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[sukitruqui]

Hummingbird Has Landed, ch 11

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: E for Explicit! 18+ Word Count: 14.9k Warnings: *Blanket warnings for this series: occasional mention of American politics, pregnant character, food/alcohol consumption, mentions of clothing/regulated dressing for occasions, mentions of therapy because we believe in self care here, reader is in a previous relationship, love triangle, reader is mentioned as turning 30 during the course of the story, dom/sub dynamics* Fingering, shower sex, vaginal sex, unprotected sex, rough sex, Marcus Pike the Breeding Kink King, a dash of dirty talk, the tiniest whiff of roleplay, sexual activity in a public place, cum eating. False accusations of cheating, gossip rags being gossipy, descriptions of getting a tattoo (needle mention). Summary: The end of your trip to Texas comes with a few surprises, and a meeting with your mother goes far better than expected. But good things do not guarantee paradise forever. Notes: Hi my lovelies! I do apologize for the spotty posting timeline lately. My health has been inconsistent to say the very least and continues to be unpredictable. Thank you for bearing with me and always being so incredibly supportive. I'm certain that I missed fixing some errors in this chapter, but I blame the migraine I've have for the last 10 days. Enjoy this week's chapter!

Ch1 ~ Ch 2 ~ Ch 3 ~ Ch 4 ~ Ch 5 ~ Ch 6 ~ Ch 7 ~ Ch 8 ~ Ch 9 ~ Ch 10

The last night you and Marcus are in Texas comes after an afternoon-long barbecue that somehow manages to outdo every barbecue of every previous day. You're pretty sure that you've been nibbling constantly since sunrise but rather than being overwhelmed, you're just sorry that you're going to have to leave tomorrow and not see most of these people again for a long time.

The water in Marcus's hand is for you and he comes over to drop a kiss on your lips as he presses it into your hand. "Band is starting at seven." He tells you. "Do you want to shower beforehand?"

"Probably should." There's mischievousness in your agreement, though, and you tuck a smirk in the corner of your mouth as you take the water from him. "I saved my cutest top for tonight. To be the very best groupie I can be."

"Oh really?" He chuckles at how eager you have been to meet his old bandmates. "I like groupies." He smirks, wrapping his arm around you and tugging you close. "Really like them."

"Do you want to show me how much?" You ask, letting that smirk loose but keeping your voice very quiet even when you bat your eyelashes at him.

"I can do that while we shower." He groans wickedly, winking at you. "Unless you want to save that for after the show?"

"No need to save," you assure him easily, drinking down half of the glass of cold water he brought you and letting your grin grow wider. "There will be hours in between. We can do both."

"Insatiable." He grins back and you, wrinkling his nose slightly and proud about that fact. "I love it."

"C'mon." Grabbing his hand, you head for the house with a bitten back grin. Back inside and upstairs to his room – now appropriately defiled by the fact that you're in that Early Relationship Honeymoon Period and horny as hell – to add his childhood bathroom to the list of places you've fucked on this property.

Marcus smirks when there’s a number of suggestive whistles that ring out. Everyone here aware of how eager the two of you are and he gives a halfhearted wave before disappearing. You might be embarrassed if you cared at all, but his cousins have been nothing but welcoming and accepting. They all seem to share the opinion that Marcus has waited too long to meet his match and you are more than happy to be the one that they have welcomed as their cousin – or nephew or son's – perfect match.

“I love them all, but I need to get you alone.” Marcus huffs as he practically races over to the stairs.

"Alone, naked, and wet, I hope." You're on the stairs just ahead of him, the advantage of one or two steps meaning your ass is right in his face as you hustle up to the second floor.

"How wet you are depends on how good of a job I do turning you on." He can't help himself, reaching out and slapping your ass, something you love if your delighted giggle is anything to go by. "How wet are you?"

“Wet enough that if you even touch me over my clothes, I’m going to moan,” you admit, glancing back at him when you reach the top of the stairs.

"Promises, promises." Marcus reaches out and cups your pussy from behind, jumping up the last two steps to press close to you. "Fuck, I love you." He growls into your ear as he rubs your clit.

“Oh fuck—” Maybe it’s more of a whine than a groan but the arousal in your voice is unmistakable. Pressed between Marcus and the wall, your hips rock to get as much pressure and friction from his hand as absolutely possible. “I—I love you too, baby. Fuck.”

"Shower." He orders softly, pulling away from you reluctantly. He knows he can't fuck you in the hallway and his cock is already pressing against his shorts.

Since the discovery of your interest in a more submissive role sexually, you and Marcus have been enjoying playing with the dynamic. Soft orders for things that he knows will bring you both pleasure. Seeing how well you follow his instructions while he’s inside of you in any way. Right now you move with long strides to get to the shower as quickly as possible, already shedding your clothes along the way.

Smirking as he watches the rushed strip show, Marcus pulls his own shirt over his head. He's never had someone so enthusiastic for his touch and it's honestly its own kind of high. Plenty of women wanted him, but not with the hunger that you constantly display. He can only hope that it never changes. "So sexy." He huffs, unbuttoning his shorts to step out of them as he follows you.

“Oh yeah?” As soon as the water is on, you glance back over your shoulder and throw him the most tantalizing glance you can possibly summon. “Come and show me how much.”

“Fuck.” He hisses and immediately rushes forward to crowd into the shower with you, pressing kisses to your back as he folds in closer to you.

Marcus might be testing the waters with how dominant he’s comfortable being, but he still likes it when you show him how much you want him. When you hum at the feeling of his hands on your skin or moan deep in your throat at the perfect kiss. He even loves moments like these, when you whimper at the way his large hands spread over your body to hold you as close to him as you can possibly be without him being inside you.

“Love you.” He whispers into your skin, not wanting you to forget it in the two seconds since he has said it last.

“I love you, too.” Pressed into that little space together, you twist your head around to kiss him and then lean forward against the wall. There aren’t too many comfortable ways to fuck standing up under falling water, but having him press into you from behind is good no matter where you are.

His hands slide over your body and one sinks between your thighs. Immediately parting enough for his hands with a quickness than has him smiling. “You like when I finger you?” He teases. “Rub your sensitive little clit for you?”

“I like every way you touch me.” Your hips roll as if to prove it, searching for the right angle to get his thick fingers to sink inside of you.

“Greedy.” He chuckles softly. “That’s what you are.” He doesn’t pull his hand away, giving you what you want as two fingers slip inside you. “My greedy girl.”

“Can’t blame me for getting addicted.” You moan, forehead pressed against the tile, when his fingers scissor open inside you. “You feel so fucking good baby.”

“You feel better.” He groans quickly, working you open as the hot water rushes over you.

“Made just for you, baby.” If there was ever anyone you could truly feel that about, it’s Marcus. The way he seems to make you feel complete in ways you didn’t know you needed or even wanted is uncanny and beautiful. And the way he fills you to bursting is just as fantastic.

Marcus worships you with small kisses as his fingers move inside you, groaning in your ear about how good you feel. The thick length of him pressed against your ass. “Marcus—” His name is a whine and a prayer with every long stroke of his fingers. “Please, baby. Please fuck me.”

“I’m going to.” He promises, grinding against your ass as he continues to finger you. “Too bad you still have your birth control.” He moans in your ear. “Dreamed about you pregnant last night. Nice and round with my baby.”

“Fuck.” If anyone had suggested pregnancy or breeding or any of those fertility-related kinks to you before Marcus, you might have laughed them out of your bedroom. But in a few short weeks, you’ve got from wanting children but not looking forward to being pregnant — all the way to getting wet at the thought of starting to swell with Marcus’s baby. The impulse to promise you’ll stop taking it tomorrow is right on the tip of your tongue but you know it’s just a touch too soon. “Yeah?” You breathe instead. “You woke up hard to the thought of fucking me full of your baby?”

“Why do you think I was ravenous this morning?” He asks, chuckling at how he had woken you up. He had been a little embarrassed by the dream, so he hadn’t mentioned it at the time, but realized later that it was dumb to keep it from you. “When you’re ready, I’m going to be feral.”

“We need to start building that house now.” You insist, suddenly possessed of a whole new set of reasons to be eager for more privacy.

He chuckles as he nibbles on your shoulder, moving to the hollow of your neck. “Yeah? You want to paint a nursery right away baby?”

“We’re gonna have to if you keep growling about getting me pregnant.” Something which you apparently find far sexier than you anticipated, if the way your cunt throbs and pulses around his fingers is any indication.

"You love the idea." He challenges softly, humming against your pulse. "It's not my fault you're so perfect I can see the future we have in store."

“I love the idea so much I’m ready to say let’s just buy a house.” The throaty laugh you let out burns into a long moan when he curls his fingers inside you. “Need you, baby.”

"Never want you to say that I don't give you what you want." He pushes your feet apart, careful not to let you slip on the slick tile and pulls his fingers out of you to immediately replace them with his cock. A smooth transition planned to keep you from missing the fullness.

There is more freedom here, at least where volume is concerned, and when your moan bounces off the tile it is music to Marcus's ears. The utterly satisfying fullness of having him inside you is indescribable, even if you have tried to find the words several times talking to Syd. Sharp, powerful strokes will work you both up to your peak quickly, letting you enjoy the water that burns as hot as your skin as he pounds into you.

Marcus has learned that going harder is needed sometimes. It’s something that both of you enjoy and lose yourselves in, always making sure that you are still with him with filthy sweet praises in your ear. “My perfect princess.” He groans. “Taking me so well.”

It’s so much filthier coming from such a sweet, unassuming man like Marcus, and he presses you into the wall with a firmness that leaves absolutely no room for questioning. You are his. He is yours. And anything you moan to each other in the throes of passion is fair game. Filth, praise, and everything in between is welcome as your hips slap against your ass and your throat strangled around the endless cries of pleasure.

It’s never been this good. It’s cliched to even think it, but it’s true. He can barely even breathe when you are surrounding him. Drowning in you happily. “Fuck, I love you.” He promises. His hands squeeze and caress before sinking back between your thighs to rub your clit while he continues to fuck you at a frantic pace.

“Love you so — fuck! — so fucking much.” You practically claw at the wall of the shower when the calloused pads of his fingers find your swollen clit and press in on tight circles. Perfect little circles. “So close baby, so fucking close.”

“That’s it.” He groans. “Want you to cum. Want you to soak me. Need it.” He dips his hips lower and changes the angle that he shreds up inside you.

“Fuck—fuck—can’t wait until you’re fucking me full of your babies, oh god—” He’s already an expert at tearing you apart and putting you back together, and this time will be no exception. Your legs shake with it and your belly tightens, coiling at the base of your spine tightening as pleasure rips through you.

“That’s it, fuck, so good, Princess.” He hisses in pleasure. “Cum for me. Fuck, you feel so good squeezing my cock. I love it.” It only takes two or three more sharp snaps of his hips before you’re calling his name, sure that if anyone else is in the house right now they can definitely hear you but too overcome with pleasure and too full of him to care.

When you cum, it’s like your entire soul melt with his. Your heartbeats align and for a split second, Marcus can’t tell where you end and he begins. Perfectly fused together in ecstasy. As soon as you tighten around him, his thrusts ease, still moving but helping you float down from the precipice. “Good girl, fuck baby, you are so good to me.” He pants in your ear. “So good. Giving me everything, aren’t you? Yeah, you are, I can feel it.”

“Fill me up, baby.” Your legs may be rubber at this point but that sensation of his cum painting your inner walls is worth holding out for. It has you rocking your hips back even more than you need to ride the aftershocks of your own orgasm, hoping to bring him to his.

He loves when you say that. Groaning your name as his pace picks back up. The slap of his hips not quite as sharp, but insistent. “Gonna, fuck baby, gonna fill you up.” He moans in your ear. “Drip me all night.”

From the way his hips start to stutter you know he’s close, and you grind back against him with a low moan. “Gonna be dripping your cum while I meet all your friends.”

“Just the way I want you.” He groans, kissing your shoulder and moaning as he pushes deep, throbbing inside you as he fills you up.

There’s nothing but the sound of running water and panting breath for a minute or two as you both collect yourselves, arms wrapped around each other in the best way you can manage while he’s still inside you and you’re leaning on the shower wall. “I love you so fucking much.” You murmur, giggling softly at the giddy feeling still coursing through your veins.

“I love you too.” He whispers, smiling against your shoulder as the soft aftershocks continue to squeeze him as he softens inside you. “Addicted to everything about you.”

“Glad we agree about that.” It isn’t elegant but you twist around and manage to place a kiss on his jaw. “So…breeding kink, huh?”

“Yeah.” He chuckles sheepishly as he slowly pulls out of you. “Sorry. I know that took you by surprise.”

“Not in a bad way.” You promise him, fully turning around now, to put your arms around him before you both have to clean up. “Surprising but…potentially shared?”

“When it actually happens is still one hundred percent up to you.” He assures you, wanting you to know he would never pressure you, no matter how much he dreams about the future. “But shared, huh?”

“Surprise,” you tease, reaching for a washcloth.

“Every day is an adventure with you.” He chuckles and steals another kiss before he turns his attention to getting ready for tonight.

You’re right on time despite taking an overlong shower, arriving at the club in downtown Dallas in time to see a group of his old friends gathered at the bar.

“Hey.” A carefree grin lights up his face, reunited with old friends and their spouses. The band is about to leave to get on stage so it’s quick backslaps and promises to catch up later after he introduces you proudly. They disappear and it seems like all the other crowd around you to all talk about Marcus.

It’s much the same as it was with his cousins. Quick questions about you — or the occasional “That’s why I recognize you!” — but mostly wanting to tell stories about young Marcus in the olden days, teasing their old friend and gauging your reaction to their stories to decide if you’re good enough for him. You don’t mind of course. Your friends would have done the same if they hadn’t already met Marcus before you got together.

“Hey now.” Marcus pouts and protests but it’s all in good fun. He’s enjoying the stories; taking him back down memory lane. He hugs you tighter to him as he laughs at a college age story, where he had imbibed a little too much and made a fool of himself.

“Everyone got drunk and dumb in college at least once, didn’t they?” You hug his side and grin at him while his friends tease and chatter. “And I’m sure you weren’t the only college student in the world to skateboard across campus in boxers and a cowboy hat. I’m just impressed you didn’t fall off the board more if you were drunk.”

“Hammered.” He confirms with a laugh. “Honestly, I don’t know if I would have felt anything that night.”

“All the better that you didn’t get hurt then,” you laugh with him, enjoying these glimpses into the Marcus of the past. “Though I think we should recreate the look. For posterity.”

“Bachelor party.” He grins, leaning in and kissing you on the nose. “One of those boring co-ed ones where the couple is disgusting and can’t be apart for even one night of debauchery.”

“Cause we’re gross in love.” The smile on your face is blinding, lighting you up from the inside out as you beam at him.

“Yes we are.” He agrees, unable to stop himself from kissing you again, as his friends groan playfully around you both.

“Yeah, yeah.” Marcus’s old college roommate huffs good naturedly and rolls his eyes. This is the guy Marcus had lived with before he moved off campus to live with Lara and he’s always known Marcus Pike to be exceptionally lucky in love. “Lucky bastard.”

“I am.” He agrees with a small nod. “I’m honestly surprised that you aren’t already engaged.” One of his closest college study partners snickers as she shoots you a grin. “He always was rushing into things headfirst.”

“Don’t think he didn’t give me a ring right away,” you joke, holding up the shimmering promise ring on your hand. “But we want to keep our heads on straight, so it’s a promise for now and an engagement a little bit into the future.”

“There’s the Marcus we know and love.” She giggles, taking your hand and admiring the ring. “Honey, it’s gorgeous.”

“Isn’t it?” The little heart-shaped diamonds wink and shine in the dim lighting of the club and you can’t help but smile proudly. “I told him he set a dangerous precedent with this one. If the promise ring is this beautiful then the engagement ring has to be, too.”

“Knowing Marcus, it’s perfectly designed to set with your promise ring.” She guesses, grinning wildly when he shuffles guiltily. “I knew it!” She throws her arm around his shoulder and smacks a playful kiss on his cheek. “Atta boy!”

“You did not buy it already!” You gasp in shock, giggling with unrestrained joy at the embarrassment and glee on his face.

“It’s safe.” He promises, shrugging slightly. “I didn’t want to risk them not having the perfect mate when I came back.”

“You’re incorrigibly sweet.” The idea that he’d gone so out of his way makes you melt on the spot, with warmth in your cheeks and a fluttering extra beat of your heart. “And I love you.”

His group of friends cheers when you kiss this time. For all the shit they give him, they are all thrill Marcus has found his sweet soulmate. Right then, the lights dim and everyone turns towards the stage. “Marcus Pike.” His eyes widen when the lead singer says his name. “Report to the stage. There is a bass waiting to be played.”

“Oh fuck yes!” When you squeal with absolute pure excitement you grab his side and practically cackle with glee. Even Agent Bailey is smirking in her plain clothes. “Go, baby! Go!”

“Oh my Gooooood.” Marcus groans as he’s practically shoved towards the stage and he shakes his head, pointing his finger at the band. “I hate you guys.” He moans, even as he shuffles closer, but they just grin.

“Best night ever!” You call back, grinning from ear to ear as you make your way to the front with his friends.

“This is going to be amazing.” Hooking her arm through yours, Stephanie grins at you. “Have you ever heard Marcus sing?”

“No.” And you pout about it for about two seconds before the glint returns to your eyes. “He always demurs and says he’s not that great but I know he’s being humble.”

Marcus shrugs out of his leather jacket and winds the strap of the bass around his neck and back to quickly strum a chord before adjusting the tension to his liking. “I’m going to hurt all of you.” He huffs, even if he’s grinning out at you.

“You fucking love us.” The lead singer, his old friend Leo, reminds him with a shit-eating grin.

Marcus rolls his eyes and huffs, not even able to deny it. “Which songs are we doing?” He asks instead.

“Set list is next to your pedal,” Leo tells him, grin only growing bolder when Marcus doesn’t deny anything. He knows his old friend misses playing. They’ve talked about it. Hence this silly little stunt. “Just like riding a bike, right Pike?”

He snorts and looks out at the crowd, his eyes automatically finding you and he smiles. “Yeah.” He scoffs. “If riding a bike means embarrassing the shit out of yourself in front of your soulmate.”

“It absolutely fucking does, dude.” Leo laughs, slapping Marcus on the back before he steps up to the mic to hype up the already excited crowd.

Marcus winks at you from the stage and looks at the lineup. Most of them are songs that they performed when he was in the band and quite a few that he knows Leo knows he knows. Apparently this wasn’t just a last minute deal. As Leo introduces the band, Marcus starts the bass chords for the first song.

It’s not the night you were planning — swaying to the music with Marcus with a cold beer in your hand while his friends played. This is infinitely better. Marcus is in his element up on that stage, showing off and playing to the crowd and making sure he finds your eyes every so often. Surrounded by friends and an enthusiastic audience, you could see Marcus enjoying many more nights like this. It makes you all the more glad that his friends decided to surprise him.

The crowd is a mix of older and younger people, the songs favorites and he enjoys the energy of the people singing along. Finally finished and sweating, in desperate need of a beer, he grins when you clap and yell.

"You are absolutely incredible." The second he hops down off the stage; you're practically jumping into his arms to give him a kiss. "And I never, ever want to hear anything about your singing voice again. That might be the sexiest singing ever."

He laughs, catching you easily and spinning you around. “Think you might be a little biased, Princess.” He teases, feeling euphoric and like he could do anything tonight.

"So?" The giggle that bubbles out of you is nothing short of adrenaline-infused joy. "I'm still right."

“Shit.” The laughter is infectious and he joins you. “I need a beer.” He admits, squeezing you close.

"Allow me." You insist, and when he makes a face you hold up a hand, still grinning. "Groupie's privilege."

“Groupie, huh?” He chuckles again and slides his hand down to your ass. “You have someone in mind?”

"Yeah," you poke his side and laugh, wiggling the fingers of your other hand in his face. "The one wearing the ring."

“Ring?” He glances at your hand and smirks. “That’s a pretty ring baby, but I could do better.” He flirts. “Dump that guy and run away with me. I’ve gotta sweet van and I know how to treat a lady.” He waggles his eyebrows suggestively.

"You think you can do better for me than my soulmate?" Batting your eyelashes back at him and half playing along, you tug Marcus toward the bar to get him his drink. "He's pretty amazing."

“I know I can.” He snorts, grinning at your playful banter. “You’ve never been with a musician baby.”

"Hmmm." An amused hum barely smothers your grin and laughter. "I have heard that bassists are experts with their fingering."

“Then you know.” He nods as you both slide up to the bar and Marcus orders a draft. He turns back to you. “My fingers are magic, baby.” He promises. “I can take you to the stars.”

It's too hard for you not to giggle at that, leaning into his side there at the bar. "I did know that already, though."

He breaks the character he was putting on and winks at you. “I was merely playing my favorite instrument.” He leans in and whispers in your ear. “Your pussy.”

"Marcus." Your tone is very false in its admonishment, and you're still grinning when you swat at his arm. "You can play her any time you like."

“Now?” He arches a brow in challenge.

You should have known he would jump on it, and you tilt your head at him with a wide-eyed expression. "I mean...not here but..." Glancing around the room proves that there is little cover to be found, and you bite your lip. "Bathroom?"

Marcus smirks and nods to the bartender when he sets his drink down. “Come on.” He takes your hand and drags you away, unable to even drink his beer in his haste to make you cum.

Practically able to feel the heaviness of Agent Bailey's eyes tracking you across the club, you can't bring yourself to care. Not when the promise of his hands on you is so close you can already feel it.

Normally, Marcus would never do this. Not now. But somehow, being with his own friends and playing, seems to have tapped into the wilder side he had exposed when he was younger. Not thinking like an FBI agent at this moment.

The club has two single-occupant bathrooms in a back hallway, and Marcus shoves open the door to the nearest one to tug you inside. "Holy shit." You're giggling again, bubbling over with it. "We're so lucky Agent Bailey trusts you."

“Amazing what a background check and a security clearance will get you.” He jokes as he pulls you to him, capturing your lips in a hungry kiss. He knows he can’t be in here too long with you, it would be rude, but he has to touch you right now. You are just adoring him too much.

It's almost too bad you wore jeans tonight, but you had wanted to keep that feeling of fullness after the shower and truth be told the denim inseam still managed to give you a little stimulation on the way out here tonight. Now Marcus pops the top button open with eager fingers and you whimper softly, biting back the sound so no one in the hall outside hears you.

“Gotta be quiet, Princess.” He coos, smirking at your already lust blown eyes. “Can’t let anyone know you’re fucking a musician in a bathroom, can you?”

You’ve never done anything like this before and he knows that, but with wide eyes and the shivering desire to obey, you nod your head and bite back a needy whine. His hand slides down your panties, finding you slick with new desire and the remnants of his cum covering your lips. He groans your name in your ear and immediately pushes two fingers deep inside you.

It takes effort not to cry out. Not to whimper or moan or keen his name at the sharp, sweet intrusion of two thick fingers deep in your pussy. The vaguely taboo tint of doing something sexual in a public place only makes it better — a surprising feeling that you’ll have to bite for later — and you bury your face in the crook of Marcus’s neck, knowing that it will muffle the little bit of sound that you simply can’t swallow in your own throat. He doesn’t draw it out, doesn’t tease you. Just pumping his fingers deep and twisting his wrist to rub your clit as he tries to see how fast he can make you cum for him.

It’s like being sent up in a rocket, where all you can do is lean back against the sink in the little bathroom and hold on tight. He knows your body, knows how to make you see stars without breaking much of a sweat, and the adrenaline from playing on stage that’s still coursing through him keeps the pace of his fingers thrusting inside you at an almost punishing speed that feels amazing.

It’s like his playing a song with your body. The soft whimper echoing the timing of the beat of his fingers. Kissing along your neck as he pants against your skin. Already throbbing in his pants, but this is for you. “Good girl, baby. You’re so sweet for me.” He groans quietly.

There's not really much you're doing for him right now except keeping quiet and spreading your legs so he can dive inside you, but you'll fix that later. You'll lay him out on his bed and worship him for as long as he will let you. Right now your back arches and you have to let go of your white knuckle hold on the counter in order to tug him closer, pouring the moan that you want to let loose into a kiss instead.

He feels when you let go. Your moan muffled by your tongue as your walls soak his fingers in their pulsing grip. Feeling your heartbeat through the sensitive walls of your pussy. It’s so good and he loves that you are enjoying yourself as the bar music plays loudly.

"Fucking hell..." When you can finally breathe again you look up him with a hazy smile. "I'm gonna give you the best blow job of your life later on," you promise him with a grin.

He smirks as he pulls his wet fingers out of your fluttering cunt and holds them up to the dim light of the bathroom. They are shiny with your slick and he reaches out to your lips. “Open.” He orders.

That was not at all the response you were expecting, but somehow it far sexier because of that, and even though you've just cum you can feel your pussy fluttering at what he wants you to do. It only takes a second before you open your mouth, letting him put his fingers heavily on your tongue before you obediently clean them of any trace of your slick.

Marcus groans quietly, cock twitching in his pants and all he really wants to do is bend you over the sink to fuck you this time, but he can’t. You pop his fingers out of his mouth and he hisses at your innocent look. “Good girl.” His voice is raspy and dripping with lust.

"I feel like I should start calling you something." Leaning up, you steal a kiss and then rebutton your jeans so the two of you can wash up and go back out to his friends. "But I don't know if you wanted to be that kind of dom."

Marcus chuckles as he watches you in the mirror. “So you’re telling me you want a red room in our new house, hm?”

"I'm not gonna be mad about it if you want one," you answer innocently. "I just had the very intense urge to call you...'daddy' a second ago, but I didn't know if you'd like it. That's all."

Marcus has never been in a situation where someone would call him daddy so he has to think about it. “Only one way to find out.” He decides, patting you on the ass as you move out from the sink so he can wash his hands.

"I guess we'll give it a try later then." The air dryer in the bathroom is loud enough to drown out any other conversation, so you finish cleaning up and steal yet another kiss before dragging him back out into the club feeling like you're living on Cloud Nine.

Everyone in the group knows what happened when the two of you disappeared. At least to some degree. They might not believe that it was only an orgasm for you, but the grins are wide and Marcus snorts at the whistling and clapping from the guys. You brush it off with burning hot cheeks and a grin and go to get fresh drinks from the bar. Tonight has been pretty fucking perfect in every way you can think of. The best possible way to say goodbye for now to Texas, although you know you'll be back as often as you can be.

Marcus accepts this beer quickly, feeling parched and he winks at you before he takes a sip. “I think she might want me to find a band in D.C.” he teases.

"Oh, ya think?" Stephanie snorts, leaning into Leo's side when he comes over to join you at a high-top table.

"Actually..." Leo smirks, looking down at his soulmate before he glances up and around the group. "The guys know this already but...there was a big reason we were glad Pike showed up tonight." He tips his beer toward Marcus in salute. "Tonight was the last Dallas show we might ever play."

“Really?” Marcus frowns instantly, looking around to the group. “You guys are gonna stop playing?”

"We're moving in about a month." Leo announces. His arm winds around Stephanie proudly and he squeezes her tight to his side. "Steph got an amazing job at George Washington Hospital. So we're actually moving to DC."

“What?” Marcus sputters and starts beaming. “That’s great!”

"I'm really excited," she admits, smiling even bigger and brighter than Marcus is. "So maybe you won't have to find a new band after all."

“Well, we’d still have to find other members.” He look at the guys. “Until you come out to visit.”

"Maybe we'll all move East." Their drummer, Clark, jokes. He takes a sip of his whiskey and leans on the table. "Y'all know anyone that needs an electrician or a carpenter? I could be persuaded."

“We’re gonna be building a house.” Marcus snorts. “You’re hired.” He’s joking, because he would never make that decision without you, but it’s interesting to think about. Clark is the best damn carpenter he knows.

"Actually..." Tilting your head to look at Marcus beside you, you shrug your shoulders a little and have a sip of your drink. "There's some work that needs to get done at the inn, too. I've been putting it off because my electrician retired last year and finding a new guy is a pain."

His brows lift in surprise and Clark smirks. “Really, tell me about it.” He encourages.

"It's a historical property," you clarify right away, knowing that that scares some people off. Which is fine with you, really. If they aren't comfortable working on historical structures, you're not going to work with them anyway. "Of course things have been updated, but the structure is colonial so it does require a little bit of tender loving care."

“That’s awesome.” Clark snorts. “I love historic structures. Have you rewired the entire building or are you having to replace as you uncover issues?” He asks. “Code has changed so much since knob and tube. And that’s recent in a historic home, depending on how historic.”

"I've only owned the property for a few years, so we're having to play catch up from the previous owner." His enthusiasm is met with plenty of your own, and you look back at Marcus with a wide grin. "You just watch how fast I adopt all your friends. I was not exaggerating about that being what my family does."

Marcus laughs and leans back. “Adopt away, babe.” He encourages you. “You’ll get sick of them quickly.” He teases, laughing again when they all shoot him a finger.

Two days after touching back down in DC, the early morning meeting that you have with your mother and the communications staffer whose job it is to wrangle all things concerning the First Kids means that you’re up and moving before Marcus. You’re essentially having breakfast at the White House, which is less cozy than having coffee and muffins with your soulmate, but this meeting is important. You really do have things to talk to your mother about.

The staffers show you to the less formal dining rooms in the apartment, a rare time the president allows business to be conducted here, but it’s important that you feel comfortable.

The family dining room in the White House residence is still beautiful, and honestly you prefer it to the larger state dining room. The smaller and more casual room makes it easier to convince yourself that it’s just a normal breakfast with your mother today. Agent Bailey blends into the background here, noticeably more relaxed when she is around other agents and not working solo. It’s a good morning for both of you, and you move to the sideboard in the room to make yourself a cup of coffee while you wait for your mother to come in.

The communications staffer comes in and greets you warmly, laying out folders by the plates. “Your mother should be here in a few minutes. She was just in a briefing.”

“How are you, Annette?” The senior staffer that’s joining you is a woman that you’ve known for years. She was also on your mother’s staff in Pennsylvania and she is a good friend of the family after so many years working side by side.

“I’m doing well, how about you?” She asks politely and gives you a warm smile. “Your mother told me about your soulmate, I’m so thrilled for you.”

“That’s so sweet of you, thank you.” There’s going to be a lot more talk about Marcus as this goes on if your mother and Annette accept your proposal, but for now you sip your coffee and smile. “The adjustment to DC hasn’t been too bad for you? Everything’s been okay?” A little small talk before your mother comes in and breakfast gets served is actually nice. With everyone being so busy you feel like there are people you haven’t gotten to talk to in ages.

“It’s always crazy, but we are adjusting well.” She smiles. “Brad isn’t too fond of the traffic, but who is?” She snorts. “I keep threatening to steal a diplomatic plate.” She jokes.

"I'll nab them for you," you promise her, sitting back with your coffee and smiling at the way your promise ring glints in the room's lighting. "They can't fire me from being First Daughter."

She laughs, knowing that you are completely joking but it would be funny to see the headlines. “I’ll expect one then.” She teases, picking up her own coffee to sip.

It takes a few more minutes before your mother comes in, but you and Annette sit and chat and pour second (or third, in your case) cups of coffee.

“I’m sorry, Birdie, Annette.” Your mother rushes over to drop a kiss on your head and throw her arms around her friend’s shoulders briefly. “That took longer than I expected.”

“Everything okay?” You’re wildly aware that there is plenty that your mother deals with that you do not have the security clearance to know about, but that isn’t what you’re asking. You’re asking if your mother herself is okay.

“Yes.” She rolls her eyes. “But I wish that people would stop trying to impress me with long winded reports going over every minute detail.” She huffs with a laugh. “My favorite briefing is from DIA Agent York. He gives me the bare bones information and it’s over in less than five minutes.”

“Would he consider it a blessing or a curse to be out on the State dinner guest lists in appreciation for his speedy briefings?” You ask, practically snorting a laugh at breakfast is served.

“Knowing the kind of man he is, a curse.” She snorts, appreciating your joke but also because she would never willingly let a man like Dave York around her family unless he was protecting them.

“Well, it’s nice to know that the chaos around here is just normal chaos.” The smile you offer your mother is fully understanding. The inn is your own beautiful area of normalized chaos.

“Of course. Thank you for coming.” She acknowledges that her life, her career isn’t the center of her children’s lives and she doesn’t take for granted when they make time for it outside the normal Friday night dinners. “I appreciate it.”

“Of course, Mom.” An early morning meeting is a small sacrifice to make, especially when Marcus exhausted you last night trying out a sexy little card game you’d had stashed away since Syd’s bachelorette party a couple of years ago. It’s safe to say he liked the suggestions the game came up with. “There’s coffee, amazing food, and my favourite Mom, why wouldn’t I come? Although Marcus’s mother is pretty great. Solid second place in the Best Mom Ever competition.”

“I wanted to ask you how your week in Texas went.” She admits, pouring her own cup of coffee. It’s her third cup of the day so far, but she’s also been up since four.

“Honestly?” You pause when a staff member sets a plate of hot food in front of each of the three of you and a large platter of pastries and fruit in the center of the table. The chorus of Thank you’s is in unison. “It was fantastic. His parents are great, I got along pretty well with most of his cousins, and even met a bunch of his friends from college. It was…” you grin at The admission forming on your lips. “It was really wonderful. His parents are planning on coming up to visit us here this summer.”

“That’s wonderful.” Your mother lights up and she nods. “We will have to have a family dinner.” She suggests. “Here? Personal tour of the White House? Do you think that would be something they would enjoy? I know his father would probably enjoy a game while he’s here as well.”

“Marcus has season tickets to the Nationals so we’re definitely planning on seeing a game.” The omelets that have been set out in front of you are steaming and you dig in to your plate without hesitation. “I was going to ask you about a tour for them so thank you for jumping on that. And I know they would love to meet you guys. A family dinner would be really great.”

“Marcus is wonderful and I can guarantee that it’s a reflection of his parents.” Your mother hums. “And as your soulmate, I think it’s important that everyone meets and gets along.”

“I know his parents already said they wouldn’t be offended if you were too busy, but I do want you guys to meet.” Donna and Matthew Pike had sworn that they would completely understand if they didn’t see hide or hair of your parents during the trip, but that hadn’t sat well with you. Your parents have always made time for the important things in their kids’ lives no matter how busy they were.

“Absolutely not.” Your mother sounds offended by the idea. “There is no reason, barring a world catastrophe, where we should meet his parents at your engagement party or some other event. “No, if they want to have something low key, we don’t have to meet here. But I am eager to meet them.” She shoots you a grin. “Diplomacy can wait for one evening.”

“I’m sure they wouldn’t pass up the chance to have dinner at the White House.” The grin you send your mother is beaming and appreciative. “That’s a bragging right not everyone gets. There will be plenty of informal meals in the future.”

“Then I will try to make sure that the chef makes something that will measure up to the amazing food Sydney will be plying them with.” If it wouldn’t hurt your business, your mother would have hired her to be the White House chef in a heartbeat.

“I will carry that compliment back to her on a silver platter.” Now that all three of you are eating — devouring — your breakfasts, you don’t mind getting into things. Of course your mother doesn’t have all day for this meeting, but you expect to be sitting here with Annette for at least a little while. “So, before I put my two cents in, what kind of social media and press presence were you thinking you might wrangle me into?” You’re curious, after all. Since Junie has a clear passion and Alex is handsome and personable, whatever route they chose for you was bound to be a little different.

“Well, I was hoping that we could show how small businesses are vital for our economy.” Your mother looks over at Annette who is nodding. “You are a small business owner and you work with others as well.”

“Okay.” You nod, mumbling the word as you finish a bite of food. “So highlighting the small businesses we work with? Making visible visits to other small businesses? That kind of thing?”

“I know that you utilize some of the local merchants for your supplies.” Your mother nods. “Maybe some clips of you with them? We can do a voice over with the message we want to sent.”

“I’ll compile a list of who we have good relationships with and you let me know who you want to have footage of?” It’s a big plug for the businesses that you do actual work with, so you can’t imagine any of them objecting. “Patronizing your local small businesses is a message I’m happy to get behind.”

“Corporations have garnered too much power in the country.” Your mother agrees. “We need to find a balance between them and a simpler time where everyone shopped local.”

“Alright, that’s easy enough.” Although you’re sure that other complications will arise in time, agreeing to this plan is at least something you’re glad to do. “Anything else?”

A look is exchanged between Annette and your mother. A pause that should be concerning. “It’s about…your soulmate.” She begins.

“What about him?” You frown instantly, not liking the tone that has been chosen for this thought.

“I was hoping that you might sit for an interview.” Annette is the one who voices it. “For the Love is Love legislation that your mother is trying to get passed.

“Oh!” The hesitation in their voices is nothing to do with Marcus, really, and you relax measurably. “Yes. We can definitely do that. And actually?” Looking between your mother and Annette, wondering what they’ll think of this idea coming from you of all people. “I think I can do you one bigger than that.”

“What do you have in mind, young lady?” Your mother almost smirks at the idea that you are suggesting something.

“I know I’m not the kid you expect this from.” The look on her face says that loud and clear and you completely understand why. “But Marcus and I talked it over, and we thought we would see what you thought about a First Family love story. From engagement to wedding to building a house.”

As a career politician, it’s been a rare time where your mother has been speechless, but she just gapes at you, her mouth slightly ajar in shock. “I— are you sure?”

"I mean we're not offering to have a White House photographer follow us around every second of every day, but we know that things are going to get said about us no matter what. Our family are public figures, and Marcus grew up with a father in the spotlight. We figured that getting ahead of the narrative and giving people honest glances into who we are was a hell of a lot better than people just speculating wildly."

“That is an amazingly gracious idea.” She can understand that you are going out on a huge limb and that is so appreciated. “Are you sure you would be comfortable with that scope?”

"We've talked through it," you tell her, knowing that it's probably unbelievable for her to hear this coming from you. "And I'm more confident when I have Marcus with me. I feel better able to handle the extra sets of eyes on my life. So...I thought it made sense not to waste that."

“I think that would be incredible.” She reaches out for your hand. “Only what you will give us though. No more.” Your father had reminded her right before leaving for her briefing that you are her daughter and probably the most private out of the three children. You don’t crave the spotlight at all.

"Marcus thought we could start with the engagement," you tell her, knowing that this is a big leap for you and trying not to be nervous about it. "But I think I should put something on my social media about him being my soulmate first. Maybe some photos from a date with a small announcement?"

“It will mitigate any issues that might spring up.” She doesn’t mention how there has been chatter about the congressman being unhappy about the demise of your relationship. That’s not your concern.

"Our favorite restaurant is family-owned, and we can pick something to do afterward that is still small business or community oriented." That shouldn't be too awfully hard, considering the DC area is always crawling with choices for things to do. You're spoiled for it, really.

“Whatever you think would be best.” She smiles at you. “While I would normally have one million ideas, I think it’s better if this is organically from you.”

“I know Marcus already has my engagement ring hidden away somewhere.” A fact which makes your cheeks burn and your smile turn a little dopey. “But I don’t know anything else as far as that goes. Is it okay if I give him your email so he can touch base with you, Annette?”

“Absolutely!” Annette agrees immediately, while your mother looks impressed that your soulmate has already bought your engagement ring. More importantly is your reaction to that information, you look dreamy eyed and she couldn’t be more happy for you. “I must applaud Marcus for thinking ahead.” Your mother hums, taking a small sip of her coffee to hide her smile.

“We’re both thinking ahead.” A fact which gives you no end of pleasure. The flight back from Dallas had been spent in dreams and future plans, cuddled together looking out the window and making up a list of big and small things you wanted for your future together. “We’re starting to plot out what we want for our house, too. That’s the timeline that’s going to take the longest.”

“Your house?” You had mentioned it before, but your mother ticks her head to the side curiously.

“We’re going to build,” you explain, reaching for a scone from the plate of pastries on the table. “Since the land that the inn is on is more than enough and I own all of it, we’re going to use a portion at the back of the acreage to build a house.”

“That sounds like an adventure.” She’s always known you enjoy doing things your way and it’s refreshing to see that apparently your soulmate understands how much of your being is invested in the inn.

“It’s going to feel like a mansion after sharing my apartment in the inn.” After a little discussion, Marcus had decided that he would rather share the smaller space with you while the house is being built and sublet his current place to Clark — ensuring that his friend can have the new start in DC that he wants. “But we’re excited. It’s a whole lot of planning and big steps forward all at once, and for once I really have a partner who’s on the same page as me.”

