and Ellie to sit on, huffing as he sat down, his entire body aching from the days toil. Forgetting about the girl beside him, he pulled out a worn piece of paper, the quarter lines prominent where the shapes of small, blue handprints could be made out - Ellie noted that the shade of blue matched that of the stains marking Joel's shirt.

"What's that?" She asked Joel, peering over his shoulder to get a peek at what he was holding. He gave a glare, more fatherly than anything, and she backed off to give him space. He let out a sigh and looked at the paper, deep in thought.

"My daughter's handprints," He said quietly, unable to face Ellie. She was confused, Joel said that Sarah had died when she was 14, and those were pretty small hands for a 14 year old, although she couldn't say much, she hadn't really met any other 14 year olds.

"But you said-" "I know. They're not Sarah's," Joel cut Ellie off, taking a few deep breaths to compose himself. "They're my youngest daughter, Y/N's. She died when she was 7," He told Ellie, who fiddled with her hands nervously, unsure of what to say next, Joel, sensing the unease from the girl, continued, "It was about 4 years into this whole thing, we'd found a farmhouse in the countryside where we laid low for a bit, but I didn't know you were more likely to catch it out in those areas, so I let her play outside all the time, I noticed she was sick the night before she died, but I didn't think she was infected." Joel finished, his voice breaking. Ellie pretended that she hadn't heard it, instead opting for a probably worse alternative.

"So...she became like...them?" She asked. It sent Joel down a hole. Thinking of what would have happened to you if he didn't do what he did. Some say that the infected person is still in there, like a prisoner in their own body. He couldn't bear the thought of you like that, he'd seen how those people end up, blinded, scarred faces, nightmare fuel. He shook his head with a sniffle, still unable to face looking at the girl.

"No, I spent her last day with her while my brother went and got heavy sedatives, I wouldn't have let her end up like that. So I have these handprints I made with her," He said, gently tracing over the handprints of his youngest child, so gentle that you would think that the slightest gust of wind would turn the paper to ash. Ellie noticed the shakiness of Joel's hand, unsure of what to do, she put her hand on his back. "What are you doing?" He asked her, thinking she'd upset him, she took her hand away.

"Sorry, I was trying to make you feel better," She said sheepishly, unable to meet his hard stare. Ellie reminded him so much of Sarah - and of you. He might not have you both with him anymore, but he has small parts of you, parts of you he sees in Ellie.

[oceandolores]

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐫'𝐬 𝐝𝐚𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐞𝐫 | series

Dbf! Joel Miller x female reader

"𝘉𝘶𝘵 𝘐 𝘢𝘭𝘸𝘢𝘺𝘴 𝘬𝘯𝘦𝘸 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘦𝘯𝘥, 𝘯𝘰 𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘰 𝘴𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘮𝘦."

summary: In the small town near Austin, Texas, you are trapped in a life of rigid expectations and silent suffering. As the preacher's daughter, you endure the mental and physical abuse of your father while your mother, bound by obedience, offers quiet love. Your longing for a father's warmth finds an unexpected solace in Joel Miller, your father's best friend and neighbor. In Joel's presence, you discover a forbidden sanctuary, where your yearning heart is met with a gentle strength you've never known.

warnings: 18+ only, Minors DNI, AU, No outbreak. (TW) mentions of substance abuse/alcohol use disorder, adult content, religion abuse, violence, blood gore, mentions of death, sexual abuse, sexual content, domestic violences, ped0ph!l1a, cann1bal!sm, human traff1ck1ng, dad's best friend!Joel, HUGE age gap (i will not specify her exact age, but she's legal and Joel is 49), daddy issues, mentions of toxic family dynamic, Joel is widowed, Ellie is 16, angst, smut A LOT, forbidden relationship, soft and protective Joel, innocent and pure reader. your last name is Gibson. any other details will be explain throughout the story. inspired by the album Preacher's daughter by Ethel Cain and also mix with lana del rey vibes.

CHAPTER 1

masterlist of the series!

next | chapter 2

The Texas sun had a way of casting long, dramatic shadows across the sprawling landscape, painting the world in hues of gold and amber. In small town near Austin, the heat clung to everything, wrapping the town in a sweltering embrace that seemed to slow time itself. You, a preacher's daughter on the cusp of graduation, trapped in the rigid confines of a life dictated by faith and fear.