“That’s the most important thing.” She knows this from experience. There is absolutely no way she would be the current president if your father hadn’t been on the same page as her as far was what their lives might look like. It’s something she’s always wanted for all of you.

“So…I know it’s more than you were going to ask of me.” Which you appreciate. Your mother recognizing and honoring your boundaries is something she had to work on a lot when you were in your teens and twenties. You look at up her and crack a small, bashful grin. “But it seemed a shame to waste the opportunity for something as uplifting and positive as a White House wedding.”

“A White House wedding?” Your mother’s gasp is surprised, honestly believing you would never even entertain an idea like that. “Are you- you’re joking right? It’s not April Fools Day. That was days ago.”

“I am not joking.” Although you can definitely see why she would be shocked. This is not a decision that you made quickly or easily — or alone. “But I do have an ulterior motive,” you admit, wanting there to be full transparency. “I am hoping that a super-secure and publicly documented White House wedding is a trade off for letting us go on our honeymoon alone.”

She doesn’t even glance at Annette. “Absolutely.” Your mother immediately insists. “There is no way I would want any kind of publicity for your honeymoon. You don’t even have to negotiate for that.” It’s honestly alarming that you think she might want you to do something for her political career on your honeymoon.

“Oh, that isn’t what I meant,” you clarify immediately, seeing naked distress in your mother’s face when she’s normally so good at staying neutral. “I meant…without my Secret Service detail. Give Agent Bailey and Agent Sisson a few weeks off while we go overseas. Marcus is very well trained and definitely enough to keep just two of us safe.”

Her expression eases slightly, relieved that’s not what you are talking about and she nods. “I think that will be entirely appropriate.”

“I’m optimistic that we can make sure this works for everyone.” Sitting in your seat in the family dining room, you lean back with a little extra confidence — bolstered by the fact that you know Marcus is with you every step of the way, just like your family. “Make this happy, and exciting, and something to look forward to.”

“Whatever you want.” Your mother agrees. “Whenever you want.” She adds. “I don’t want you pushing up plans for us, sweetheart.”

“We said we wanted to get started on the house before we get engaged,” you tell your mother, though you have to appreciate her insistence here. Plenty of other parents would hack the timeline if they were in her shoes. “So it will depend on how quickly we start in on those plans.”

“And Marcus wants to stay at the inn while you build?” She asks, lifting a brow in surprise. While she has seen your little apartment and thinks that it’s darling, Sam had always insisted it was too small to share space for even more than a day.

“We talked it through and he feels like it’s more important for me to be close to the inn than for his commute to be shorter. He’s going to sublet his current place to a friend that wants to move up from Texas and then the friend can take over the lease when it comes up. We’ll have a little less space than we would if we stayed in his apartment, but we don’t mind close quarters.” A fact which you will not look bashful about right now…no not at all…

“That’s a very solid plan that you have laid out.” Annette compliments. “It seems like you and your soulmate have made a lot of plans.”

“Right now I’d call it our favorite hobby.” Second favorite, but you’re not talking about your sex life in front of your mother…

The president snorts and rolls her eyes as she reaches for another scoop of fruit. “Sure.”

“Anyway.” Forcibly getting the conversation back on track seems like a smart idea. “Annette is my point person, then?”

“Yes.” Your mother takes the hint with a small smile. “I reasoned you would be more comfortable with her than any of the new staff.”

“And I appreciate that.” You offer both your mother and Annette a grateful smile. “Especially since this is going to involve my soulmate, I’m very glad to have someone that I know and trust working with us.”

“I am eager to meet him.” She hadn’t been present at the state dinner, she had been sick, but from what she can tell she will like him.

“Why don’t you come by the inn and have dinner with us sometime in the next week or two?” You suggest, figuring that would be nicer than a formal sit up in an imposing setting. “Something casual for the first time you meet? So we can all relax a little.”

“That sounds perfect.” Annette knows the value of an informal meeting. It often creates a better mood for the entire interaction.

"Awesome." Having everything moving in a comfortable direction is as much as you could ask from this meeting, and it's nice to see your mother semi-relaxed at the start of a workday. "Well, I'm sure you have eighty-seven things to do today Mom, so I won't keep you."

She winces apologetically and looks at her watch. “I’m actually about three minutes late for a cabinet meeting.” She admits, standing up to move over and kiss your forehead again. “Are you and Marcus coming to dinner on Friday?”

"We'll be there with bells on," you promise her. "Go get to your meeting. I love you, and tell Dad I love him too."

“I will, sweetheart.” She promises. “Annette, I will see you later. Take your time finishing breakfast.”

The unfortunate truth is that the dinner with Annette might be necessary sooner rather than later. Within a bare twenty-four hours of the White House Easter Egg Roll and the official photos that refer to Marcus Pike as your soulmate, the commentary on social media and in online tabloids begins.

Marcus frowns as he opens the new story. It’s not uncommon for articles to be inflammatory, he knows that from the state dinner, but this is all but calling you a cheating liar. “Fuck.” He growls, eyes narrowing on the wording from the ‘anonymous source’.

"What's wrong?" Your nose is stuck in the schedule for next week while dinner is in the oven and you sit with Marcus in the living room, but you glance up when he sounds unhappy.

Marcus sighs and turns his phone towards you so you can read the headline. “I hate to accuse anyone, but this fucking sounds like your favorite congressman ex.”

"Sounds more like your ex, if you ask me." Vanessa might look sweet and innocent, but she can be cutthroat and single-minded in her goals when she sets herself to it. Something she learned from her justice father. "Think they're getting their jollies going after us together?"

“Shit- you think?” He ended things on a good note with Vanessa. Actually, she broke up with him, why would she smear his name?

"I don't know what her motive would be besides trying to get under Sam, but I wouldn't be surprised by it." Leaning forward to read the beginning of the article on his phone, you still frown. "I knew somebody was going to try saying we cheated, but damn."

“We know the truth.” Marcus frowns as he rereads the article. “This seems to imply that we are lying about being soulmates.” He looks over to you with a small grin. “That’s proven easily enough.”

"Hmm." That does make you smile, and you look up at him from behind your laptop. "Are you thinking we should stage a little photo on my social media as a response?"

“Absolutely.” He’s not thrilled about the tattoo you both share, but it’s solid evidence of your connection. “Your reputation won’t even tarnish a little.”

"I'm sure I'll get some snide comments about the kind of tattoo we share, but that's on me." You shrug at the truth of it. "I definitely should have gotten it somewhere else."

He laughs and shrugs. “Doesn’t make a difference now.” He reminds you. “It’s on both of our skin, so it’s proof. You’ve had it for years and so have I. Should we post new pictures and old ones with the tattoos?”

"We can do a little album on my Instagram." The suggestion is a welcome one, but it does mean you push your laptop away and set it on the coffee table to snuggle a little closer to him. "You have old photos with the tattoo in them?"

“I do.” Marcus chuckles. “But….” He shrugs. “They were taken by my ex-wife. She’s not in them.” He assures you.

“That’s fine.” Frankly, if Lara gets involved in the conversation it will just reinforce the fact that Marcus has had your marks for a very long time. “I can bribe Agent Sisson to be our photographer for a photo that has both of us in it.”

“And how do we want to casually set up pictures of our lower backs?” He asks with a grin.

“There’s nothing casual about what we’re doing.” You tuck yourself into his side and grin. “This is answering a call out.”

“To address any unfounded and untrue rumors….” He captions with a snort. “Straightforward. I like it.”

"If we wanted to do this casually, I would just say we should go take some pool pictures." You glance up at him, seeing what he thinks of that. "Violating my mom's no bikini rule for a good cause."

“I like bikini’s.” He agrees immediately, his eyes darkening slightly with lust.

"Oh yeah?" The smirk on your face is nearly instant. "Like we should take a tropical vacation level of like?"

“Like you need to book one immediately.” He huffs. “Texas didn’t count as a vacation.”

"Of course it did!" The fact that he's getting all bent out of shape imagining you in a bikini when he sees you naked on a daily basis is adorably, quite frankly. "And you can't even claim it wasn't sexy. We nearly broke that bed."

“Of course we did.” He laughs. “It’s old and we are horny.” He teases, biting his lip as he pulls you close. “But in a bikini, it’s so much less clothing to take off you.”

"You wouldn't even have to take it off." He's getting ideas and you turn your face up to smirk at him, fully encouraging those ideas to take form. "Just shove it aside. Nothing else needed."

“Fuck.” He hisses, clenching his jaw and imagining fucking you on a beach somewhere.

"Gonna keep that imagine in the spank bank, babe?" You can't help but tease him a little, knowing that you would be reacting exactly the same way if it was Marcus teasing you. But you started it this time so you get to tease.

“Fuck yes, I am.” He snorts. “We would get arrested. But it would be worth it.”

"There's a private beach where we could get away with it somewhere." Leaning up to press a kiss to Marcus's cheek, you're still grinning. "Good to know it's on the fantasy list, though."

“Very high up there.” Marcus admits with no shame. Just the freedom to explore these ideas with you is amazing, even if they are never acted on.

"I think..." The only thing that keeps you from shifting into his lap is the kitchen timer going off from the oven. Instead of climbing on to him you just climb off the couch to get to the baked pasta you put together right before Marcus got home from work. "That maybe we should do half the honeymoon in Paris and the other half on the Riviera? Get some swimsuit time in?"

“I like the way you think.” Marcus chuckles quietly, nodding. “How long are we talking? A few days in each place? A week?”

"A week each?" You pull him up from the couch to come to the kitchen with you. There's still a table to set and wine to pour, and all that good stuff. "Two weeks in France sounds like magic."

“I agree.” He grins and grabs the bottle of wine you had set out. It’s become a routine to have a glass with dinner and he enjoys the selection the inn has, although it annoys you that he insists on paying you for the wine.

"A big, beautiful wedding. Two weeks in Paris. A lovely house for us to move into." Every time you think through the plans you're starting to make for the future, they sound better and better.

“That sounds perfect to me.” Marcus admits, smiling softly at the idea. “Have you thought about the style ideas I sent you?”

"I was showing your Pinterest board to Syd on our lunch today." The collection of Dutch Colonial, Queen Anne, Georgian, and Federal style houses that Marcus had put together to share with you is full of so many ideas that you had lost track of time in the kitchen and was almost late to interview a new member of the housekeeping staff. "She likes the Queen Anne style Victorians, of course."

“Of course she does.” Marcus grins as he lifts a brow. “Which one of those were you most interested in?” He doesn’t really mind what architectural style your home is in, as long as you are happy with the result.

Having decided that the edge of the property where you planned to build was far enough from the inn and her out buildings that you didn’t need to be loyal to the colonial structures, you have a little more freedom to choose what you build. “I think I like the Georgian houses you sent me best,” you tell him, setting down two plates of baked pasta in the table at your customary seats. “It complements the colonial style without being obsessive about matching, and it’s not overly complicated.”

“That’s a good choice, and it still fits with the overall theme of the property.” Marcus agrees. “However…one thing I think is a must in our new house.”

“What’s that?” The two of you settle down and pick up your forks, comfortable in the relative quiet of the apartment while Agent Bailey takes one of her occasional walks around the grounds.

“We have to have an elevator in our house.” He’s gotten used to the elevator at the inn and can’t imagine living without one now.

“Non-negotiable?” You tease, knowing that on the nights he goes to the gym after work he groans his way into the apartment on principle. “Noted. You will have your elevator.”

“Thank God.” He dramatically moans and tosses his head back. “Getting older sucks. You’ll see.” He teases about the age gap, but it’s only seven years. “Heartburn is about to start.”

“I was more thinking of our kids,” you admit quietly, poking your fork into a big bite of sausage and zucchini and pasta together. “What if one of them needs the house to be accessible?”

“That thought had crossed my mind.” Marcus agrees. “But we will pray that all our children will be healthy, prepare in case they are not.”

“No matter what, they’ll be cared for and loved.” That, at least, you can both guarantee.

“Plus it will be easier when someone undoubtably breaks a leg.” Marcus snorts, laughing slightly. “It seemed like it was a contest in my family who would break a bone first every year.”

“Kids are gonna be clumsy,” you joke, pointing your fork at him in teasing accusation. “Got it.”

“But they will make up for it with good looks and charm.” He grins back at you and winks.

First Princess Cheating Scandal is the headline splashed across the tabloid on the magazine rack, and your hand twitches before reaching for it. This is the bullshit you absolutely hate about being in the public eye, and now that they’ve started coming for Marcus you hate it even more. The article inside claims that you faked your matching marks — including your scars, which is possible but extremely far fetched — and that you’ve been sleeping together since at least the night of the State dinner.

With another one of those dinners on the horizon and the weariness in your bones over now spending multiple weeks of time on this stupid non-issue, you pay for the magazine and continue on to the J. Edgar Hoover FBI building with it shoved in your purse. Agent Bailey’s advice had been to let it roll off your shoulders because people are always going to gossip, but as much as you’d like to do that it’s possible this might affect your mother’s image. Or your business. Your previously fully booked inn has had multiple cancelled reservations since this whole thing started.

So you walk on, with the little treats you made in a container in your purse and Marcus’s favorite midafternoon coffee order from the shop around the corner to surprise him at the office.

Marcus is pouring over a case when you knock on his office door. He doesn’t keep it closed, preferring to let his team come to him whenever. To feel like they can. Looking up, he sees you and immediately smiles. “Birdie.” He almost said Princess, but since the beginning of this entire ‘scandal’ non-scandal thing, it’s kind of soured the nickname. Immediately abandoning the file, he stands up and rushes around to give you a kiss. “This is a welcomed surprise.”

“I did a little baking with Syd this afternoon and the results were so good that I couldn’t wait to share.” The kiss is a comforting balm, even if it’s short, and you hold up the cup in your left hand. “And I brought your coffee.”

He groans in appreciation, of both the baked goods and the caffeine. “I was just about to get another cup from the break room, but this is better. His hand slides around your back and he rubs it soothingly, seeing the pinch of upset around your eyes but he wants you to talk to him naturally. “Want to come inside? Share it with me?”

You nod and step inside, your own cup from the coffeeshop clutched in your other hand. It’s herbal tea, though. Caffeine didn’t seem like a good idea when you’re already anxious. “Agent Bailey is in the bullpen, I hope you don’t mind.” Now that you’re in a relationship with a well-trained and fully competent federal agent, your Secret Service detail tends to be a bit more relaxed about giving you space.

“Not at all.” Marcus insists, guiding you over to the little couch in his office. “Rodriguez will show her where the donuts are.” He snickers.

“So…” he sits down beside you and you pull a small container of Madeleines out of your oversized purse to offer to him, but the magazine is sitting just underneath and it makes your eyebrows pinch together all over again. “We walked past a news stand on the way here and…saw a new headline.”

“Oh no.” Marcus sighs, he takes the container but sets them aside to give you his full attention. “Bad?”

“Not great.” With a resigned sigh, you pull the magazine out of your bag and hand it over for Marcus to inspect. Under the headline is the now-famous shot of the two of you dancing together and the article inside includes a paparazzi shot of the two of you grocery shopping alongside one torn from your social media of a date night.

He winces at the headline and huffs, opens it, flipping to the article and skimming it. “I want to really get this ‘anonymous source’ into a fucking interrogation room.” He growls, growing more and more upset at the outright lies that are being insinuated. “But it’s fucking hard to be sleeping with you when security from Vanessa’s building has me showing up on a timestamped tape.”

“Agent Bailey was less than thrilled with the accusation that she would lie about anything out of loyalty. You might have to fight her for that interrogation.” Shaking your head as he puts down the magazine, you’re craving his warmth and security enough that you lean in on the couch beside him. “I had an idea, but I don’t know if you’ll like it,” you admit quietly.

“What is it?” He wraps his arm around your shoulder and pulls you close, wanting to protect you from all this. He feels guilty, like you would be better off if your connection hadn’t been acted on.

“It’s….a little dramatic.” You can admit that, too. Although at this point you feel like a dramatic response isn’t uncalled for.

It might be necessary, in Marcus’s opinion. He nods and hums while waiting for you to continue.

“How would you feel about having another tattoo?” The question is posed carefully, quietly, but you had been considering it all the way over and bandied it back and forth with Agent Bailey during your walk. While extreme, it would certainly put all doubts to rest to share a video of you getting a new tattoo and having it appear just seconds after being finished, fully formed on Marcus’s skin.

“No gang or face tattoos.” Marcus jokes, shrugging slightly. “I’ve got no problem if you want to get a tattoo, sweetheart.” He decides. “But I don’t want you to do that simply to prove that we are soulmates. We don’t owe anyone anything.”

“I know it’s not owed.” That thought had never even crossed your mind, actually. “But I want this put to rest and something small that we decide on together would be a nice mark to share under almost any circumstance.” Shrugging a little, you take a sip of your tea and sit back. “It’s just a thought. Obviously I’m not going to just go off and do this on my own. That’s the opposite of the point of it.”

“No, I’m not opposed to it.” Marcus protests softly. “I just want to make sure it’s not from a place of insecurity.”

“Even if we weren’t soulmates, I would think it was sweet to have matching tattoos,” you tell him honestly, savoring the quiet comfort of the moment when your mind was chaotic just a half hour ago.

“What kind are you thinking of?” He asks softly, smiling as you lean against him. He enjoys the warmth of moment. The quiet comfort of you with him.

“I haven’t come up with anything brilliant.” Or even anything original. You had mostly been waiting to talk to him about it. “But something small, that’s reasonably discreet? Behind the ear or on the ankle or something like that? Even the wrist, so you could cover it with your watch when you want. I wouldn’t mind that at all.”

“What about a little flower?” Marcus offers. “Behind the ear. I can cover that with my hair if I need to, and it can be your favorite bloom.”

“That sounds completely adorable.” The smile you have for him is beaming, feeling the way your heart bursts at his absolute acceptance and support. The love that radiates off him even in something as simple as knowing how much you love flowers.

“I thought you would like that.” He admits, tapping just behind your ear. “And you are so sensitive when I kiss right here. Especially when I’m inside you.”

“That’s mostly because you’re inside me.” Even though your cheeks burn with it and you slide down a little against his side, you’re still beaming at him. “If we’re going for things that enhance sensitivity then maybe I’ll have to look into piercings,” you tease.

“Don’t tease.” He pouts, twitching under the proper suit. “I can’t think about those kinds of things and be expected to work.”

“Oh, would you like if I had secret piercings?” You raise one eyebrow in interest, surprised to hear such an enthusiastic response to the passing idea.

“Piercings are hot.” Marcus would never deny that. “If you wanted to get some, I would support you completely. Enthusiastically.” He teases with a grin.

You hum at him, intrigued enough by the thought to actually heavily consider it, just imagining his face seeing them and how eager he would be to play with them. “That would be a very personal gift for my soulmate.”

Yes it would be. Marcus hums, trying and failing to hide a small smirk. “Personal is good.” He agrees, “but don’t feel like that’s something I have to have. If you want it, that’s one thing.”

"It's something to think about." It's no secret to him that you like things that mark you as his – your soulmate marks, of course, but your promise ring and occasionally wearing a piece of his clothing as well. Piercings might be something only he would see, but that just makes it all the more meaningful.

“Hmmmmmm.” He chuckles and nods his head. “It is. But I don’t think you came all the way down here to just fill my head with dirty thoughts.”

"I came down to surprise you with coffee and tell you that I love you." When he cocks his head slightly, you end up grinning. "I might have a little date night planned for you tonight. The caffeine has ulterior motives."

"Oh really?" He perks up, smiling slightly as he looks over at you in utter surprise. "So I need to make sure I'm home on time tonight?"

"Actually?" His delight is gratifying, and you squeeze his arm gently at your waist. "I'm taking you right from here. Our night is in the city."

"Kidnapping me, hmmm?" He grins widens and he bites his lip. "What does Agent Bailey think of such activities?"

"Oh, she helped me plan it." And she seemed to have fun with it, too, which made the little diversion even better. "Even made our dinner reservation for us."

"Wow." Marcus makes an impressed face. "That was a plot twist I didn't expect." he laughs. "Am I allowed to know any details or just show up and look pretty?"

"Just be your handsome self when I come back at five to pick you up." You stretch up to kiss his cheek, glad that he seems to be looking forward to tonight and hadn't been looking forward to just going home. "I'm going to scoot home, finish some paperwork, and get all dolled up for you."

"Bring me back an outfit?" Marcus asks, turning pleading eyes on you. "It can be another suit, I just want to freshen up too. Look my best."

"I'll bring something devastating but understated." That isn't hard considering Marcus's wardrobe is extremely well curated, but you still like to pay him the compliment as you pull yourself back to standing. "I'll be back in a couple of hours, babe."

He can’t help but grin a little more, your compliment making his shoulders lift confidently. “I’ll see you soon.” He promises, pressing his lips to yours in the office where there’s privacy, although he will walk you to the elevator.

"I love you." That is for the privacy of his office too, but only because it comes with such a doe-eyed look from you that it's nearly obscene.

“I love you too, Hummingbird.” He promises, the same sappy look in his eyes as he turns to guide you out of the office. His hand rests on your lower back, over the tattoo.

Unfortunately, no date night photos or other positive presence on your social media is enough to combat the now growing accusation and rumors surrounding your soulmate status. It's only two weeks after first presenting the idea to Marcus that you're both sitting in a tattoo studio with the artist that did a beautiful flower tattoo for Sydney's sister AnnaLeigh.

Marcus had asked Juan to come and film the entire thing, so it couldn’t be said that it was spliced together. Although he was sure that comment was coming. Some people couldn’t be pleased no matter what, they didn’t want to believe there was an innocent reason for them being together.

The simple design would not take long to ink into your skin, and the artist helped Juan set up two chairs so that both you and Marcus could be in the shot to capture the instant the finished tattoo appears on Marcus’s skin. The entire video would be shared on your social media, audio included, so you had had to work up the nerve to even just chat with Marcus on camera. Sharing another mark with him isn’t stressful at all, it’s letting the public so deeply into your personal life that is.

“I like the design.” Marcus sits down on the other side of you and takes your hand. “You should have let me do the tattoo this time.” He jokes. “I don’t know what it feels like.”

“We can switch if you want to?” You’re nervous, and he knows it. Not for getting the tattoo, but from everything that has been going on.

“That’s up to you, sweetheart. Whatever you want to do.” Marcus wouldn’t take this experience from you if you want it.

“It’s small,” the artist assures you, seeing anxiety in her clients. “And behind the ear doesn’t hurt very much for most people. I had one woman nearly fall asleep on the table because she liked the humming and the soft vibrations.”

Marcus can handle a little bit of pain. You know that. A tattoo is nothing compared to broken limbs or the incident when he was undercover and was shot — which had sent you in a flurry of cooing and coddling for about three days when he first told you about it. Tattooing is the kind of pain that some people find pleasurable, so you squeeze his hand and nod. “Why don’t you give it a shot? You might decide you like it and we’ll end up here all over again.”

“Is that alright with you?” Marcus asks the tattoo artist, knowing they might not appreciate a change of clientele.

“Fine with me.” She nods as she sets up her tray. “I have both of your information on file and believe it or not this happens a lot. Soulmates come in with a design they’ve chosen but they’ll change their mind at the last minute about which one of them will actually being sitting for it.”

Marcus chuckles and turns you both so he can sit down in the chair. “We’ll both be wearing it anyway.” He agrees. “So I don’t mind experiencing it.”

“I’ve never been shot but I guarantee it hurts less.” You move to let him sit in the artist’s chair and situate yourself by his side.

Marcus chuckles as the tattoo artists eyes widen. “I’m a federal agent.” He explains quietly. “It was just a flesh wound, but she thinks it’s impressive.”

“It is impressive!” And you’re just going to keep telling him so over and over until he caves, but right now you just throw a pout at him to make him laugh.

Marcus gives you the laugh and turns his head to the side, staring at you. “Still not as impressive as you are beautiful.” He murmurs softly, although the video picks it up.

“I love you, too.” The bashfulness in it is only because you weren’t expecting that kind of compliment right now — as the artist about to permanently ink Marcus’s skin is making sure she has everything she needs on her tray. You lean into his side and tip back your head, nothing but pure love in your eyes right before they slip shut at the brief press of your lips to his.

Marcus hums, an automatic sound that comes out of him when you kiss him. Excited that you are as free with your kisses as he is, it’s liberating to indulge whenever the urge strikes you. When you pull back, he grins. “Now I’m ready.”

"Go ahead and lean forward." Sitting down on her stool, the artist beckons Juan over with the camera for the best angle to watch the action and still have you in the shot. "And here goes nothing."

The first touch of the needle nearly makes Marcus jump. He barely resists the urge and then laughs quietly, trying not to move too much. “This is kind of ticklish.” He admits.

"Then it already hurts less than the one I got," you tease, glad that the experience isn't painful for him. Watching him giggle about it and knowing it's being filmed is downright endearing.

“I’m sorry.” Marcus apologizes, even though he has nothing to be sorry for. “I wish your experience was better.” He snorts after he says it. “Maybe not, or I might be covered in ink.”

"It wasn't bad, but it was definitely more than a tickle." The grin you shoot him, though, is knowing. "If you end up liking this so much tonight, we might be covered in ink because of you instead."

“Only areas that can be respectfully covered.” He teases you, sending you a wink as the artist continues to carefully work behind his ear.

"Sounds like a plan," you toss him a smirk in return and the set of you grow quiet after another round of low laughter, so the only sound in the room becomes the resilient buzz of the artist's needle.

Marcus could probably fall asleep if the noise didn’t vibrate in his head. He smiles at you, squeezing your hand gently. “After this, we will have to go get that cream to keep it clean.”

"We can get a Tattoo Goo kit before we leave the shop." His hand is in yours and you squeeze it reassuringly. "It's going to be tender for a bit, but it won't take too long to heal."

“I’m sure you will be completely cuddly as I heal.” He snickers quietly.

"I think having a cuddly girlfriend is mandatory for the healing process," you tell him seriously. At this point you've completely forgotten Juan is here for any other reason besides moral support. Forgotten about the phone in his hands being a camera and the fact that this video will become public for the world to see. This is just a moment between you and your soulmate. And a sweet one, at that.

“You should have seen me when the scar from your appendix showed up.” He snorts. “I was upset that my soulmate was hurt.”

“We were kids.” Sure he’s older than you, but you were so young when you had appendicitis. “Did it really worry you that much?”

“Yeah.” Marcus admits, not ashamed of that in the least. “Not knowing what happened, I kept imagining horrible things. Waited for other scars to possibly show up for at least a week.”

“If you had scarred from your broken leg or when you hurt your shoulder, I probably would have felt the same way.” It’s less of an admission from you and more of a confirmation, telling him in no uncertain terms how much you have always cared about his well-being. “Which is still your gunshot wound is such a big deal.” One of your fingers digs into his arm playfully. “That scared the crap out of me.”

“Well, now if I get shot, you can baby me right away.” He teases. “And tell the plastic surgeon to make the scar invisible.”

"I don't mind wearing your scars." The thought comes out quieter than you mean for it to, holding Marcus's hand tightly in yours. "I'm proud of you. And proud to wear your marks, no matter how many of them there are."

“Hopefully not too many more.” He hopes, smiling at you. “But I’m proud to wear your marks too, Hummingbird.”

The session doesn’t last too much longer. Marcus has a high pain tolerance but the tattoo mainly just tickles him, making him grin and laugh as he chats with you and with the artist for the last few minutes. When she pronounces him done and stands back, there is a moment of silence before the permanence of the piece takes hold on him and transfers instantly to your skin.

A sharp intake of breath at the momentary pain is how you know it has happened, and you glance over at Marcus — and Juan with your phone — just absolutely beaming with happiness. “Does it look as good on me as it does on him?”

Marcus inspects the area, forgetting the camera is even on and recording. He leans in and presses a kiss to the tattoo. “It looks even better, Princess.” He promises with a smile.

______

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[sukitruqui]

we moved on from this look wayy too quick

[sukitruqui]

Pedro Pascal boys

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[sukitruqui]

Adrift With You - A Frankie Morales Series - Chapter 21

Summary: Heading away on a work re-location, Frankie embarks on a flight, but unbeknownst to him, his life is about to change forever. For starters, he will need to fight for it - harder than he's ever fought for anything else before.

Marooned on an isolated island in the middle of the ocean, still recovering from an addiction, his chances of survival are bleak. But he’s not alone on the island, and soon he’s running towards a different kind of life - a life with fellow survivor, Jude, fighting right beside him every step of the way.

And if they can both survive the island together, they can survive anything, right?

Pairing: Frankie Morales x OFC Jude

Chapter Word Count: 9.3k

SERIES MASTERLIST | MAIN MASTERLIST | FRANKIE MORALES MASTERLIST

☝🏻See Series Masterlist for full smut warnings & triggers in this story. Chapters that contain smut or triggers will be highlighted in the chapter notes below. 👇🏻

Chapter Notes: Frankie and Jude have some life changing decisions to make. Smut contained in this chapter.

Enjoy! 🖤

Frankie sits at the small, scarred kitchen table, its surface worn from years of use.

The notebook lays open before him, its pages filled with the raw, jagged scrawl of someone driven by an unrelenting need to capture every thought before it slips away.

He’s hunched over, his broad shoulders curved inward, as if trying to shield the words from the rest of the world, to keep them safe within the confines of the notebook. His hand moves furiously, the pen scratching across the paper in an almost frantic rhythm, each word a desperate attempt to make sense of the chaos swirling in his mind.

The lines are uneven, some sentences trailing off into scribbles where his thoughts have outrun his ability to articulate them. It’s as if he’s afraid that if he pauses, even for a moment, the flood of memories and emotions will overwhelm him, leaving him adrift in the torrent.

The apartment around him is still, the only sounds are the faint whirr of the ceiling fan overhead and the occasional creak of the wooden floor beneath his feet. The fan’s steady rotation is a soft, mechanical heartbeat, a stark contrast to the erratic pulse of anxiety thumping in Frankie’s chest. 

He barely notices Benny as he walks in, carrying a box of beers. Benny pauses in the doorway, watching Frankie with a curious look on his face. It isn’t often that he sees Frankie like this - so completely lost in something that the rest of the world seems to disappear completely. In fact, Benny hasn’t seen this look in Frankie’s eyes since their days serving together, when the mission consumed them both, leaving no room for anything else. 

Benny leans against the doorframe, reaching into the box and popping the cap off one of the bottles, taking a swig.

“Hey, man,” Benny says, breaking the silence. “You planning to write the next Great American Novel or something?”

Frankie glances up, startled, then relaxes when he sees Benny standing there. He sits back in his chair, running a hand through his messy curls. “Nah,” he says with tired eyes, chuckling. “Just… trying to get all this fuckin’ stuff outta my head, you know?”

Benny moves closer, peering over Frankie’s shoulder at the notebook. “What stuff? You writing about the island?”

Frankie hesitates, then nods. “Yeah. Figured it might help me process it all. And maybe… I dunno, maybe it’s worth sharing. People keep asking us for interviews, but I can’t stand the idea of talking to some reporter who’s just looking for a sensational story, you know?”

"Yeah. Fuck 'em." Benny pulls out a chair and sits down across from him, pushing one of the beers across the table.

He watches Frankie with raised eyebrows, waiting for him to take it. But instead of reaching for the beer, Frankie pushes it back, the clink of glass against wood echoing between them like a small but significant gunshot. Benny’s brow furrows in surprise, maybe even concern. 

“No?” Benny asks, his voice tinged with an edge of disbelief.

This isn’t like Frankie. A drink, especially shared between them, has always been a gesture of solidarity, a way to loosen the tight knots of tension that have become a constant in their lives.

But Frankie just shakes his head, his eyes steady and serious as they meet Benny’s. “Gotta stop it all,” he says, his voice quiet but firm.

There’s a finality in his words, a resolve that’s been slowly building within him, now finally surfacing. He nods, as if to emphasise the point. “All of it.”

Benny stares at him for a moment, trying to read between the lines, to understand the weight behind those words. It isn’t just about the beer - he knows that much. This is about something deeper, something that has been gnawing at Frankie for longer than either of them care to admit. It’s taken its toll, and now, Frankie’s drawing a line.

It’s more than just stopping the drinking, the drugs. It’s about stopping the spiral, the endless cycle of running from the past, drowning it and pretending the pain doesn’t exist. Frankie’s done with all that. He’s ready to face it, to face everything, even if it means giving up something that has always been there to dull the edges of his addiction. 

He has things in his life now that are worth so much more than that.

Benny smiles as he takes the beer back. He notices the Craigslist ads circled in pen next to Frankie, each one advertising apartments scattered across Pensacola. Benny narrows his eyes, the realisation sinking in. "You moving out?"  

Frankie nods, his expression a mixture of resolve and uncertainty. "Looking. Jude and I... we should probably get our own place. I’m cramping your bachelor style." He smirks. 

Benny raises an eyebrow, the question hanging between them. "She gonna move down here?"

"I think so, I hope so…" Frankie replies, though his voice holds a note of hesitation. His mind drifts back to the conversation they’d had just a few days before, back in New York. 

The memory is vivid, the kind that leaves a warm ache in the chest, wrapped in the comfort of her limbs as he planted slow, lingering kisses across her collarbone.

The afternoon had been a lazy haze of sun-dappled sheets and heady sex, the kind of moment where time seemed to stretch out, where the terrifying world outside their small cocoon faded into irrelevance.

But beneath the tenderness, the warmth, there had been something else - an undercurrent of unspoken fears, of truths that couldn’t be ignored. Their conversations, usually so easy and free-flowing, had taken a deeper turn since coming home, raw and honest in a way that left both of them vulnerable.

They’d talked about the future, about what it would mean for her to move here, to leave behind everything she knew so Frankie could be a devoted dad to his son. Jude had said she’d try, that she wanted to be with him no matter what, but Frankie could sense the weight of what she wasn’t saying - the things she was still wrestling with inside. 

Frankie knew she was willing to make the effort, to take that leap with him, but he couldn’t ignore the reservation he’d heard in her voice. It wasn’t doubt, not exactly, but a deep awareness of the sacrifices involved. She was torn, just as he was, between the life she had and the life she wanted with him.

He didn’t have all the answers, but he knew one thing: they’d figure it out together.

He looks back at Benny, who’s watching him carefully, waiting for more. But there’s nothing else to say, not right now. Frankie gives a small shrug, as if to say, This is it, this is where we are. The uncertainty, the hope, the fear - they’re all part of the package of being human. But as long as they’re willing to face it together, he figures they have a fighting chance.

“So, what? You’re gonna write a book then?” Benny asks. 

Frankie takes a deep breath, staring at the pages in front of him. “I dunno if it’s any good, but… it feels right. Like this is how I need to tell our story, you know?”

“What does Jude say?”

“She read it. She’s okay with it.” 

Benny nods thoughtfully, then grins. “Well, if you’re serious about it, I might actually know someone who can help.”

Frankie raises an eyebrow, sceptical. “Yeah? Who the fuck do you know in publishing?”

Benny smirks and takes another swig of his beer. “Remember when I told you I met that girl at that wedding back in Charleston?”

Frankie chuckles. “Yeah, you wouldn’t shut up about her. What was her name? Lisa? Laura-something?”

“Lila,” Benny corrects with a grin. “She’s a literary agent based in New York now, I think. Moved out there with some slick asshole. But we’ve kept in touch. I mean, nothing serious, but we’ve texted here and there. Nudes…” He grins and Frankie rolls his eyes. “I bet she’d at least give your stuff a look.”

Frankie blinks, surprised. “You’re telling me you fuckin’ send dick pics to a literary agent, and didn’t think to mention it until now?”

Benny laughs. “Hey, man, it’s not like I was planning on writing a book. I ain’t got the smarts for that shit. But you? You’ve got something real to say.”

Real. Yeah. It was all too real. Not just in the way a nightmare might feel real as it wraps its cold fingers around your mind in the dead of night, but in a way that sears itself into the very core of your being. The kind of real that doesn’t just leave a mark; it engraves itself into your bones with the permanence of a tattoo etched in acid.

It’s the kind of real that burns, that strips away the layers of disbelief until all that’s left is exposed, sinewy truth, no matter how much you wish you could shield your eyes from it.

The images, the sounds, the smells - they’re vivid to the point of madness, etched into Frankie’s mind with the intensity of a cattle brand. No matter how much time passes, they remain, like scars that refuse to fade. And even if he could somehow translate the horror into words, weaving them into a cohesive string of sentences on a page, he knows it will never truly capture what it was like to live through it.

For others, his words might conjure up fleeting images, echoes of the experience that will drift away as soon as the book is closed or the conversation ends. But for him - and for Jude - it’s different. It’s something that digs deep into their flesh, into the fabric of their souls, where it will fester and grow, never letting them forget.

Words are tools, blunt and imperfect. They can paint a picture, sure, but they can’t convey the full weight of reality. They can’t capture the way it feels to have your very essence shaped and reshaped by an experience so intense that it leaves you fundamentally changed, altered forever.

No, words won’t do it justice - they never will. Some things are beyond the reach of language, too profound, too visceral to be contained by mere syllables. And this… this is one of those things. 

“I can hit her up, see if she’s interested.” Benny suggests, breaking Frankie’s chain of odious thought. 

Frankie stares at him for a moment, processing this unexpected development. “You’d really do that?”

“Of course, man,” Benny claps him on the shoulder. “We’ve been through worse together. If you wanna tell your story, I’ll do whatever I can to help.”

“You sure it ain't the nudes?” He remarks with a wry grin. 

“I mean,” Benny shrugs “they’re fuckin’ excellent nudes.”

Frankie looks down at the notebook again, its pages filled with broken, sharp fragments of his past, the weight of the last year pressing heavily against his chest. The ink on the paper seems to blur as his mind swirls with doubt and uncertainty. With courage and fear.

The stories he’s poured out onto these pages - of survival, of love, of pain - are more than just words. They’re the most intimate pieces of him, pieces a small part of him isn’t sure is ready to share with the world. And another part of him, slightly louder than the rest, shouts fuck it.

“Alright,” Frankie sighs, nodding slowly. “Let’s give it a shot. Call her.”

A few days later, Frankie finds himself standing in front of a towering glass building, its sleek facade reflecting the chaos of New York City back at him.

He feels a little out of place among the fast-moving crowd that buzzes around him, the city's relentless energy a stark contrast to the quiet island life that still lingers in his tired bones. 

As he stands on the bustling sidewalk, watching the endless stream of people and cars surging past, he feels that familiar unease creeping up on him. The city’s pulse is electric, intoxicating even, but it’s also overwhelming.

New York has always been too fast, too loud, a place that swallows you whole if you aren’t careful. He wonders how Jude has managed it here all her life. He’s never felt at ease here, even when commuting between here and Florida for work, too many distractions, temptations… the constant noise, the crowds, the relentless pace - it all leaves him feeling on edge, teetering on the brink of something he can’t quite control.

He can’t help but think of the quiet of the island, where the only sounds were the wind in the trees and the waves lapping against the shore. Here, in New York, it’s like every nerve in his body is being overstimulated, the noise and energy making it hard to think, hard to breathe. He squeezes his hands into fists, quelling the familiar tremble inside his fingers. 

He takes a deep breath, trying to steady himself. He can’t afford to let the city get to him - not today. There’s too much riding on this. He adjusts the strap of his worn backpack, feeling the reassuring weight of the notebook inside, and he can’t shake the feeling that the city is watching him, waiting for him to slip up, to fall back into old habits he’s fought so hard to leave behind.

Steeling himself, Frankie pushes through the revolving doors into the lobby. The air is cool, a sharp contrast to the late, swampy summer heat outside, and the noise of the city seems to vanish behind him. His desert boots echo on the polished marble floors as he approaches the reception desk. 

“I’m here to see Lila Harrington,” Frankie gruffs to the receptionist, trying to keep his voice steady.

It comes out rougher than he intends, betraying the nerves that have been building since he stepped into the towering building. He hasn’t felt this kind of tension gnawing at him since his first mission with Delta Force, the weight of the unknown pressing down on him with every second.

Frankie shifts on his feet, his heart thudding in his chest. He isn’t sure why he’s so on edge. He’s faced life-or-death situations without flinching, but the idea of sitting down in an office, handing over his story to a stranger, makes his palms sweat.

This is different. This is personal in a way that combat never has been.

The receptionist gives him a polite smile and nods. “Take the elevator to the 22nd floor.”

Frankie mutters a quick thanks and makes his way to the elevators, trying to ignore the knots tightening in his stomach. When the doors slide open, he steps inside and hits the button for the 22nd floor, feeling the subtle lurch as the elevator ascends.

He hates feeling this way - like he’s out of his element. Give him a life-or-death situation any day; at least that’s familiar. This, though? It’s terrifying. It brings back too many memories of helplessness. Too many memories where he was weak and succumbed.

When the doors open, he steps out into a sleek, modern office space. The receptionist behind the desk here smiles when she sees him.

“Mr Morales?” she asks, standing up. “I’m Lila’s assistant. She’s just finishing up a meeting, but she’ll be with you shortly. Would you like some coffee or water while you wait?”

“No, I’m good, thanks," Frankie replies, though his throat is coarsely dry.

He walks over to a seating area near the floor-to-ceiling windows and sinks into one of the plush chairs like a lead weight. The city is spread out below him in a sprawling maze of steel and concrete, a web of streets and skyscrapers bathed in the pale light of early afternoon. and for a moment, he loses himself in the view.

New York looks different from up here - distant and almost peaceful. The chaos of the streets seem to recede into a background hum, the incessant beeping of taxis and the blur of pedestrians reduced to mere patterns in a grand, urban mosaic.

“Francisco Morales?”

He looks up to see a tall, slender woman approaching him with a warm smile and an outstretched hand. Her dark hair is pulled back into a sleek ponytail, and she wears a sharp, tailored suit. But there’s an ease to her movements, a casual confidence that makes her seem approachable despite the corporate attire.

“I’m Lila Harrington,” she smiles, shaking his hand. “Benny’s told me a lot about you. Come on back to my office, and we can talk.”

Frankie follows her down a short hallway into a spacious office lined with bookshelves. The windows here offer an even more expansive view of the city, and the desk is neat but not overly formal.

Lila gestures to a chair across from her desk, and Frankie sits down, feeling his heart rate quicken and trying to ignore the fact that Benny probably has her nudes in his phone gallery.

She takes a seat behind her desk and smiles again. “So, I hear you’ve been writing. Benny says it’s about your time on the island?”

Frankie nods, reaching into his backpack and pulling out the thick notebook. He places it on the desk between them, suddenly feeling self-conscious about the worn cover and frayed edges. This isn’t some polished manuscript typed out neatly - it’s raw, just like their experience had been.

“Yeah,” he says, his voice a little rough. “It’s about… everything. The crash, surviving on the island, the things we went through. I’m not a writer, but I needed to get it out, you know?”

Lila nods, her eyes softening as she looks at him. “You’d be surprised how many people start off thinking that. But the best stories often come from the people who’ve lived through something, not just those who can craft pretty sentences.”

She picks up the notebook, flipping through a few of the pages. Frankie watches her closely, trying to gauge her reaction, but her expression remains neutral.

After a moment, she looks up at him through dark lined eyes. “This isn’t about being perfect, Francisco-”

“Frankie, please." He interjects.

She smiles. “Frankie. This is about telling the truth, and from what I’ve heard, you’ve got one hell of a story to tell. I’ll take this and give it a read. If it’s as powerful as I think it is, we can start talking about what comes next - editing, publishing, the whole process.”

Frankie feels a mix of relief and anxiety flood through him in equal measure. “You really think there’s something here?”

Lila leans back in her chair, her eyes thoughtful. “I do. The public has been hungry for your story ever since the news broke, but it’s not just about the survival - it’s about what happens after. How do people come back from something like that? How do they find their way in the world again? That’s what readers will connect with. That's why your story will sell.”

Frankie exhales slowly, feeling some of the tension leave his body. “I’ve been thinking about that a lot,” he admits. “It’s not easy. Jude… she’s still struggling. And me, I’m trying to figure out how to be a dad now, on top of everything else.”

Lila smiles again, a touch of empathy in her eyes. “It’s a journey, for sure. But I think you’ve got something here that could help a lot of people understand that journey. Maybe even relate in their own way. I’ll be in touch soon after I’ve read through it. A few days. And don’t worry, we’ll make sure you’re comfortable with every step of the process if you choose to proceed.”

Frankie nods, a small weight lifting off his shoulders. He isn’t entirely sure what he’d expected from this meeting, but Lila’s calm, professional demeanour has certainly helped put him at ease.

Maybe this isn’t such a crazy idea after all. Maybe it can work and they’ll finally be able to heal. 

“Thanks,” he says, standing up. “I appreciate you taking the time to have a look.”

“Of course,” Lila says, rising to shake his hand again. “I’m looking forward to working with you, Frankie. And don’t worry - Benny vouched for you. That goes a long way in this business.”

Frankie chuckles, shaking her hand. “Yeah, Benny’s good people.”

As he leaves the office and steps back into the busy New York streets, he feels something he hasn’t in a long time. Maybe this book could be more than just therapy. Maybe it could be a new beginning. 

And for the first time since he’s left the island, that thought doesn’t scare Frankie.

The soft hum of the city filters in through the partially opened window as Frankie lays in bed beside Jude.

The sheets are tangled around their legs, and the dim glow of a street lamp outside casts a warm hue over the room. Frankie lays on his back, his arm draped over Jude as she rests her head on his clammy chest. The rhythmic rise and fall of his breathing seems to sync with the subtle cadence of her fingers tracing idle patterns on his skin.

Jude’s touch is gentle, almost meditative, as her fingertips skim over the contours of Frankie’s chest, over the ridges of his scar on his hip, her movements slow and unhurried.

She’s silent, her eyes closed, lost in the tranquillity of their shared silence. Frankie, too, is absorbed in the calm of the moment, the soft hum of the city providing a rhythmic backdrop to the peace he feels lying beside her.

He glances down at Jude, his heart swelling with a mix of emotions - love, uncertainty, and a profound sense of connection. The challenges of their recent life feel distant in this quiet space, overshadowed by the comfort of their closeness. Even the stresses of his meeting this afternoon with Lila Harrington seem to fade into insignificance, replaced by the soothing presence of Jude and the warmth of the dim room.

Neither of them have spoken for a while, content to just be in each other's presence after gasping around kisses and grunts as their bodies writhed together. After everything they’ve been through - everything they’re still going through - these quiet moments feel sacred.

“You okay?” Frankie murmurs, breaking the silence as he gently brushes a strand of hair from Jude’s face. His voice is low, almost a whisper, as if he doesn’t want to disturb the fragile serenity of their moment.

Jude shifts slightly, her eyes fluttering open. She looks up at him, her gaze soft and contemplative. “Yeah,” she says quietly, a faint smile playing on her lips. “Just needed this. You.”

Jude nestles closer, her head resting more comfortably against his chest. The warmth of her body, the steady rhythm of her breathing, seems to dissolve the stress and uncertainty that has been clinging to him.

For a moment, everything else - the meeting, the manuscript, the looming decisions - fades into the background, leaving only the quietness they share.

He closes his eyes, savouring the calm that envelopes them. If he focuses, it’s like they’re laying on the seat cushion bed in the shack, back on the island. Frankie can almost feel the coarse texture of the cushions beneath them, inhales the faint scent of salt and sea air lingering in his memory.

He tightens his hold on her, feeling her warmth seep into him, and allows himself to drift. She’s there, his anchor, his way back if it should mutate. 

“Lila. She’s gonna read the draft. Says there’s something there.” Frankie murmurs softly.

Jude’s silent for a moment, her eyes searching his face. “And how do you feel about that?”

“I don’t know,” Frankie admits. “Part of me feels… relieved, I guess. Like, maybe this could be something. But another part of me is fuckin’ scared as hell.”

Jude shifts again, resting her chin on the plate of chest so she can look directly into his eyes. “It’s a big deal, Frankie. What we went through… it’s not just a story to sell. It’s our lives. I understand why you want to tell it, but… do you think we’re really ready for that kind of exposure?”

Frankie meets her gaze, his hand still stroking through her hair. “Do you? I know you said you're okay with it, but tell me honestly - are we doing the right thing?”

She searches deep for something, anything to reassure him. “I don’t know.”

“I just… I’ve been carrying this around for so long. We both have. And when I started writing, it felt like I could finally breathe again. Like maybe, if I put it out there, I could make sense of it all. But I meant what I said, I don’t wanna do it if you’re really not okay with it.”

Jude’s eyes soften, and she presses a gentle kiss to his chest before lying her head back down. “Is this really just about me?” 

He doesn’t answer but she knows. She always knows. 

“I get it,” she whispers. “I feel the same way sometimes. Like… maybe if we can share it, it’ll hurt a little less. But I’m also scared too, Frankie. I’m scared of what people will say, what they’ll think. They don’t know what it was really like out there.”

Frankie pulls her closer. “We don’t have to do anything you’re not ready for,” he says quietly. "I mean it."

Jude closes her eyes, listening to the steady beat of his heart beneath her ear. “I know, but I don’t want to hold you back either,” she says after a moment. “You’ve been through just as much as I have. And if telling this story helps you heal… then maybe it’s worth it.”

Frankie exhales slowly, feeling the weight of her words sink in. 

“We’ll do this together,” he confirms, his voice firm but gentle. “Every step of the way. If it gets to be too much, we’ll stop. No matter what.”

Jude nods against his chest, comforted by the promise in his voice. She believes him. They’ve survived the unimaginable together, and they can get through this too.

“I trust you, Frankie,” she whispers, her voice barely audible. “Just… promise me we won’t lose ourselves in it. Promise me we’ll still be us, no matter what.”

Frankie leans down, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “I promise,” he whispers back.

“Who would you want to play you?” Jude asks after a little while with a bit of whimsy to her voice. 

Frankie looks down at her, a bit puzzled. “What?”

“Like, if they made it into a movie, who would you want to play you?” She repeats, her eyes sparkling with a playful glint.

Frankie chuckles. “I haven’t really thought about it, I don’t know who’d fit the bill. You?”

“Sandra Bullock.” She says without hesitation and then giggles. 

Frankie bursts into a laugh, his earlier tension melting away in the face of her unexpected choice. “Sandra Bullock? Really?”

Jude giggles, nodding enthusiastically. “Yeah, she’s got that blend of toughness and warmth. Plus, she’s pretty great at playing characters who go through some serious shit and come out on top.”

“Yeah, she's a badass. She’d be perfect for you.” He smirks. 

For a long time, they lay there in silence, holding each other close. The city outside continues to hum and buzz, but in Jude’s small childhood bedroom, all that matters is them. They’re still figuring things out - how to navigate this new world, how to heal from the scars left behind. But they have each other, and that’s enough.

Eventually, Jude’s breathing slows, and Frankie feels her body relax completely as she drifts off to sleep. He stays awake a little longer, staring at the ceiling, his thoughts still turning over the possibilities ahead. The book is a chance at something new, but it also means reopening wounds that haven’t fully healed, and probably never will, book or no book.

But as he looks down at Jude, peacefully resting in his arms, he knows one thing for sure: whatever comes next, they’ll face it together.

And that gives him the strength to keep moving forward.

A week later and the elevator doors slide open with a quiet ding.

Frankie and Jude both step out into the sleek office hallway. The space is as polished and modern as Frankie remembers, but today, with Jude at his side, the atmosphere feels charged with a new kind of tension.

Frankie gives Jude’s hand a gentle squeeze as they walk toward Lila Harrington’s office, the sound of their footsteps muffled by the plush carpet. Jude’s grip is tight, betraying the calm facade she’s trying to maintain.

Despite the playful banter they’ve shared about their potential movie counterparts, the reality of the situation is far more daunting for her. Jude’s mind is a swirl of apprehensions. The thought of her story being turned into a spectacle, scrutinised by the public and possibly misrepresented, terrifies her in ways she finds difficult to articulate.

She’s always been the quiet observer, the one who prefers to stay behind the camera lens, away from the glaring spotlight. Yet here she is, at the precipice of something much bigger than she’s ever imagined. And it's fucking terrifying.

She takes a deep breath, trying to steady herself. The enormity of what lays ahead is hard to ignore. Yet, for Frankie’s sake, she’s determined to face it head-on. She owes him that much, and she wants to support him, to be part of this journey, even if it means stepping far outside her comfort zone.

Because that’s the power of love, right? Compromise, sacrifice? Togetherness?

“You good?” he asks her softly.

Jude nods, though her eyes tell a different story. “Yeah,” she whimpers. 

Frankie kisses her temple. A moment later, Lila greets them with her usual warm smile. “Frankie, Jude. Great to see you. Come on in, let’s talk.”

As they step inside her office, Frankie’s breath catches slightly. Lila’s office is as sleek and polished as before, but this time, three other people are sitting around a small conference table by the window. They're impeccably dressed, their expressions professional but welcoming.

Lila leads them to the table and gestures for them to sit. “I want to introduce you to a few people who are really excited about your story,” she says as she takes a seat at the head of the table. “This is Sarah Williams, a public relations expert who specialises in book launches. Michael Feldman, a producer with some connections in Hollywood. And this is David Trenchman from Trenchman Legal.”

“A lawyer?” Frankie queries and David simply nods. 

“I thought it best to invite David so he can advise on the legal side of things.” Lila explains. “Nothing to be worried about.”

Sarah, a poised woman with short, stylish hair and sharp eyes, leans forward with a smile. “It’s a pleasure to meet you both. I’ve been following your story since the news broke about the crash, and I have to say, it’s one of the most compelling survival stories I’ve ever come across.”

Jude swallows tightly as she surveys all of them carefully. 

Michael, a slightly older man with silver hair and a relaxed demeanour, nods in agreement. “There’s a lot of interest in what you went through. Once this book gets out there, people are going to want to hear from you - interviews, talk shows, possibly even film adaptations.”

Jude’s grip on Frankie’s hand tightens. He can feel her pulse quickening, but he gives her a reassuring glance before turning back to the others.

“We appreciate the interest,” Frankie says carefully. “But we’re not sure how much of that we’re ready for. We’ve been through a lot, and this isn’t just a story to us. It’s our lives.”

Lila smiles, her voice gentle but firm. “I completely understand, Frankie. And that’s why we’re all here - to make sure this process, should you want to go through with it, is handled with care. But you should know, once this book is published, your lives will absolutely change. The media will want more from you. It won’t just be about what happened on the island; people will want to know how you’re doing now, what your lives look like post-rescue.”

Sarah nods. “You’ll need to be prepared for interviews, appearances, possibly even a book tour. It’s a lot, but we’ll be here to help manage everything, to guide you through it. My experience is with authors who publish real life accounts, traumas… you’ll be in good hands.”

Jude shifts uncomfortably in her chair, her eyes darting between Frankie and the others. “I’m not sure I can handle that kind of attention,” she says quietly, her voice barely above a whisper. 

Lila leans toward Jude, her tone empathetic. “Jude, it’s perfectly natural to feel that way. What you went through was incredibly traumatic, and I imagine the idea of reliving it in front of cameras is daunting. But I want you to know that you’re in control here. We’ll only do what you’re both comfortable with. If you need time, we’ll take it slow.”

Michael chimes in, his voice calm and reassuring. “Hollywood can be overwhelming, I know. But the beauty of this process is that you get to tell your story on your terms. If you’re not comfortable with something, we won’t push it. But I will say this - your story has the potential to reach a lot of people, to inspire them. That’s why there’s so much interest.”

Frankie glances at Jude, seeing the anxiety etched in her face. He can tell she’s already on the verge of pulling back, of shutting down. He squeezes her hand again, then speaks up.

“Look, we’re not in this for any kind of fame. We didn’t survive a plane crash and over a year on a deserted island to become celebrities. We just wanna share our experience in a way that feels right for us. In a way that can heal us.”

Sarah smiles gently. “And that’s exactly what we want too. This isn’t about turning you into something you’re not. It’s about helping you share your story in a way that’s authentic to who you are. We can tailor everything to fit your comfort level.”

Jude swallows hard, her eyes drifting to the windows as she tries to steady herself. She inherently misses the island now more than ever - its simplicity, its isolation. It had been brutal, but it’d also been an escape from the chaos of the world.

Now, here she is, facing the possibility of being exposed to millions of people, all scrutinising her every move.

Frankie, sensing her turmoil, speaks again. “We don’t have to decide anything today?”

“Of course not.” Lila says. “Today is about giving you the facts. What you can expect if you decide to publish. You’re the ones in control of this. We’re just here to support you, however you need us to.”

Jude takes a deep breath, trying to let their words sink in. She isn’t sure if she can handle what could come of this, but she trusts Frankie. And as long as they’re in this together, she knows she can at least try.

“Alright,” Jude says finally, her voice stronger this time. “Let’s take it slow.” 

“You sure?” Frankie says, his thumb running over her knuckles soothingly.

“Yeah. Let’s hear it, what will happen if we decide to do it?”

“Okay. Let’s talk about the financial side of things,” Lila begins. “Once the book is published, and depending on how it performs, you could be looking at a substantial income. There will be royalties, of course, and possibly a large advance if the initial interest is strong enough.”

Sarah, the publicist, nods in agreement. “We’re already seeing significant buzz in the media, which has increased since you came home, which could translate to strong sales if you decide to publish. That, combined with potential film rights, could mean a very lucrative deal for both of you.”

Money. Of course, it’s important - they’ve been scraping by for so long, and neither of them have fully returned to their old lives yet in terms of income and work. But the idea of profiting from their trauma feels strange to Jude. She glances at Frankie, who’s listening intently, jaw tight and eyes focused. 

David, the lawyer, clears his throat. “In addition to the book and potential film deals, there’s another matter we should discuss - legal recourse against the airline.”

Jude’s eyes widen, and Frankie’s brow furrows in confusion. “Legal recourse?” Frankie asks.

David nods. “Yes. Given the circumstances of the crash, and the fact that you both endured such extreme hardship as a result, there may be grounds for a lawsuit against the airline or the manufacturers of the aircraft involved. It’s something worth considering, as it could result in significant compensation beyond what you’d earn from the book sales.”

Frankie and Jude exchange glances. Jude looks almost overwhelmed, while Frankie’s expression turns thoughtful. “We haven’t really thought about that,” Frankie admits. “We’ve been focused on just… getting back to normal. What would that even look like?”

David leans back in his chair, his tone calm and measured. “A lawsuit could take time, but in my experience it could be worth it in the long run. You’d need to work with a legal team that specialises in aviation accidents. They would investigate the causes of the crash, whether negligence was involved, and what kind of impact it had on your lives. You both have a compelling case, given what you endured. It would be in the airline's best interest to settle out of court and they probably would to avoid reputational damage, so there's a very strong likelihood that you wouldn’t need to go through a full courtroom process as such. It can just tick away in the background.”

Jude shifts again, feeling uneasy. “But… a lawsuit? Against the airline? Wouldn’t that drag everything out even more? Keep us tied to what happened?”

David nods sympathetically. “It’s a valid concern, Jude. Legal battles can be emotionally draining, and they can take years. But if the airline or manufacturers were at fault, you’re entitled to compensation for what you went through. It’s not just about the money - it’s about holding them accountable and to ensure this doesn’t happen again.”

Frankie’s expression turns serious. “We’re not after revenge, David. We just want to move on with our lives. Would a lawsuit even let us do that?”

David considers his words carefully. “It’s not about revenge, Frankie. It’s about ensuring that you’re taken care of in the long term. The trauma you’ve both endured doesn’t just go away because you’re home now, and there may be ongoing medical or psychological costs. Compensation could help with that. But ultimately, it’s your decision. I’m just advising you of your options and my team is willing to represent you.”

Sarah speaks, her tone compassionate. “And you don’t have to do everything yourself either in terms of the book. You’d have a full team behind you to help manage the media, keep things low-key if that’s what you need. The most important thing is that you both feel comfortable throughout any process you decide to embark on. You’ve been through a lot, we know that. You’d be surprised at how shielded you can be, if you want to.”

Jude takes a deep breath, trying to steady herself. She appreciates their reassurances, but the weight of everything still presses down on her. She glances at Frankie, who looks calm and focused, but she can see the concern in his eyes too. This is all happening so fast.

“I need time to think. We both do.” Jude says and Frankie looks at her, nodding. 

“Yeah. Can we take some time to weigh it all up?”

Lila nods, her expression understanding. “Of course. Just know that if you decide to pursue legal action, the option is there. And if you decide against it, that’s fine too. This is about what’s best for you both.”

After some more conversation, Lila Harrington and her team lay out the various options in full detail. The meeting stretches on, filled with jargon and possibilities that seem to swirl around Frankie and Jude like a dense fog.

Each option presented comes with its own set of complexities and implications - media interviews, promotional tours, legal consultations, and the tantalising but daunting possibility of a film adaptation. All of this before the book has even been printed and distributed. 

All before they've even said the singular, yet heavy word, yes. 

Frankie and Jude sit patiently through it all, their faces reflecting a mix of confusion and fatigue. The glossy brochures, legal documents, and marketing plans spread out before them only seem to add to the weight of the decision-making process.

Lila leans forward, her expression professional but sympathetic. “I understand this is a lot to process. We’ve covered quite a few avenues for you to consider - each with its own potential benefits and challenges. But the rest is up to you now, we can only move forward if you want to.”

After some more conversation and options explained in full detail, both Frankie and Jude feel like they’re wading through a sludge of choice - too much choice. They leave with a promise to mull it over and Frankie assure he'll be in touch, no matter the decision.

Outside the smoggy air of New York doesn’t go down so easily. Scouting out a place to eat after hours of sitting in the office, Frankie and Jude wander inside an air conditioned burger restaurant, needing sustenance to fuel them through the decision making process.

It’s a lot. But nothing that a mound of chill fries can’t ease for a while anyway. 

“So, what do you think after all that?” Frankie queries delicately as he tucks into the platter of minced meat, chilli sauce and zingy jalapeños all sloppily thrown onto a bed of crispy french fries.

It's far too much for someone adjusting to normal food portions again, but he's determined to savour as much of it as his stomach will allow. Jude takes a more measured approach, but she, too, relishes the simple pleasure of some good food after the stress of the meeting.

Jude chews thoughtfully, her eyes fixed on the fries. After a moment, she swallows and looks up, her expression a mix of contemplation and weariness.

“Honestly, it’s all a bit overwhelming. The options are so… vast. I didn’t expect it to feel like this.”

Frankie nods, his own expression reflecting the strain of the day. “Yeah, it’s a lot to take in.”

Jude sighs, picking up a fry and dipping it into the chilli. “I keep thinking about the impact all this will have on us, on our lives. It’s not just about the book anymore. It’s about how everything changes with these choices.”

Frankie takes a sip of his cola, considering her words. “It’s true. We want to share our story, but now it could become this whole… production. It’s hard to know what’s the right move.”

The conversation is punctuated by the clinking of cutlery and the occasional hum of background chatter from other patrons.

"God, these are so fuckin' good," Frankie moans as he shoves more into his mouth.

Jude smiles at Frankie, her eyes softening. “I think we need to focus on what feels right for us, not just what’s the most lucrative or the most glamorous. We need to remember why we've started this in the first place.”

“It’s never been about that.” He says, after swallowing

“I know,” Jude replies. 

“But you can’t deny the money would help us… a lot.”

Jude nods. “Yeah. It really would.” 

"Do you wanna go back to photography?"

"I haven't thought about it really. I miss it, I guess." She shrugs. "I need a new camera. Get all my contacts again."

"You could do it."

"What about you, you wanna fix helicopter parts still?"

"Maybe. I dunno. The book, the potential lawsuit… it could set us up for the future. We wouldn't have to work if we don't want to."

"Imagine that..." Jude smiles thinly.

Frankie wipes his fingers on a napkin. "Not just for us, but for my son, too. I could give him a good life, you know? One that's fuckin' better than mine."

Jude reaches across the table and takes his hand and squeezes his fingers gently.

"Maybe it means some exposure, but that doesn’t mean we’re selling out, right? Not if it's on our terms. We’re just trying to make something good come out of all this, right?" He concludes.

Jude nods. "Yeah."

They both fall silent for a moment, lost in their own thoughts as they continue to eat. The restaurant's ambient noise and the occasional clatter of dishes are the only sounds breaking the quiet. That is, until a voice cuts through their thoughtful haze.

“Jude!”

Jude’s eyes widen as she looks up, her face paling slightly. “Oh shit…” she grits under her breath, her gaze falling on Nate’s unmistakable figure.

“Is that who I think it is?” Frankie mutters through gritted teeth, not even turning around. 

“Yeah.” Jude admits, shooting him a weary glance as Nate is brazenly making his way over to them.   

“Great.” Frankie sighs. 

Jude forces a smile, though it doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “Nate. What are you doing here?”

Nate shrugs nonchalantly, as if their previous history is just a minor footnote. And to him, it probably genuinely is.

“Just grabbing a bite. Saw you from across the counter and thought I’d say hi.”

"Why?" Jude queries, confused.

Frankie’s grip on his fork tightens, his knuckles turning white. He watches Nate with a steely gaze, his irritation barely masked under the snap of his cap.

“Looks like you’re interrupting our dinner,” he says, his tone edged with coolness.

Nate’s eyes flick briefly to Frankie, a hint of surprise crossing his face before he masks it with a forced friendly demeanour.

“Didn’t mean to intrude, buddy. Just wanted to catch up with an old friend here.”

“Yeah, but she ain't an old friend though, is she? She’s the woman you fuckin’ cheated on, you piece of shit.”

Nate’s smile falters instantly. He opens his mouth to respond, but the words seem to catch in his throat. Before he can react, Jude’s voice cuts through the tension, sharp and reproachful.

“Frankie!” Jude scolds. 

Nate’s expression hardens, his facade of casual charm slipping for a moment. He takes a step back as Frankie rises out of his seat and Nate realises he has some height on him.

“Look, amigo-"

"Amigo?" Frankie baulks, looking incredulously at Jude who winces. "¿Este cabrón cree que somos amigos?" He mutters. (This bastard thinks we're friends?)

"-I didn’t mean to cause any trouble, man,” Nate says, his tone now defensive. “I just wanted to say hello-”

“Hello. Now fuck off.” Frankie warns sinisterly, his hand curling into a tight fist.

Jude takes a deep breath, her voice trembling slightly as she speaks to Nate. “Just go, Nate. I told you. I don’t wanna see you again.”

Nate gives a curt nod, his gaze lingering on Jude for a moment before he turns and walks away, completely out of the restaurant. The tension in the air seems to dissipate as he disappears from view.

Frankie sits down and picks up his fork again and looks at Jude who's eyeing him. “I’m not sorry. That guy is a fuckin'… pendejo.” (Asshole)

Jude smiles. “I know.” She chuckles. "He literally shit himself when you stood up."

"I saw."

"It was kinda hot."

Frankie can’t help but smirk as he stabs at his fries with a bit more force than necessary. The anger has melted into something softer, his focus shifting back to the comfort of their shared moment.

“You know I love you so much, right?” Jude smiles. She reaches out, intertwining her fingers with his, the simple touch grounding them both.

Frankie raises an eyebrow playfully, his smirk widening. “No,” he quips. “I think you need to explain it to me all over again.”

Jude’s grin broadens as she leans in, her eyes never leaving his. “Finish your fries and I’ll show you instead."

Before Frankie can reply, Jude leans closer and presses a gentle kiss to his fuzzy lips over the plate, the contact warm and sweet.

Frankie’s breath hitches slightly, his eyes closing as he loses himself in the hypnotism of her kiss.

“Fuck the damn fries,” he murmurs against her lips, his voice a low, and hungry.

He deepens the kiss, holding her face in his large hands, feeling the world around them fade away.

His hands roam with a reverent touch, each movement calculated to elicit the maximum response.

Frankie trails his fingers down her body, his touch growing more urgent. Jude’s breath hitches as explores the landscape of her with a delicate, probing intensity.

He listens to the soft whimpers that escape her lips, the way her body responds to his touch. He slides his fingers into her mouth with her guiding him, the sensation of her warm, soft lips against his skin sends a shiver through him, tongue lapping in between. 

“Mírate, estás tan hermosa así, toda extendida para mí…” (Look at you, you're so beautiful like this, all spread out for me.) He murmurs low and husky. 

She smiles around his fingers before he pulls them out, shiny in the dim light and stringed with her saliva. He reaches down and slides them inside her pussy that’s ready for him, wet and so fucking tight.

“Frankie,” she whines almost immediately as he pumps them inside her, brushing against the spot that makes her see stars amongst the clouds.

Jude runs her hand down his chest, her fingers tracing the taut muscles beneath his skin and rubbing gently against the soft paunch of his stomach. As she whimpers and bucks beneath him, Frankie’s fingers move with a dizzying rhythm.

His lengthy digits continue their intimate exploration, pushing her boundaries even as she’s already on the verge of being spent. The stressful day capped off with them both spent tangled up in each other. He's lost count of the amount of times they've both come.

He draws more and more of her out, each movement designed to deepen her pleasure and expose her to him, hollow her out for him to fill the space again.

Her eyes, fill with a mixture of awe and surrender, locked onto him. In them, Frankie sees the raw truth of her emotions, laid bare and unguarded. Her gaze is a silent plea and a confession, a mirror reflecting the profound connection they share. She’s always been his way home, his way out of the drowning. Cracking through his defences, revealing the depth of his own vulnerability, his awe - his love.

She’s not afraid to be lost with him, not when they’re alone together, cocooned away from the rest of the world. In their own private sanctuary, they create an island of their own, a place where they can simply exist without the constraints of outside expectations, like gravity holding him steady.

Frankie’s lips brush against Jude’s neck with a tender yet fervent touch. He traces a slow, deliberate path along her skin, his tongue flicking out to taste the salty warmth of her flesh. His breath hot against her neck, each exhale creating a shudder that travels down her spine.

As he licks the salt from her skin, his teeth nip playfully at the delicate curve of her neck, the gentle pressure causing her to gasp softly. His nose is buried into the softness of her skin, pressing deeply as he inhales the heady mix of her natural scent and the lingering trace of the island.

The scent is intoxicating, a unique blend that makes his senses reel with desire. With each inhale, he lets out a wanton groan that vibrates against her skin, his body responding instinctively to the closeness. His fingers, warm and trembling slightly, graze across the sensitive peaks of her nipples, fingertips skimming over the taut, pebbled flesh with deliberate slowness.

“I need you inside me,” Jude gasps, five little words that are his complete annihilation.

Frankie shifts, drawing her close with a fervent urgency as he aligns himself with her. As he pushes his cock into her soaked folds, the contact is electric, a visceral wave of pleasure coursing through both of them. Each inch that slides into her is met with a pelt of shared ecstasy, the tightness and heat sucking him deeper.

Frankie’s hips becomes urgent, his fingers pressing down gently into marrow. He continues to explore her neck, his lips and tongue creating a trail of fire that burns her up. Sucking and biting on her nipples as she squeals and pants.

The space between them shrinks into a tight bubble of unbreathable heat, their bodies aligning perfectly as if guided by an unspoken rhythm.

“Frankie,” she murmurs, her voice trembling.

“Mm,” he rumbles against her neck, his lips grazing her skin as he speaks. "Tell me, hermosa."

Jude gasps softly, her fingers gripping his shoulders. “Please… don’t stop.”

“Not planning to,” Frankie’s voice is a low, heavy whisper, his tongue growing more insistent as it flicks and teases. “Not until you come. Are you gonna for me?”

"Yeah, fuck!"

It smashes into her like waves, lifting her off her feet and tumbling into the water. It fills her every sense, his skin against hers, the gentle nip of his teeth, the caress of his fingers, the grind of his hips as he brushes deep inside her, creating a whirlwind that blurs the lines between desire and reality.

Her legs are tightening around his torso and he can feel the clenching around his cock nestled deeply in her saturated cunt. He’s making her lose her shit again and he can’t hold on anymore himself. It's pointless to fight it, she owns every part of him.

Giving into crazed fury, Frankie kisses her, scraping his teeth against her bottom lip. She hiccups against his mouth like she’s drunk - punch drunk on all of him. She's an addict, too.

Jude’s body tenses, then relaxes in a calm oasis of pleasure, her moans mingling with Frankie’s deep, satisfied groans as she clenches around him, tongues socketing in each other's mouths. Crushed against him in the safe haven in his strong arms, biting into his shoulder as he grunts.

His body is a corona - burning bright as the sun and the heat is just as engulfing as the beads of sweat rolling down his forehead, down his back. She’s squeezing deliberately tight around him to make him push through that bit harder; to make it last that bit longer for him, both desperate to hang onto this moment, forever. 

"Fuck, Jude," he groans, his voice rough and waning. "You’re driving me insane. I can’t hold back... I’m coming, shit.” 

He pumps out inside of her, feeling her buck against him in that moment where her body milks him for all he has.

“I love you,” Jude whispers to him gently, kissing over his pink face with adoration.

She’s embedded in his every thought, surging through his veins and behind his closed eyelids at night. She’s his constant, the tide that drowns out everything else and pulls him under with its force.

“Mm, I love you,” Frankie murmurs, his voice heavy with exhaustion and satisfaction as he collapses on top of her, their bodies entangled in a warm, sated embrace. He stays that way, shrinking inside her, pooling and warm.

They lay there together, breaths steadying and limbs entwined, lost in a moment where time seems to stand still. He feels her scritch around his damp curls stuck to his nape and thinks about nothing else except that tingly feeling, until her voice rouses him back to shore. 

“Frankie?”

“Mm,” he murmurs, his voice dreamy and distant, still half-lost in the afterglow, a place filled with bonfires, galaxies and furry little monkeys.

"Let's publish."

He turns his head up to find her eyes in the dim light. “You’re sure?”

Jude’s eyes are steady, unwavering. She nods slowly, the warmth of her conviction evident in the gentle firmness of her expression.

“I’m sure,” she confirms gently.

The decision to publish the book feels like a significant step forward, a necessary one in some ways; it can offer security, even closure to some degree, but she knows there’s more to address. “But, there’s something else.”

Frankie, still lying beside her, sits upright with a look of curiosity and concern. He props himself up on his elbow, the other hand resting protectively on her stomach, his touch warm and reassuring.

“Tell me,” he urges, his voice soft yet filled with a hint of anticipation.

Jude takes a steadying breath, feeling the weight of her next words pressing on her. Like they have been for a while, slowly growing in weight and size. She's tried ignoring it, tried to extinguish it, but it's been fruitless. There's only one way to silence the tide completely.

She reaches up, her fingers gently brushing the stray curls that have fallen into Frankie’s face, tucking them away behind his ears with a tender care. 

Her voice is steady but laced with a quiet intensity. “We can publish, but on one condition.”

Frankie’s brow furrows slightly, his interest piqued. A smile tugs at the corners of his lips, a mixture of curiosity and reassurance.

“Name it,” he says, eager to understand what’s on her mind. "You know I'll do anything for you, hermosa."

Jude takes another deep breath, her heart pounding with a mix of excitement and apprehension.

“I want to go back to the island.”

To be continued...

SERIES MASTERLIST | CHAPTER 22

Thank you for taking the time to read my story; it really means so much to me. I'd love to know your thoughts, and I'd really appreciate a re-blog so others can enjoy this story too. Thank you so much 🖤

SERIES MASTERLIST | MAIN MASTERLIST | FRANKIE MORALES MASTERLIST

Tagging those that were tagged previously on this story, I may have missed some of you due to my old comments with tags in being removed when I deactivated, so apologies if I've missed you off. If you want to be removed that's cool too.

@suzdin @missladym1981 @millennial-teenybopper @msjarvis

@burntheedges @inept-the-magnificent @casa-boiardi @sin-djarin @jessthebaker

@rhoorl @disassociation-daydreams @quinnnfabrgay @chronically-ghosted @fuckyeahdindjarin

@chiriwritesstuff @copperhalfcent @bluestar22x @5oh5 @gobaaby-blog-blog

@myloveistoolittle @pastawench @maggiemayhemnj @secretelephanttattoo @yesjazzywazzylove-blog

@thethirstwivesclub @seratuyo @mysterious-moonstruck-musings @toomanytookas @survivingandenduring

@lizzie-cakes @sawymredfox @iloveenya @elegantduckturtle @covetyou

@undercoverpena @connectioneverywhere @trulybetty @nerdieforpedro @thisneozonerecs

@sir-thisisadndserver @anavatazes @doughmonkey @lilmizmoz @sukitruqui

@76bookworm76 @weho2kcmo @tanzthompson

[sukitruqui]

BOYFRIEND!FRANKIE Sagittarius • ESTP • Originally from El Paso, has the cowboy boots to prove it • Has tons of helicopter schematic books with his notes scrawled inside them • Loves hiking and camping • Classic rock • Sandalwood and vetiver • Has a favourite mug and insists his coffee tastes better in it • Flossing his teeth grosses him out, he hates the feel of it and always gags dramatically when he does it • Always opens the door for you in his Pickup when getting in and out • Has a habit of tapping his foot when thinking or nervous • Prefers using old-school maps if he needs to rather than GPS, claiming his sense of direction is more reliable than "a fuckin' robot" • Is always up early in the mornings, a routine that stems from his army days, and is far too peppy about it • Has a secret snack drawer that he thinks you don't know about. He's wrong • Cries every time he watches Up • Can't resist fixing or tinkering with anything that's broken, even if it's not his • Affectionately calls you a "civilian" • Addicted to chilli fries • He can't stand silence, (it's a PTSD thing) so constantly has music or the TV on in the background, even when sleeping • Has a pet turtle named Tank • Leaves you a love note pinned on the fridge every morning • Blushes profusely whenever you call him "Captain Morales" • Only ever takes his baseball cap off to shower or to sleep, and even that's pushing it • Has an inexplicable fear of geese. He can handle being shot at, but not a bird running at him • Has a bizarre yet serious theory about how he can predict the weather by the way Tank behaves • Has an irrational grudge against one particular brand of peanut butter, and rants about it whenever he sees it in the grocery store. Swears he'll leave you if you ever buy it • Absolutely loves it when you take control • Is both the big and little spoon • Is highly skilled at eating pussy and spends hours doing it 🖤

BOYFRIEND VIBES MASTERLIST | FRANKIE MORALES MASTERLIST | MAIN MASTERLIST

[sukitruqui]

HUBBY!JOEL Libra • ISTJ • Texan gentleman • Old school romantic • Plaid obsessive. When he finds a shirt he likes, he buys several • Black coffee addict • Acoustic guitar • Avid road tripper • Whiskey connoisseur • Allergic to mushrooms. Well, not really. He just likes to be dramatic when they're put on his plate • All his selfies are blurry • Adores the water like he was a mermaid in a previous life • Forces you listen to his country folk playlist on repeat in the car • Terrified of spiders. You always have to rescue him from them • Yells at infomercials • Always blushes when you call him "your old man" • Prone to snoring when he lays on his back • Has a German Shepherd called Sammy • Talks to inanimate objects, whether it’s encouraging his tools to cooperate or apologizing to a chair he bumped into • Dances like no-one's watching, but you always secretly watch him and record him. Then you send him the clips throughout the week when he least expects it • Always carries a pocket knife, and always remembers he still has it on him when you're both in line at TSA for your vacation • He insists on tucking Sammy in, complete with a special “goodnight howl” that they do together • Will always Dutch Oven you and hold your head under the duvet whilst giggling like a maniac • Always, always the big spoon, no compromise • Spends a long time on foreplay, ensuring you come at least three times on his fingers and tongue, before he rails you into the mattress. 🖤

BOYFRIEND VIBES MASTERLIST | JOEL MILLER MASTERLIST | MAIN MASTERLIST

[sukitruqui]

BOYFRIEND!EZRA Aquaruis • INFP • Camping • Stargazing • Greenery • Frayed woollen sweaters • Ancient trees • Crosswords • Sencha green tea • Poetry • Scrabble nights • Caterpillars • Petrichor • Nikujaga • Pine and eucalyptus • Has a deep-seated belief that every plant in the house has a unique personality • Volunteers at a local soup kitchen • Is deeply in love with the moon • Wears a fishing hat even though he's never fished before • Pottery • Cooks listening to William Onyeabor • Doesn't own a matching pair of socks • Swears by the healing powers of handwritten letters • Always loses his keys so resorts to hot-wiring his own truck to get it to start • Believes every sunset is a sign that he should be barefoot • Remembers every scene in vivid detail from the 1930's film The Blood Of A Poet, yet always forgets his banking password and continuously locks himself out of his accounts • Adopted all three of his labradors from the same litter because he couldn't bear to seperate them. He named them Ebenezer, Lord Barkley and Bertram • Believes that rainy days are meant for making homemade pasta and reciting Shakespeare elaborately • Will fuck you up five ways from Sunday • Likes to be the little spoon 🖤

BOYFRIEND VIBES MASTERLIST | EZRA MASTERLIST | MAIN MASTERLIST

[sukitruqui]

Joel Miller x f!reader

Rating: Explicit (COMPLETED)

Summary: Part of a band of travelers, your party is slowly picked off one by one, until there are only two of you left. Finding an abandoned cabin in the woods, you decide to make camp there until you figure out your next move. As the seasons change, the nights get longer and longer…

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Epilogue

[sukitruqui]

Short Days, Long Nights: 18

Joel Miller x f!reader

Rating: extremely soft

A/N: An epilogue to end our story, I'll reblog later with all of my thank yous. For now, this final chapter is dedicated to @mrsmando ❤ and her big giant heart, for whom this story wouldn't exist without.