Your father, Reverend Gibson, was a towering figure in the community, his voice booming from the pulpit every Sunday, filling the church with sermons about sin and salvation. To the congregation, he was a man of God, a beacon of righteousness. But within the walls of your home, he was a tyrant. His heavy hand and harsh words left marks not just on your skin, but deep within your soul. Your mother, ever the obedient wife, offered what little comfort she could, but her love was a quiet, subdued thing, overshadowed by her fear of defying your father.

The Millers lived just a few houses down, their home a testament to both prosperity and tragedy. Joel Miller was your father’s best friend from high school, a bond forged in the fires of youth but strained by the paths they had chosen. While your father found his calling in the church, Joel built a successful construction business with his younger brother, Tommy.

Joel and Tommy not live far from each other, while your house is just one house away from Joel, Tommy is a few houses down from Joel's.

The Miller brothers were well-known and respected in the community, their work evident in the many buildings that dotted the town.

Joel’s life had been forever altered by a single, devastating moment. He had lost his wife and daughter in a car accident, an accident where he had been behind the wheel. The guilt of their deaths weighed heavily on him, a burden he carried in the lines of his face and the shadows in his eyes.

Since that tragic day, he had distanced himself from the church, finding solace instead in his work and in raising his adopted daughter, Ellie. Joel has adopted Ellie when she was only 10 years old with the help of Tommy.

At 16, Ellie was a spirited girl, one of your juniors at school. She attended church every Sunday with her uncle Tommy, her presence a reminder of the Millers’ lingering faith.

Tommy, married to Maria, had recently welcomed a baby boy into their family. The joy of new life was a stark contrast to the sorrow that had marked Joel’s existence. The Millers were a close-knit family, their bonds of loyalty and love a stark contrast to the fractured and tense environment of your own home.

You had known the Millers your entire life, their presence a constant thread in the fabric of your existence. Yet, as you stood on the brink of adulthood, your interactions with them took on a new significance. Your father’s sermons about the dangers of straying from the path of righteousness echoed in your mind, but so did your longing for something more, something real and tangible.

It was just another Sunday, and you were helping your dad with the after-service fellowship. The congregation mingled in the church hall, sharing coffee and pastries, their voices a low hum of conversation and laughter. You moved through the crowd with a tray of refreshments, offering smiles and polite nods, your mind elsewhere.

The Sunday service had been like any other, filled with hymns, prayers, and your father’s booming voice delivering his sermon. Today, he had spoken about temptation and the perils of straying from God’s path, his words heavy with the weight of his own fervent belief. As always, you felt the eyes of the congregation on you, the preacher’s daughter, the living example of his teachings.

You couldn’t help but glance towards the back of the room, where Tommy and Ellie stood, their presence a rare but welcome sight. Joel, as expected, was absent, his appearances in church growing increasingly sporadic since the accident.

Your thoughts kept drifting to Joel Miller. It had been years since the tragedy that had claimed his wife and daughter, leaving an indelible mark on him, transforming a once regular churchgoer into a haunted, reclusive figure.

You didn't really know or remember Joel's wife and daughter. Sarah Miller had been much older than you, and she passed away when you were only five. The memories you had of them were hazy at best, a blur of faces and voices that you couldn’t quite place.

Ellie caught your eye and waved, her smile bright and genuine. You waved back, feeling a pang of longing for the carefree spirit she embodied. She was one of the few people in your life who treated you like a normal person, not just the preacher’s daughter.

After the service, as the crowd began to thin, you found yourself gravitating towards Tommy and Ellie. Tommy, ever the warm and approachable figure, greeted you with a smile. “Hey, kiddo. How’ve you been?”

You returned his smile, the tension in your shoulders easing slightly. “I’m good, Tommy. How’s Maria and the baby?”

Tommy’s face lit up with pride. “They’re great. Little Luke’s growing like a weed. Maria’s over the moon, of course.”

Ellie nudged you playfully. “You should come over and meet him sometime. He’s the cutest.”

You laughed softly. “I’d love that.”

Tommy’s expression grew more serious as he glanced around the room. “How’s your dad doing with all the church activities? Keeping busy?”

You nodded, forcing a smile. “Yeah, he’s always got something going on. Keeps him out of trouble, I guess.”

Tommy chuckled. “Good to hear. Your family always looks so put together. It’s impressive, really.”

You shrugged, trying to brush off the compliment. “We just try to do our best.”