Series Masterlist

-

FIVE YEARS LATER 

“Honey?”

Placing his keys on the table in the entryway, Joel tilts his head to the side and listens. Silence greets him instead, but it’s a warm one. Peaceful.  

Sunlight streams through the open windows in the living room, and he walks through the beams of soft light towards the back of the house, passing through a scene of domestic disarray: a blanket tossed over the couch, toys scattered on the living room floor, small shoes that he bartered for last week kicked off and tossed on the stairs. Bending down to scoop them up with a sigh, he carries them into the kitchen. Placing them on the table, he looks around for any sight of you. 

The backdoor ajar, he heads into the backyard. 

“Honey?”

“Yea?”

Calling to him from the middle of the garden, he spots you with a smile – right as a small body crashes through the bushes with a shriek. Running straight for him, Joel automatically holds his hands out to catch June, but she looks behind her and screams, dodging his reach instead. Another child comes through and then another; a game of tag that’s crossed borders between the houses. 

“Hey! Stop runnin’ through! Just go around em’!”

You stand from your place in the garden, picking your way carefully through the sprouting plants. Your face and shoulders come into view first, and then your stomach – the soft swell only just beginning to show. At the sight of it, he visibly softens and comes over to help you, lending you his hand. 

“You sound just like a cranky old man,” you tease, brushing the dirt from your knees. Looking up at him with a squint against the sun, you grin and mime shaking a fist. “Stay off my lawn!”

“Well I am an old man,” he says wryly, defending himself. “Besides, all I need is for a kid to get hurt bustin’ through those bushes like that.”

He looks over his shoulder and surveys the damage for a moment; the squall of children slightly muted from the front yard. Bringing his eyes back to you, he steps closer and reaches for your bump, splaying his touch over it. 

“How we feelin’ today?”

“Oh god,” you answer with a sigh. “Tired.” 

Letting your head drop forward, you rest it on his shoulder. His hands glide smoothly from your stomach to your hips, encouraging you to lean into him and you do, pressing your cheek against his chest. Warmth radiates through the material of his shirt, and you close your eyes and breathe him in. Sunshine, sweat, the faint smell of the stables and the horse he rode today while on patrol lingers in the fabric, and your body relaxes against his. 

“How was your day?” you murmur. 

“Good. Tommy n’ Maria wanna know if we can come over for dinner this week. Guess she’s been askin’ for that dessert you made last time, wants to know if you can bring it over again. What was it called?”

“Brown sugar pie.” You burrow even closer against him, and his arms slip around your back in an embrace. 

“That’s the one.”

“I think I have everything I need for it. I can do that.”

“I told him I would let em’ know tomorrow. Got patrol with him again at dawn.”

You look up at him with a pout. “So early again?”

He says nothing, bending to press his mouth to your forehead. 

“I miss you in bed when you leave so early in the morning.”

His kiss drops lower, catching your nose.  

“You know I like curling up next to you. You’re like a human furnace.”

The edge of his mouth lifts. “I know, I like it too. But duty calls and all that.”

Presenting your lips for a kiss, he grants a lingering, full press of his mouth to yours and then pulls back. 

“You need me to carry anything into the house?”

“I don’t need that kind of help just yet,” you reply. 

He puts his hands up in defense with a smirk, taking a step back. “Just askin’”.

You wave him away, turning back towards the garden and he turns to head into the house, calling over his shoulder. 

“I’m gonna take a shower. Is he sleepin’ inside?”

“Yes,” you call back. “Try to be quiet when you go in. He kept me up most of the night, so I know he’s tired too.”

Nodding, he catches the screen door before it smacks the frame behind him and quietly heads upstairs.  

The bedroom is scattered with the same lived-in mess that downstairs is: the quilt thrown back over rumpled sheets, his sweats on the floor, a scatter of items on the dresser. Reaching over his head, he tugs his shirt off in a smooth motion, and tosses it on the bed before sitting down with a soft groan, bending forward to unlace his boots. 

His bare back is littered with long ago healed scars, one of them pulling tight across his flank. Sitting up with a stretch, he rubs at it with his hand, the muscle underneath sore from so much time spent in the saddle. Heading into the bathroom, he tosses the rest of his clothes into the laundry basket and steps into the shower, letting the water beat down on his lower back.

Four years in, and he still lets out a sigh of appreciation every time. 

Done and dressed in fresh clothes, he pads around the bedroom in bare feet gathering the rest of the laundry. A mix of his and yours, a threadbare blankie that needs washing, a sleeper on the dresser. Tossing it all into the basket, he goes into June’s room to do the same. 

Picking up the small guitar she plays with while he practices on his own, he places it carefully against the corner of the wall and gathers the laundry she’s left at the foot of the bed. The room reflects the girl herself: purple walls, drawings taped up on every surface, a butterfly suncatcher that hangs in her window scattering rainbows over the floor. 

Hearing muted babbles from the next room over, Joel grabs a shirt off the floor before heading over to the closed door. Opening it, he’s greeted with a grin. 

“Hey big guy," he says lowly, setting the basket on the floor, peering over the side of the crib. Built by Joel shortly after you arrived in Jackson, he thumbs at the mending it needs on the corner, thinking about how it’ll need to be moved into the bedroom in about five months. 

Still puffy with sleep, the boy’s face resembles yours so much that Joel’s eyes crinkle with affection. “You ready to get up?”

One hand holding the basket and the other one dangling to let his son grasp it, they slowly navigate the stairs together, entering the kitchen just as June comes through the back door with you right behind her. 

“Someone woke up, I see,” you coo, scooping the toddler into your arms. 

“You done playin’ tag, June Bug?” Joel asks, squeezing her shoulder. 

“Yea. The other kids had to go home for lunch. Can you make me something to eat, Daddy?”

Routine takes over, the afternoon sliding into the evening, twilight descending around the house. The picture window in the front is a beacon of light; figures moving around inside. Dinner, playtime, bathtime. A freshly bathed June and Henry – Hank, for Hank Williams – in Joel’s lap on the couch while he reads them a book, the gentle clink of dishes being washed sounding from the kitchen.

After the kids are tucked in for the night, you find him on the porch. Pulling his flannel tight around your torso, you take a seat next to him and he wordlessly drapes his arm across your shoulders, tucking you close. Handing him a well worn mug with an owl on it, he hums with approval when he discovers the whiskey inside. 

“I saw the midwife today,” you say, spreading your fingers over your bump. “She said everything looks good so far, and gave me something for the heartburn.”

“Is it still real bad?” he asks, and you nod. 

“She says that it’s a sign it’s gonna be a girl,” you smile at him, shrugging. “I don’t remember having it too bad with June though, so who knows.”

Watching your fingers smooth your shirt over the small bump with a rub, the action moves in time with the slow rocking of the bench. Another sip of whiskey, and Joel thinks about how much has changed between then and now: a fleeting image of your younger face, a picture of a river, a cabin just beyond.

The comfortable silence between the two of you lets his mind continue to roam, the memories coming in flashes: the trek across the country, the simultaneous relief and on-edge anxiety he felt when the walls surrounding Jackson first came into view. A familiar voice calling through the fog, one he thought he’d never hear again. Favoring his left side due to a deep gash still healing from an encounter with raiders, warmth slipped from his eyes as he clutched his brother tight, unwilling to let go. 

The same brother he saw just this morning, and who he’ll see again tomorrow. 

“You’re so different than the guy I left all those years ago,” his brother said later on, and Joel had said nothing, just lacing his fingers with yours. 

He is different. 

The years have softened him around the edges, or maybe the kids have. Or maybe it’s you.  

Relaxing into him, his cheek comes to rest on the top of your head.

“You tired, honey?”

“Yea.” The word slips out, the edges rounded. “But keep rocking me?”

Fireflies spark and dance in the air, the wisps of a song caught on the wind from the neighbor playing their radio next door. Your profile is highlighted with the softened light from inside, your cheeks plump with health and happiness and enough food, the frown lines from ever present anxiety smoothed away years ago. He gently collects the soft hair at your temple with a soothing stroke and your eyes flutter shut. 

His boot pushing off the wooden floorboards of the porch, he rocks and presses a kiss to the crown of your hair, letting the gratefulness pass through him. 

The old life feels like a dream, or maybe this is the dream – with a wife sitting safe and sound beside him, on the porch of a home filled with his children. 

Everything possible because you imagined it possible. Everything here because of you.

“Come on. Let’s go to bed,” he murmurs, and you nod, not moving. 

The edge of his mouth lifting in a smile, he tucks you in closer and rocks.

THE END

[sukitruqui]

Short Days, Long Nights: 17

Joel Miller x f!reader

Rating: Mature (mentions of child loss and grief, aka we go through Joel's past one more time as he says goodbye)

A/N: We are at the end ❤ I am insanely nervous since the whole story was built around this final chapter...I really hope you like it. I am going to make a separate post with all my thank you notes, but for now: @the-scandalorian I literally could not have done this without your guidance and reassurance and constant support. I owe you everything, and I love you. @mrsmando thank you for looking this over for me, for being such an amazingly emotional ride or die and for inspiring me since day one of this fic with your massive brain. I adore you. finally, @bageldaddy thank you for yelling at me in the doc when I needed it, and for your constant Joel advice. You make me better. ❤

Series Masterlist

--

“That’s it, honey. You’re doin’ so good.”

 “Yea?” Straightening your back, you let your hips roll with the movement under you. The inside of your thighs burning with overuse, your voice is slightly breathless. “Like this?”

“It’s like you’re a natural,” he muses, giving you a wink. 

“I don’t know about that.”

A trampled path guides the horse more than you do, a circle carved into the grass in front of the cabin and you let out a breath, feeling yourself relax for the first time since you first climbed on. 

He didn’t believe you when you’d said you’d never been on a horse until you stood next to it, terrified. He had helped you up that day, climbing into the saddle behind you. When he noticed that you were paying more attention to the way his broad body encased yours from behind, he cut the lesson short with a teasing scold. 

Only to continue it in the bedroom later that night. 

He’s silent for a moment as he walks next to you, until June’s babble from the edge of the field calls out across the space. 

“See?” he says. “She thinks so too.”

She starts to crawl towards the two of you, and Joel is quick to stride over, picking her up. 

“I feel like I got the hang of it,” you say tentatively. “I’m not sure what to do if I have to take off on it though.” You look at him, the scenario only now occurring to you. “Hang on. What if I’m holding her and we have to run? How will I hang onto her and the horse? How –”

His hand comes to rest reassuringly on your thigh with a squeeze, stopping you.

“Don’ focus on that right now.” He shifts June in the crook of his elbow so that her outstretched hands can touch the horse. “Just focus on learnin’ the basics. When she’s down for her nap, I’ll get on with you and we can practice goin’ faster. Okay?”

He holds your gaze for a moment, sunlight catching the brown in his irises and curls. He raises his eyebrows in question, and you nod. 

“Okay. Yea, okay.”

Giving the horse a pat on its neck, you let June brush her hands over its coat. Her tiny fingers dig in, pinching the animal in exploration. 

“Easy, baby girl. Easy,” Joel murmurs. “You gotta be gentle. Like this.”

He takes her hand in his, petting the horse. Having no patience for the slow movement, she tugs her hand free to make a quick grab for the animal, and he chuckles, stepping back - only for her to erupt into a wail. 

“Aw come on. Don’ gimme those crocodile tears, baby.” 

Lifting her into the air, he holds her above his head and looks up at her scrunched face. His biceps strain the sleeves of his t-shirt, his curls fluttering in the breeze as he suspends her until her cries turn into whimpers, then giggles. Only then does he bring her down, kissing her on the cheek. 

“I knew you were fakin’.”

–

The plan was to leave tomorrow, at first light. 

Weathering weeks of up and down emotions, you’ve been constantly wavering between wanting to follow the others in hopes of finding somewhere safer for June and being terrified that you’re making the wrong decision. A silent war within yourself, always waging as you prepared. 

When it was just you and Joel, there were times that you had been afraid. You had eventually made peace with the idea that something might happen to you, even though you would have fought with everything you had to prevent it. The fear you feel now, however, is on a whole other level. Something more base, coming from deep within you. 

 It’s so much harder with June. So much more left to lose, so much more at stake. 

A bone-deep type of fear that took root in you the moment you realized you were pregnant, it only grew until it was something overwhelming. Something that choked you with nerves the day she came into this world. Something that reached down into the heart of you and grabbed hold of reserves you never knew you had. Something that turned you into another person entirely when you thought about anything happening to her - a very real possibility given the unknown you were willingly venturing into. 

In comparison, Joel seemed…calm. Always the case when he had a clear direction and a purpose, you couldn’t tell if it was because he truly believed this was the right thing or just because he was so caught up in the planning of it all.

Plants harvested and then pulled up to save the root system, seeds meticulously dried and saved in scraps of paper, everything protected with as much safe keeping as you could provide it. Stores of food organized and packed in makeshift saddle bags, clothing and rags for diapers and two sleeping bags and medicine and first aid supplies and knives and anything else you could think of that might be useful, already accounted for and packed away. 

All of it placed by the front door, waiting. 

You run down the mental list one more time while rocking June, eventually placing her in the crib after cradling the soft, warm weight of her sleeping body for a moment. 

“She go down okay?” Joel looks up from his place on the bed, the lantern glowing warm edges around the curve of his shoulders. The light splays across his skin, and he sets his book to the side. 

“Yea, she was just a little fussy.” Yawning, you crawl into bed next to him. “I think she can feel something in the air. Our nerves or something.”

“Probably,” he agrees. 

Sliding down under the quilt, you watch the shift of his muscles as he stretches to turn out the light. Joining you, he rolls on his side so you’re face to face.

Getting comfortable, you scoot closer. “So. Our last night.”

“Looks like it,” he replies, grasping your hand. He runs your knuckles over the  seam of his lips, giving them a kiss.

“Are you nervous?” 

He considers for a moment. “Yea. I know it’s time, but I can’t say I’m ready for what’s waiting out there.”

You nod.

Content silence rests between you, a cricket chirping right outside the window, the  gentle current joining the rustle of leaves as they stir in the warm night air. Your fingers play idly with the sparse hair that covers his chest, and he watches you in the darkness. 

“Are we doing the right thing?” you ask, your voice almost a whisper. 

“It’s a little late for that, honey,” he teases, brushing his thumb across your cheekbone. When you don’t reply, his tone softens and he continues. “Hey now. We are. I know it.”

“Are you sure?”

“No, I’m not sure. I don’t know if anyone is with any decision they make, honey. ‘Specially not parents. You can only hope, ya know?”

You draw your lip between your teeth, and he gently plucks it out with his thumb. Guiding your face to his in the darkness, he runs his touch across your cheek, stroking the soft curve. 

“Look at me.”

He’s right there, holding your gaze. Brown irises turned black in the dark room, holding you steady. There, like he’s always been. 

“This is the right thing. I know just as well as you that there is plenty out there to be afraid of, but I got you. I got you both. I ain’t gonna let anything happen.”

A tear slips from the corner of your eye, dampening the pillow case. Your fears getting the best of you, words come pouring out. 

“What if she crawls away while we are sleeping, or what if she gets sick? What if someone tracks us, and tries to take what we have?” You swallow hard, taking a deep breath. “If something happens to either of you, I –”

You can’t even bring yourself to finish the sentence, and he’s gathering you in his arms, pulling you close. The steady thump of his heartbeat underneath your cheek greets you, and you bury your face in the soft crook of his neck. 

“I know we have to, but I don’t want to leave. This is our home.”

He softly shushes you. “We’ll make a new one. Together.”

Cradling your head in his hand, he lets you cry, his fingers stroking over the crown of your hair. Wrapped in his hold, you let it all pour out: not deep, shuddering cries of despair but rather the silent cries of mourning, of nerves strung too tight for weeks. 

His hand slips down to rub between your shoulder blades and you close your eyes for a moment, trying to commit everything about this moment to memory: the mattress underneath you, the heat of his body, the husky rumble of his voice. The soft sheets and the worn blankets that have held the heat of your naked bodies countless times. His side of the bed that smells like him, his things on the nightstand, the feel of him in the middle of the night when it’s too dark to see. The scratch of his beard against your palm when you sling your arm over him in the night, just to find the bare patch along his jaw with your fingertips. 

You think about everything that’s ever happened in this bed: his confession about Sarah, the intimacies you’ve shared with each other under the safe veil of darkness. Sounds that these walls have absorbed night after night: his low chuckles and his murmured praises and his endless, reassuring love. 

When you’re done, Joel guides you back down into the mattress, using his hold on you to close the distance between your mouths. A gentle kiss for your lips, then your nose, then each one of your tear damp eyelids before finding your mouth again. 

You shift up, giving him access to deepen it as his tongue slides against yours, your body arching into the familiar taste and path of his kisses. Your fingers thread through his hair, slip down the breadth of his back, and curl around the back of his arms.

Your thighs hug his hips, his head dipping to find more of your skin. Laving the edge of your jaw, he gives your throat an open mouthed kiss as his hand pushes your sleep shirt up. Up, up, exposing the bare skin over your sternum and when his lips find your nipple, he draws into his mouth with a reverential suck. He laves his tongue over and around it, playing with the stiff bud as he rocks his hips into yours and when his teeth gently scrape, a moan catches in the back of your throat. 

The last time you’re ever going to feel him in this bed, you savor it. 

“You feel so fuckin’ good,” he groans softly when his fingers find your slick warmth. 

“So do you,” you breathe, reaching down to guide his fingers inside you. They slip in with a slick, snug stretch, and he rests his forehead along the plane of your chest, watching your hand move with his. Crooking his touch to reach a spot that makes you keen, he rubs against it and you muffle your sounds against the firm round of his shoulder. 

Quiet. You have to be quiet. 

“Fuck me,” you plead against his skin, and he works his fingers faster, pulling back to watch your face. 

“I wanna make you come like this first. Gonna be awhile before I can take my time with you again.”

You say nothing, the air seizing in your lungs as you arch into the tight, syrupy warmth he’s building inside you. Clenching around his fingers, you’re tipped over the edge by the heft of his stiff cock rocking against your thigh.

“There’s my girl,” he praises. 

His words wash over your heated skin, his eyes flashing in the dark. Slipping his fingers from you to drag damp over your skin, he pushes your legs open to make room for himself.

–

Leaving you sated and asleep, he slips from bed as quietly as he can, stepping out into the inky night. Tugging a sweatshirt over his head, his feet are bare, the hem of his pajama pants skimming the grass as he walks down to the shore. 

A simple handmade cross made from the leftover wood from June’s cradle is gripped in his hand.

He kneels and taking his time, begins to delicately smooth out a patch of sandy earth. His fingers pluck away wayward strands of grass and toss out tiny pebbles until it’s cleared. A stack of stones he’s been gathering for the last few weeks rests in a pile nearby, waiting. 

Satisfied, he rests back on his heels.

“Hey, baby girl.”

Silence greets him, and content with that response, he continues.

“We’re leavin’ tomorrow.”

Reaching for the biggest stone, he turns and sets it just at the edge of the lapping water. He then balances the next one on top, slightly smaller than the one underneath it. 

“I’m not sure when we’ll be back, if we’ll ever be. But I’m gonna mark a spot for you just in case. My favorite spot.”

He adjusts a third stone on top of the others, his hand lingering to make sure it stays put. 

“I never got to –” he starts, steadying himself. “I never had a spot for you. Just kept you in my head, and in my heart.” He holds the fourth stone in his hand, looking at it. “I always wanted a place to visit you. A place to come to when I missed you, a place to talk to you.” 

He sniffles, using his knuckle to wipe at a tear that slips free and then places the stone on top of the others.

“Now I know that you’re always listenin’.”

The water washes over the base of the stones, the ripples sparkling in the moonlight and he finishes the cairn in silence, listening to the sounds around him. When he’s done, he looks up, and stares at the expanse of stars above him. 

“I’m sorry, baby,” he whispers. His voice wavers, and he swallows hard. “For everything. I know you know this, but I’ll – I’m always thinkin’ about you. I’ll always be here when you need me, okay? I will never stop bein’ your dad.”

A few more tears roll down his face, and he lets them go. The corner of his mouth eventually lifting, he clears his throat. 

“Maybe you could watch over your sister for me, make sure she doesn’t get into any trouble on this trip? Sometimes she gets this smile on her face and it’s just like the one you used to get.” A low chuckle slips free, and he hangs his head with a shake. “It's like I know she’s about to do somethin’ that she ain’t supposed to do, and all…'' 

The rueful smile on his face softens, his voice lowering with a rasp. 

“All I see is you.”

More tears come, silent paths gliding down his face and he sits alone with his thoughts then, on the edge of the river. 

That night comes back to him: the sheer terror he felt, the despair, the helplessness. The rage that filled him when he woke to find out that her body had been left behind, twisted and broken and all alone in the dirt somewhere. Like no one even cared to bury her, even if he knew that wasn’t the case. 

The blur of black days that followed her death, when he longed to join her. 

The weight of the gun in his grip, the thud it made when he whipped it at the wall with a scream when he missed. 

All the years after, trying to lock the memory of her away. The shadow of a person he became, all the things he did without an ounce of regret. 

A man with nothing to lose, because he’d already lost it all. 

When his tears dry, he looks up at the sky again and finally, he remembers a different memory. 

A warm night sky just like this one, the slippery cushion of a sleeping bag under his back and a petite, squirmy body stretched out next to him. 

“What’s that one, dad?” A swirl of stars above them, her small finger points at the brightest one. 

She sits up, the silhouette of her unruly curls calling to him and he brushes his hand through the soft texture of it, making up a name.

“Dad! Stop it,” she laughs. “For real. What is it?”

He makes up another one, and the girlish peal of her laugh echoes in the dark; the kitchen light from the house glowing behind them. 

Still feeling her curls against his palm, he takes the cross in his hand, and pushes the bottom of it into the dirt. Standing with a soft grunt, he brushes the sand from his knees and looks at it for a moment. 

A tiny thing, shadowed by the protection of a tree. 

Protected and safe, finally. 

“I love you, baby girl.”

With one last look at the cross, he makes his way slowly back up to the cabin. 

–

With June secured to your front, you walk around the inside of the cabin one last time. 

Domestic warmth infused in every room, items you have to leave behind paint a picture of the people that lived here: the westerns he read in his early days of avoiding his want for you stacked next to his side of the bed. The flowered quilt that you tucked yourself under on rainy days spread over the mattress. The bathroom, with its neatly folded yet mismatched hand towels draped over the bar next to the sink. 

The living room, with the dust that once coated everything gone, and the kitchen, with a neat row of washed pots lined up next to the dish rack that holds a mug used this morning. 

The clean windows that would let in the bright sun, save for the tarp along the back that has been secured in place.

Even the strangers that line the hallway live in cleaned frames, and walking past them, you wander into June’s bedroom to take one last look at her cradle. Impossible to bring with you, it hurts the most to leave behind. You’re still looking at it when Joel comes in from outside, calling your name.

“In here,” you call back, and he comes to stand behind you, curling his hands around your hips. You lean back into him, and he rests his chin on the top of your head, reading your mind. 

“I’ll make her a new one, honey. I promise.”

You turn and give him a watery smile, and he presses his lips to your forehead. 

“A big girl bed this time, I think,” he coos down at June, and she reaches for him, fussing when he doesn’t pick her up. 

Cradling her squirming body, you follow Joel outside. 

Next to the porch, the horse shifts under the weight of the saddle bags, stomping her feet and you watch as Joel soothes her, sliding his hand down over her coat. Ropes securing everything, she is weighted with your belongings and with the plan  to walk beside her as much as possible, you start to untie her reins while he closes the front door. 

The original tarp that covered it is dragged back into place, and when everything is as it was on that first day you found it, he gives it one last look.  

Coming to join you with his rifle slung over his shoulder, he takes the reins. 

“You ready?”

At the sound of his voice, June looks at him and smiles, a tiny dimple piercing her chubby cheek. He returns it, reaching out to grasp her foot with a wiggle. 

“Are you?” you ask. Your brow knit with gentle concern, you nudge your chin towards the water. 

“Your spot is beautiful, by the way,” you say softly. “June and I said goodbye this morning. It’s perfect for her.”

He says nothing, gratitude spilling from the depths of his eyes. Looking at you for a long time, he then leans in to press a kiss to your forehead. 

“Thank you,” he murmurs. 

“I guess time heals all wounds,” you muse, thinking of the man you came here with and he pulls back.

Looking down at you both, his expression turns into a sort of solemn earnestness.

“It wasn’t time that did it.”

Your fingers locked in June’s fist, she pulls them into her mouth for a nibble and his hand reaches up to stroke the curve of her cheek, and then your own before leaning in for a kiss.

Walking away from the cabin, you look back when you reach the far edge of the original path that brought you here: the only visible indication of the structure a slice of muted, dingy blue in a sea of lush green. Leaves crunch underfoot as you walk beside him, the slope of his broad shoulders a map that you’ve always followed without question. With another couple steps, the cabin disappears from view.

Looking forward, you lace your fingers with his and walk.

[sukitruqui]

Adrift With You - A Frankie Morales Series - Chapter 20

Summary: Heading away on a work re-location, Frankie embarks on a flight, but unbeknownst to him, his life is about to change forever. For starters, he will need to fight for it - harder than he's ever fought for anything else before.

Marooned on an isolated island in the middle of the ocean, still recovering from an addiction, his chances of survival are bleak. But he’s not alone on the island, and soon he’s running towards a different kind of life - a life with fellow survivor, Jude, fighting right beside him every step of the way.

And if they can both survive the island together, they can survive anything, right?

Pairing: Frankie Morales x OFC Jude

Chapter Word Count: 8.2k

SERIES MASTERLIST | MAIN MASTERLIST | FRANKIE MORALES MASTERLIST

☝🏻See Series Masterlist for full smut warnings & triggers in this story. Chapters that contain smut or triggers will be highlighted in the chapter notes below. 👇🏻

Chapter Notes: Frankie and Jude deal with the aftermath of Frankie's revelation. Mentions of previous miscarriage and descriptions of drugs & addiciton.

Enjoy! 🖤

A week later...

“Tell me how it felt when you finally got back to the US.” The woman nudges softly.

Jane her name is, or is it Jen? She has a gentle face either way, offering sincere reassurance and an air of non-judgment that seems almost a prerequisite for therapists, Jude supposes.

Jude shifts in her seat, a large, plush couch that threatens to swallow her whole, her eyes tracing the patterns on the pale blue walls. Everything is blue here: the soft, duck egg paint, the carpet underfoot a slightly darker cerulean hue. The colour is meant to be calming, but it reminds her too much of the endless ocean, the same one that trapped her for so long.

She flinches, suddenly noticing a ripple in the shag. For a split second, it looks like a wave. Her heart skips a beat, and she instinctively lifts her foot up onto the couch, as if the water might reach out and pull her back under.

She takes a deep breath, forcing herself to focus on the present, on the safety of this room.

It’s an odd thought, how a singular room in a nondescript brick building across the bustle of the busy city can be considered “safe.” In a metropolis where chaos is the norm and anonymity is a given, this room stands out as an unlikely sanctuary.

The city, separated by a large pane of glass, is a whirlwind of activity, with its streets teeming with people, the constant blare of horns, the rumble of subway trains, and the flicker of neon signs. New York City is a place of relentless energy, where the pace is fast, and the noise is ringing and ceaseless against your eardrum.

Yet here, in this small, unassuming room, there’s an eerie stillness. The kind of stillness that feels almost unnatural in the heart of a bustling city like the Big Apple. 

Her mother was right; she probably did need therapy of some kind. Her mother had seen the signs - the constant haunted look in Jude’s eyes, the way she flinched at sudden noises, the exhaustion that seemed to weigh her down continuously. You need to talk to someone, baby, her mother had said relentlessly, her voice filled with concern. You’ve been through so much. It’s okay to need help. 

At first, Jude resisted that help. She didn’t want to admit that she was struggling, that the island had left deeper scars than she cared to acknowledge.

But the nightmares were insufferable, haunting her every attempt at rest. Each night, she was plunged back into the terrifying memories of the island - the isolation, the fight for survival, the constant fear. In her dreams, the line between past and present blurred, leaving her disoriented and breathless when she woke, the sheets tangled around her like the vines she and Frankie had braided together on the beach.

Routines, once so easy and natural, had become almost insurmountable obstacles. The simplest tasks felt like monumental challenges. Grocery shopping overwhelmed her with its bright lights and endless choices, the noise and activity a stark contrast to the simplicity of fishing in the peaceful bay. Public transportation, with its crowds and tight, confined spaces, triggered endless waves of anxiety, her heart racing and palms sweating as she fought to keep her composure.

Even basic social interactions, which she once navigated with confident ease, now felt like navigating a minefield; every conversation a potential source of stress and confusion.

Jude glances around the room, taking in the framed certificates on the wall, the potted plants that add a touch of artificial greenery, the abstract painting that dominates the space above the other couch in front of her where the therapist sits.

Everything is carefully chosen to create an atmosphere of calm, to provide a sanctuary where she can confront her fears and begin to heal. Yet the stillness, the very calmness of the room, is a jarring reminder of how far she feels from that peace.

She takes another deep breath and tries to gather her thoughts. “I don’t know.”

Jude pauses. She can almost hear the engine's hum, a steady, mechanical growl that grows louder with each passing second. She feels the salt on her skin, the sting of the spray as it hits her face, mingling with the sweat and grime of countless months spent fighting for survival.

The memory is vividly cruel, pulling her back to that moment with startling clarity, as if she were standing on the shore again, watching salvation approach and pinching at her sun-beaten skin to convince her it’s real.

But how did she feel?

It's like there's a void - a dissonance where feeling ought to be. She can recall the physical sensations with precision, but the emotions are elusive, shrouded in a hazy fog as she thinks about it. She remembers turning back to the island, her eyes scanning the familiar landscape that had been both prison and sanctuary as it grew smaller in the distance. 

Come back, Jude.

She had thought she'd feel relief, joy even, at the sight of the boat. Yet, there was an unexpected heaviness in her chest. The beach, with its jagged rocks and grasses, had been her world for so long. Each corner held memories of survival, of struggles and small victories, of moments of connection and isolation.

The thought of leaving it all behind was disorienting, like stepping off a precipice into the dark unknown.

“I was...” The word feels like a lump in her throat, a constriction expanding against her airways, “scared.”

The therapist's gentle face remains composed, encouraging her to delve deeper. "Scared? Can you tell me more about that?"

Jude swallows hard, her fingers clenching in her lap. “It was supposed to be a rescue, the end of our nightmare, right? But when I saw that boat, I just... panicked.”

Her gaze shifts to the floor, her fingers still gripping her lap as though they might anchor her to the present moment.

“On the island,” Jude continues, her voice distant, “every day was about survival. We were stripped down to the basics - food, water, shelter. We had nothing. We relied on each other completely. There was this… this open rawness to everything. It was terrifying, but it was also simple, in a way. Our world was tiny, but it was ours.”

She can see Frankie's bronzed face, smiling up at her, eyes crinkling in the glare of the sun from under his worn baseball cap. His laughter echoes in her ears, a sound that had become a rare comfort in the harshness of their existence. His soft curls billowed in the wind as he tossed a fish at her with that crooked grin as they splashed about in the bay.

The simplicity of their life on the island was stark. Each day brought the same challenges: finding food, securing fresh water, maintaining their shelter. A never-ending Groundhog Day of brutality. Yet within that simplicity was a profound sense of purpose. Every action had meaning, every small victory a testament to their endurance.

They had learned to read the signs of nature, to anticipate the weather, to make the most of what little they had. The routine of survival, though gruelling, was also grounding in its harshness. It anchored them in the present, leaving little room for the complexities and anxieties that had once dominated their lives.

Jude can feel the warmth from the fire warming her toes as Frankie holds her in his arms on the beach front. The memory is so tangible, she can hear the crackling of the flames, see the flickering light dancing across his face in the shadows.

They would sit there for hours, wrapped in a blanket of shared, companionable silence. The sky, unobstructed by city lights, stretched endlessly above them, a canvas of glittering constellations. Each star seemed brighter, closer, as if the universe itself was keeping them company.

Frankie’s presence was her anchor. His strength, his unyielding dexterity for navigating the rugged terrain, were lifelines she clung to. The way he looked at her, with a mix of determination and tenderness, made her believe they could conquer anything. Together, they had faced the elements, battled hunger and fatigue, and forged a bond that felt unbreakable.

In his arms, she found a solace that went beyond words, a connection that was pure and unfiltered.

“It sounds like the boat represented both hope and fear for you. It was the end of one ordeal but also the beginning of another unknown.” The therapist’s expression softens further, her voice soothing. “It's understandable, Jude. Trauma doesn’t end when the immediate danger is over. It lingers, affecting how we see the world, how we relate to others.” 

Jude’s fingers play with a loose thread on her sleeve as she gathers her thoughts. “I guess.”

The therapist leans in slightly, her eyes kind and attentive. “How have you and Frankie maintained your relationship since being back?” 

“I…” Jude sighs. “I stupidly thought that being apart from one another for a little while would give us some time to adjust. To sort our lives out.”

“Why do you think that’s stupid?”

Because I’m losing him.

“He’s different,” she winces, her voice barely a whisper. “Or maybe I’m different. Maybe we both are, I dunno.” 

She looks up, meeting the therapist’s eyes. “I see him, and I see the person who held me through the worst time of my life. But I also see someone who’s slipping away from me.”

“Why do you think he’s slipping away?” 

Her breath catches in her throat, a hesitation, a slip. A painful reminder of his eyes as he told her. 

Jude, I…I have a son. 

The words had hung in the air, heavy and inescapable, shattering the fragile peace they had been trying to rebuild. Jude closes her eyes, the scene replaying in her mind with painful clarity.

Frankie had waited as he urged her to say something, to talk to him. For her to tell him what was going through her mind at his sudden and stark admission. But there were no words she could offer him, even as his eyes glazed over with water. He said they could work this out, that it didn't change anything between them. 

But it changed everything.

She could still see the desperation in his eyes, the way he leaned forward, his large, terrified hands reaching out to hers, seeking reassurance that she didn’t know how to give. The silence between them was thick, almost suffocating. It was as if the very air around them had turned to lead, making it hard to breathe, hard to think.

Frankie’s voice, usually so steady and comforting, had a tremor to it, a pleading edge that tore at her heart.

“Hermosa, we can work this out,” he'd said, his voice cracking. “This doesn’t change anything between us. We’ve been through so much together, Jude. We can handle this too.”

Jude could feel the shift, the seismic rift that had now opened up between them. Her silence spoke volumes, each moment that passed deepening the chasm between them.

Frankie’s hands, still outstretched, trembled before he pulled them back, his fingers curling into fists. 

But Jude’s mind was a whirlwind, a chaotic storm of emotions that she couldn’t untangle. She wanted to scream, to cry, to lash out at the unfairness of it all. How could they go from the simplicity of survival on the island to the complexity of this new revelation? How could she reconcile the Frankie she knew with this new reality?

Instead, he was forced to watch as she simply got dressed, not saying anything to him, and left the room. That was nearly a week ago, and he’d tried to call, but what could she say?

What could he say to make it all okay? Perhaps she was being irrational, unfair. It wasn’t his fault; he couldn’t have known he had a son. Could he?

Punishing him with her silence felt unjust. She knew she should talk to him, should assure him that of course she’d be supportive and there to help him navigate the throes of new fatherhood. But there was something else there, something else scratching at her belly skin with thick talons and leaving the wounds to weep and scab.

"We... lost a baby on the island. I-I had a miscarriage," Jude explains to the therapist, her voice trembling.

The therapist’s face remains calm and composed. "That must have been incredibly difficult, Jude. I can’t imagine the pain you went through."

She pauses, gathering her thoughts, the memories flooding back with a painful clarity. "We didn’t even know I was pregnant until it happened. We weren't trying or anything. We were just... reckless, I guess?”

"Not reckless. You were in love."

"Yeah." Jude croaks.

The therapist leans forward slightly, her eyes filled with empathy. "And now, learning about Frankie’s son must have brought all those feelings back."

Jude nods, sniffing and wiping her eyes with her sleeve. “I know I need to talk to him, but I honestly don’t know what to say. I want to be happy for him, support him. I just... I don’t want to burden him with my pain anymore."

"You’re not a burden," the therapist reassures her. "You’re his partner, and he loves you. Sharing your feelings is a way of strengthening your connection, not weakening it." She pushes a box of tissues towards Jude. “Do you think that Frankie recognises that? That maybe, perhaps the reason he didn’t tell you right away about his son, is because he didn’t want to cause the both of you any more pain?”

“That’s what he said.” Jude nods. 

“So, why don’t you believe him?”

Jude’s gaze drops to the floor, her fingers gripping the tissue tightly. The question seems simple, but the answer is entangled in layers of fear and uncertainty. 

“I want to believe him,” she says softly. “But it’s hard. If he was trying to protect me, why didn’t he trust me with the truth from the beginning? Why hide something so significant?” Jude sniffs hard. “It makes me feel that if he can keep that from me, what else could he…?”

The therapist nods understandingly. “It’s natural to feel betrayed when someone you love keeps something important from you. Trust is a foundational part of any relationship, and when it’s compromised, it’s normal to feel hurt and confused. Frankie’s intention might have been to protect you, but the impact of his actions still needs to be acknowledged and addressed.”

“I hate it, I hate how it sounds.”

“Do you really believe his intention was to hurt you by not telling you right away? From what you’ve told me about him, it seems Frankie cares very much about your feelings.” 

“He does. I just... Sometimes, I wish…” Jude trails off, unsure if she should finish that sentence or not. 

“What do you wish, Jude?” The therapist asks her, gently. 

She closes her eyes and is transported back to the island, walking up the beach to see Frankie crouched over the fire cooking fish on the flat stone and smiling over at her as she checks the solar stills. 

She can feel the sand between her toes again; Egon’s claws on her shoulder and the coarse hair of Frankie’s beard as he kisses the inside of her thighs on the bed of seat cushions.

Life was simpler on the island. No stress, no anxiety about work and earning money. No-one hounding her to take her picture and get her comments about being back home. There’s no bumping into Nate and seeing that he hasn’t changed at all. Frankie doesn't have a son.

There's no confusion, no interference - no outside noise bleeding in.

There’s just her and Frankie on their island; their sweet sanctuary together and cut off from the world, which as it turns out, is immensely suffocating, vicious and draining. It's only now that Jude realises that the island wasn’t hell at all, in fact it was a paradise. 

Hell is being back here.

“I wish that we were never rescued.” Jude gasps, the tears falling hard down her face.

Frankie checks his phone again, even though barely more than a few minutes have passed since the last time. 

A jittery itch crawls at the back of his mind, a strange, throbbing compression that seems to expand inside his skull the longer time stretches between them. 

He should’ve told her as soon as he found out himself, should’ve picked up the fuckin’ phone and called her immediately. The seconds feel like hours, a relentless passage of time that only serves to deepen his anxiety.

He can’t believe he just let her walk out of that room, didn’t even attempt to pull her back or insist she stay. He just did… nothing. 

No hiciste nada, hijo de puta. Simplemente no hiciste… nada. (You did nothing, you son of a bitch. You just did… nothing.)

Frankie paces in front of the community centre, the Floridian sun blazing overhead and searing into the back of his reddening neck. The heat is oppressive, a constant reminder of his discomfort and mounting stress.

Every step feels heavy, weighed down by the dread of what might come next. A car pulls up, and the familiar sight of his sponsor Eddie emerges. Eddie bounds up to him with a wide grin, his jaunty presence a jarring contrast to Frankie’s internal turmoil.

He already wants to punch him. 

“Frank!” Eddie calls out, his voice boisterous and warm. He envelops Frankie in a hug that carries the faint, stagnant odour of sweat - a smell that seems to seep through the fabric of Eddie’s clothes, mingling with the salty heat of the day. “I’m glad you changed your mind,” Eddie continues, clapping Frankie on the back with a hearty slap. “It’s good to see ya here again.”

Frankie forces a smile, trying to mask the tension that knots in his stomach. He nods and follows Eddie into the building reluctantly, their footsteps echoing off the walls. 