As you continued chatting, the weight on your shoulders seemed to lighten, if only for a moment. Ellie shared stories about school, her infectious laughter bringing a smile to your face.

“So, any plans after graduation?” Ellie asked, her eyes twinkling with curiosity.

You hesitated, the uncertainty of your future looming large. “I’m not sure yet. I’ve been thinking about college, but it’s complicated.”

Tommy’s expression grew serious again. “You should follow your dreams, kid. Don’t let anything hold you back.”

You nodded, grateful for their support. “I’ll keep that in mind. Thanks, Tommy.”

As you chatted with Tommy and Ellie, you couldn’t shake the feeling of being watched. Glancing around, you caught your father’s stern gaze from across the room. His eyes were a silent warning, a reminder of your place and the expectations that came with it.

Excusing yourself, you slipped out of the church hall, needing a moment of solitude. Your dad won't notice you are gone a little, your job has been taken by your mom.

The Texas heat hit you as soon as you stepped outside, the late afternoon sun casting long shadows across the gravel parking lot. You decided to walk, the streets feeling empty because everyone was still in church. As you walked aimlessly, your mind whirled with conflicting thoughts and emotions.

You found yourself drawn towards the lake behind the church and the town, a place far enough to avoid everyone. The lake and the surrounding forest were comforting, a sanctuary from the oppressive atmosphere of your home.

Looking around to ensure you were alone, you carefully pulled out your cigarettes and lit one, taking a long drag. Your parents never knew you were quite a smoker, especially your father. If he ever found out, the repercussions would be severe, his wrath swift and unrelenting. The thought of his anger made you shudder.

You decided to sit by the old fallen tree near the lake. It was very quiet, the only sounds were the rustling of leaves and the gentle lapping of water against the shore. You loved to come here every chance you got, a hidden escape from the prying eyes and harsh judgments of your daily life. As you exhaled a cloud of smoke, you heard a rustling sound in the underbrush.

Startled, you quickly put out your cigarette and looked up. Emerging from the trees was Joel, a hunting rifle slung over his shoulder. Your heart pounded in your chest as you met his gaze. "Joel?" you stammered, hoping he hadn’t noticed the cigarette.

He looked at you, then at the still-smoking cigarette butt near your feet. His expression was unreadable, but you felt a wave of fear. What if he told your father?

Joel approached, his steps slow and deliberate. "Didn’t expect to see you out here," he said, his voice as gruff as ever.

You swallowed hard, trying to keep your voice steady. "I… I just needed some air."

Joel’s eyes flicked to the cigarette again. "That why you’re hiding out here? To smoke?"

You bit your lip, the truth hanging heavily between you. "Please don’t tell my dad," you whispered, the desperation clear in your voice.

Joel sighed, his expression softening slightly. "Your secret’s safe with me," he said finally, a hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

Relief flooded through you, and you nodded gratefully. "Thank you,"

As you stood up, brushing off the dirt and bits of wood that had stained your dress, you noticed Joel's gaze lingering on the rifle in his hand and the heavy boots caked with mud.

"You didn’t come to church today," you said, your curiosity overcoming your apprehension. You had noticed his absence with the frequency that had become almost routine over the years.

He glanced at you, the stern lines of his face softening slightly. “Yeah, I’ve been... busy,” he replied, his tone clipped and noncommittal.

You took in the sight of him, his rugged appearance a stark contrast to the tidy, polished look of the other churchgoers. The rifle and the muddy boots seemed to tell a story of their own, a story that was far removed from the neat rows of pews and the polished wooden floors of the church.

“You know, Father always says that you used to come every Sunday,” you said, trying to sound casual. “He misses you at church. Everyone does.”

Joel’s expression hardened again, the hint of vulnerability disappearing behind his usual reserve. “Yeah, well, things change,” he said tersely, his gaze fixed on the horizon. “People change.”

You wanted to press further, to understand what had driven him away, but you knew better than to push too hard. Joel was a man of few words, his emotional landscape a guarded territory. You had seen it in the way he interacted with Ellie, the way he kept his distance, the way he seemed to be perpetually battling some invisible storm.

"Are you okay?" you asked quietly, your concern slipping through despite your efforts to remain detached.

Joel’s eyes met yours, and for a moment, you saw a flicker of something raw and unspoken. He shook his head, as if to clear the thoughts from his mind. "Just trying to get by, same as anyone," he said gruffly. “Out here, it’s a little easier to do that.”

You nodded, accepting his answer even if it left many questions unanswered. The silence between you stretched, filled only with the distant chirping of birds and the gentle rustling of leaves.

Joel shifted, breaking the silence. “What are you doing out here anyway? It’s quite a trek from town. This place isn’t exactly safe, you know.” His tone was a mixture of concern and curiosity, revealing a sliver of his protective nature.

You sighed, glancing around the lake and forest. “I needed a break. Just... needed to be away from everything for a bit. It’s peaceful here." You looked at Joel, your eyes subtly asking if it was okay to continue smoking.

Joel noticed your look but chose not to comment immediately. Instead, he took a few steps closer, his boots crunching softly on the gravel. You took that as an invitation and sat down under a large tree near the lake, patting the grass beside you.

“Feel free to join me if you want,” you offered, your voice light despite the heaviness of the situation.

Joel hesitated for a moment before sitting down next to you. His presence was a grounding force, even if he wasn’t the most expressive. He glanced at the cigarette pack you had placed on the grass between you.

“Want one?” you offered, extending the pack towards him.

Joel shook his head with a faint, rueful smile. “Nah, I’m good. I’m not sure it’s right to be smoking in front of you.”

You laughed softly, shaking your head. “I thought you of all people wouldn’t judge me for it.”

Joel chuckled, a rare, genuine sound. “Yeah, well, I guess I’m a bit of a hypocrite when it comes to that. I’ve had my share of bad habits.”

You nodded, accepting his refusal. “How are you, Joel? I don’t see you much,” you said, your curiosity evident. It was true; Joel had been increasingly distant from the people in your town, retreating into a shell of his own making.

He met your gaze briefly, a flicker of something you couldn’t quite place crossing his features. “Just... getting by. Working hard, dealing with stuff. Not much else to it.”

There was a weariness in his voice that spoke of battles fought silently and wounds healed only with time. It was clear that the years had not been kind to Joel, even if he tried to mask it behind a facade of rugged determination.

You sensed that pushing further wouldn’t get you anywhere. Joel was not one to open up easily, and you could see that the topic of his feelings was closed off. You decided to shift the conversation, sensing that it was best to focus on something lighter.

"How’s school?” he asked, his tone shifting to something slightly more personal but still restrained. “Almost done, right?”

You nodded, a smile touching your lips despite the lingering tension. “Yeah, I’m just a few months away from graduating. It’s been a whirlwind, but I’m looking forward to it.”

“That’s good to hear,” Joel replied, giving a slight nod. “High school’s a big deal. A lot changes after that.”

You shifted slightly, tucking your legs beneath you as you sat on the grass. “It is. It feels like the end of one chapter and the start of another.” You took a deep drag from your cigarette, the smoke curling around you in the still air. Exhaling slowly, you continued, “I just want to get out of here.”

Joel’s gaze, always direct, fixed on you. He didn’t speak immediately, allowing the weight of your words to settle between you. He shifted his weight, leaning slightly on the rifle, his hands still coated in the grime of the day’s work. “Yeah?” he finally said, his tone soft but edged with curiosity. “Where do you want to go?”

You looked out over the lake, its calm surface reflecting the last rays of the sun. “Anywhere but here,” you said with a sigh. “I want to leave this town, start fresh somewhere new. I’ve been dreaming about it for a long time.”

Joel watched you silently for a moment, his expression unreadable. “Sometimes getting out can seem like the only way to find something better,” he said slowly. “But it ain’t always as simple as it sounds.”

You took another drag from your cigarette, the ember glowing brightly as you exhaled. “I know it’s not that simple,” you said quietly. “But it feels like I’m suffocating here. I just need... something different. Something real.”

Joel’s eyes narrowed slightly, his gaze not unkind but keenly observant. There was a protective instinct in him that had always been there, even when you were much younger. He sensed there was more to your words than just a desire to leave town. The carefully constructed façade of normalcy that your family projected wasn’t lost on him, though he had never delved into the specifics of your home life.

“You know,” Joel began, his voice taking on a slightly softer tone, “sometimes people want to leave for reasons that go beyond what they’re willing to say. It’s one thing to want a new place, but it’s another to be running from something.”