As they enter the community centre, the familiar surroundings offer a bittersweet sense of comfort. Frankie knows he needs to face returning to group therapy sooner or later. It’s a necessary step, a way to regain some semblance of control over his life and manage his stressors.

And he promised Carla he’d sort his shit out for his son. He wants to do things right, to reassure her that he’s committed to being a father. But the weight of his own mistakes with Jude and the guilt of not coming clean sooner are a constant burden, making it hard to fully engage in the group session as he zones out continuously whilst the others speak. 

He knows he can’t afford to falter again, not with a small version of himself now relying on him to get his shit together. The responsibility of fatherhood looms large, adding another layer of pressure to his already strained psyche.

After the session, Frankie lingers at the table spread with coffee and an array of sad, wilted snacks. The chips sit alongside a bowl of dip that’s begun to separate and congeal. The scene is as uninspiring as his mood. 

Eddie’s voice cuts through the gloom, warm and teasing. “You ain’t gonna drink that shit, are ya?” he cajoles, gesturing toward the scratched coffee pot and the stale offerings. “Come on, let’s get some decent coffee, huh?”

Frankie looks up, catching Eddie’s eye and forcing a tired smile. Eddie’s presence is a welcome distraction, a familiar anchor in the turbulent sea of his thoughts, despite his initial hesitation to come back here.

He nods, feeling a small surge of gratitude that Eddie won’t let him off so easily. He always was a stubborn asshole and Frankie kinda likes that about him.

“Yeah, guía el camino, hermano,” Frankie replies, pushing away from the table and following Eddie out of the community centre. (Lead the way, brother.)

A short drive later, they pull up to a shabby-chic café they used to frequent after sessions - a place that holds a comforting nostalgia. The café is bathed in the soft glow of warm lights, its exterior unchanged by the passage of time.

Frankie remembers how this spot had been a haven of sorts, a place where he could unwind and purge his thoughts with Eddie’s patient ear.

They squeeze into their old booth, the same one they used to settle into after sessions as a ritual of kinds. The worn upholstery feels oddly comforting beneath Frankie’s tired frame. He looks around, taking in the familiar surroundings - the quirky decor on the walls, the aroma of freshly brewed coffee, and the gentle hum of Latino conversation from other patrons. It feels like a piece of normalcy amidst the chaos of his life.

“Better than that shit they serve at the centre, eh?” Eddie remarks as Frankie takes a gulp from his mug. The rich, inviting aroma of the coffee fills Frankie’s senses, a stark contrast to the burnt smell of the communal crap.

“Definitely better,” he agrees, the taste rich and smooth, a small but significant comfort.

“So, how’s it going, man?” Eddie’s expression is a mixture of concern and camaraderie.

“You really wanna ask me that?” Frankie remarks, mug held poised above his lips, his elbow pressed into the table.

“You’re back from the dead. Time for a do over, right?” His gap toothed grin is wide, almost too bright despite the decay from his teeth, as if the very act of asking the question might somehow dispel the gloom hanging over Frankie.

Frankie scoffs, his frustration palpable. He sets his coffee mug down with a thud, the rich aroma of the drink no longer enough to comfort him. Instead, he finds himself lost in the dark depths of the liquid, the swirling steam rising in wisps that blend with the fog of his thoughts. 

“Seriously, how are you doing, really?” Eddie presses, his voice softening, revealing the depth of his concern.

“You know, you're the first person to really ask me that since I got back.” Frankie’s shoulders slump slightly as he takes a deep breath, the weight of his own failures pressing down on him. 

He looks up at Eddie, his eyes reflecting a deep-seated frustration and self-reproach. “I’m fuckin’ it up,” he admits, the words escaping his lips with a mixture of defeat and resignation. There’s no pretence in his voice, no attempt to gloss over the harsh reality of his situation.

Eddie leans forward, his tone steady and supportive. “It’s okay to feel like you’re messing up, man. That’s part of the healing process.” Eddie offers a reassuring smile, his presence a steady anchor in the storm of Frankie’s emotions. “One step at a time, Frank. It’s not about seeing the whole path right now. It’s about taking the next step, however small it might be.”

“You’re full of shit, you know that?” Frankie looks up from his coffee, the warmth of the mug barely registering as Eddie's words cut through the fog of his thoughts. A small smirk slips from his fuzzy lips. 

“Can I ask you something?” Eddie’s tone is serious, carrying a weight that makes Frankie sit up a little straighter. “You been tempted, since you’ve been back?”

Frankie’s initial reaction is to shake his head, a reflexive denial that feels almost automatic.

Eddie’s eyebrows knit together, a mixture of scepticism and concern in his gaze. “Not at all?”

Frankie hesitates, the honesty weighing heavily on him. “I know if I want it, I could find it,” he admits, his voice low. “S'not that hard.”

He’s lying, of course. There was a moment he was tempted. A terrifying moment just days ago, that gnawed at the edges of Frankie’s resolve.

He had actively sought it out, the temptation that lurked in the shadows of his mind, a siren call that had grown increasingly difficult to ignore. When he finally tracked it down, he found he was right - it was disturbingly easy. The old haunts, the grimy corners and dimly lit alleyways, were all still there, unabashedly offering the same dangerous solace.

A rush of adrenaline surged through him as he made the quick exchange - crumpled, damp cash for a small baggie. The transaction felt almost mechanical, yet it was charged with an unsettling familiarity. There it was, on the coffee table before him in Benny’s apartment, the cocaine, a stark white reminder of his past battles. It sat there, taunting him with its presence, a silent challenge to his hard-fought sobriety.

The room seemed to shrink around him, the air thick with a palpable tension. Blissful inertia, mere inches away, was a smirking adversary, its allure both undeniable and horrifying. Frankie could almost feel the crystalline powder’s sharp bite, its seductive promise of escape.

The process was laid out in his mind with painful clarity - open the bag, tip out a line, prepare, and snort. Four simple movements, a sequence he had executed countless times before, and he would be back in that heady state of euphoria, momentarily free from the grinding weight of his current reality.

His heart pounded against his ribs, a relentless drumbeat of anxiety and desire. Sweat began to bead at the back of his neck, trickling down in small rivulets as his breathing grew uneven. 

He stared at the cocaine hard, his mind racing through the scenarios. How Benny could come home at any second and find him grappling with his resolve. Or perhaps he’d find him passed out on the couch with the bag empty on the floor by his feet. He could feel the temptation clawing at him, each thought more insistent than the last.

The notion of tossing it all aside and succumbing to the high was almost palpable. The thought was too seductive - a way out of the hell he felt trapped in, a shortcut to a sweet oblivion where all his troubles could dissolve into nothingness.

In that charged moment, the battle was visceral. His fingers twitched, a reflexive response to the call of the drug, yearning to grasp it, to rip open the baggie and drown his current misery in its numbing embrace. The conflict inside him was almost physical, a push and pull between his desire for immediate escape and his determination to stay clean. 

The reality of what he was risking loomed large. The progress he had made, the stability he had fought for - it all seemed to hang in the balance, precarious and fragile. Could he really throw it all away for a few moments of fleeting euphoria? His mind screamed at him, weighing the potential high against the devastating fallout of a relapse.

The image of Jude flashed in his mind, her face a mixture of hope and concern, her unwavering belief in him. His son, too, was a poignant reminder of what was at stake. He could lose everything again in a simple snort.

With a surge of determination, Frankie reached for the baggie, his movements deliberate and resolute. The decision was made. He walked swiftly to the bathroom, his heart pounding in his chest, each step so fucking heavy.

He turned on the faucet, the sound of running water a soothing counterpoint to the chaos in his mind. Without hesitation, he tore it open, the cocaine spilling out in a cascade of white. With a resolute breath, he let the powder wash down the sink, watching as it was swallowed away by the torrent of water.

And then Frankie sank to his knees on the dulled tiled floor, sobbing and wailing until he couldn’t breathe. 

Eddie nods slowly, his understanding evident. “No, it’s not that hard,” he agrees, his voice steady. 

Frankie looks down at his coffee, the swirling liquid reflecting his turmoil. “I dunno, man. It kinda feels different, you know?”

Eddie’s gaze softens, the empathy in his eyes palpable. “No. I don’t know,” he says, his voice taking on a more contemplative tone. “I have no fucking idea what this past year has been like for you, Frank. What you went through on that island. And if you had cravings... well, shit, I’d be lying if I said I didn’t turn back to the drugs when things got tough in my own recovery. I relapsed twice.”

Frankie’s eyes widen slightly, the admission surprising him. “You did?”

Eddie gives a small, rueful smile. “Yeah. It’s not something I’m proud of, but it’s part of my story. Recovery isn’t a straight line.”

Frankie’s curiosity is piqued, a flicker of hope in the midst of his confusion. “What changed this time?”

Eddie’s expression turns serious again, the weight of his words evident. “Nothing. Not really. I’m a recovering addict, I always will be. So will you. It’s not if, it’s when. It’s always about the when. But you can break those triggers, you can identify and manage them, then the when gets further and further away, you know?”

“You’re going hard with the pro-therapy there.”

Eddie smirks, a knowing glint in his eyes. “I’ve always been pro-therapy, motherfucker,” he replies with a casual shrug. “Talking… it's hard, but it’s good shit. You gotta participate.”

Frankie’s jaw clenches, and he grinds his teeth together. “That don’t work for me.”

Eddie raises an eyebrow, leaning forward slightly. “That’s ‘cause it’s been ingrained, soldier boy. Me man, feelings bad.” He punches his own chest for emphasis. 

“Puta,” (bitch) Frankie tuts and hesitates, his gaze dropping to the coffee cup in his hands. “I’ve been writing… in a journal. Started it on the island, but then… started it up again when I got back.”

Eddie’s interest piques, and he nods encouragingly. “Does it help?”

“It’s uh, harshly fuckin' confronting. But yeah.” Frankie takes a deep breath. “I found out I got a kid,” he says. 

Eddie’s eyes widen in surprise, and a grin spreads across his face. “Well shit, you dog,” he exclaims, his tone playful yet genuine. “You crash on the love island or something?”

Frankie smirks, a small, reluctant smile tugging at his lips. “Nah. It ain’t like that,” he replies, shaking his head. “I found out when I got back. My ex. I had no fuckin' idea. Todo se ha ido al carajo.” (It’s all gone to shit.)

Eddie leans back, studying Frankie with an understanding gaze. “And you’ve stayed clean?”

Frankie nods once firmly. 

Eddie’s grin fades, replaced by a look of deep respect. “Pshoo. That’s some serious strength, man.”

Frankie glances out the window. “Yeah. Maybe.”

“So, what are you gonna do, Frank?” Eddie asks poignantly. “You gonna sit and wallow in your shit, or you gonna make something out of it?”

Two days later...

Frankie stands on the step, his hands fidgeting nervously as he scratches the back of his head, trying to calm the tumult of emotions swirling inside him.

His breath comes in shallow, uneven bursts, the anticipation almost unbearable as he waits. Each passing second feels like an eternity, his mind racing with a mix of hope, regret, and fear about how this encounter might unfold.

He just hopes she won’t slam the door in his face. 

The door creaks open slowly, and he catches a glimpse of Jude’s face through the narrow crack. His heart skips a beat as he watches her expression shift from shock to something more profound.

The surprise that initially contorts her features gradually melts away, giving way to a softer, more vulnerable relief. Her eyes, wide and searching, lock onto his and he forgets to breathe. He's there again, drowning in the ocean, the water filling his lungs.

Before he can fully process the change in her expression, Jude takes a decisive step forward. The space between them closes in an instant. There’s no hesitation in her movements; she simply reaches out and wraps her arms around him, pulling him into an embrace that speaks volumes, more than words ever could.

Frankie responds instinctively, his arms encircling her with a desperate need for connection. He cradles her tightly against his chest, holding her close as if afraid she might disappear. 

“Hey,” he murmurs into her crown. 

She looks up at him, chin pressed into chest, and smiles. “Hey, yourself.” 

He kisses her, lips mashing in a desperate need. Frankie’s hands grip her face, his fingers splayed across her cheeks as if to pull her closer, to anchor her against him. His breath comes in quick, shallow bursts, mingling with hers as their mouths move together and tongues seek out one another.

Frankie clings to Jude with a sense of desperate need, his arms wrap around her with a fierce, almost primal intensity, grounding himself amidst the emotional storm swirling around him. The crush of their bodies, the warmth and softness of her pressed up against him, provides a sense of security and belonging that he’s been missing for so long being away from her.

He decides right there and then he never wants to be away from her again. Not even for an agonising second, even if it seems selfish.

“I’m a fuckin’ mess without you, hermosa.” He whimpers, his voice cracking. 

“Me too,” she admits, watery-eyed. 

“I’m so sorry-”

“No, I’m sorry, Frankie. I should’ve stayed, talked to you.” Her voice is almost wistful as she looks at him, the weight of her words evident in her tone. She glances around noticing the absence of any bags. “Are you staying somewhere?”

“No. Just got the urge to get on a plane to come see you, and well… here I am.” He shrugs sheepishly. "I got nothing. Don't need it. I just need you."

She chuckles, and he grins as he kisses her again. 

“Come on,” she takes his hand and pulls him inside the house.

She fixes him a cool drink as he sits on the velvety couch. His gaze follows her as she moves back to him, a soft smile tugging at his lips and reaches for her, pulling her into his arms. 

Frankie glances around the room, his gaze settling on Jude as he asks, "are your parents home?" 

She giggles.

“What?” He baulks.

“Makes it sound like we’re fifteen and sneaking around.” Jude’s eyes sparkle with mirth as she responds to his grin. “They won’t be back for a while, so we can… talk.”

Frankie nods in acknowledgment, his expression settling into one of contented relief. He sets his glass down on the coffee table with a soft clink.

There's a silence that hovers between them, neither one knowing where to start exactly and it makes Jude giggle again. A sound he'll never tire of. But it soon stops when she notices the serious look taking over Frankie’s features. 

“I never meant to keep it from you,” he says, his voice almost a whisper. “I just… I-I freaked out. I didn’t know what the fuck to do. Still don't, not really.”

“I know.” She nods and he can tell immediately that she does. “What’s he like?” She asks after a few moments.

Frankie smiles crookedly. “He’s… gorgeous.”

“Like his dad then.” Jude smiles. Her fingers wind around a curl tucked behind Frankie’s ear under his trademark cap as he blushes. He presses a kiss into the centre of her palm. 

“Carla, she's not gonna make things weird or difficult, she knows things are over between us. She just wants me to be there for him. And I want to.”

“I was never worried about that.” Jude admits. 

“What is it you're worried about then?” Frankie asks. 

“It’s more... what this means for us. Feels like everything’s shifting. Tectonic plates, you know?” 

He senses it in the way her eyes linger a little longer on him, in the subtle wobble of her tone when she speaks. There’s a new fragility there, a delicate balance they both seem aware of, as if one wrong move could send everything crashing down.

Yet, within this fragility, Frankie knows there’s also a burgeoning strength laying in wait - a resilience born from the very tremors that have always threatened to tear them apart in some way or another.

A resilience they've forged together since that very first day on the island. It brings about a mixture of fear and hope, a recognition that while change is always inevitable, it can also lead to something stronger, more enduring.

“Nothing’s gonna change between us, Jude.” Frankie takes her hand and holds it against his chest, and she feels the steady thrum of his heartbeat ebb under her fingertips. “I love you.” 

“I love you too, but don’t you feel it?”

He nods, smiling. “Tectonic plates. Yeah.”

“Yeah.”

“It’s fuckin’ terrifying. But, we’ll figure it out,” he says firmly. “We’ve been through tough shit before. We can handle this too.” 

Jude nods despondently. “Yeah, I guess.”

“We can." He cements it with a kiss on her fingers. "I wanna show you something,” Frankie shifts on the couch reaching behind him and pulls something out of his back pocket. It’s a notebook folded in half. 

“What’s this?” Jude asks as he hands it to her. 

“It’s something I’ve been working on, since we were on the island.” He says tentatively.

“The notebook?” Jude enquires, counting the number of times in her head she’d see him squiggling away in it, keeping record of the days, until the tsunami washed it away forever. 

“Yeah, I remember most of the things I was writing in it, I remember everything. Every time I close my eyes, it’s all there.” He taps the side of his temple. “I want you to read it and let me know what you think.” Frankie says to her with those deep eyes regarding her carefully.

Jude opens the first page and runs her fingers over three words he’s scrawled in the centre of the page in smudged biro. 

“Adrift With You,” she murmurs with a small smile.

“I wrote our story.” Frankie explains. “All of it, even the things I couldn’t articulate at the time. I ain't no writer, but it’s all there. It’s helping… process things, or begin to, anyway.”

“Frankie, I’ve started having therapy.” Jude says, closing the notebook, the soft sound of the pages coming together echoing in the quiet room.

Frankie looks up, his eyes searching Jude’s face for clues. He can see the determination in her own, the mixture of vulnerability and strength that's always defined her, cowering somewhat in the corner.

“Therapy?” he repeats, as if testing the word on his tongue, trying to understand its implications.

“Yeah,” she replies, her voice steady but soft. “I realized I needed help to navigate everything that’s happened. To make sense of it all.” She pauses, glancing down at the notebook she’s just closed, its pages filled with their shared history, raw and unfiltered. "It's been... hard, being back. Harder than I've probably let on."

“Yeah. it has." He agrees.

Jude nods, her eyes lingering on the notebook, as if seeking comfort in its pages. “I’ve tried to keep going, to act like I’m okay, but… I’m not always. There are days when it just feels overwhelming. I'm going twice a week. Had two sessions already."

"Well, that’s great,” Frankie reaches out, placing his hand gently over hers.

The warmth of his touch comforting, grounding her and soothing like the ocean waves coating her toes, and she feels like she can breathe again.

"I've been back to, uh... group therapy too."

"That's good." She nods resolutely.

He nods wincing a little. “Why didn’t you tell me sooner?” Frankie asks.

"Probably the same reason you didn't tell me about your son right away..." she replies, her voice gentle, but firm.

Frankie’s expression shifts, a flicker of guilt and understanding crossing his face. He opens his mouth to respond but finds himself momentarily at a loss for words. The mention of his son brings back memories of the secrets he's kept, the inane reasons he had for keeping them hidden.

Jude continues, her tone steady. “I was scared, Frankie. Scared of adding more to your plate. I didn’t want to burden you with my issues when I knew you were dealing with your own.”

Frankie sighs, his thumb gently stroking the back of her hand. “I get it,” he says finally. “I didn’t tell you about my son because I didn’t wanna scare you off, didn’t wanna complicate things between us. And yeah, I didn't wanna hurt you, not after what you went through on the island-"

"What we went through. It affected you, too." Jude says, squeezing his hand.

"Yeah," he agrees, his voice thick with emotion. "But more than that, it killed me that I couldn't make it better for you."

Jude’s grip tightens, her eyes softening with understanding. "You did everything you could, Frankie. We both did. It wasn’t about fixing things; it was about surviving. And we did that together. But keeping secrets… it just makes things harder in the long run.”

Frankie’s gaze drifts downward, the memories of their time on the island swirling in his mind. The fear, the desperation, the moments of fleeting hope. “I know,” he murmurs. "No more secrets. and in the spirt of complete fuckin' honesty, I had... I had a moment where I almost..." He physically recoils at the memory, his fingers throbbing and aching as he squeezes them into a fist.

Jude watches him, her expression a mix of concern and understanding. She can see the pain etched in his face, the weight of the admission pressing heavily on him.

“But I didn't. I couldn’t,” he continues, his voice steadying with resolve.

Jude’s eyes soften with compassion as she reaches out, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder. “It’s okay,” she says gently. “You faced that moment and came through it. That’s what matters. I'm proud of you.”

"I don't fuckin' deserve you, hermosa." He presses his forehead to hers.

"I love you, Frankie." She murmurs into the heat of his face. "Fresh start?" Her small smile begins to bloom, a hopeful light in her eyes.

He meets her gaze, seeing the sincerity and warmth in her eyes. “A fresh start,” he repeats. Frankie thinks for a few moments, his brow furrowing in concentration. “I think I wanna tell our story,” he finally says, his voice steady but soft.

She raises an eyebrow, curiosity and apprehension mingling in her expression. “You mean to the press?”

“No. Fuck them. I just... I dunno, I wanna publish it, maybe like a book?” 

She sits upright, the weight of his words settling over her. Her posture becomes tense as she processes the implications of what he’s suggesting.

“But only if you want to. The story is as much yours as it is mine, and there are things that we went through that-”

“I know.” Jude’s mind races, trying to reconcile the idea of their story being laid bare for the world to see. She considers the raw moments, the nerves and sinew they had exposed, and the impact such a revelation might have on both of them. “It’s a big step,” she finally says, her voice thoughtful and cautious.

“Just read it and let me know,” he continues, his eyes earnest and pleading. “If you say no, then I won’t. I don’t want to hurt you or-”

“Frankie, just kiss me.” Jude interrupts, her voice soft but resolute. Without another word, she closes the distance between them, pressing her lips gently, but firmly, against his.

He stays. The house is quiet even when her parents return later, cloaked in the deep stillness of the oncoming night. They lock themselves away in the privacy of Jude's childhood bedroom, a sanctuary filled with echoes of her past.

The room is small and intimate, its walls adorned with remnants of her youth - old band posters, photographs she’s taken - both professional and fun - and mementos that tell stories of who she once was.

In the dim light, they find solace in each other. Skin on heated skin, murmurs and groans, they seek comfort and connection, their bodies moving in a rhythm that’s both familiar and new. Each touch, each whisper, each shared breath begins to cement over the chasm that has grown between them, carefully and deliberately filling the void with their renewed closeness.

As the night deepens, Frankie drifts into a peaceful slumber, his gentle snores a soothing background to the swamping silence. He sleeps beside her, his presence a warm, reassuring weight that she realises she can't settle without anymore.

But Jude remains awake, her mind too restless to follow him into stunted sleep. She stares into the dark crevices and shadows of the room, her thoughts swirling in the dim light.

Her nose grazes against his shoulder, the gentle touch sending a shiver down her spine. She inhales deeply, drawing in the scent of him - the faint smell of the island still lingers, deep in the layers. Salt water, carrying memories of waves crashing against the shore, mingles with the earthy aroma of ash from the fire, a reminder of nights spent under the stars.

Sweat, infused with the heat and intensity of their time together, adds a raw, intimate note. It’s all a comfort as she breathes out, a blend of past and present that wraps around her like a warm embrace.

He came all this way to save it - to save them. The weight of that realization settles in Jude's chest, both heavy and liberating. He travelled not just miles, but emotional landscapes, bridging the gaps before they've had a chance to grow and fester between them.

It isn’t just about physical distance; it's about reaching across the chasm of misunderstandings and hurt feelings that have threatened to pull them apart. To prove to her that he wants her, that he can’t do it without her. That he's floundering just as much as she is.

They are both adrift, searching for a way to navigate the stormy seas of their emotions and just being. Yet, in this shared wound of bleeding vulnerability, there's strength. They're not alone in their confusion and pain; they're partners, co-pilots steering through the chaos.

Jude's eyes drift towards the notebook resting on the table. Her fingers reach for it, the one Frankie had given her earlier to read, the one that holds his words.

Under the soft, undisturbed glow of a lamp she flicks on, she begins to read. The light casts a gentle halo around her, illuminating the pages without stirring Frankie.

She reads his words slowly, carefully, each sentence a revelation. His scrawled handwriting is familiar, yet the emotions conveyed are raw and unfiltered. He’s poured his heart onto these pages, sharing their story with an honesty that cuts deeper than jagged glass.

There are moments of joy, snapshots of laughter and love amongst the plot of their fateful flight, but also the darker times - the searing pain of loss, of near starvation and the struggles they faced together.

As Jude reads, her eyes mist over, filled with tears that threaten to spill as she relives the harrowing journey, but through Frankie’s eyes:

“... They say time is a healer. Who “they” are exactly, I don’t know, but they‘re not right about that at all. Time isn’t a damn healer; it’s just a mere factor in the healing process. Something I've learnt the hard way, again and again. Something that Eddie says all the time and I never really got it until now.

"Time is needed to come to terms with any sort of change or tragedy in your life, sure. Any transition or upheaval. Time is needed heal a gaping, deep flesh wound on the back of your calf from jumping out of a sinking plane until it's nothing more than a thin, white line that blends in with your beautiful skin that I stroke delicately with my index finger, feeling the knobbly bumps of your healed skin as I kiss up your legs. 

“But time itself isn’t a measurement that applies to all. We’re all unique in what we need to heal, time included, I guess. I once spoke to a veteran, when I was back in training for Delta, who fought in World War Two. That man was a fuckin’ hero. In every sense of the word. And I’ll never forget what he said to me. He said that the war for him was over seventy years ago, and also yesterday. And that’s stayed with me. Every single day.

"You can spend your whole life healing in some way and never fully recovering; never allowing your skin to scar over. Never free from temptation. Just keeping a yellowing scab over that gaping wound, occasionally picking at it to let it bleed again for a while. And it's hard not to let it bleed sometimes. Sometimes, you need to let it pour.

"Only a small amount of time has passed in the grand scheme of things since Jude and I were rescued from the island, but yet that small stream of time has brought about the beginning of our healing process for that experience. But a place like the island will never leave us, even if we really want it to or not. It’s a part of us now; that salty ocean smell that I used to hate so fuckin' much will always be on our skin, in her hair. The thought of never smelling it again terrifies me.

"In some ways, it’ll always be our home, that island... But Jude. She’ll always be my home.”

To be continued...

SERIES MASTERLIST | CHAPTER 21

Thank you for taking the time to read my story; it really means so much to me. I'd love to know your thoughts, and I'd really appreciate a re-blog so others can enjoy this story too. Thank you so much 🖤

SERIES MASTERLIST | MAIN MASTERLIST | FRANKIE MORALES MASTERLIST

Tagging those that were tagged previously on this story, I may have missed some of you due to my old comments with tags in being removed when I deactivated, so apologies if I've missed you off. If you want to be removed that's cool too.

@suzdin @missladym1981 @millennial-teenybopper @msjarvis

@burntheedges @inept-the-magnificent @casa-boiardi @sin-djarin @jessthebaker

@rhoorl @disassociation-daydreams @quinnnfabrgay @chronically-ghosted @fuckyeahdindjarin

@chiriwritesstuff @copperhalfcent @bluestar22x @5oh5 @gobaaby-blog-blog

@myloveistoolittle @pastawench @maggiemayhemnj @secretelephanttattoo @yesjazzywazzylove-blog

@thethirstwivesclub @seratuyo @mysterious-moonstruck-musings @toomanytookas @survivingandenduring

@lizzie-cakes @sawymredfox @iloveenya @elegantduckturtle @covetyou

@undercoverpena @connectioneverywhere @trulybetty @nerdieforpedro @thisneozonerecs

@sir-thisisadndserver @anavatazes @doughmonkey @lilmizmoz @sukitruqui

@76bookworm76 @weho2kcmo @tanzthompson

[sukitruqui]

Hummingbird Has Landed, ch 10

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: 12.3k Warnings: *Blanket warnings for this series: occasional mention of American politics, pregnant character, food/alcohol consumption, mentions of clothing/regulated dressing for occasions, mentions of therapy because we believe in self care here, reader is in a previous relationship, love triangle, reader is mentioned as turning 30 during the course of the story, dom/sub dynamics* In-laws (nice ones though!), passing mention of federal agents possessing guns, family dynamics, that one family member that married someone awful, the mystery of Agent Bailey begins to unravel, discussion of life in the public eye, planning for the future, discussion of collaring. Summary: After a rather dramatic birthday, heading to Texas to meet Marcus's family seems like a walk in the park. Notes: I am 100% certain that I have missed errors this week, loves. But alas, ya girl is back to working five days a week and she is SO tired. ✌ Please enjoy the chaos that is the Pike extended family!

Ch1 ~ Ch 2 ~ Ch 3 ~ Ch 4 ~ Ch 5 ~ Ch 6 ~ Ch 7 ~ Ch 8 ~ Ch 9

The flight from Washington DC to Dallas is just over three hours long and you had agreed that it would be better to leave early in the morning on Saturday to arrive at his family's compound before lunchtime. The last two weeks have been a dream as you and Marcus spend basically all of your extra time together, sharing dinners after work and alternating beds for overnight stays. He's even come to his first Friday Night Dinner with your family, which makes it all the more appropriate that you're now flying with him to meet his.

Airline points used, Marcus was well aware that on a commercial flight, Agent Bailey would be much more comfortable with First Class and boarding the plane last. Allowing for the rest of the plane to embark so they were not filing past her and you. Now that the flight is closed and you are settled into your seat, he looks over at you with a smile. "Ready for chaos?" He asks playfully, picking up your hand. "My family is....energetic."

“I’m excited,” you assure him. You’re also nervous, but that’s natural. His big family is having their annual springtime get together for the start of baseball season and — according to Marcus — this is the biggest Pike family get together of the year. It’s a week of pickup games with his cousins, big family meals, revisiting old favorite haunts, and catching up on life. It used to be a way to help distract Marcus and his Mom as his Dad started out the new season every year and started traveling, but now it’s just their favorite reason to get together.

“Don’t feel like you have to do anything you don’t feel like.” Marcus insists. “Plenty of times half the cousins or wives and husbands end up in the stands watching and shit talking.”

“Baby if you think I’m not playing at least one game, you’re nuts.” Marcus has been so sweet about reassuring you and making sure you know nothing is expected of you on this trip, but frankly it just sounds like fun. Like the kind of happy chaos that is a complete break from your normal life.

He flashes you a grin. “I was hoping you’d say that.” He admits shamelessly. “After the games, we grill out or eat whatever we threw on the smoker that morning.” He shrugs. “It’s a party the entire time.”

“I’m looking forward to it.” You have been, and you are, and seeing him get excited would make the whole thing worth it even if you weren’t.

“Everyone is excited to meet you.” He promises. “Oh and mom asked if you had any allergies? Food or otherwise?” He shoots you a sheepish grin. “Forgot to ask.”

“Nothing at all. I’ll eat anything you put in front of me and sniff whatever weird Texas plants you guys have got.” A teasing grin counters his embarrassed one. “My brother and I did a campaign stop in Texas; I don’t think there was anything too sniffly in Austin. But I know the state is big.”

“Huge.” He snorts, smirking slightly. “You know what they say. ‘Everything’s bigger in Texas’.” He jokes.

"Oh yeah?" The smirk that forms on your face is immediate and you lean over to nudge his shoulder. "Is that how you grew up so big?"

“Not that big.” He chuckles. “My cousins – the males – are bigger.”

Snorting slightly, you can't help but laugh as you nudge Marcus again. "That sounds painful."

“Shit.” Marcus chokes and shakes his head. “I didn’t mean that.”

"Well good," you're still laughing, juvenile sense of humor on full display even if you're quiet. "Otherwise I'd feel bad for their spouses."

He snorts and leans into press his lips to yours. “I’m the biggest.” He boasts, completely lying and he winks to acknowledge that. Not like him and his cousins have compared…since before puberty.

"Naughty." It's chastising, but you giggle as you steal another kiss as you both settle back in your seats for a short but comfortable flight.

Marcus hums as the flight attendant comes by. “Do you want a mimosa?” He asks softly. “Start our vacation off right?”

"Why not? Let's have a fancy flight." First class is already a bit of an extravagance, and you smile at the flight attendant gratefully. They are well aware of who is on board – Agent Bailey had background checks run on the flight crew as a precaution – and discreetly point out your agent to the gentleman. "And a cup of coffee for the woman in the suit right over there? She'll say she doesn't want anything but I know she'd love a cup right about now."

“Yes madam.” He nods and smiles back at you, finding it refreshing that you aren’t over demanding like some political figures. One asshole really set his teeth on edge last month.

"Thank you so much." The last thing you want to do is make a fuss for the flight crew, and you sit back with Marcus's hand in yours. As nervous as you might be, this is going to be a good week.

“Anywhere you want to see in particular?” Marcus asks, stretching his legs in the extra space the first row gives you. “We don’t have to rent a car. Although I know Agent Bailey will want one of the Secret Service vehicles to follow.

"I want to see whatever you want to show me. Any place you used to hang out when you were growing up, or favorite local places, or even places you've never been that you've always wanted to go." It's his hometown, after all, even if he wasn't born there. Texas is where he became the Marcus that you know and love.

“There’s a band that’s playing Friday night.” Marcus tells you. “At the bar where I used to play.” He chuckles. “It’s my old bandmates.”

"One hundred percent." Your agreement is absolutely instant and there is a giant smile on your face. "No contest. It will be the perfect way to spend our last night in Dallas. Well...last night for now. I know we'll come back plenty of times."

“Awesome.” His grin is wide, happy that you would want to listen to some music and hang out. Potentially meeting old friends. “Then that’s what we’ll do. You’ll like the place.”

"I'll love it." Just like everything else this week, you're looking forward to it because it's something that you'll share with him. It's the early memories of your relationship, as you share the things with each other that made you who you are.

The family compound is exactly that. A compound. Built during the first contract with the Yankees, Pike’s Place as it was fondly referred to, had started out as a way for Marcus’s dad to build the retirement home of his parents’ dreams and ended up being the multi-generational property it is today.

There are more than a half dozen buildings in the property, a large pool and a garden, and even their own personal baseball diamond. It’s like having a resort built specifically for his family. Stuck smack in the middle between a ranch to the south and another large family property to the north, no one would even have any idea that neighbors existed around here if they weren’t told about it.

The main house is a beautiful American Craftsman-style building with a deep front porch and a swing out front, painted bold blue and white against the yellow Texas sun. Matthew and Donna Pike’s house is well-appointed but far bigger than it looks on the outside, and all around it is a stunning garden that they keep together as a shared hobby. The backyard sprawls on endlessly, but for right now you can see more cars than people. It looks like everyone is congregating with Uncle Matt and Aunt Donna.

Marcus’s smile gets visibly wider the closer you get and when the car stops, he’s almost vibrating with joy. He’s not nervous at all, knowing that his entire family will adore you. “Are you ready?” He asks again, not even waiting to the reply before he is shooting out of the car to open the door for you.

“You didn’t tell me you grew up in the cutest place on Earth,” you tease happily, practically giggling at how picturesque it is as you get out of the rental car.

“It’s home.” He looks around the property proudly. “Even when we were living somewhere else because of dad’s job, this was always home.”

“It’s beautiful.” You squeeze into his side and grin back at Agent Bailey as she gets out of the second rental car. “I hope you get to relax a little while we’re down here, too. It’s got to be a hell of a nice change of pace from looking at the inn every day.”

Agent Bailey notes the fence that seems to stretch around the property with approval. “We might be more secure here.”

“Glad to hear it.” Anything that makes her more comfortable is more than okay with you. With as hard as she works, she deserves to be able relax whenever she can.

“Dad installed a fence when he had some fans come up to the house when he was on an away trip.” Marcus explains. They had done one of those ‘where the star athletes live’ things in the Sports Illustrated magazine and someone figured out where it was.” He shakes his head. “Dad was furious, and the compound got an upgrade.”

“Sounds like a solid response to me,” the Secret Service agent agrees as she looks around the property.

“Although, he does open the compound up for youth programs. Training, spending the day with baseball players.” Marcus smiles proudly.

“I love how proud of him you are.” You slip your hand into Marcus’s again and give him a beaming smile. “Time for the chaos, baby. Let’s do it.”

Marcus laughs as the two of you hear the playful shouts from the backyard. The little welcoming barbecue that your father had insisted on was already in full swing. He can’t wait to see how you take all of his cousins and nieces and nephews wearing name tags.

It only takes about a second before someone notices you, letting out a boisterous shout across the yard and garden. “Well, looky what the cat dragged in!”

“Charlie.” Marcus leans in to tell you as every head turns your way. “First cousin from my mom’s side. Can’t believe he’s the first one.”

“Is Charlie not usually this friendly?” You ask under your breath, smiling and waving as more and more heads turn your way.

“Just…unobservant.” Marcus hums, smiling wider when his mother drops her platter of finger foods on a table and rushes forward. “You made it!”

Dr. Donna Pike is a tall woman with a wide smile and honey brown eyes, but right now her most noticeable feature is her long arms which reach out to fold out her only son like a protective mama bird. "Flight was okay?" She asks, smiling at Marcus's nod before she shifts over to hug you in turn.

When she had been told that Marcus had found his soulmate, she had been thrilled. Not because he had to be with his soulmate, she wasn’t narrow minded like that, but because he’s always had so much love to give. She can only hope that you will do well receiving it and return a fraction of it back to him. The others hadn’t seen how pure his heart is. She says your name and squeezes you tight. “How are you? It’s such a delight to meet you.”

"Thank you for having me." Her hands are on your shoulder and it's instantly obvious where Marcus's beaming smile comes from. "I've heard so many wonderful things from Marcus about his family, I'm really excited to meet everyone."

“Well if anyone is too much, or we all are, you just tell us to go away.” She snorts, shooting you a grin. “We are a bit much as a collective.”

"I promise my threshold for much is very high." It has to be, with the kind of people that are always around political figures, but this week is not about you. You do smile again, though, and urge Agent Bailey to come closer than her usual three steps away. "And thank you for understanding that things are not very conventional for me right now. This is Agent Bailey. She's my duty agent and an absolutely superb human."

Donna smiles at the agent, although she doesn’t attempt to hug her. Aware that it might be deemed as threatening. “She is also extremely welcomed.” She nods and offers her hand. “I hope you can relax and have some fun as well, Agent Bailey. We have a comfortable room set up for you at the top of the stairs, just down the hall from them.”

"Thank you, Dr. Pike." Agent Bailey accepts the handshake gratefully. Some people perceive her presence as threatening and that just isn't the case. Especially not here.

“Please, call me Donna.” She insists. “Now, we’ve told the children they are not to ask about your gun, but I do hope that you will change out of your suit into more weather appropriate clothes?” She asks. “Texas is too hot for bespoke all day.”

Agent Bailey actually laughs at that, and you smile when she nods. "I'll be dressed down while I'm here, don't worry about that. Being conspicuous doesn't do much good in protection most of the time."

“Good.” Marcus’s mother smiles. “I’ve also taken the liberty of moving Marcus’s gun safe into your room. For when you are needing to secure it.” She frowns and looks towards Marcus. “Did you bring your own, sweetheart? I didn’t think to ask.”

"Very kind of you, ma'am, but not necessary." Agent Bailey assures her. "I have a portal safe in my luggage. Agent Pike also has his firearm so we'll both be secure and safe that way."

“Told you.” Matthew Pike snakes his arm around his wife and kisses her cheek. “Always overthinking. But I love it.”

"Precautions are good, sweetheart," Donna reminds him, but she smiles.

Marcus and his father could be twins, except for the older man has more pronounced wrinkles from a career spent in the sun. “So this is the gorgeous creature the universe paired you with?” He unwinds his arm from around his own soulmate to pull his son into a bear hug. “Aren’t you a lucky man?”

"I swore I was only going to do this once while we were here." Standing beside Marcus and practically vibrating, you know you probably look silly but you don't care. "Mr. Pike, I am a huge fan and I promise there will be no more fangirling from this point on, but I just wanted to say that once."

There’s a grin that matches his son’s, currently on both of the Pike men’s faces. “Marcus….she has taste.” He teases, winking at you and pulling you in for a hug. “You can fangirl all you like, sweetheart.”

“I’m just very excited to be here,” you admit, laughing as you hug your soulmate’s father in turn. “Marcus…he’s absolutely amazing. I hope you’re as proud of him as he is of both of you.”

“More-so.” Matthew promises, already liking you. “Although, let’s get you settled and a first drink in your hand before we introduce you to everyone else, hm?”

You and Marcus follow his parents through the house and Agent Bailey notes the features of the house with interest but doesn’t interfere. So far, everything is straight forward. She just hopes it stays that way. For your sake.

The tour of the house is easy. A large, open concept main living area is perfect for entertaining, and lines of sight. “Our bedroom is downstairs.” Donna explains. “So you kids will have the top floor to yourselves. Everyone else is staying in the bunkhouse this trip.”

The bunkhouse, as it has been explained to you, is the largest building on the compound which basically amounts to a Pike family motel. Plenty of parking and plenty of rooms to stay in makes it the place that is customarily occupied by Marcus's enormous brood of cousins. "And I'm sure Marcus told you," Matthew glances back at you as the five of you walk together. "But the basement is a game room. Foosball table, game systems, all that kind of thing."

“I was going to show her.” Marcus admits with a shrug. “But she’s bowled in the White House, I doubt our game room would impress her.”

"You are seriously underestimating my love of foosball," you assure Marcus. "I'm terrible at it, but I love it."

“Don’t worry.” Matthew chuckles. “My son excels at pool but cannot figure out a foosball table.”

"Then we can be terrible together," you decide, thankfully garnering a laugh from both Marcus and his parents.

“Which will be a lot of fun.” Marcus chuckles. “When bad weather rolls through, we enjoy the game room and there are people everywhere.” He warns. “One time, we had a checkers tournament, so all the little kids could be involved too.”

The group of you stop in the kitchen for large glasses of sweet tea, and Agent Bailey excuses herself to bring her things upstairs and change into some more civilian-oriented clothes. There are pictures of the family all around the house, but none as prevalent as the pictures of Marcus. His graduations, his triumphs, and some absolutely adorable childhood photos adorn the walls of the house, and you smile at every single one. At one time his wedding picture must have hung on these walls too, or other pictures of him and Lara, and for a moment your heart clenches with regret that he was ever hurt but swells with the knowledge that he’ll never be hurt like that again. The next wedding pictures on these walls will be of you with him, and those will never be coming down.

“Home sweet home.” Marcus hums, watching you take in the space that he had mostly grown up in.

“Ready kids?” Matthew Pike chuckles, opening the sliding kitchen doors to the backyard with great ceremony.

“Don’t worry.” Marcus quickly assures you. “Everyone has had their rabies shots. So they aren’t as feral as they seem.”

For all the teasing, the hugs from his cousins are immediate. They descend on you like a swarm of eager birds, flapping their wings and chattering away as they all introduce themselves and say how happy they are to see Marcus and to meet you.

Marcus smiles at every one of them. Greets them like long lost friends, which they are. They are the friends of his entire childhood and he's happy to introduce you.

A man wearing a name tag that marks him as Uncle Rob holds up two more name tags proudly — one emblazoned Marcus and the other Birdie. “Marcus told us you prefer your nickname,” his father explains with a grin.

“It’s perfect,” you assure them, taking the name tag with a bursting heart. “Absolutely perfect.”

“Uncle Rob is a treasure.” Marcus tells you as he is pulled into a hug and slaps his uncle’s back.

"Uncle Rob is his mother's younger brother," the man clarifies with a happy grin. "Four of the cousins are ours, but I won't quiz you on the family tree just yet."

"I appreciate that." Your laugh of acknowledgement comes easily. "But I've been studying, I promise."

Marcus laughs, knowing how worried you had been over this visit, and it seems as if you are blending in well. He reaches out and squeezes your hip affectionately. “She’s a quick study.”

"Probably mandatory." One of his cousins – her nametag says Selena – teases as she offers you a hug. "Can't imagine the way family debates go when your Mom is the President."

"They're....active." You admit with another laugh. The hug is readily accepted, too. Pikes are apparently very huggy people. "I'm just glad we don't have to come up with opening and closing arguments."

She laughs and nods. “No, but here you might be asked the ERA or RBI stats of anyone you are a ‘fan’ of.” She advises. “So beware.”

"I can absolutely handle stats." For some reason Selena's energy is a lot more calm and reassuring than some of the other cousins, and you feel a little more at ease with her at the moment. "Most of the time I've got those on lock even when nobody's asked."

“How do you take your hotdog?” She asks, narrowing her eyes playfully. “Get it right and we can be friends.”

"It's not gonna be what you want it to be," you laugh, though you do appreciate the way Selena measures her new acquaintances. "I'm from Philly, so pepper hash and spicy mustard."

Her frown is replaced by a smirk and she nods. “You didn’t say ketchup, so you’re good in my book.” She smirks, eyeing Marcus who is huffing and rolling his eyes. “I don’t claim her.” He snorts.

"Too bad," you tease back, looping your arm through his cousin's. "She's delightful and I'm adopting her immediately."

“She’s not housebroken.” He warns, ducking the playful swat she aims towards him.

"Neither is my brother, and we let him into the White House," you snort, laughing even harder when Selena snickers.

Matthew chuckles and he pats his son on the shoulder. “Too late now, son, Selena has charmed her.” He advises.

"I steal hearts," the woman beside you jokes, throwing you an exaggerated wink. "My parents named me after Selena Kyle. It's not my fault."

“Last year you said you were named after Selena Quintanilla-Pérez.” He reminds her with a grin, slapping away her hand again and tapping her chin fondly. “You were lying?” Of course she was, considering she was nine when Selena rose to fame.

"You should keep the Catwoman reference," you advise her with a grin. "Mysterious and nerdy. Very sexy choices."

“See?” Selena smugly grins at Marcus. “Your soulmate has taste.”

Marcus can’t help but grin at that. “So I keep hearing.”

“I have the very best taste.” You agree with that assessment wholeheartedly, leaning back over to Marcus to kiss his cheek.

That makes him laugh quietly and he leans in to hug Selena. “You do. Especially in soulmates.” He teases.

“Oh no.” Pretending to be grossed out, Selena rolls her eyes dramatically but is smiling fully at seeing her cousin happy. “Did you finally find someone as gross as you are when you’re in love?”

“Grosser.” Marcus hums, grinning at you lovingly. “My perfect match.”

“Stop hogging them!” A voice calls out from halfway down the yard, and yet another of Marcus’s smiling cousins can be seen lounging on a picnic table. “We all need to get our annual harassment in, ya know!”

“Oh god.” Marcus hangs his head, even as he laughs. He knows everything is in good fun and he will be harassing them right back.

Thank god for the nametags. You'd be utterly lost without them, even after the flashcards you made for yourself with permission from Marcus to scout his Facebook page for photos of his family. There are just too many of them. The conversations swirl and so do the introductions, but Marcus sticks with you. By the time everyone starts eating the conversation dies down a little and you find yourself at a table with Marcus, his parents, Selena, and her twin sister Harper. Plates of barbecue and cold salads come with fresh glasses of cold sweet tea or cans of soda, and the most relaxed atmosphere of chaos you've been in the middle of in a long time. In your book, this is vastly preferable to a State dinner.

“So what do you think?” Even Agent Bailey has a plate and a drink in her hand, talking to Rodger, one of his dad’s oldest friends. He always comes to these weeks. “She’s gonna relax some?”

"Seems like it." The sight of Agent Bailey socializing is like a miracle to you. A unicorn in real life if ever you saw one. "Any chance your Dad's friend is a beer guy? I found out last week that Agent Bailey brews her own as a hobby and I am endlessly fascinated by all the niche hobbies I keep finding out she has."

Marcus chuckles. “Rodger owns the brewery that supplies the Rangers with the Pike’s Pints.” He explains. “So he’s kind of a renaissance man when it comes to beer.”

"So she has a new best friend?" You laugh, leaning into his side as you eat. "That's fantastic. I hope she has some new ideas to be excited about by the time the week is out."

“My question is this…when does she have time?” He asks, shaking his head. “She’s always with you.”

"I don't think she sleeps." It's a question you've asked yourself plenty of times, but have yet to find an answer. "Apparently she has a dog and a husband and everything? A whole damn life. I'm so glad that doing the job she does hasn't kept her from it."

“Holy shit.” He snorts and looks back at the woman in question with more than slight admiration. “She’s a superhero.”

"She really is." There's no denying that whatsoever.

The meal progresses and his mother smiles at you. “So please, tell me about your inn.” She insists. “Marcus said that you have created a beautiful oasis.”

"It's my happy place." The question – and the description – make you beam. "And...sort of my first child, as well. I bought it from the previous owners a few years ago and my best friend runs the restaurant. It's a beautiful historical property in Alexandria, just outside of DC."

“It sounds like it’s your baby.” She smiles happily and nods. “He has had nothing but praise for it, and you, since his first phone call.”

"He's been wonderfully supportive. I couldn't ask for a more understanding or helpful partner." You do flash him a grin, though, and decide to rat him out to his mother just a tiny bit. "I do think the restaurant is at least half the reason he spends so much time there, though. It's amazing."

“He has always led with his stomach.” Donna snorts, shooting you a conspiratorial grin. “When he was a teen, he was always starving.” She intones dramatically.

"Isn't that how all teenage boys are made?" The laugh you share isn't at his expense, just shared amusement, and you pick up your sandwich again. "At least, my brother was always that way. I swear he ate six meals a day from ages twelve to twenty."

Marcus laughs and Donna rolls her eyes. “Marcus still sometimes eats six meals a day.” She snorts. “At least that’s the way it sounds when he calls. Always snacking.”

“That’s probably my fault these days,” you admit with a guilty grin. “I’m a snacker. Maybe that’s just another fun little quirk in the broad scheme of things.”

“I just have to run more.” Marcus chuckles, picking up a pickle spear and biting it in half. “So I can still beat everyone here stealing second.”

“We’ll see.” Selena narrows her eyes at him in challenge. “I’ve been training.”

“Oh you have, have you?” Marcus snorts and winks at his cousin. “Twenty bucks says I steal more bases than you.”

“Fine,” Selena shrugs, smirking as she leans back in her seat. “I’ll be out there stealing more hearts, anyway.”

“I’ve already got the heart I want.” Marcus informs her, picking up your hand and kissing the back of it dramatically.

“I love you, too.” Over the weeks, the promise has become stronger between the two of you and little daydreams about the future don’t seem so far off anymore — though you haven’t really planned anything beyond agreeing that you want to be together.

"See?" He smirks towards Selena with a fluttering of his lashes. "She loves me, so I am complete."

“You’re completely gross and I’m very happy for you,” Selena teases back. “You’ll have the picturesque wedding you always dreamed of, and a million kids, and make an east coast version of Pike Place.”

"Ohhhhh." He tilts his head curiously as he looks back at you. "Modern day Kennedy Compound?" He suggests. "Our version of Hyannis Port at the inn?"

“That’s a lot bigger than a little colonial cottage at the back of the grounds,” you remind him, but the idea makes your chest swell with absolute love. “But I think if we build at the back of the property we could do a bigger house and get away with it. People wouldn’t even be able to tell the two are connected.”

He smiles at the idea. "We will have to find out who owns the property adjoining yours." He hums. "Expand."

“So you’re already talking about a family, then?” His father, obviously enamored of the thought, smiles broadly. His son has always been a family man, even when that definition just meant his best friends were his cousins.

"We are planning out a lot of things." Marcus admits with a grin, unable to contain the happiness at the idea. "Not sure when that's going to happen, but we are on the same page."

“Maybe sometime before we’re too old and gray to travel all the way to DC?” Matthew jokes, although he’s only half joking.

You groan quietly and Marcus smirks as he looks at you expectantly. "Told you." He laughs. "You said your parents would be first, but I knew it was going to be mine."

“I’m still shocked my Dad didn’t bring it up at dinner last night,” you admit. You had been absolutely certain that your folks would use Friday night dinner as a chance to interview you about your intentions as a couple.

"I'm sure he wanted to." He laughs. "But we've classified that as Need To Know." He jokes.

“That may be the only way to survive with them.” Still, you can’t help but let the smile grow on your face. “By their standards, we’re taking positively forever.”

"I guess that means we should just run off to Vegas and get married." Marcus teases with a wink. "Really mess with their expectations."

“We would have four parents very upset with us,” you remind him. Every time you joke about getting married or have a little daydream it just sounds better and better, but you would never push him to elope. His family means to much to him, just like yours does to you.

"Yes they would." Donna points her fork at him playfully. "I don't care how you get married, I just want to be there."

“Yes ma’am.” That gets an instant agreement from you — not at all ready to set the precedence of going against your future mother-in-law about something like this.

"Good." She smiles in approval and smirks at her husband. "We will clear our schedules whenever they decide on a date."

"Well," you laugh, leaning into Marcus's side. "I guess you were right about not needing to worry over their approval."

“The fact that I love you is all my parents ever need to know.” He smiles and Matthew nods. “Marcus has a good head on his shoulders and a heart of gold. With you being his soulmate, you have to be the same.”

For dinner on your second night in Texas, Marcus promises to take care of everything and disappears with a grin on his face while his mother and Selena take you on a long walk around the large gardens of the compound. Anticipating a little girl talk and some bonding with his family, you had readily agreed.

“So how are you liking Texas, Birdie?” Donna asks curiously as the three of you stroll in the warm morning. You have been a dream to have visit and it’s obvious that you adore Marcus, so she has loved you being here. She just wants to make sure the feeling is mutual.

“It’s beautiful.” It’s not too hot yet, being the beginning of April, and walking around the compound is a nice way to settle in and work off the big breakfast everyone had this morning. “I’ve only been here once before and this is far less stressful.”

“I am sure the campaign trail was never relaxing.” She sympathizes softly. “Although, if you have to take up the trail again, we can offer you a respite from the questions and prying wherever we can.” With being her baby’s soulmate, she will be just as protective over you.

“I’m sure when re-election comes, I’ll be volunteering to come to Texas again just to be able to see my in-laws.” The thought is actually relaxing, to be able to take respite with such kind people, but the in-laws part excites you a bit.

“In-laws.” She beams when you say that. “Now I promise I won’t insist that you call me ‘mother’ or anything, but I hope that we can be friends.”

“Let’s start with Donna and Birdie and go from there,” you suggest, smiling just as broadly as she is. “I absolutely want us to be friends. Marcus loves you all so much and I know it means the world to him.”

“He is our only child, and we want him to be happy.” She promises. “But that doesn’t mean smothering him or not letting him live his life.” She laughs. “Matthew almost had a heart attack when he came home one break to find Marcus with shoulder length hair and an earring. But he never said a word.”

“Oh, please tell me you have pictures of that.” Marcus had told you about his long hair phase, but claimed no photos remained. You’ve been hoping that his parents have one tucked away somewhere.

Donna grins. “I have them all.” She promises. “Snuck them up to the attic before he could burn them.”

“He looks like the nerdiest member of Nirvana,” Selena snorts, giggling with the jovial malice only family can truly master.

“He was…too polite to really pull off the grunge look.” Donna admits, smiling at Selena’s almost evil outlook.

“He’s such a sweetheart.” There are hearts in your eyes when you say it and you don’t care to hide them one bit. “It’s—he’s better than I could have dreamed of for myself. Truly.”

“I have to confess….” Donna looks out over the gardens and sighs. “I have been so very worried about Marcus. He’s is such a loving man. He always has been, from the time he was a baby. But when he called me to say he had discovered his soulmate…” she looks back at you. “I was so very afraid that you wouldn’t understand his heart.”

“How do you mean?” She obvious cares for her son very deeply, and you do want to make sure that the relationship you have with her is honest. No misunderstandings if you can help it — which means asking for clarification. “Because he’s so giving and quick to jump in headfirst?”

“Yes….and no.” She admits. “Marcus is….well, he’s a caretaker. A fixer. You have a problem, he comes up with a solution. You feel tired and down, he will take some of your burden and try to cheer you up.” She sighs softly. “Oftentimes, so many women have been conditioned to be strong, independent, so they view that as misogyny or finding them helpless. It’s insulting to them and they resent him for it.”

“They don’t understand that offering care is his way of being supportive. It’s not that he doesn’t think they can do it themselves, it’s that he views being helpful as a romantic gesture as much as anything else.” You nod, understanding that entirely. “I think the hardest part for Marcus and me right now is that we’re both like that a lot of the time. Which means we’re constantly doing little fixes or giving little gifts or making little gestures. We’re still finding the balance.”

“That makes me feel better.” She admits with a smile. “You understand his need in doing it.”

“He wants me to know I don’t have to do it alone,” you acknowledge, offering her a smile as you walk. “And I want to make sure he knows the same.”

“You two truly are soulmates.” She chuckles. “And I have never been more happy to say those words.”

“Just as happy as I am to hear them, I promise you.” Stopping in your steady tracks, you touch her arm gently and offer her a slightly more serious look. “A lot of people interpreted the things I said on the campaign trail to mean that I’m against soulmates, but I’m absolutely not. I just don’t think anyone should be discriminated against for who they love. Anyone, and unfortunately a lot of people still believe only soulmates should be able to get married.”

“Those people…in my most professional opinion…” Donna snorts. “Are assholes.”

“Agreed.” You nod your head but Selena snorts at her aunts phrasing as the three of you start walking again.

“Do you have any specific plans while you are here?” Donna asks, curious if you had wanted to spend the entire time at the compound.

“I want to see whatever Marcus wants to show me.” It seems like an easy answer, but honestly you’re just here to meet his family and spent time with your soulmate. Anything more is a bonus. “Or anything you guys have in mind. I just…” you shrug in admission. “I never take vacations. So I’m reminding myself not to worry about work and trying to relax.”

“A workaholic.” She smirks slightly. “Something I’m very well-versed in.” She teases.

"Can't exactly stop yourself from taking work home with you when you live at work," you admit with a grin.

“As long as it’s work you love, I don’t see a problem with it.” Donna tells you.

"I really do." They already know that, of course, from how much and how proudly you talk about the inn. But still, you're beaming. "Marcus suggested we look at building our house on the property since I already own it, and I think it's only going to be a little while before we start in on that plan."

Building something together is something that Donna highly approves of. She nods. “Word of advice?” She offers with a smirk. “Have a general contractor negotiate any and all disagreements.”

"Noted," you agree instantly, knowing that Marcus's parents have a whole lifetime of experience in this particular area.

“It will solve a lot of arguments.” She rolls her eyes and laughs. “Over tile size!”

When Selena snorts out a laugh you have to suppose it's a family joke or at least and a family story, and you laugh too. "It's always something small, isn't it?"

“Yep.” She shakes her head and laughs. “One fight was about if the dishwasher should be on the left or right side of the sink.” She huffs. “Matthew rarely loaded the dishwasher, but thought that it continuously unfair to live in a right handed world as a leftie.” She rolls her eyes again, although it’s more amusement than annoyance.

Small things always seem large when they're under the microscope, and you can see how those things could get out of hand. But fortunately, from what you and Marcus have talked about so far, you're mostly on the same page right from the start. "I can see us tussling over little things pretty easily, but I think it will all turn out pretty well in the end. It's definitely a solid way to work through our skills in compromise and communication, though."

“Marcus knows how to communicate.” She promises. “He’s good at it, and if he’s not, I’ll give you free sessions.” She jokes, knowing the last thing any couple would want is to have an in-law involved.

"You'll be glad to hear that I have an excellent therapist to help me handle stressors and any manner of other unexpected event in my life that I need extra help in processing." The importance of simply having an impartial third party is not lost on you, but having a professionally trained and educated one is all the more important when possible stressors could include death threats sent to your family members.

“Very glad.” She nods and reaches out to pat your hand gently. “You are under a lot of pressure. That is obvious.”

"When we get back I have a meeting at the White House." Though you shudder for dramatic emphasis, it is unnerving. Those meetings about social outreach and the image of the First Family had gone well for Junie and Alex but since you're fairly certain what your mother will ask of you, you're dreading it.

“If you ever want to talk, just to vent, you can call me.” Donna offers softly. “Not in a professional capacity, although anything you say would be kept between us.”

"I really appreciate that." It's not something she has to offer. Not at all. But you're so grateful that your soulmate's parents have so far turned out to be wonderful people.

“Of course.” You might not take her up on the offer, but she wanted to extend it.

"And I hope you know you're always welcome in DC. Anytime, no hesitations." You swing back to grin at Selena on your other side. "You too. We could use another partner in crime."

“I am absolutely going to come visit.” Donna promised, and Selena nods eagerly. “Me too! I want to see this inn.”

"If you want to come and stay there, I'll have a word with the owner," you joke, and throw in a wink.

“And the food.” Donna insists. “Marcus has raved about your best friend, Sydney.”

"She's an absolute goddess." You promise them both. Building up your friends and loved ones is always easy for you. "Just the most talented chef you could possibly imagine. And an amazing person, to boot."

“She has to be.” Selena isn’t joking this time. “Marcus doesn’t waste time on people who aren’t amazing.” Now she gives a small, preening grin. “Which is why he loves me so much.” She jokes.

“I know what it is.” After about one full day of hanging out with Selena, you’ve narrowed down why it is that you are so comfortable with her, and it makes you laugh endlessly. “You’re exactly halfway between my best friend and my brother. Who are two of my top three favourite people in the world, despite the crap I give my little brother on a daily basis.”

“That sounds like a high compliment if I’ve ever heard one.” She laughs. “I’m the little sister Marcus never wished he had.”

“He loves all of you like siblings.” Even if he hadn’t said so explicitly, it’s easy to tell.

“We grew up together.” She agrees. “Even if we lived apart, summers together were important. Holidays spent driving each other and our parents crazy.” There’s a fond smile on her face. “Hopefully our kids will experience the same things.”

“I hope so, too.” The idea head settled into your bones and made you sunny with daydreams. “My siblings’ kids, too. The biggest family we can possibly make for them, since we never had any cousins growing up.”

“Pikes tend to assimilate the families that join them.” Donna shoots you a grin. “They are like the Borg.”

“That’s how we collected friends when I was a kid,” you laugh. The Pikes are definitely not like the Borg — they all feel far too much for that and you adore it. “Make friends with one of the three of us and suddenly you were just another family member.”

“That sounds familiar.” Selena snorts. “We love having people around. The more the merrier.”

“Absolutely.” The morning sun has hit the top of the sky but it’s not too hot, just making you stop warding off the crisp breeze as it disappears into a mellow midday.

“If you don’t mind me asking…” Selena hesitates. “There was some talk about you dating a Congressman?”

There it is. You were wondering how long it would take someone to ask the very fair question. At least it’s Selena and not Cousin Terry’s wife Hannah who seems to distrust you purely for being the daughter of a politician. Which…is also fair…just not a stereotype that applies to you personally. “I was. For almost a year. I was still seeing him when Marcus and I met, but…” you shrug your shoulders a little, with honesty in the sheepishness. “I fell in love with Marcus so fast, and so deeply. Even if he hadn’t turned out to be my soulmate, I still would have ended things with my ex.”

“I didn’t want to pry, I just hadn’t seen anything about a break up and wanted to know if you were ‘public’ yet.” Selena reassures you. “There’s already been a message in the family chat about not posting while we are here on social media. So we don’t potentially ‘out’ your relationship.”

“It will be out by Easter.” Breathing a sigh of relief isn’t subtle, so you swallow it down and simply tighten your smile into an affirmative. “He’s coming to the Easter Egg Roll at the White House with me. After that, just…try to be conscious of people asking about family photos? If you’ve got ones with Marcus and me in them, we’ll just ask everyone to keep them private. You know, friends only.”

“We are used to that.” She nods and sends you a smile. “We’ve got your back. Don’t worry. No one here is going to judge you. Besides Hannah.” She snorts. “And let’s be honest, she’s a bitch.” Donna chokes out a laugh, quickly smothered, and swats at Selena’s butt from behind you. “Selena!” She scolds, obviously still trying not to laugh.

“Oh.” This time the relief whooshes out of you, but you end up laughing. “So it’s not just me?”

“Hannah is…the least comfortable with the easy, familial closeness of our family.” Donna snorts. “When she first started coming, there was an…accusation.” She hums delicately.

“What could poss—” As soon as your mind spins on it for long enough to actually ask the question, your mouth falls open in horror. “Oh my god! That’s—obviously, obviously I don’t think that. Please know that I have never ever thought that.”

“You don’t think I’m sleeping with Terry?” Selena snorts. “Thank God!”

“No, I definitely do not think you’re sleeping with your first cousin,” you laugh but still shudder.

“Apparently, Hannah doesn’t believe men and women can be friends. Not even relatives.” Selena shrugs. “So if it seems like all the female cousins keep their distance from Terry, it’s not because he’s a pervert. He’s actually amazing. His soulmate is just fucking nuts.”

“Got it.” Even though you flash a thumbs up in acknowledgment, all you can think of is how glad you are that Marcus didn’t stay with Vanessa. She would have hated this for the exact same reason. Probably been Hannah’s only ally.

“Hannah isn’t all bad.” Donna adds, trying to soften it some. “Just….a little…set in her ways. But honestly, this is the only time of year they come. They rarely join other holidays.” She looks over at you. “And pleased don’t think that we expect you to come for every holiday, but we will invite you.”

“We’ll come as often as we can.” You can promise that easily, though you know sometimes he’ll have to work and you’ll have to be at official events with your family. “It…will be easier once my mother is out of office.”

“I understand.” Donna is well aware of the demands of public figures. She had to be seen at a certain number of games and it was her own personal mission to attend the post seasons games any time Matthews’s teams made it. “Just know that we want what is best for you.”

“And that is so much more appreciated than you could know.” Maybe she does. Maybe she understands every bit of it. But because you appreciate the honesty of the words from your soulmate’s mother so much more than you expected to, you leave the phrasing as it is. No stumbling or correcting.

Donna winks at you and links her arm through yours. “You and I are going to be good friends.” She predicts with a happy smile. Marcus is over the moon in love with you and from what she could see, you are much the same. There is nothing more than Donna could ever wish for her baby, to find a smart, loving, good person – and you fit that bill perfectly.

Most of the day is spent in the massive pool down by the bunkhouse, with a little day drinking and a whole lot of horsing around and even a little heckling when some of the cousins got into a competition over best diving form — which quickly degraded into silliest dive. Now it’s sunset, and you’ve thrown a shirt and shorts over your dried out swimsuit for Marcus’s surprise.

“Hey babe.” Marcus finds you again, smiling at the relaxed smile on your face and he hands you a new drink. “You look like you’ve had a good time.”

"Well howdy stranger!" A slight affectation in your voice is just to make him laugh, and you grin when it succeeds. "Where have you been all day? Did you have fun with your Dad?" Matthew Pike had disappeared after breakfast along with his son, and when you had remarked on it to Donna during your walk, she had just said not to worry.

“Of course.” He grins, unable to stop himself as he moves over to caress your neck. “I was taking care of a few things for tonight. Why? Did you miss me?”

"Every second." And you don't care who knows it either. You sit up in your chair and stretch a little more to kiss him, catching the fresh scent of the bodywash he favors as it mixes with his bergamot and musk cologne. He's fresh and clean and it makes you wonder what he's been up to as much as it makes you want to drag him up to his bedroom.

“Good.” He smirks against your lips and offers you his hand as he steps out of your sphere. “Come on.”

"Ooo, is it surprise time?" The look of delight on your face is undisguised as you readily take his hand to pop up from your seat. "I'm all yours."

“Yes you are.” He beams about that fact as he pulls you closer. “Say goodnight to everyone, Birdie.” He hums quietly. “We probably won’t see them again tonight.”

"Good night everybody!" You wave immediately, wrapping your arm around Marcus's waist and barely sparing a backward glance in favor of grinning up at him.

“Damn.” He whistles as he guides you away from the pool and over to the truck. He’s already talked to agent Bailey and cleared things with her, so he just nods as the two of you pass by.

“Damn what?” You pose, laughing a little as you wonder if he’s amused at how quickly you’re ready to leave just about anyone behind to spend time with him.

“I could be a kidnapper and you would just go willingly.” He teases, reaching out and tugging on your ear gently.

“You’d be the best looking kidnapper around and Agent Bailey would have a hell of a time bringing me home,” you tease, hopping into the pickup when he opens the passenger door for you.

“Yep, you have Stockholm Syndrome.” He teases, leaning in to steal one more kiss before he closes the door and hurries around the hood.

Once he’s back in the cab beside you, you flash him a grin. “Belle got a library, I got the softest dom in the whole world and awesome in-laws. I’m okay with it.”

“Softest dom?” He snorts, tilting his head while he tries, and fails to look offended. “I’m a hard dom.” He protests.

"How hard you fuck me when we get going is not what I mean," you clarify, settling into the corner of the seat as he starts to drive the two of you across the compound. "You have the softest heart in the world and I feel very lucky to be the one you've decided to give it to."

“I know.” He promises. “I was teasing. I want you to be happy, healthy and loved. That’s all I want.”

"I am. All three, absolutely." Leaning against his shoulder on the drive, you hum slightly and end up sounding a little sheepish as you look out the window. "I missed you today. Even though we weren't apart too long."

He chuckles slightly and lifts your hand to press a kiss to your knuckles and scrapes his teeth over the delicate skin. “I’ll show you how hard of a dom I am.” He teases. “I’ll put a collar on you.”

Not expected that reaction from him, you make a remarkably incoherent noise of interest and surprise before turning your head to look at him. "Don't tempt me with a good time, Pike."

He had been joking, but the way you react has him pausing. “Is that something you’re interested in?” He keeps the question casual, not wanting to seem like he’s pushing or judging, he’s doing neither.

"I always thought it sounded kind of sexy," you admit, wondering if he was just joking and not serious at all. "I mean it's not like...like something mandatory for me to be happy in a relationship, obviously. If--if you're not into that and at all and you were just joking—"

“Baby.” Marcus squeezes your hand. “Anything you are interested in is something we can talk about. If it’s an absolute no, then I’ll explain why. But I think it sounds kind of sexy too. Collars don’t have to be spiked dog collars where I pull you around on a leash and make you bark.” He snorts.

"A lot of day collars just look like cute little necklaces." Alright, you may or may not have done a little looking into it a few years ago with the guy you were seeing at the time. He was long gone now, but the idea had remained in your head. It was not something Sam would have gone for so it had never been brought up to him.

His brow ticks up, noting your interests and he hums. “They do.” He agrees. “Something sexy about being claimed, isn’t there?”

"Absolutely." He turns left at a pair of apple trees on the western part of the compound and keeps going, while you continue to snuggle next to him like a contented house cat. "I mean...I'm wearing a Pike family nametag. That's about as claimed as it gets."

“Not quite.” Marcus chuckles. “There’s definitely more claiming that can be done.”

"Is that a promise?" You tease, grin growing a little wider when he turns toward a tree line up ahead.

“Absolutely.” He follows the less worn paths through the trees, although it’s obvious from the tire marks through the grass road that someone has been there recently.

"So can I have a hint about where we're going?" This isn't a part of the property that you've been to yet and it's beautifully woodsy in a distinctly Southwestern way that you're finding fantastic.

“You’ll see.” The tree line gives way to clearing and Marcus smiles as the pond comes into view. “Right now.”

The little clearing in the trees is picture perfect. It looks more like a movie set than real life, the tree-lined pond ringed with fairy lights sitting side-by-side with a red and white checked gingham blanket and large picnic basket, and a small cooler to boot. "Baby," you sigh out the endearment excitedly. He knows you love surprises -- your family told him so -- but you weren't expecting anything. That, of course, it was makes surprises so wonderful.

“Now you know what I’ve been doing all day.” He tells you as the truck pulls to a stop close to the picnic sight. “Wanted to make this perfect.”

"It's gorgeous!" You breathe, practically squeaking with excitement as you turn to snuggle into his side as soon as he parks the truck. "Is this your old make out spot? Because if it is? It's an awesome choice."

“Maybe a few times?” Marcus shrugs his shoulders and gives you a boyish grin. “Not too many times.”

"Could make it one more." The exaggerated wink you aim at him makes both of you laugh. "If you wanted to, I mean."

“That was my evil plan.” Marcus admits without any remorse. “Bring you out here, woo you, make out with you.”

"Pretty good plan." Right about now he could undo your seatbelt and haul you into his lap in the truck and you wouldn't protest even for a second. "It's absolutely gorgeous, baby."

“Wanted to give you a special night.” He’s explains, unlatching his seatbelt so he can open the door and walk around to help you out.

“Every night with you is special.” As soon as you’re out of the truck you press in to kiss him, enjoying the lingering warmth of the early evening.

“So you’d rather go have dinner with everyone else than have a romantic picnic by the pond?” Marcus asks, reaching for the door handle. “We can go back…”

“Ohhhhh no.” You shake your head immediately. “We’re staying right here. In our perfect little oasis.”

“I thought you would say that.” Marcus chuckles as he takes your hand to guide you over to the blanket. “I brought wine, but we don’t have to drink anything stronger than lemonade.”

“Wine sounds nice.” You’ve been moderate in your drinking today, having two cups of water for every alcoholic beverage and making sure to eat, so you’re not worried about being too inebriated. “And very romantic, but I don’t ever doubt that from you.”

“Well. I know that it might not be the fanciest, but I wanted to make an effort.” He grins at your praise and both of you sit down on the checkered spread.

“You’re perfect level of fancy for me.” Once you sit down here starts to unpack things, and you fidget slightly on the blanket. “But…Speaking of…of that? I wondered if I could talk to you about an idea that I had.” The actual thought has been rolling around in your head for a while for uncomfortable reasons, but now that it’s Marcus it’s actually a nice thing you don’t mind dreaming about a little.

“Speaking of fancy….” He chuckles. “Alright. I’ll pour out the wine. You pitch me your idea and we will strategize.” He jokes as he opens the top to the wicker basket and produces two, picnic friendly wine glasses and sets them down to retrieve the wine from the cooler.

“Unless you had something else you wanted to talk about?” Maybe that’s what this beautiful picnic is and you’ve usurped the purpose of the night by jumping the gun, you can’t be sure.

“I’m wanting to talk about whatever you want, my love.” He promises as he uses the corkscrew to open the bottle.

“Very accommodating of you.” But that’s Marcus and you know it. Instead you focus on opening up the containers he’s packed away that are holding your dinner. “Do you remember I told you that my mother wants the three of us kids to all do…sort of…family publicity type stuff? Like Junie getting a dog and being willing to be public about it?”

“Yes.” He nods and pours out the wine into each glass. “You didn’t sound terribly enthusiastic about it, although you tried to put on a good front.”

“I’m not terribly enthusiastic about it.” You can admit that, especially to him. “Which is why I’m not sure if this idea is selfish or not.”

“Honey….” Marcus hands you the wine and takes the container with the cheese from you to open. “You are not a politician, you don’t seek the spotlight. Sharing yourself with the public in a way you need isn’t selfish.” He’s pretty much guessed that it has to be some idea about your relationship, and he’s okay with that.

“It’s selfish because it’s something I’m asking you to do with me.” The wine glass is cold in your hand, a soothing and grounding change from the warm day. Although now that the sun’s down it will be cool sooner rather than later. “Because I’m more comfortable and more confident with you beside me in that spotlight.”

“Whatever you need.” Marcus promises. “Undercover work was never exactly fun for me, and I’m out as a UA now that the picture of us dancing was posted in the papers.”

“I feel like I ought to apologize.” The wine he chose is fruity and dry, much more complex than you would but for yourself despite his claim that it’s not fancy.

“No, sweetheart, please don’t.” Marcus shakes his head. “I was aware pictures would be taken. It was my own choice. And I don’t regret it for a second.”

“I didn’t know art crimes required undercover work. Though I suppose it makes perfect sense now that I think about it.” And you’re definitely stalling, but you push it further by assembling a charcuterie bite from the containers around you.

“It’s rare, but I only took the last assignment where I went undercover was because I needed to get away after things ended with Teresa.” He explains.

"Well, you'll have nothing like that reason ever again." The idea of Marcus with a broken heart is too much to stomach, and the coping mechanism of assembling the perfect charcuterie bite for him now pushing the thought out of your mind.

“I know.” It’s freeing to know that you two are very much in the same pages. Despite the fact that being soulmates does guarantee happiness, you and him will do everything to make sure that your story is a good one.

"So...the thing I wanted to talk to you about..." Enough stalling. Time to be an adult. "Is not because I want to push you, or rush you, or anything like that. But...because I keep thinking about it and thinking that getting ahead of the curve is the only way to really control it, and controlling it will be so much less stressful and make half as much work in the long run."

You’re cute when you’re flustered, Marcus leans back on the blanket, completely relaxed as he takes a sip of his wine. “So are we talking televised wedding? Or just pictures?” He asks.

"We are not broadcasting the wedding." That's the point at which you draw the line, you already know that. It's too much. Too invasive even for a family in the public eye. "I was thinking more like...letting photos be released along the way. Like sharing engagement photos, or photos of dresses that I don't pick. Things like that?"

“I’m perfectly fine with that.” It’s an easy agreement, one that has him lifting a brow. “That was all?”

"Even if that includes sharing photos of your bachelor party or sitting down with a reporter yourself?" The fact that he's willing to agree to it so easily is utterly shocking to you, and you feel like you have to do your due diligence and double check. "Or even share part of the proposal?"

“Whatever you feel comfortable with.” Marcus agrees. “It’s like the family days at the parks or when mom and dad would have interviews.”

Sometimes you really do forget that he already has a frame of reference for all of this. That he understands being a family in the spotlight. You take a sip of your wine and build him another bite from the charcuterie containers, offering it to him with a grateful smile. "I love you. Completely. I really hope you know how grateful I am for you."

“Why don’t we plan to have photos released from our engagement, you and I can sit down with a reporter about the expectations of soulmates and politics. There can be a website for all this with links to charities or causes that you want to champion or bring to light?”

"I don't understand how you get even more perfect." When he takes the cracker from your hand you run a finger under his jaw and end up feeling heat in your cheeks all over again. "When we get back I'll talk to Mom and whoever from her team is supposed to be coordinating my media stuff. And..." That same hand of yours squeezes his knee gently. "This is not me trying to rush you into anything. I'm sure we'll get enthusiastic and rush all on our own."

“Us?” He feigns surprise and smirks slightly. “Maybe we will, maybe we will surprise ourselves.” He turns and kisses the palm of your hand. “But I doubt it.”

"I doubt it, too." It's a kiss from his lips that you want most, and lean forward to steal it without shame. "But I love that we're on the same page so easily."

“So after that birthday….um, debacle…” he makes a face. “Are you totally opposed to the idea of a surprise proposal or what?”

"As long as it's you proposing, a surprise is fine." Debacle is the right word, and you roll your eyes slightly. "I actually do love surprises. Mom told you that."

“You might have changed your mind.” The sun is setting and right on cue, the fairy lights that he had spent the majority of the day stringing around the pond come on.

The way you coo at the change in lighting is full of delight, and you lean into his side on the blanket with nothing short of delight on your face. "See this is why I love surprises. For things like this."

“I was hoping you would like it.” Marcus grins as you stare in loving awe of the lights as they play off the water and the sunset.

"You know...the back of the property at the inn has a little pond like this." You lean back against him and enjoy the view around you. "There's nothing around it really, so I haven't thought about putting a garden there or anything. But...it could be in the backyard of our house if we wanted it to."

“I think we could do that.” Marcus smirks and reaches out to touch the rim of his glass against yours. “Our own little escape.”

"And it's far enough back from the inn to soothe your very sweet concern over historically matching buildings." Which you love, but you don't want him to get so hung up on it that he ends up sacrificing another aspect of the house he might truly love.

“You have something else in mind?” He asks, wondering if you want something different for how you raise your children and where you live.

"I don't really know a hell of a lot about architectural styles," you admit. "I just don't want us to miss out on our dream house because we got stuck on making the buildings match. We can set our house back enough that it will have its own space."

“Any house that has you and our family in it is my dream house.” He promises, smiling at you happily.

"I love you, too." In a way that makes you feel like your heart is going to swell right out of your chest, but in the absolute best possible way.

“I know you do.” Marcus murmurs softly, wondering how he got so lucky with you. “I am a lucky man.”

Leaning back lets you kiss him, just a soft thing but tender and full of desire and promise before you pull back and smile at him softly. "I guess we're both lucky, then."

“Oh!” Marcus pulls out his phone, forgetting that he had programmed it and opens it up to the music app to start playing music. “Forgot that part.” He huffs. “Too eager to pour wine.”

You know even on the first song that it's a playlist of love songs. There is nothing more supremely on point for Marcus than a night like this, with all of the magic that he's infused into this beautiful little dinner. "I don't know how, but you keep making it better every second."

“That’s high praise.” He hums, putting together a bite for you and holding it out for you to eat. “I’ve enjoyed having you to spoil.”

“And you’re about the only person in the world I’ll ever let do it.” The admission comes with a laugh, and you place another soft kiss on his cheek. “Thank you for suggesting this trip, love.”

“I’m glad you got to come.” He admits with a smile as you take the offered bite and groan at the taste. “I know it was hard to take off last minute and I appreciate it. Next time we will have it planned better.”

“It’s less that it’s hard and more that I get very determined about being hands on,” you admit. “Malachi can run that place in his sleep during the day, and my managers are great. I just…always worry.”

“It’s your baby.” Marcus acknowledges easily. “It’s like a case for me. My team is incredibly proficient at their jobs, but if there is a stake out or some kind of op to be run, I like being there.”

“I’m grateful you understand.” Others hadn’t, and so the fact that Marcus is supportive of your need for work as well as your need for a family is very much appreciated. “And Sydney was joking about sending care packages to your stake outs if you wanted them, so I think your team is about to be very happy, too.”