You stiffened slightly, the cigarette now nothing more than a stub between your fingers. You were careful not to let your emotions betray you. “It’s not just about running away,” you said, trying to keep your voice steady. “It’s about finding a place where I can breathe.”

Joel nodded, his gaze steady. “And you think you’ll find that out there?”

“I hope so,” you said. “I just need to get out and find out for myself. It’s been hard to see beyond this place.”

Joel shifted his weight, leaning on his rifle. His rugged face, often set in lines of stoicism, now bore a hint of concern. “You know, I’ve seen a lot of folks runnin’ away from what they don’t want to face. Sometimes they find what they’re lookin’ for, sometimes they don’t. But it’s dangerous out there for someone who’s not ready.”

You looked at him, sensing the genuine concern behind his words. “I’m ready,” you said softly. “I’ve been ready for a long time.”

Joel studied you for a moment longer, his fatherly instincts kicking in. He could see the innocence in your eyes, the quiet strength that belied your troubled soul. He had been a father before, and he knew what it was like to want to protect someone from the harsh realities of the world.

But then, with a shift in his demeanor, Joel decided it wasn’t his business to involve himself further. He cared for you, that much was clear, but he also knew his boundaries. His expression hardened slightly, a testament to his tendency to keep people at a distance. 

“Look,” he said gruffly, his Southern accent thickening his words, “it’s not my place to get too involved in this. You’re gonna have to handle things your way.” His tone was direct, carrying the weight of a man who had learned to let his actions speak louder than his words.

Despite the coldness in his voice, there was a flicker of tenderness in his eyes, a brief glimpse of the protective instincts that lingered beneath his guarded exterior. Joel operated in a morally gray area, making decisions that were often difficult and controversial, and he understood the complexities of navigating a world where right and wrong were not always clear.

He wanted to help, but his experience had taught him that sometimes the best way to show care was to step back and allow others to find their own way.

“You know,” Joel said, shifting the topic slightly, “Ellie talks about you sometimes. Says you’re smart, and she admires you for stickin’ it out. She’s got a good head on her shoulders, but she looks up to you. So, if there’s ever a time you need someone to talk to, or if you just need a friend, don’t hesitate to reach out. I may not be the best at this whole ‘talkin’’ thing, but I’m here if you need me.”

You appreciated his attempt to offer support, even if it came in a roundabout way. “Thanks, Joel. It’s nice to know that someone cares,” you said, smiling as you put out the cigarette.

Joel watched you with a mixture of concern and curiosity, as if weighing whether to press further. You could see that he was struggling with how much to say, his usual reserve at odds with the genuine warmth he was trying to convey.

“Well,” you said, glancing at the fading light, “I should head back to the church before Dad notices I’m gone.”

Joel shifted his stance, a hint of hesitation in his eyes. “You sure you don’t want a ride back? It’s a long walk, and it’s gettin’ dark.”

You shook your head, feeling a pang of guilt for declining his offer. “I appreciate it, Joel, but I don’t want to trouble you. I can manage the walk.”

Joel’s brow furrowed, and he gave a firm nod. “It ain’t no trouble. It’s just a ride. Besides, I’d rather make sure you get back safely.”

His insistence made you feel slightly uncomfortable, but you also recognized his sincerity. Raised to be polite and considerate, you found it difficult to refuse when someone was being genuinely helpful.

“Alright,” you said reluctantly, “if you insist. Thank you.”

Joel nodded, his face softening a bit as he walked over to his truck. The vehicle was old but reliable, with a rugged appearance that matched Joel’s own. He opened the passenger side door for you, gesturing for you to get in.

As you climbed into the truck, Joel got into the driver’s seat and started the engine. The interior was a mix of practical and worn, with a faint smell of leather and earth. Joel drove with a steady, practiced hand, the truck rumbling over the uneven terrain as he navigated the path back to town.

The silence in the truck was comfortable, with only the sound of the engine and the occasional rustle of the trees breaking it. You stared out the window, the fading sunlight casting a warm glow over the landscape. You could feel the weight of the day’s conversations settling in, and the quiet offered a moment of reflection.

After a few minutes, the truck rolled into town, the familiar sights coming into view. Joel slowed as he approached the church, where you could see the remaining congregants beginning to disperse.

Joel pulled up to the curb and stopped the truck. "We're here."

"Thank you once again, Joel. It’s good catching up with you," you said, giving him a grateful smile. Just as you were about to step out of the truck, you spotted your father from a distance. A sinking feeling washed over you as you realized he had seen you.