“If she did, she would become an unofficial member of the team.” Marcus snorts. “They wouldn’t be happy with pizza anymore.”

“I’d have even more FBI agents on my doorstep,” you giggle at the image. “There’s already three of you, we’ll need to designate a dining room or something.”

“The Fed Room.” Marcus snorts, grinning at the idea. “It would never be empty.”

“Syd may have thrown a tiny bit of a fit when I told her I don’t want her to cater any of our wedding stuff,” you admit, cringing slightly as Marcus starts to open another round of containers from the picnic basket. “But she’s my best friend and will be my maid of honor. I want her there by my side, not stuck in the kitchen.”

“How about she can cater the engagement party?” Marcus suggests. “That way she’s involved but it’s not taking over her enjoying your wedding day.”

“I wasn’t even thinking about an engagement party.” The compromise makes you turn up your chin to look at him with wide, starry eyes. “It’s perfect. Just like you, love.”

“We have to have a party.” Marcus teases, kissing your nose. “The press can have the story of my proposal and the engagement party. That’s also a good way to keep our actual engagement to ourselves.”

“I’m so fucking glad you’re with me on this.” The honest laugh is stifled but full of relief as you lounge with him in the blanket. “I would never think of any of this and I’d just end up stressed out or going along with whatever anybody else planned to avoid having to think about it.”

“I will fix anything you ever ask me to.” Marcus promises. “But if you ever don’t like something, you never have to worry about me being upset by that.”

“And the same goes for you,” you promise him, with the same measure of seriousness in your eyes and honesty in your voice. “I hope you know that.”

“I know.” He picks up a grape to pop into his mouth. “You and I are very communicative.”

“I feel like I should apologize.” Your voice lowers slightly, the unsureness seeping through it.

“Why?” Marcus frowns slightly, not liking that comment at all. You have nothing to apologize for. He loves that the two of you are talking and planning your lives together.

“Past relationships…have not been as okay with my tendency to talk everything out at length.” It’s not something that you really ever planned on bringing up, since Marcus likes to dream and plan and plot like you do. But maybe it’s good that he knows, since it has slipped out without you meaning to. “I always felt like I was bothering them with it. And ended up apologizing a lot.”

He frowns even more, reaching out after he sets down to his wine glass and pulls you close. “Sweetheart, I want to talk things out. Even if it’s as mundane as brunch locations or if the entryway table should be moved.” He promises. “Please never feel like you should apologize. I want to hear everything you have to say.”

“You might regret saying that when I get going about the logistics of booking rooms for large parties.” It’s a decent attempt at a joke, even if it’s wry, and you lean into Marcus’s comforting warmth with a sigh. “I’m still getting used to the idea that you are as straight forward and wholeheartedly enthusiastic about this entire relationship as I am. It seems surreal but it’s too wonderful to be a dream, so I’m just doing my best to process the whole thing.”

“You process however you need to.” He kisses your forehead. “I’ll be right here to reassure you again. You’re my partner, my lover, and my friend.” He murmurs. “The most important person in the universe to me.”

______

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

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My Masterlist!

[sukitruqui]

Hummingbird Has Landed, ch 9

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: E for Explicit! 18+ Word Count: 17.8k Warnings: *Blanket warnings for this series: occasional mention of American politics, pregnant character, food/alcohol consumption, mentions of clothing/regulated dressing for occasions, mentions of therapy because we believe in self care here, reader is in a previous relationship, love triangle, reader is mentioned as turning 30 during the course of the story, dom/sub dynamics* Surprises, vomiting, anxiety, spectacularly bad decision making, talking of children/pregnancy. Morning sex, oral sex (f receiving), vaginal sex, unprotected sex, consensual choking, light dom/sub play, rough sex. Summary: Your 30th birthday is not at all what you expected. Not at at all. Notes: Beloved darlings, please forgive any errors I might have missed. Ya girl has had another busy week, but at least the sickness has lifted!

Ch1 ~ Ch 2 ~ Ch 3 ~ Ch 4 ~ Ch 5 ~ Ch 6 ~ Ch 7 ~ Ch 8

It’s been a perfect, magical day in Marcus’s opinion. Waking up with you and spending the entire day together hasn’t tamed the desire to be with you, it’s only fanned that desire. Now he gets to watch you get ready for the party, stopping by his apartment to pick up a suit, you had both decided that he would change here at the inn with you.

“So, is this place actually a pub or did my mother book something swanky and just lie through her teeth?” You ask, eyes gliding down his frame as you slip into your least worn little black dress for the party. It’s the one you always think is just a little too festive or too vintage, and it always gets swapped out for something more reasonable. Marcus had insisted you wear it when he heard you say ‘too’ anything.

He smirks slightly and debates on whether or not to tell you. “You have to be surprised, but yes.” He chuckles. “I think Round Robin counts as a pub.”

“It is not Round Robin.” It gets a laugh out of you, though, making you snort inelegantly as you struggle to zip your dress. “Their food doesn’t meet Dad’s approval. He’d never okay it.”

“Then it’s a good thing that we are actually going to Statesman.” He admits with a grin, moving over to zip up the back of your dress for you and kissing your shoulder when he’s done.

“Statesman…” In the second it takes you to search your memory for why that name sounds familiar, you light up. “Like The Statesman Club? I’ve always wanted to try that place!”

“Good.” He grins at you and picks up your necklace to help you put it on. “We will try all the fancy whiskeys we want.”

“Well now I just feel positively spoiled.” Partially from the choice of location, but also Marcus being such a gentleman.

“It is your birthday.” He reminds you, sliding the chain around your neck. “You should be spoiled.”

“And when it’s your birthday, you’ll be spoiled too,” you promise him, grinning at his reflection in the mirror.

“We can cross that bridge later.” His hands rest on your shoulders gently. “Tonight is about you.”

"Are you still okay with me telling everyone?" If he's not then you'll keep your soulmate status to yourself tonight, or for however long he wants to keep that particular fact private.

“Of course I am.” He stares at you in the mirror, unable to believe what a lucky bastard he is. “You never need to worry about that.”

"I just thought I should check." You beam at him, turning around in his arms to wrap your own around his neck and kiss him. "Seemed polite to me."

“Shout it from the rooftop and splash it in the Post.” He urges you. “I will happily agree and brag to everyone who asks.”

Grinning from ear to ear, you seriously consider doing just that but figure somebody at The Post will have a field day writing their own little editorial about it when it becomes public knowledge. "I love you, too."

“I love you.” He promises and bites his lip. “Do you want your birthday present now? Or at the party?”

"You didn't have to get me anything." There's no chance he would have listened to you if you had protested beforehand, but you still do. Just having him is gift enough.

He scoffs and lifts a brow, waiting for your real answer.

The burn in your cheeks is enough, and you grin again, unrepentantly. "Is there enough time to do it now?"

“Of course there is.” He promises and pulls out the gift he had put in his jacket pocket. It might be too much too soon, but he couldn’t resist.

The small jewelry box all tied up in ribbon in his hand is unmistakable, but you tilt your head slightly and look up at him curiously. "Really?" A book maybe, or flowers, or even something a little nerdy and sweet – all of those things you would have accepted easily. But jewelry is a very big gesture for a relationship that is so new.

“You said you also jump in quickly and I— well, it’s what I’m thinking.” Marcus hopes you don’t hate it.

You take the little box from him carefully and untie the carefully done ivory ribbon. The hinge of the box is tight, like it's barely been used, and when it snaps open in your fingers you gasp softly at the shining, shimmering ring inside. An eternity ring of sparkling heart-shaped stones set in white gold reflects the light in your room beautifully. "Marcus?"

“It’s a promise ring.” It seems like a childish thing at first, but he wanted you to know how serious he is. “The prelude for what is to come.”

And just like that, your heart swells for him all over again, and the surety that you made the right choice is ingrained in you. "I'll never take it off."

“If it fits.” He jokes, taking the box from you and plucking the ring out of its velvety crevice. “This is my promise to you, my soulmate.” He whispers as he takes your hand. “One day I will marry you. We will build a life together of mutual respect and love. We will be happy and I will always cherish you.”

"Am I allowed to promise you the same thing?" You watch in awe as the band slips easily onto your finger and you flex your fingers to see if it will shake free. When it doesn't, you beam at him all over again. "To promise to love and cherish you and be your partner while we build this relationship?"

“Absolutely.” He smiles softly and leans in to press his lips to yours gently. “Happy birthday, hummingbird.”

"We should go." Even whispering against his lips, you feel giddy and giggly in the moment. "Before I drag you back into bed and make you even more promises."

“Promises, promises.” He teases. “That is for tonight when we are both a little tipsy, very handsy, and more than a little in love with the idea of being together.”

The drive out to The Statesman Club goes easily and quickly, with Agent Bailey following behind you all the way. From the amount of cars in the parking lot it's obvious that your mother had Marcus bring you to the party after everyone had arrived – or if not then there are a huge amount of people coming tonight. "Seems like an awful lot of fuss," you hum, slipping your hand into Marcus's when he opens your door.

“You’re worth the fuss.” He reminds you, helping you out of the car and he can’t help but admire you. “I forgot to tell you that you look stunning.”

"That's just because I'm happy," you insist, tugging him toward the front of the building. "And because you look absolutely stunning yourself, so I'm just reflecting it back at you."

He chuckles, knowing that he could argue that but it’s your birthday and he can’t argue with the birthday girl. “Remember, you can’t butter me up anymore.” He jokes. “My bag is already at your place; I’m going home with you.”

"What if I'm just telling the truth?" It's like walking on Cloud 9 as you go hand-in-hand with him up to the front door. There's a desk inside with a woman in all black, and she smiles to see you coming – clearly expecting you but too professional to do more than smile.

Marcus gives his name as if he were the one setting the reservation, but they know where to guide you. “Good evening.” She moves from behind the desk to come out beside you. “My name is Ginger and I will be escorting you inside.”

"Thank you, Ginger." It's all very dramatic, you think, but you still follow the woman around a corner and past the main dining room, up a flight of stairs that is dimly lit to put focus on decades and decades of Statesman ads that ends in a set of double doors. This must be their private function room, because the moment she pushes open the doors, all hell breaks loose.

“HAPPY BIRTHDAY!!!!!!” Is screamed at you in various pitches and volumes, making you jump slightly even if you had been anticipating it. Marcus laughs, drawing you into the circus of a room as your friends and family press close.

“This is what not overdoing it looks like, huh Mom?” You’re laughing, though, and hug her first out of everybody in the room. You know how impossible it is for her to get to do anything personal already so it’s doubly amazing that she not only put this together but managed to attend.

“Of course it is.” She hugs you fiercely and tears up slightly as she remembers the day you slipped into the world. “It’s small compared to the inauguration party.”

“Which inauguration party?” There were three official ones and then plenty of other unofficial, and you smirk at her even when you pull back. “I can’t believe this place let you book in. It must be crawling with Secret Service.”

“Just a few.” She snorts and shrugs. “I’m the President. It’s time I stop letting the office run my life.”

“Well, thank you.” That resolve won’t last because it can’t, but you’re glad that it is here for tonight.

Your father is next to swoop in for a hug, cooing over his baby being all grown up, and you groan playfully because he gets like this every single time one of you has a birthday. You, Alex, and June all get fussed over equally and it’s actually kind of sweet. Tonight, though, you reach back and take your soulmate’s hand. “You guys remember Marcus?” Of course they do, but you’re still going to be polite about it.

“Sir. Ma’am.” Marcus would offer his hand, but you are currently holding it. “Nice to see you again.”

"Very nice to see you again, Marcus." Having dispensed with Agent Pike except for formalities, the president smiles. "And very punctual. I like that."

“Timing was important tonight.” He agrees, squeezing your hand gently. “The birthday girl needed to be here for the party to really begin.”

"Then let's get this party started." The phrase sounds just as odd and stilted coming out of her mouth as she thought it would, but that doesn't matter. "Make sure you say hi to everyone, Birdie. And try whatever you want to drink. But I think you'll like both cocktails."

Marcus smiles and nods toward the private bar for the party, a fit cowboy with a mustache behind the counter with a toothy smile and a name tag with ‘Jack’ on it. “Shall we go get a drink before you mingle?”

"Absolutely." Whatever your parents have picked out is always good, and you want nothing more than to get the night started.

“What do you want to have?” Marcus asks as he reads the small, personalized cocktail menu that is being served exclusively tonight in addition to the regular drinks.

"The Sour Red sounds good." Cranberry and cherry in a whiskey sour sounds like a great way to start the night.

"It sounds great." A voice from beside you huffs, and you squeal with delight to see your best friend appear out of nowhere next to you. Sydney grins and envelops you into a gigantic hug, as Marcus smirks proudly behind you.

“You look amazing!” The soft, flowing maternity dress is the first of its kind you’ve seen her wear and it looks gorgeous on her, making her look like a work of art. “I’m so glad you’re here.”

“I wouldn’t be anywhere else.” She insists, shaking her head at you. “Juan said he’s going to treat you to lunch when he comes back, and he’s so sorry.”

“Absolute sap of a man,” you huff, laughing affectionately. Juan really does treat you like a little sister sometimes and it’s very sweet. “He doesn’t have to do that. But…if he really wants to…” you glance back at Marcus with a giddy smile. “Why don’t we plan a double date?”

“That sounds good.” Marcus nods. “What do you think, Sydney?” He’s willing to do whatever you want and having a night with the other couple would be nice.

“Oh, one hundred percent.” She’s already nodding, clutching her ginger ale in one hand and grinning to see the two of you together like this. “That will be awesome.”

“I’ll order the drinks so you ladies can talk?” Marcus orders, squeezing your hand when you nod and moving up to the bartender.

"I don't know if I said it enough, but you did the amazingly last night. The wedding was perfect." You hug her again, always mindful of your growing goddaughter between you. "I owe you."

“It was all thanks to you.” She reminds you with a soft hug. “Looks like you had a good evening after the wedding party left.”

"Maybe." The meager protest has your cheeks on fire immediately, and you bury your face in your hands. "He's...god, Syd, he's absolutely incredible."

“Really?” She lights up, happy that you are so enthralled with your soulmate. “So you had a really good night?”

"I need you to promise me that you're going to react in the most normal way you've ever reacted to anything in your life," you murmur, intentionally lowering your voice and glancing around furtively. "Most boring reaction ever. Promise?"

“Boring – absolutely.” She nods eagerly, aware you’re about to bust unless you spill whatever secret has you positively glowing. “He’s the best you’ve ever had? Hung like a horse?” She guesses playfully.

"Haven't actually had sex yet, but yes to the second." The smirk that breaks over your face is unapologetic, but you clear your throat, and intentionally reach out to hold your best friend's hand with the ring Marcus gifted you a mere hour ago glinting in the club's lighting. "Most normal and boring you've ever been," you remind her quietly.

Her frown when she feels something makes her look down and then her eyes bug out wide, making her look like a cartoon character for a brief moment. The smallest squeak comes out before she buttons up her lip and her entire body seems to vibrate in energy as her gaze darts back up to you.

"It's a promise ring." As quietly as you can when Sydney is practically buzzing out of control, you're still grinning from ear to ear. "I told you he's incredible."

“I can’t believe— okay, I can.” She huffs quietly and as discreetly as she can, she’s looking at the ring. “Honey, it’s beautiful.” She whispers softly, melting and giving Marcus Pike all the brownie points for romance.

"I don't know when he had time to get it," you admit, trying not to bring too much attention to the piece of jewelry and end up having to explain it to a whole room full of people. "We were together all day."

“He must have bought it the day he went golfing with Michael.” Sydney guessed with small, dreamy sigh. “They were talking about Michael’s buying a wedding day gift for Joyce. He was planning on jewelry.”

“That must have been it.” It’s even dreamier, then, in your mind. Because that truly was the very beginning of things.

“He’s got good taste.” She hums in approval. “This is the real deal.”

"It's the first time in my life that I've really felt like I'm on the same page as my partner," you gush to her, right before Marcus comes over with your drinks.

“One Sour Red for you.” Marcus hands you the drink. “And I ordered the Sweet Delight for me so we can also try it.” He has no problem sharing drinks with you.

The second cocktail on the specialties list was something like a cross between a sweet tea and a mint julep, and since you had fully intended on trying both, he seems to have read your mind. "Perfect." Him, the whole day, tonight, all of it.

“Great.” He holds up the Sweet Delight in a toast. “Happy birthday, hummingbird.” He smiles. “May your thirties be the beginning of the greatest adventures of your life.”

"I have a feeling they will be." You hold up your Sour Red and Sydney adds her ginger ale to the coast, making the three of you a very happy trio.

“Now, I don’t want to monopolize your night.” Marcus insists after taking a drink. “I can hold your purse, but you need to talk to people and if you want me to keep Sydney company, I’m good with that.”

"I'm going to use having to find you as an excuse to get out of saying hello when I start to burn out." It looks like your mother has assembled a few dozen people here tonight and you know you're going to need to take a break from all the chit chat at least a couple of times. "Thank you, love."

“Absolutely.” He smiles at you in reassurance. “Just lift your glass and I’ll come rescue you.”

“Okay.” Leaning up, you leave a kiss on the corner of his mouth and whisper an “I love you” before you scoot away.

Marcus watches you walk away with the look of a man completely besotted with his soulmate. “I love you too.” He murmurs after you.

“That didn’t take long at all.” Sydney grins, sipping her soda like she’s won the lottery.

“Too quick?” He glances back at your best friend and wonders if she worries about you jumping in too fast with him despite being your soulmate.

“Not for her.” She chuckles quietly. “Hell, even Juan and I knew within about two days that he was going to come back East with me after we met. It’s just…it’s nice to see someone moving her speed with her. Supporting her at light speed, ya know?”

“I’m not going to hurt her.” He promises Syd with a solemn vow.

“Oh, I know you’re not.” Her smile turns determined and icy. “Because if you do? Juan knows exactly how to make sure no one ever finds your body. And I think you value life too much to risk the wrath of her best friend and her siblings. Don’t underestimate little Junie.”

Marcus doesn’t scoff, nor does he chuckle and brush it off. He takes a sip of his drink and looks at your best friend squarely. “I won’t, and I never piss off the people who cook food.” He tells her. “They have ingenious ways for disposing of a body.”

“She’s been through a lot of shitty relationships.” Sydney confides. She’s glad to see Marcus taking this talk seriously. Sam had laughed and waved her off. “Listen to her, treat her well, and buy her flowers. That girl loves getting flowers.”

“What are her favorites?” He asks, wanting to make sure you have everything you want out of this relationship.

“Camellias, roses, gerber daisies…” Sydney grins. “I’ll text you a list.”

“Please do.” Marcus can do roses anytime, but he wants to give flowers that let you know that he’s just thinking about you. Ones that put a smile on your face. “And her favorite bath soaps and scents.”

“I’ll have a list of favorites and least favorites ready for you tomorrow,” she promises. “But I have a big one for you, first.”

“What’s that?” He knows Sydney likes him, thinks that he will be good for you, so it’s best that he stay on her good side.

"I've never seen her prouder to be out with a partner than she was with you at that State dinner," Sydney tells him honestly. "She gets skittish about the spotlight, but she collected every single paper that had a picture of the two of you. It's..." she smiles, actually, and her eyes find you in the crowd of family and friends around the room. "It's a kind of confidence that is new for her, but I think it's great."

Marcus follows her gaze and his own face softens and he takes on a slightly sappy smile. “I only want to support her and prop her up.” He promises your best friend earnestly. “Whatever she wants to do.”

"She has the career she wants. And now the right partner." Syd flashes a beaming grin. "Next up is the wedding and kids, Pike. I hope you're ready for a deluge of family fun."

“I’ve always wanted kids.” He admits quietly, pushing one hand into a pocket. Taking another sip and his eyes follow you around the room. “Don’t mind a wedding, but I’m more concerned about the life we build rather than the wedding we have.”

"She says she doesn't care about a wedding. That it's the marriage that counts. And she does mean it." More than anything, Sydney needs Marcus to know that this isn't any shallowness on your part, it's something she's observed. "But I see the way she moons over every single bride that comes through the inn. She wants someone to make a fuss over her without her having to ask for it. It's why she's been sighing over this birthday party like it's unnecessary but has been talking about it nonstop. Because she deserves to feel special, but she feels guilty asking for it."

“I want her to have exactly what she wants.” Marcus smiles at the idea. “The fairytale. The happily ever after.”

Nudging Marcus with her elbow, Sydney's cup of happiness is positively overflowing for you in this moment. "I have a good feeling about this."

“I hope so. Because I’m taking her to meet my folks in a few weeks.” He tells her with a grin.

Syd’s jaw drops on a disbelieving laugh. “You got her to take time off work?”

“Is that some kind of minor miracle?” He asks with a slightly proud smirk if it is. “I asked if she wanted to come and she agreed.”

“There’s nothing minor about it.” She cackles with absolute glee, knowing Juan will be just as thrilled as she is. “She hasn’t taken a vacation day in seven years. Not even for campaign events. You’ve just advised sainthood.”

“Jesus.” He whistles quietly and has a renewed admiration for your drive. “Then I’ll make sure that she relaxes and soaks up the sun while we are gone.” He grins. “Texas is the perfect place for it.”

“Perfect.” Syd grins, and holds up her glass to toast him. “Take care of our girl, Marcus. I know you will.”

“Of course I will.” Marcus watches as you discreetly lift your empty glass. “Op,” he grins back at her and lifts his own glass. “Duty calls.”

It's just a little later, while Marcus is deep into conversation with your father about something or other that you didn't quite catch, you're slowly sipping your second drink when the nearby door opens to admit a new arrival.

Sam Chase walks into the pub, straightening his jacket and smiling a bright smile at anyone who turns his way. Looking over the crowd and finding you as he scans and lifting a hand in a wave before moving towards you.

It's a surprise to see him, even if you did say that you wanted to stay friends, but you walk toward him with square shoulders and sure steps. More than ever, you know you made the right decision, and you're mature enough not to say a thing about it and just let things move forward. "Sam." When he moves forward to hug you, you let him just like you would let any other friend. "What a surprise. Are you feeling better?"

"I am." He wouldn't miss tonight for the world, not when he realized what he needed to do. He accepts the hug and squeezes you gently to him, admiring your perfume. He's missed that smell. "Happy birthday, Birdie." He uses your nickname so rarely, preferring your name, but tonight is about showing growth.

"Thank you." You're glad to not see a gift in his hands. It's almost a reprieve because you had feared he might do something overly intimate as a gesture if he did actually come. "There's some fun cocktails but the bar is open, and lots of food being passed around. I think cake is happening in just a little bit."

"That's good." He pulls back and smiles at you. "It's good to see you, I've missed talking to you."

"It's good to see you, too." Unfortunately you can't say you've missed him as much as he seems to have missed you, but the last few weeks have been so important for you. "I'm glad you came." At least that is true.

"I know you are making the rounds, so I will get a drink." Sam knows that he has to show that he is more accepting of your way of doing things and he takes your hand and squeezes it gently. "I will get a drink and then talk to you later?"

"That sounds like a good plan," you nod, motioning toward the bar. "I know you're not a whiskey guy, but they do have some nice wines stocked tonight. And champagne. Mom insisted."

"I'll see you soon." He promises, sure that the champagne is meant for the toasting of your birthday after the cake. You will be thrilled to drink it because of another celebration as well.

Alex and David are nearby and you gravitate toward them naturally, glad for some supportive faces in the sea of comfortable and uncomfortable acquaintances. Your mother had really gone all-out with the guest list.

Despite his own conversation, Marcus has kept an eye on you, frowning slightly when he sees Sam arrive. He’s not jealous, but he knows that it would be uncomfortable to you since you had broken up.

"Well that looked fun," your brother grumbles, putting an arm around your shoulders lazily when you pace over to him and his boyfriend. "Mm," you roll your eyes discreetly. "So fun. It's my own fault for saying I wanted to stay friends. I just thought...it's a very adult thing to do. And he didn't do anything wrong, really."

“He did everything wrong.” Alex snorts, rolling his eyes at you. “You just were so busy making it work you couldn’t see that.”

"You guys could have said something earlier, ya know." Still, you shrug and take a sip of your drink. "Not that it matters now."

“You were happy…ish.” Alex arches a brow at you. “Tell me you would have listened.” He challenges, knowing how stubborn you are.

"Listen to you?" Rolling your eyes dramatically for show, you wave a hand dismissively. "Of course not. Maybe David, but not you."

Both men laugh and David winks at you. “That’s my girl.” He teases.

"Everything will be fine." You're definitely reassuring yourself, not them, but that's okay. "Eat. Drink. Be merry. That's the name of the game tonight."

“Of course it is.” Alex leans in and presses his lips to your cheek. “Happy birthday sis.” He hums. “You look happy with your soulmate.”

“As happy as you are with yours.” For everything that Alex and David have gone through together, you know the light at the end of their tunnel is going to be so incredibly bright and wonderful. There isn’t a second of doubt in your mind. “He, um…he’s taking me to Texas in a couple of weeks. To meet his family.”

“Really?” Alex is surprised but he’s quickly grinning as he looks around to find Marcus watching you for a moment. Checking in on you from across the room. “Well slap my ass and call me a cowboy.”

"I'll leave that to David," you reply, snorting at the image. "But yes. Really. And I'm excited, so don't ruin it."

“You better wear a cowboy hat when you ride him.” Alex chuckles quietly and winks at you. “They say everything’s bigger in Texas.”

"I swear to god." Groaning with the ire that only a sister can truly feel, you stick your tongue out at your brother and make a face. "I'm walking away now, but you're ridiculous."

“You know I love you!” He cups one hand around his mouth to call out after you, laughing while his soulmate rolls his eyes and mutters under his breath about sibling relationships.

"Sweetheart," your mother grabs you in passing, seeing that you're headed for Marcus and not wanting to delay you too long. "Cake soon?"

"Sure, Mom." Pausing long enough to squeeze her hand, you nod to indicate you're willing to just go with the flow. The night will last however long it lasts and you're grateful for every second you get to spend with your friends. Thankfully, it seems like cake cutting won't be the very end of the night.

“How is my pretty party girl?” Marcus asks as you draw closer, pulling you to his side and swapping his full drink with your empty one. “You should try this Statesman Blackberry Reserve.” He urges you. “It’s probably the smoothest whiskey I’ve ever had in my life.”

"You trying to get me drunk, Pike?" You tease, accepting the glass and trying a sip – which earns a happy moan from you. "You're already coming home with me. You have stuff at my place."

“But you’re cute when you’re relaxed.” He jokes, smirking slightly considering that you’ve already had a conversation about drunk sex and somnophilia so you are both on the same page about what’s acceptable.

"You're always cute." Relaxed is a good word. You aren't drunk at all. Not even tipsy. But you are definitely relaxed. "Mom's going to have the cake brought out soon. Brace yourself for a deeply embarrassing speech of some kind."

Laughing quietly, he nods. “Of course. Would it not be a family birthday party if there wasn’t an embarrassing speech?”

"In this family?" You snort, barely managing to smother the sound as your mother's voice comes over a microphone so that the whole room can hear her. "Never. But that's my cue."

“Go knock them dead, hummingbird.” He whispers in encouragement and takes your drink from your hand so you can walk up beside her. It’s your night, your time to shine.

As Sydney has pointed out, the spotlight is not necessarily where you thrive. You do step up next to your mother, though, and wave awkwardly with a dopey smile on your face as she talks. The predicted speech is just as embarrassing as you thought it would be, but it’s easier to smile knowing Marcus is out there watching just a few feet away.

Now is the time. Sam watches as you demure to the crowd and duck your head in embarrassment as your mother finishes up your happy birthday speech. He straightens his tie and reaches into his pocket to pull out your gift before he edges towards the front of the room where you and your mother are standing.

Honestly if you had noticed, you might have said something. Or you might have at least looked at him questioningly. But you’re too busy avoiding meeting anyone’s eyes while people applaud a speech about you to realize that Sam has walked right up to where you and your mother are standing.

His entire relationship with you, he had watched you secretly moon over ‘grand gestures’. Sniffling during Hallmark moves or rom coms, smiling like a crazy woman when a proposal happens at your inn. This will be perfect. Your mother arches a brow when he asks for the microphone, but she hands it over anyway. “Good evening everyone, Birdie…” he begins, having carefully written out and rehearsed this speech several times. Preparing for it just as studiously as he would have a political debate.

“Sam…?” Anxiety rises like bile in the back of your throat, almost making you choke on the confusion. What in the hell?

Marcus frowns at the way that Sam turns and kneels in front of you. A collective gasp coming from the crowd pierces his heart and it’s compounded by the way you cover your mouth. Looking just like a scene from a romantic film. His gut churns and confusion and doubt makes the blood start pounding in his ears.

“Get up!” As soon as you can gather your own thoughts to get beyond shock and utter horror, you lurch forward to grab Sam and yank him up off his one stupid knee. “What the hell are you doing?” You hiss, well aware that all eyes are on you but having rocketed past giving a shit out of pure anger.

“I’m making up for my lack of spontaneity, giving you the grand gesture.” Sam smiles proudly and opens the box to show you the elaborate diamond ring that he had bought for you. “I love you, and I want to show you that I am here. You are more important than anything else.”

“Don’t do this.” Even if your voice is low, the shaking of your head is universal, and the few gasps over the opening of the jewelry box are minimally muffled when you reach out and snap the little box closed again immediately. “We broke up. Walk away and return the ring.” The urge to cry and flee is almost overwhelming but you have to make him stop.

“We had a fight, a foolish one.” Sam tells you beseechingly. “One I take complete blame for. But we are so good together. Don’t throw it away because I was too blinded by my pride.”

“You’re embarrassing yourself,” you tell him flatly, although you do feel bad that you clearly didn’t articulate well enough that the relationship is over and has been for two weeks now. “Please just walk away? I’m not taking you back. Tonight or ever, do you understand?” Even with your heart in your stomach, lurching there like a stone in acid, you can’t bring yourself to be cruel. You’re just desperate to be clear and get it through his head.

Sam frowns and looks around at the people who have started to go from excited to embarrassed for him. “Why?” He asks quietly. “This is what we talked about. What you wanted to plan for? Now you say no?”

“Plans changed. Maybe I changed, I don’t know.” You didn’t. And you know you didn’t. But it seems kinder to say that than to point out that your eyes are opened to how imbalanced your relationship was. “I found my person, Sam. I’m sorry that it isn’t you, but please don’t make this worse than it already is.”

“You’re really going to say no?” Sam looks at you like you’ve lost your mind. “In front of all these people?” The microphone has been forgotten at his side, the conversation just between the two of you and he glances over to see Marcus Pike walking away in the crowd.

“I don’t even understand why you thought it was okay to ask.” It’s completely ruined the night rather than just being embarrassing, but one thing is obvious: Sam has turned out to be one of those men who won’t back down at the very worst of times. “No. Absolutely not. I’m with someone else and I love him. End of story.” Like the punctuation that ends a sentence, you hold up your hand to show him the ring Marcus put there just hours ago. “You should leave, Sam.”

He feels like he’s going to be sick. Unable to breathe in that second where a ring is produced and he knows if he doesn’t escape, find air, he might have a heart attack or something. It’s happening again. This time it’s even worse than before because it’s his soulmate. Marcus turns and pushes through the crowd. Hauling ass for the nearest exit as discreetly as he can while everyone else watches the romantic gesture ahead of them. Unable to hear anything but the tattoo of his heart beating out of his chest as he disappears out of the bar.

He doesn’t hear the next round of gasps inside as your birthday has turned into a farce. He doesn’t see Sam rage or crumble. He doesn’t stand and bear witness to you declaring your love for your soulmate in front of dozens of people. All he knows is that he has to get away, but he’s barely at the bottom of the stairs when you go barreling after him. “Marcus!” Thank god June saw him moving blindly through the crowd, she had pointed you in the right direction. “Marcus!”

It’s still crisp and cool when the sun goes down, hitting the doors and gasping like a drowning man when the frosty air hits him and after two gulps, he’s lurching for the bushes. He’s not so drunk he’s puking, he’s so emotional he can’t keep down the drinks and appetizers curdling on his stomach.

“Marcus, wait!” You have no idea what set of doors this is, but you saw him go through it, so you go too, almost twisting your ankle in the heels you’re wearing in the process. “Oh my god.” The second you see him, you’re moving again, reaching for his bent frame and trying to soothe him somehow. The best you can think of is cooing his name and rubbing your hand over his broad back gently.

Agent Bailey is hot on your heels, bursting through the door seconds later and on high alert. “I’m fine—” Marcus grunts, twisting away from you as he continues to empty his stomach. “’m fine.” He coughs and retches one more time before he can catch his breath. “Go back— I—I—” he pants out.

“You’re not fine.” In the three seconds you can think straight, you turn around to find Agent Bailey a few feet away. “Can you find us some water?” You ask her, not sure what’s caused Marcus to be so sick but sure that he’s going to feel worse if he can’t rinse his mouth.

It’s obvious that she’s uncomfortable leaving you, but after a second, she’s nodding and stepping away while speaking into her earpiece.

“It’s okay, baby…” Whether or not that’s true is yet to be determined, but Marcus is obviously in distress and you’re just trying to soothe him as best you can. “Was it something you drank? Or—or ate?” Or was it my ex-boyfriend ruining the entire fucking night for literally everyone?

Marcus closes his eyes, swallowing down another wave of bile and shakes his head. “No— I—” he can’t even articulate the rambling thoughts in his head right now. He feels like he’s lost again and yet you are standing in front of him. Are you here to give him the ring back?

“It’s okay, don’t talk until you’re ready.” While you still have one hand moving on his back, you just try to keep calm and hopefully help him calm down in the process. “Agent Bailey’s finding you some water and we can sit out here for as long as you need, okay?”

“Why—” he swallows and closes his eyes. “Why are you out here?” His voice is steadier, gaining control over his emotions again. “Your party is inside.”

"You are out here." The question makes no sense to you and you're probably looking at him like he has three heads, but at least that's an honest reaction. "Fuck the party. You're more important."

“No, I’m not.” Marcus opens his eyes, looking up at the stars and he has to know. “Did you say yes?”

A single beat of confusion bleeds away to absolutely seething disbelief and your hand stops moving on his back even though you don't step away. "How can you even think I—" And all at once it melts away as recognition dawns and the despair on his face becomes clear. Teresa. Teresa is why he's asking. Why he's afraid and why he's so anxious that he's throwing up in the bushes behind the building. "Marcus, no. Of course not. I didn't even let him ask the damn question. He's a self-centered moron who didn't take being broken up with well, and more importantly there is the fact that I love you."

“You were with him for a year.” Marcus reminds you, wanting so badly to believe you and yet it’s still just beyond his grasp.

"Lots of people are in relationships for longer than they should be," you reason, trying to keep his eyes even with the heartbreak that is obvious in them. "I love you, Marcus Pike. You're my soulmate, and I would trade every single second that I spent with Sam in a heartbeat if it meant getting to change all those memories to ones that include you."

“I’m sorry.” The apology is automatic, closing his eyes again and biting his lip. “This is— I shouldn’t have come out here. I shouldn’t have left your party.”

"You needed air, and you needed to clear your head." If you turn things around and put yourself in his shoes? You'd be losing it in the bushes, too. Thankfully, that is when Agent Bailey appears with a sealed bottle of water and she hands it off to you silently. "I'm sorry I ever said I wanted to stay friends with that man. Hopefully the fact that Secret Service escorted him off the grounds will get it through his head." Gently, though, you tip your head at Marcus and offer him a smile. "If not, I'm pretty sure that showing him your promise ring and loudly declaring how much I love you to about sixty people has probably done it."

“You did?” Marcus frowns slightly, confused as to when you managed to do that before rushing after him.

"I did." You nod slightly, one hand seeking his cheek to try to offer some kind of comforting touch. "And then I realized you weren't standing next to Sydney anymore, and I bolted after you."

“I—" he leans into the touch more than he realizes. “I can’t believe you did that.” He huffs softly.

"You said I could shout it from the rooftops." The reminder comes with a soft smile, as you see Marcus finally start to calm down a little and grapple with reality. "So I did."

“You have to be pretty pissed off at me.” He rationalizes. “All that talk and I’m puking my guts out when someone proposes to you on your birthday. In front of all your friends and family.”

"Baby, if one of your exes had shown up to your party and proposed, I assure you I also would have lost my shit. If not my dinner." Holding up the water bottle, you don't step away from him for a second. "We can stay out here as long as you need to, we can go back in, or we can go home. Whatever you need."

“You need to go back in.” Marcus tells you quietly. “You can’t just leave. All of those people are here for you.”

"I'm not leaving you." In the long run or the short, that sentence is the same.

“I’m not saying you leave me.” He looks at you again and reaches for the hand that isn’t on his back. “Let’s go back inside.”

"We'll sit and sip some water, and if your stomach is still turning we don't have to eat anything else." There is a more than minor chance that people will come up to you both for the rest of the night to want to talk about your soulmate status, but that can't be avoided.

He sighs softly. “You know why I was throwing up.” He challenges softly. “I was having a moment of extreme anxiety.”

"That doesn't mean you'll want to eat anything else, or that your stomach isn't still unsettled." Thankfully he wasn't panicked enough to drop your clutch, so he still has it in one hand and you take it from him carefully. "Here. I have mints and Tums stashed in here. Do you want one, the other, or both?"

He frowns slightly, unused to being fussed over unless it was his mother. “Both.” He decides. “I think.”

"We can do that." Mint Tums and Altoids are produced from your purse without further ceremony, and you wait until he steadies himself and chews his mints before you open your arms to offer him a hug.

He stares at you for a moment before he accepts the hug and pulls you close. “Are you okay, hummingbird?”

"I'm pissed at that idiot for upsetting you, but I'm okay." If he had said you should just go home, you would have gone with him in a heartbeat. Going back into that party sounds daunting at the very least. "What a fucking idiot. I'm just grateful I managed to catch you before you got too far."

“I just needed some air.” Marcus doesn’t know if he would have left, he hadn’t really been thinking— just reacting.

"If you get overwhelmed or anxious again, do you promise to tell me?" He takes your hand and a step or two toward the door at your side, but that doesn't mean he's totally ready to go in.

“I just—” he knows he owes you an explanation. “It felt like history was repeating itself. This time I was getting a front row seat.” He frowns slightly and looks down at the ring on your finger. “And the only thing that I could think of was how much worse it was because it was my soulmate.”

"You're absolutely entitled to have an anxious reaction to what just happened." With his hand in yours, you give it a squeeze and soothe your other hand over his arm. "Is there something I can do to reassure you? Or is this something that's just going to take time to work through?"

“It was just a flash in the pan thing.” Marcus assures you. “But I’ll talk to my therapist about it. So it doesn’t work into something between us.”

"Okay." He's working on himself, and honestly that might be one of the sexiest things about him. For now, though, you squeeze his hand again and head back into the building. "But if there is something I can do, or if I do something that I don't realize makes you anxious, will you tell me? I never want to make our time together stressful or triggering."

“I promise I will let you know.” He is thankful you understand why he freaked out, instead of just assuming he didn’t trust you. “I’m sorry that your birthday was…interrupted.”

"That is absolutely not your fault." It isn't. At all. And you would hate for him to feel that any of the blame is on his shoulders when it lies squarely with Sam. "Just...people are going to have questions. I did flash the ring, so we're going to have a lot of curiosity."

“I’m assuming this wasn’t the way you wanted to announce your soulmate status?” He asks wryly. “Why did Sam think he could win you over by proposing?”

"I think he thought that if he went for the grand gesture, I would just crumble." You sigh as you walk together, climbing the stairs slowly. "If not for you, I might have. I might have settled, instead of realizing that real love is something much more spectacular. Something worth holding out for."

“I’m glad you didn’t settle.” Marcus admits, looking over at you. “That wouldn’t be fair to you. Forget about me, it wouldn’t be fair to you.”

“I’m afraid I can’t do that.” At the top of the stairs you kiss his cheek and hold his hand a little tighter. “Now that I’ve met you, I could never forget about you.”

It’s a little surreal to be a priority, making Marcus flush a little more than he probably would, given that he had just doubted you and been proven spectacularly wrong. He’ll definitely call his therapist on Monday.

“Are you ready?” The doors are right in front of you, but you still check in with him first. “If you’re not, it’s okay. I’ll say good night and we’ll go home. Not questions asked.”

“No, I’m not going to ruin the rest of your night.” He shakes his head. “Let’s get a fresh drink.”