“Oh no,” you muttered, catching Joel’s eye. He turned to see your father walking towards the truck, a determined look on his face.

Joel, ever the gentleman, exited the truck as well. You followed suit, feeling a knot tighten in your stomach. Your father, who had been conversing with some church members, excused himself and made his way towards you and Joel.

“Evening, Reverend,” Joel greeted, extending a hand.

“Evening, Joel,” your father said with his usual charming demeanor, shaking Joel’s hand firmly. “It’s been a while. I hope you’ve been well.”

Joel’s expression was polite but reserved. “Can’t complain. Been keeping busy.”

“I’m glad to hear that,” your father replied smoothly. “You know, we’ve missed you at church. It would be good to see you back.”

Joel gave a noncommittal nod, his discomfort barely masked. “Maybe sometime.”

As your father turned his attention to you, his smile faltered slightly. “And where have you been, young lady? You were supposed to help with the service.”

You flinched at the stern tone, feeling his grip tighten around your arm as he spoke. “I was just taking a walk, Dad. Joel gave me a ride back.”

Your father’s grip was rough and unyielding, his fingers digging into your arm with a strength that was both painful and controlling. Joel noticed, his gaze briefly flicking to your father’s hand before returning to his face.

“Is that right?” your father said, his voice carrying a hint of disapproval. “Well, I hope you weren’t gone too long. We have responsibilities.”

"Yes, I'm sorry, father." You said smile a little to hide the pain he's causing you.

Joel cleared his throat, attempting to steer the conversation away from the tension. “I’m just making sure she gets back safe."

“Of course,” your father said, releasing your arm but maintaining a veneer of politeness. “We have a dinner invitation from Tommy and Maria next Saturday. I trust you’ll be joining us?”

Joel looked momentarily surprised. “Well, I'm supposed I am,"

Your father’s smile widened, a glint of satisfaction in his eyes. “Yes, they extended the invitation to our family. It will be good to catch up.”

Joel nodded, his expression neutral. “I’ll have to check with Ellie, but I’m sure we’ll make it.”

“Excellent,” your father said, still maintaining his charming facade. “It’ll be good for everyone to reconnect.”

As the conversation continued, Joel’s discomfort grew. He noticed the strain in your father’s demeanor and the way he seemed to be masking a more sinister undertone behind his polite words. Joel had been out of the social loop for a while, but he was perceptive enough to sense when something was off, even if he chose not to probe further.

“Well,” Joel said, his tone shifting to one of finality, “I better be on my way. Got some things to take care of. It was good seeing you again, Reverend. And you too,” he added, offering you a brief, reassuring smile.

You gave him a grateful nod, feeling a mixture of relief and apprehension. “Thank you, Joel."

Joel, giving one last nod before turning to leave. As he walked away, you could feel the weight of the evening’s encounters settling heavily on your shoulders. The brief respite you’d found in Joel’s company had been overshadowed by the return of your father’s control and the unsettling realization that your escape from this small town and its complexities might be more challenging than you had hoped.

After the Sunday service, you returned home with a heavy heart. The warmth of the day had turned cold, and the familiar feeling of dread settled over you as you approached the house. Inside, the tension was palpable, and the moment you walked through the door, you knew there would be consequences for your absence during the service.

Your father’s voice was stern and unforgiving as he called you into the living room. “You’ve abandoned your duties. Do you have any idea what that means?”

You tried to explain, but his anger cut you off. “I was just trying to get some fresh air, Dad. I didn’t mean—”

Before you could finish, he was on you, grabbing your arm with a grip that left no room for argument. He dragged you to the center of the room, his face a mask of fury. “You’ve abandoned your duty. It’s about respect and responsibility. You know how important this is.”

“No, please, Dad, don’t. I’m so sorry. I will not do it again,” you pleaded, your voice trembling.

The fear in your voice only seemed to fuel his anger. He disappeared into the hallway, returning with his belt in hand. The leather looked menacing, and your heart raced as you saw it.

“Please, Dad, I’m sorry,” you continued to beg. “I didn’t mean to disobey. I’ll make it right. Just please—”

Your father’s face was a mask of cold determination. “Take off your dress and face the wall,” he ordered, his voice steely. “You needs to be taught a lesson.”

You could barely keep your composure as you undressed, your body shaking with fear and dread. The scars on your back from a previous punishment throbbed with anticipation. When you were finally positioned with your back to him, every nerve in your body was on edge.

The first crack of the belt was sharp and painfully immediate. The sound echoed through the room, followed by a searing pain that made you flinch. You cried out, tears streaming down your face. “I’m sorry! I’m so sorry!” you sobbed, your voice breaking with each cry of pain.

You could feel the belt cutting into your already tender skin, the sensation of bleeding mixing with the agony of the blows. Each strike felt like a betrayal of your trust, a reminder of the harsh world you were trapped in.

Your mother stood in the doorway of the kitchen, her face pale and tear-streaked. She wanted to intervene, but fear held her back. She could only watch helplessly as you were punished, her own sobs mingling with your cries of pain.

In a desperate attempt to mask the sounds of the abuse from the neighbors, she turned the gospel music up loud, hoping the noise would cover your screams and your father’s harsh words.

The music blared in the background, a twisted contrast to the suffering in the room. It felt like a cruel mockery, the joyous hymns clashing with the reality of your punishment. Your mother’s tears fell silently as she stood by, unable to offer more than the muted comfort of her presence.

As the beating continued, your strength waned. The pain was overwhelming, a relentless reminder of the control your father exerted over every aspect of your life. You could only endure, hoping for it to end soon, each moment stretching out painfully as you clung to the hope that this would be the last of such torment.

When he finally stopped, you were left huddled on the floor, your body aching and your spirit broken. Your father’s anger subsided, leaving him with a cold, resolute expression. “I hope you’ve learned your lesson,” he said gruffly, his voice devoid of empathy. “Disobedience won’t be tolerated.”

Your mother rushed to your side as soon as your father left the room, her hands trembling, “I’m so sorry,” she whispered through her tears, her voice filled with sorrow and helplessness.

You looked at her through blurred vision, your own tears mingling with hers. “I—It's okay, mama." you said weakly, your voice strained and shaky. “It’s my fault."

She helped you put your dress back on, her fingers brushing gently over the raw marks on your skin, causing you to wince. Each movement was a reminder of the pain you were enduring.

As you slowly gathered your strength, your mother helped you to a nearby chair, her hands still shaking. She sat beside you, her presence a small but comforting anchor in the storm of your emotions. The music from the kitchen blared on, a cruel backdrop to the quiet moments of shared sorrow between mother and daughter.

In the midst of the pain and turmoil, there was a flicker of hope that someday, somehow, you might find a way out of the darkness. For now, though, you could only cling to the small comforts and the hope that things might one day be different.

[moiravim]

Found part 2

Dad!Din Djarin x Teen!GN!yn part 2

Summary: Din bonding with his children; Grogu and YN.

it had been just a few days since Din had taken you in. He was quiet at first but slowly started warming up to you.

One of the first things you noticed about him was how protective he was of you. He took you and Grogu's wellbeing very seriously.

You had gotten sick and are currently in 'bed rest'. It was miserable. You were sweating and your head was aching worst than you'd ever felt before.

You could tell Din was stressed by the way he was acting. He wouldn't let you get up and would do everything for you. He was already like this, but now that your sick it's ten times worst.

He babies you but you just want to get back to normal again. You've been bored out of your mind.

Grogu and you had become close friends. Although you were very different, you both shared a father figure. That was the main cause of your sibling-like relationship.

It was also nice being around someone who wasn't an adult. Someone you could play around and get into trouble with.

You room was very small and had a mattress placed in the corner along with a few toys scattered and a basket of clothes. A few hours ago Din had tucked you and Grogu in bed and the two of you were supposed to be sleeping.

But currently you and Grogu were playing catch. Grogu was using the force while you played how you used to see other kids play.

Din walked in to check on you and when he realized you were playing he said; "Hey, stop that. Grogu, you need to save your energy. And YN. your supposed to be sleeping. Go to bed." He says as he takes the ball from you.

You frown and lay back down. "How much longer?" You ask in a miserable voice. He looks down at you and responds; "just a few more days. It'll go by faster if you sleep."

You nod your head and close your eyes. Din grabs your blanket and tucks you in before picking up Grogu and leaving the room.

[marieslittlecorner]

You should stay real close to Jesus

Keep that bottle at your hand, my man

Find your way back to my bed again

Sing me like a Bible hymn