Marcus's stubbornness isn't something you want to start an argument about, but after tonight you're definitely going to take tomorrow very easy. "It's not the night any of us had planned, that's for damn sure."

“I would hope not.” He snorts and his hand squeezes yours again, now feeling guilty about leaving you while you dealt with Sam. “I’m sorry for not being there for you.”

"You don't need to be, but I appreciate that. He took all of us off guard." With a confirming nod from Marcus, you push the door to the event hall open and come face to face with a room full of guests who are all a flutter. Your mother still has the microphone in her hand but it seems to be off, and she makes her way toward you immediately with a deep frown etched in her features.

“Birdie.” She is almost sighing in relief when she spots you again. “You ran off, almost losing your detail.” She scolds quietly before she softens. “Are you okay, sweetheart?”

"I needed some air." The gentle lie covers the fact that you actually went running after Marcus, but no one can blame you for having a big reaction to what happened. "That was insane."

The president gives a very unpresidential snort. “You think?” She huffs. “I cannot believe that man thought proposing after you broke up was a good idea. I mean, I know he had mentioned something when you were still together, but-“ Realizing who she is saying this in front of, she snaps her jaw closed and sends Marcus a polite smile. “Thank you for being with her.”

"It's not exactly how I was going to tell you about the promise ring," you admit, leaning in to Marcus's side when he offers your mother an agreeing nod. As though to say 'of course' without letting her know that it was actually you who was there for him.

“You seem overjoyed to wear it.” She observes, smiling slightly at the way you are leaning into the man beside you. Drawing comfort and offering it at the same time.

"I am." Without hesitation, and with great pride, in fact. "And I apologize in advance, but I'm going to miss a family dinner in a few weeks. Marcus is bringing me to Texas to meet his family."

“Really?” Her eyes widen slightly and shift over to Marcus as she reappraises him through a new lens. This has just change from potential to reality. “Well.” She smiles. “I am sure that they will love you.”

“We’ll make sure all the plans are approved by Agent Bailey, but…” Glancing up at Marcus beside you, your stomach flips and your hearts pounds. As off kilter as tonight has gone, he’s still standing here beside you. “I’m really looking forward to it.”

“Perhaps you shouldn’t take your detail out to Texas.” Your mother considers, looking at Marcus to see what he thinks. “After all, you will be traveling with a federal agent.” She taps the microphone. “Would be bring your weapon and credential when you fly?” She asks him. Marcus nods immediately. “I always bring them.” He explains. “In case I get called out for a case. I don’t have to fly back to D.C.”

“We’ll be near the Dallas field office anyway,” you offer, having cruised around Marcus’s hometown on Google maps with him over a phone call when he was in London and noting the office as you went.

Your mother glances over at Agent Bailey and within seconds, the agent is joining the three of you. “What do you think, Agent Bailey?” She asks, wanting her professional opinion before she makes her decision.

“I would feel more comfortable if it was me, Ma’am.” Agent Bailey shifts in place, as if apologizing to you with her body language. “I’ll station at the field office and be on call. It’s a middle ground, if you will.”

“Birdie?” Your mother glances over at you to see what you think. “How does that sound?”

“That’s fine with me as long as long as it’s okay with Marcus.” You nod, appreciating your agent’s candor. “I trust Agent Bailey more than some strangers.”

“Whatever is needed for Birdie’s safety.” Marcus agrees. “Although, there’s plenty of room for you at the compound.” He tells Agent Bailey. “There’s no need for you to stay in Dallas. Please. Come stay with us.”

“We’ll coordinate with the Dallas office and make arrangements official.” Agent Bailey assures your small group. “Now…I believe there is a cake to be cut, ma’am?”

“Oh shit.” Marcus’s eyes widen when he realizes that you haven’t even had your cake. “Yeah, sweetheart, you need to have your birthday cake.”

“We got a little distracted from the point of the night, I think.” Still placing the blame for that squarely on one person’s shoulders, you offer your mother a smile anyway. “What do you say we get this party back on track?”

“Are you sure?” She glances back and forth between you and Marcus. “There will be a lot of questions.”

“I know there will be.” And you swallow, wondering if it will overwhelm Marcus and make him second guess choosing you. “But I would rather get ahead of the rumor mill.”

“Then perhaps you should announce your soulmate status.” She offers quietly. “People heard you talk about finding happiness, but they don’t know why you’ve moved on so quickly.”

“It shouldn’t matter,” you remind her, just as quietly but feeling a bit childish. That’s what freedom of affection is about. Your choice. “But I will anyway. Because I’m proud of him.”

“What you decide to do is up to you.” She agrees. “I should have had security stop Congressman Chase at the door.”

“Hindsight, Mom.” The best you can do is shrug. “I shouldn’t have said I wanted to stay friends. It’s done now.”

“Yes…” she huffs slightly, knowing that her opinion of the congressman just dropped considerably after his display tonight.

“Why don’t you give me that,” you motion to the microphone in her hand. “And I’ll talk…and you get the cake?”

“That is your decision, Birdie.” She hands you the microphone and Marcus frowns. “Sweetheart, you don’t have to do anything.”

“I have to say something.” Taking the microphone from her, you offer Marcus a lopsided smile before you click on the power button. “Are you ready for this?”

“Whenever you are.” It’s still a theory in his mind, not tangible. You don’t have to declare this—him— it’s enough that you want to be with him.

“I love you.” It’s just a soft hum, but you squeeze his hand before you click the microphone on and raise it to your mouth. “I hope everyone enjoyed the floor show,” you joke, bringing people’s attention back to the front of the room.

Marcus would have let go of your hand, to give you the spotlight alone, but you don’t let go. Making him give a soft smile as everyone looks at you and consequentially, him.

"I didn't think it was going to be necessary to make an announcement out of this, but clearly the fact didn't get through some people's heads." Still trying for the joke, you take a look around the room. Family, friends, co-workers and family friends all surround you with attentive expressions. "It's been a little over a month now, since I met Marcus Pike." Squeezing his hand gently, you smile at the man beside you and exhale nervously. Stage fright be damned. He is more important than nerves. "And it gave me a lot to think about. How happy I was with the current state of my life and my relationship, or how I imaged my future. It became fairly clear to me that I didn't want to envision any future for myself that didn't have Marcus playing a starring role. Which makes sense..." Breathe. You can do it. Just breathe. "Considering he's my soulmate."

Marcus gives a small wave and a somewhat lopsided grin that he is completely unaware of how charming it is. Listening to the murmurs and gasps of surprise as he knows that he’s under increased scrutiny.

"I know I've always been outspoken about freedom of affection." There are more murmurs – agreement from your loved ones. "And this is what I'm choosing. I am choosing to love my soulmate, and to start building a future with him. Apparently that was a difficult reality for my ex-boyfriend to swallow, but I hope you'll all join me in having a slice of birthday cake and celebrating love and happiness until they kick us out of this place."

Marcus could not have said it better himself, so he doesn’t speak. He just lifts your joined hands and kisses the back of yours gently.

Clicking off the microphone again, you hand it off to one of the uniformed wait staff and turn around to find a rolling table with a sizeable two-tier cake on it. Your father is there with a smile on his face and the knife ready for you to pick up. One ceremonial cut into the cake gets a cheer from the crowd and then it's Alex's voice that starts everyone singing Happy Birthday just as loudly as possible.

Marcus is happy that the celebration has turned back towards you and not the proposal. Singing along with the chorus of the song, he grins when you duck your head slightly in embarrassment.

"Thank god that's over," you huff with a laugh, as the waiter rolls the cake away to slice it properly and people start to mill about again instead of just staring at you. Or worse, singing at you. There's a dab of frosting on your finger and you suck it into your mouth with curiosity before perking up immediately. "Mm, cream cheese frosting!"

“Cream cheese frosting is your favorite?” He asks curiously, smiling at your obvious delight.

"Cake is my favorite." The grin on your face doesn't even have a hint of irony to it. "But if you made me choose? Red velvet with cream cheese frosting is pretty much the top of the list."

“As it should be.” Marcus snorts and shoots you a grin. “But, have you ever had a chilled, key lime cake with cream cheese frosting on a hot Texas day?”

"Please tell me that's something your family does," you groan happily. "Because that sounds amazing."

“My aunt makes one every time I come home.” He promises. “I’ve already gotten the text from her asking if I would want her to make one. I always say yes, but she still asks.”

"Your aunt is now at the very top of my favorite people list." The grin on your face comes with burning cheeks, and you lean into Marcus's side with a sigh. "After you, of course."

“Until you taste my mom’s strawberry daiquiri pie.” He teases, leaning in and kissing your nose.

"Are we going to eat our way through this visit? Because I am completely ready for that." The small reprieve you've been given from the curiosity of your friends and family has apparently ended, and the first waiter with a tray of plates of cake comes out and Malachi saunters up to grab a slice right after you.

“You’ll work it off.” He promises with a grin at the concierge as he smirks with the cake in his hand. “Malachi, how are you this evening?” He asks with a slight chuckle. “A little drama filled, right?”

“More than a little.” Malachi deftly balances a small dessert plan with a glass of champagne in one hand, but his other reaches out to Marcus. “I guess we’ll be seeing you more around the inn?”

Marcus shakes the man’s hand, sensing that despite his aloof mannerisms, he cares deeply about you and the inn. “I hope that’s alright?”

"If she's happy, I'm happy." The younger man chuckles fondly. "Everybody wants their boss in a good mood, right?"

“Absolutely.” Marcus agrees with a grin. “I will try to stay out of your way and keep her in a good mood, what do you say?”

"Sounds like a very good plan." Malachi's eyes spell mischief, just like always, but he cares about you far too much to pretend he isn't genuinely over the moon for you to have finally found the right person to be with.

You huff playfully and Marcus turns his grin towards you. “I have to promise not to distract you from work too much.” He reminds you. “You have an inn to run.”

"Mal says he's happy now," you tease." But he's going to have to run the place for me while we're in Texas. That'll teach him."

“A lover’s getaway already?” His brow shoots up and his lips curl in the same direction. “And here I was thinking that you were taking this slow.”

"Family visit." Though it's technically a correction, it's only a small one. If anything, meeting your soulmate's family is even more important than just a little getaway. "We'll go over everything and I know you'll be just fine. But...yes. A getaway."

“Good.” Malachi sniffs. “You deserve to go somewhere other than Maryland.”

There are other people milling around, wanting to give their best wishes or simply curious to get a closer look at Marcus, and Malachi slips back off into the crowd with a wink and a smile. If this is the rest of the party, you reflect with a glance up at Marcus as you fork up a first bite of cake, that won't be so bad at all.

There are so many people who care about you. Some are just curious and he’s sure that there will be gossip reported on the night, but most everyone who comes up to you genuinely cares. He smiles and shakes hands. Listening to how they know you and saves the information for the next time he sees them. Never leaving your side until he needs to refresh your drink.

By the time the end of the night arrives, you're so grateful to slip away. The fact that you and Marcus have planned a lazy day for tomorrow is deeply necessary. Switching to nonalcoholic drinks after the toast with your cake means neither of you is drunk but you're definitely still tangled around each other after loading the trunk of Marcus's car with various boxes and bags (even though you insisted on no gifts). Good nights are said and Agent Bailey climbs into her car to follow you back to the inn as you and Marcus sigh at finally being alone again in his car.

“I don’t know if that’s the best possible outcome for your birthday, or the worst.” Marcus chuckles, reaching for your hand once he buckled his seatbelt. “Opinions, comments, concerns?”

"Aside from the bit in the middle that I would prefer to never think about again?" You glance up at him beside you and offer him a smile. "Everything else was perfect."

“He was desperate.” Marcus squeezes your hand. “I know why. You are amazing and he’s lost you.” He wonders what he would have done if you had chosen him, if it had been him in Sam’s shoes. He’s let everyone else go, but it’s different now. You are his soulmate.

“Nobody ever treated me like I was ‘amazing’ ,” you tell him honestly, sitting back in your seat when he starts his car up. “Or maybe that’s part of what being a soulmate is. A shared definition of how to treat someone well.”

He doesn’t like the idea that no one has treated you like you deserve, frowning slightly. “Well, the moment I don’t, you just correct me.”

“Same goes for you, you know.” Your hand works its way into his over the gear shift to stay tangled in him even while he drives.

“I don’t think you will be a problem, sweetheart.” He smiles as he glances over at you and then back at the road to the rearview mirror. “Agent Bailey staying again? Or is someone else taking over?”

"Agent Sisson should be at the inn when we get there." His grace and understanding in regards to your security detail is deeply appreciated. You really can't say how much. "It was nice of you to offer for her to stay on the compound when we go see your parents."

“There’s always people coming and going, family and friends. It will make her feel better and maybe she will enjoy herself too.” Marcus rationalizes. “There’s plenty of room. No need for a boring hotel.”

"It will be a nice change," you agree. The darkened streets of Washington DC are lit to blazing with artificial light but it's still fairly quiet for a Saturday night. "I feel bad that there aren't more places for her to hang out at my apartment."

“I would offer my apartment, the second bedroom is my office and across the entire living room from my bedroom.” Marcus chuckles.

"We'll have to split the difference sometimes. Use both places." Tilting your head, you flash him a cheeky grin as he drives. "Until we start building, of course."

“Honestly, whatever is easier for you.” Marcus isn’t about to sleep without you if he can manage it. “I do not mind your apartment at all.”

"We'll see what works best for us. I'm sure there will be days when it will be easier for you to be closer to the office or days when I need to be close to the inn just in case." His flexibility is such a boon, and you squeeze his hand gently. "As long as I get to sleep next to you, we'll make it work."

“That was my thoughts exactly.” Marcus chuckles quietly, amazed at how the two of you just fit together. He had always heard of it, been envious of it on a subconscious level, but now he’s basking in this newfound joy.

"I hope you already told your parents you're bringing me," you laugh softly. "Because I told a lot of people tonight."

“I’m sure there will be something about in a gossip column tomorrow.” He has accepted that, has no issue with it as long as he gets to have you. It’s a requirement of it, to be public. He’s got nothing to hide anyway. He’s used to it from his own childhood. “I’ve told them.” He promises.

“I don’t think you’ve ever told me what your Dad does.” It’s an open question but a good one, especially where it keeps your mind from idling on the fact that at this time last night, Marcus was fingering you in your bathtub and promising to do more tonight.

His brow shoots up and he almost laughs, but you are asking the question seriously. “Oh, he’s retired now.” Marcus promises, grinning slightly.

“Oh?” That’s surprising, though you’re not sure why. Maybe just because you hadn’t been expecting it. “Is he much older than your mother? Or…I don’t know…military? They retire early sometimes, don’t they?”

He does chuckle now and he stops at the red light. “Birdie, my dad is Matthew Pike.” He wonders if you might not have heard of him during his active years in the MLB. “Nicknamed Stryker for the number of strikeouts he would average throwing a game.”

The silence in the car is deafening for the few seconds it takes your mind to catch up with what he’s saying and for your jaw to come up off the floor, but when you can finally think again the first thing out of your mouth is: “No fucking way!”

Marcus belly laughs this time, squeezing your hand and glancing over at you before the light changes and he starts to drive again. “Fucking way.” He promises.

“Wait…” Rolling back through all of the assorted baseball facts in your mind, you somehow manage to come up with just a few Matthew Pike tidbits and get excited all over again. “So you’re not originally from Texas then!” You exclaim, fully shifting into fan girl mode. “He was playing for the Cardinals when you were born, wasn’t he?”

“Cardinals and then he was with Montreal, the Yankees, then Texas.” Marcus nods, grinning at the sheer happiness in your voice.

“I always thought it would have been so cool to live all over like that when I was a kid.” At the time it had never occurred to you that things like having Sydney come with you would have been impossible, it just sounded neat. “That’s the absolute coolest bomb you ever could have dropped on me and I’m so jealous.”

Marcus laughs. “Well, after dad retired, he bought the land out in Texas – no, he already started buying it during his time with Texas – and we made it the ‘Pike compound’.” He snorts. “Kind of like the Kennedy Compound, but not on Cape Cod.”

“There is no room for a family compound in Philly.” The very idea of it makes you laugh, and you grin at him. “Well now I extra can’t wait to meet your parents.”

“Oh….its tradition, by the way.” Marcus tosses you a smirk. “We play at least one game of baseball when we are home.”

“No fucking way.” This time there is awe in your voice and your eyes are wide with giddy excitement. “You have the absolute coolest family, you know that, right?”

“You say that now.” He snorts, rolling his eyes. “You’ve never heard the trash talking the Pike family doles out when playing sports.”

“Don’t care,” you tell him with confidence. “It’s still awesome. Your family is awesome.”

“I think so.” He agrees, happy that his family tradition doesn’t seem weird or lame to you. It had started as a way for the cousins and brothers and sisters to play baseball with the famous MLB star and turned into a tradition that everyone could enjoy, even if they were watching from the seats.

“It’s going to be a blast.” The absolute confidence in your voice won’t hear of anything different. Texas is going to be a fantastic trip.

“They are going to love you.” He promises with a small laugh. “Expect a million questions though.”

“I’m fine with that,” you promise him steadily. “As long as your dad doesn’t mind me fangirling just a tiny bit.”

He smirks. “There’s been a change in his retirement, by the way.” He tells you. “He’s been signed to be the pitching coach for the Rangers. So you can pick his brain.”

“Ok, so fangirling a lot.” Both of you laugh, enjoying the easiness and eagerness of it.

“At least you know you won’t be roped into awkward conversations. You just mention something about baseball and it will become a family topic quick.” Marcus warns.

“Got it.” You hum. He takes the exit for Alexandria and you look over at his profile. “Speaking of which? You’re now invited to family dinners.”

“I am?” Marcus lifts a brow in surprise. “When did that happen?”

“Right before we left the party.” A bit of your lip comes with hoping he doesn’t feel intimidated by where those dinners are. “Mom said there’s no pressure, but you’re welcome.”

“I would be honored to attended….when I can.” Even though it’s an extreme honor, he still had commitments to his job that sometimes cannot be shifted. “I will promise that I’ll come to as many as I can.”

“Work always comes first.” Everyone in your family can understand and agree to that, which is something that helps you breathe more deeply. “David has a standing invitation, too. But his boss has him working Friday nights right now.”

“That’s not fun.” Marcus sends you a small smile. “I better brush up on my small talk.”

“Brush up on American history.” That’s your best advice, but you’re ecstatic he even wants to think about it. “The more obscure the better. When we run out of things to talk about, Mom starts quizzing us on the weird stuff.”

“Play online Jeopardy trivia.” Marcus snorts. “Got it.”

“You’ll knock ‘em dead, baby,” you hum with a laugh.

“You laugh, but mom love Jeopardy.” He huffs playfully. “She wanted to go on the celebrity edition when dad was invited. She was pissed that he turned it down.”

“Our mothers will have at least one thing to bond over, then.” The idea is sweet, actually, and you grin. “If we ever lose them, we’ll find them yelling answers at Jeopardy together.”

“I will be very intrigued to find out how they like each other.” Marcus admits as he turns into the driveway for the inn. “I think we will be in trouble.”

“Maybe.” It makes you smile, though, and you breathe a sigh of relief to be home again. “But I think it will be a good kind of trouble.”

The plans for the super special birthday sex had been unanimously voted against once you were back at the inn. Marcus wouldn’t have said a word, but you were the one to broach the subject and admitted that you just wanted to fall asleep in his arms, emotionally drained from the tumultuous events of the evening. He feels guilty, he really does, but he had also been relieved, although stirring now with you still asleep is a moment he can treasure.

Yesterday you had been the one to watch him fondly, tracing the sunlight on his features and letting you savor the sight of him beside you. The morning after your birthday is the opposite. Marcus watches you dream as the sun rises higher overhead. If you knew, you might be slightly embarrassed about the spot of drool on your pillow, but as it is you’re having dreams far too wonderful to care.

You sleep with your mouth open and it’s cute. Marcus smiles as he brushes his fingers over your skin gently, listening to soft sigh that comes from you as you curl further into him.

In your dreams, he’s already curled around you. Which probably accounts for the soft moan you breathe deep inside your sleep.

“Sweetheart?” Marcus nuzzles his nose against your cheek and smiles when your brow furrows gently.

The sound of his voice in the waking world pulls you out of it, and even though you hum softly in protest of waking up, you shift to snuggle closer to him in bed.

He hums softly, running his hand up and down your back. “You can still sleep, I just want to know if I can touch you.”

“Mmmmm.” Stretching like a contented kitten, you manage to crack one eye open and smile at him sleepily. “I wanna be awake for that, though.”

“You could always wake up to it.” He chuckles and leans in to steal a kiss.

The warm blanket of his affection is far more powerful than the comforter covering both of you, and you’re simultaneously annoyed that he’ll have to strip you out of your nightgown and lazily eager to see if he just doesn’t bother. Moaning softly against his lips, you shift ever closer. “I’m yours.”

You are his. His heart stutters and he hums against your lips. Moving the kiss down your jaw, he shuffles his hips down to start sliding down under the sheets.

There’s a surreal quality to it, like you’re still dreaming even when you know you aren’t. But the morning glow settling over everything is so much better than your dreams had been. It’s like you’re floating on a cloud, and the only thing anchoring you to the ground or any kind of reality is just Marcus.

Your nightgown is between you, but he doesn’t view it as hinderance. Too busy nuzzling you through it as he kisses down your chest and pulls down the collar of the gown over one breast.

The bowing arch of your back into his touch is so natural that you barely notice that you’re chasing his mouth rather than his hands. It’s just your body singing insistently for more when he’s barely getting started.

You respond so easily to him, your warm skin heating up even more as he mouths and kisses the skin around your breast until he finally latches on to your nipple lazily, grabbing against your sweet smelling skin. Your breathy sigh is pitched up, and the leisurely curl of your arms around his shoulders holds him in close to you to encourage him to explore any and all parts of you. Sensitive nipples have always been a boon as far as arousal goes, but Marcus’s magic tongue is nothing to discount.

Listening to your sweet sighs is something he can do forever. Licking and sucking gently, combined with the a sometimes sharp nip of his teeth, builds a tension that vibrates beneath the surface of your body.

Your fingers comb through his hair as you drift on a cloud that keeps you somewhere between sleep and wakefulness. Every atom in your body is fully aware and aroused but the sweet dream of this morning makes it still feel like a dream. Holding him close to your chest as he explores to his heart’s content has you squeezing your thighs together already, the buzzing arousal feeling thick and sticky at the apex of your thighs.

"So sweet, perfect." Marcus praises softly between suckles. His hands sliding under your gown to stroke your hip. "You taste perfect, my love."

The happy buzz vibrating right under your skin makes you giggle at that as you squirm underneath him. “And you haven’t even tasted the best part yet.”

“Hmmmm, I’m going to get there.” Marcus promises. “This isn’t a race. I could spend alllll day discovering your body with my tongue and hands before I even use my cock.”

A moan of agreement parts your lips and you end up grinning as he mouths at your skin, nipping and licking everywhere he pleases. “The flea market will still be there next weekend.”

“Maybe we should get out of bed then.” He pauses, head under the sheet and waits for you to squirm. “Right? We can’t miss the flea market.”

“Are you serious?” He’s probably not, but you still lift the sheet to look him in the eyes. If he actually wants to stop, then of course you will. But you have a feel he’s just being a tease again.

He smirks, and looks up at you innocently while sticking his tongue out to trace around your areola. "What do you think?" He hums.

“I’m not going to pressuring you into anything,” you qualify, although he basically has you whining. “But I am gonna have to take care of myself in the shower if you want to stop.”

"That would be a horrible precedent to set in our first weekend together." Marcus flicks his tongue over your aching nipple and then hums when you gasp out as his teeth scrap over it. "Don't you think? We've already postponed this too many times."

It’s almost too much to bear, the way he teases with words and touches and kisses all at once, but you manage to huff at him. “If I drown you when you get down there, it’s only because I’ve been thinking about this every waking second for weeks.”

“Worth it.” He promises with a grin. “It had been so hard not to jerk off thinking about you while I was in London. Especially knowing you were all soft, wet and sweet smelling from your baths with me.”

“Do you know how many times I almost got myself off in those damn baths?” Your soft groan is almost agonized. “I should have. Just moaned into the phone and let you know how badly I want you.”

“Fuck.” His cock twitches against the bed, trapped there as he continues to work his way down. “I wouldn’t have minded.” He admits. “Listening to your orgasm and imagining how you look.” He bites his lip. “You look gorgeous.”

“Would’ve been worth it.” He kisses further down your torso and you hum in approval. “Can’t wait to see how wrecked you look when you cum in me.”

“I had a screening while I was in London.” Marcus admits quietly. “After Vanessa broke up with me. I always do after a relationship ends. Just in case.”

“I do too.” A little bit of a sheepish laugh follows. “Turns out it’s really easy to get good healthcare when your Mom is President.”

Marcus chuckles against your belly button before kissing it. “I bet.” He hums. “No one needs a leaked doctor office visit where the First Princess has an STI.”

“I only like that nickname because it came from the night with you,” you confess, fingers running through his short fair fondly. “I hope you know that.”

“So how about I just call you Princess?” Marcus’s voice drops about two octaves and he smirks at you wickedly.

“As long as I’m your princess.” Although, your sigh immediately gives away what that tone in his voice fires to you.

“Is there any other kind of Princess you would be?” He sends you a wink as he trails his tongue over your hip.

“Not anymore.” Your head falls back on your pillow in relief at that fact, and you fling off the sheet to get to watch him. “Not now that I have you.”

Pleasure races down his spine and he shuffles slightly lower. “I am yours.”

“Glad we—” The moan that cuts off your thought when you feel Marcus’s breath at the apex of your open thighs is deep and curls up from your toes. “Agree.”

He chuckles and doesn’t hesitate to use his fingers to spread your lips apart and he coos as he gets the first good look at your weeping sex. “So pretty.” He praises before he decides the best way to taste you is to slowly drag his tongue along your soaked slit.

“Oh fuck.” Even when you were expecting it, the delicate touch has your eyelids fluttering shut and your chest heaving. Your curse sounds like the most beautiful praise to his ears, moaning at that and the silky, tangy taste of your cunt. Letting his tongue slowly flick along your folds and go where the natural curves of your lips take him. “Never going out again,” you vow, letting a breathy whine vibrate on your tongue.

Marcus chuckles into your folds, keeping pressure on the most sensitive parts of you as he explores. He’s meticulous. Once he’s set himself to the task of learning you, absolutely nothing can or will possibly drag him away. The more you squirm, the firmer his hold becomes. But the more you pant and moan and coo his name into the morning light? Marcus is eager.

The sheet being pulled away allows him to watch you. Enjoying the way you writhe and squirm under his touch. Humming against your skin as you whimper his name prettily.

There's no possible explanation beyond Marcus having a three-foot-long tongue, because the way he feels like he's everywhere at once is the most beautiful kind of overwhelming. There's a solid chance he's just been licking into you and sucking at your clit for hours from how boneless you are, but the first tightening of the knotted arousal at the bottom of your spine heralding the first orgasm of the day reminds you just how quickly he's actually gotten here. You only feel like you've been on this cloud of ecstasy for forever.

Marcus feels your thighs starts to tense around his head. Tightening his grip of your hips as he continues to overwhelm you gently.

“Baby—” Breathless gasps begin to take over as your whole body seems to tighten in response to the mounting pleasure. “I’m so—fuck, I’m so close—”

He doesn’t dare pull away, not wanting to give you a seconds break from the flick of his tongue. Groaning into you and coaxing you to cum for him.

Marcus’s name is a chant on your lips as you fall apart, tipping off the peak of the mountain of pleasure and swan diving down into the swimming ecstasy that Marcus is drawing out of you with lips and teeth and hands.

Your breathless cry of his name is followed by the most gorgeous sight he’s ever seen. Your back arches, eyes closed, one hand tangled into his hair and the other gripping the sheets. It’s beautiful and erotic, a pure work of live art that is priceless to him.

For a few seconds after it’s like you’ve forgotten how to breathe, and then you sink back into the mattress with a sigh. You still have one hand in his hair and it rubs gently, begging him to climb up your body so you can kiss him.

It takes a few minutes, Marcus liking to be thorough when he is working a woman down from her high. Kissing the swollen skin gently before his mouth starts a slow journey back up to yours. By the time he gets up to your lips you’re practically whining for that kiss, happily letting him sink down on top of you when he gets there. His body covers yours perfect, fitting into every grove like he was made for you – because he was. His lips molding to yours in a soft yet sensuous kiss that consumes both of you in the growing morning light.

The valley between your thighs is the perfect place for him to rest, and you cradle him against your body as easily as if you were welcoming him home. What they say about intimacy between soulmates seems to be abundantly clear to you in this moment — it really is the deepest feeling of connection you’ve ever had.

Marcus revels in the feel, sliding his tongue against yours and he pushes his arms under yours to hold you close. It’s almost lazy, the way you sink against each other, but Marcus’s cock trapped between your bodies isn’t going to let either of you get distracted from the wonderful the track that you’re on.

His knuckles brush your cheek and when he finally pulls away, he’s grinning at you. “Good morning.”

"Cheeky," you hum at him, although you're grinning too. "Making me cum that hard and then acting all cute and innocent."

“That was hard?” He tilts his head and smirks slightly, teasing you. “I thought that was a good place to start.”

"Marcus Reid Pike." Eyeing him with a skeptical huff, you ruffle his hair again and end up laughing. "I'm all for that. Just give me a second to recover."

He laughs, coming back down to smother you in affectionate kisses to hear you squeal. “No recovery time!” He commands playfully.

"Such a demanding lover!" You faux-scold, laughing and clinging to him as you squeal and squirm in his arms. Marcus laughs like an evil villain and rocks his hips, grinding his cock against your mound.

"Fuck." It earns him a whimper from your lips, your whole body lighting up all over again at the contact.The playfulness ebbs away and is replaced by a moment of silent desire passing through both of you. Leaning in again, his lips press against yours once more. When you shift this time, your feet are flat on the bed and your knees end up bracketing his hips, encouraging him closer and letting him rest in the cradle of your thighs.

“Ready for more?” He hums, ducking his head to kiss your pulse. “I thought my little Hummingbird needed to recover?”

"I have reconsidered," you inform him, with the air of someone making a very serious and important political decision. "And instead insist on more."

“Ahhhh.” He pops his head up and makes a very loft expression appear on his own face as his hips tilt back and the head of his cock catches on your slick entrance. “A wise choice.” He rasps out, pushing forward to start breaking you open. “Princess.”

Your own noise is best described as a whine, somewhere in between a sharp gasp and a plaintive begging for as much as he's willing to give you. Your legs find their way up higher on his hips to invite him to bury himself in your heat, and even though you were just kissing him seconds ago, you swear he's managed to find a way to loom over you with the perfect expression of desire on his face.

You are exquisite, perfect. Marcus can’t even find enough words to describe how the moment he slides into you wraps around his heart and imprints into his soul. The same soul that is fused with yours. He’s always heard that you feel so much deeper with your soulmate and he’s happy to learn that it’s true.

For a few long seconds, the two of you are content to adjust to each other. No sharp, awkward movements. No wiggling or shifting. The angle is already perfect and Marcus is fully seated inside your body without a single moment of hesitation or difficulty. There’s just a feeling of coming home that you’re basking in until he starts to move.

Starting slow is the only way to do this. Not because he’s afraid of hurting you, but because he doesn’t want to leave you. Feeling like he just stay buried inside your honeyed walls and be perfectly content. The first time he draws his hips back, a low groan falls from his lips. Your real name following that.

There are octaves of difference in your responses. Where Marcus’s groan comes from somewhere deep in his soul, your high whine of pleasure is its own ethereal sound. Once those sounds break free, it seems like a release cord has been pulled — and every pleasurable sound, pure of encouragement, and moan of praise is sure to come tumbling out after it.

It’s never been like this. Never reached into his body and tugged at his soul like this. He should feel guilty but he can’t. Not when every slow thrust is met with an eagerness that shows your own enthusiasm.

Each thrust from Marcus comes with a lift or a roll of your hips, meeting him at the center of the movement to create an exquisite rhythm between the two of you. It's the ebb and flow of the ocean between your bodies as the pace increases and the warmth of the sun heats your skin even further.

It’s beautiful, but he can tell that it’s not enough. Your fingernails dig into his skin, only to release a second later as if you are afraid of marking him. Your body asking for more than the gentle lovemaking. “Let me-“ Marcus kisses you again. “Do you want to try a different position?”

With his cock buried to the hilt inside you like it is, he could probably suggest murder and you'd agree with breathless enthusiasm. "Anything," you nod emphatically and soothe the light fingernail marks you accidentally left on his shoulder.

“Let me know if you don’t like something, Princess.” Marcus murmurs seriously. “This is about both of us.”

"I promise." Right now all you care about is that he doesn't leave the heat of your little cocoon for too long, but you're willing to try just about anything once.

Marcus pulls back and he tries to shift without pulling out of you. Almost succeeding, but smirking slightly when you whimper as his cock falls out. Pushing his legs under your hips, he lifts your left leg onto his shoulder and shimmy’s closer.

There's no thrusting in this position, but as Marcus slides inside you again he leans back the intensity of just grinding against each other makes you moan out and reach to grip Marcus's ankle by your head. He loves how deep he feels, how your walls simply flutter around him. “So good baby.” Marcus groans. “How does it feel?”

"So good baby." Echoing him with a whimper, the hand of yours that isn't clinging to him is somewhere between fisting the sheets and exploring your own body while his hips grind into yours. "You like watching me writhe, gorgeous?"

“Yes.” The word falls like a prayer from his lips, breathless as he watches you. His heart galloping like he’s running a marathon and he can only hope that it’s half as good for you.

"You wanna see me touch myself?" The angle is perfect for it. For him to watch you on your back as he rolls his hips against yours and makes both of you shudder in response. Your free hand squeezes mercilessly at one of your tits, pawing it and twisting the nipple with enough force to make you moan sharply.

“Show me what you like.” Marcus growls out the order, his cock pulsing violently inside your walls as his body responds to the idea.

Anchoring yourself to him was like clinging to life when he first slid inside you in this position, but now you can take your hand away and put it to much better use rubbing decisive, tight circles around your clit to give Marcus a gorgeous show of you indulging in your own body at the same time he fucks you.

His eyes keep roaming. Taking in your hand squeezing and manipulating your breast, the tight circles you rub around your clit. All finding it to be the sexiest thing he’s ever seen as his cock grinds into you. The end of the shaft the only part of it he can see.

Watching Marcus practically salivate over the sight of you is worth not being able to kiss him in this position. Every time he lifts his hips his cock scrubs against your g-spot and your back arches just a little bit more, rocketing you straight toward the second orgasm of the morning.

“That how you like it baby?” Marcus groans when you clench down around him, providing the perfect pressure. “What else do you like? Tell me. Want to give it to you.”

“Want you to — oh fuck — fucking wreck me.” What started out as beautiful, slow, sensual lovemaking has quickly picked up speed and intensity. Like something inside the two of you just released out of nowhere. “Claim me.”

“Fuck” Marcus growls from the very pit of his stomach and he manages to push to his knees by folding them under and looming over you. “You want it rough?”

Simply knowing the man is broad doesn’t do justice to the way he looms over you now. There is power in his strength and yet a deep confidence that he would never, never hurt you. You know Marcus can be gentle and sensual — but you also want to see what it’s like when he’s rough. “Absolutely.”

Your leg is up on his shoulder so when he lunges forward, it’s pressed back to your body. Trapped between the two of you and pinning your hand so you can’t move it from your clit. His hand slaps the side of your thigh sharply and he replaces the hand on your tit with his own, the next thrust more of a sharp snap of his hips.

Permission seems to be all he needed, having no issue taking charge or throwing some power into his thrusts. It pushes you up the bed and has you moaning out all over again. If you had neighbors, they would definitely be complaining. Instead, you just make a mental note to get an extra treat for your agents in apology for how much of this they’re going to start hearing.

“Tell me what else you want.” He demands through gritted teeth and he slides one hand up to rest on the hollow of your throat. He doesn’t squeeze. “This?”

The whimper he earns from you with that suggestion is almost pitiable, but having one of your favorite things to watch in porn that you've never tried before just offered to you – it makes you impossibly wetter and that impending orgasm come even closer. "I – fuck – please?" You beg, knowing you sound pitiful but not caring in the least.

“Hold onto my hand Princess.” Marcus orders roughly. “Squeeze twice quickly if you need me to stop.” He knows that it’s hard to talk sometimes and he wants you to be safe. If this is the kind of experience you want sometimes, you will need to discuss safe words and other safety precautions. Later.

It's possibly the most obedient you've ever been in your life and you put your hand over his wrist and squeeze it twice quickly to show him that you understand. "Like that. I love you, baby."

“I love you too.” He grunts, snapping his hips forward as he squeezes your windpipe for the first time. It’s not hard, but it’s firm enough to cut your air intake in half.

If he was worried even for a second that this might be going out on a limb or that you agreed to it just because you thought it would please him, that worry slides away instantly. As soon as he squeezes, your eyes rolls back in pleasure and your cunt squeezes his cock tight, flooding him with another rush of arousal.

“Holy shit, holy shit. You like that?” He groans, squeezing a little harder. “Yeah you do.” He hisses. “Open your mouth for me, Princess.”

You really fucking do like it, and the instinct for obedience it seems to ingrain in you has you opening your mouth immediately.

It’s a testament to his core training that he can take his other hand off the bed. Holding himself up as he presses his thumb to your tongue and hooks your jaw open even more as he continues to pound into you. “Suck.” He growls.

It might be the single sexiest thing you've ever seen. The way he practically blocks out the sun with the bulk of him and narrows down your entire world to only him feels incredible. Just swirling your tongue around his thumb and sucking it deeper into your mouth has you all the way to the edge of pleasure; but it's when Marcus growls again that you completely lose control, cumming so hard you feel like the world has gone white at the edges.

His blood pressure shoots through the roof and he’s pretty sure that you’ve just soaked the bed underneath you in the most intense orgasm he’s ever witnessed. Panting out your name as he continues to rock into you at an unhinged pace to intensify the pleasure.

If you could you’d beg him to join you. Moan praise and encouragements and tell him with complete honesty how incredibly well he’s fucking you. But being at his mercy like this means your best option is putting all your focus into lavishing the digit in your mouth in attention and bearing down on his cock in earnest any time he’s inside you.

“Fuck baby, fuck baby.” Marcus can’t keep up the growling when he feels like shouting at how hard you are squeezing him. “Gonna cum, gonna – fuck, fill up that little pussy.” He hisses, his hips stutter for a few thrusts before he is burying himself deep.

You practically have to catch him when he falls over the edge after you, just making sure that he doesn’t collapse in such a way that your heads knock together or he accidentally puts too much weight toward the one side of the bed you’ve ended up closer to. You let go of his wrist when his grip on your throat loosens, letting him slump into your body and wrapping that arm around his shoulders to hold him close as he rides out his orgasm.

It’s the most intense feeling Marcus has ever felt in his life. Bigger than any rush of adrenaline or dose of serotonin. For one heart stopping moment, he’s almost afraid that he’s had a heart attack. Body shaking with pleasure as he pours himself into you completely. It’s as if your bodies, as well as your souls, merge.

You dust soft kisses on his cheeks and along his jaw, reveling in the feeling of being completely full of him while he catches his breath.

“How are you feeling?” When he can think, Marcus pulls back to start checking in with you. His hand softening in its touch and he caresses your throat gently. He hadn’t been too rough, but he likes to make a fuss, especially when sex takes a turn like it did this morning.

“Fantastic.” You admit with only a hint of sheepishness in the way you smile at him and your hands caress his back and shoulders. “You?”

“Amazing.” He assures you softly. “Anything you didn’t quite like? Wanted more of?”

“I didn’t want to stop in the middle and ask how you felt about biting or scratching,” you admit. It feels silly to say since he paused to check in with you about getting rough, but you’re being honest. “And…I think we should talk about safe words?”

“We should.” Marcus agrees. “Expectations and needs are important to address as well.”

“I didn’t anticipate rough morning sex the first time,” you giggle, brushing sweat-matted hair from his forehead. “My mistake.”

“That was okay, right?” His soft brown eyes turned worried as he wonders if he overstepped for the first time you were together.

“Baby.” The worry on his face has you reaching for his immediately and pressing kisses to his lips. “It was amazing. I don’t think I’ve ever cum that hard in my life.”

“Okay.” He sighs in relief. “I just didn’t want to overstep our first time.”

“Not at all.” A kiss on the bridge of his nose punctuates the promise. “As long as you enjoyed it, too. Sex should be about both of our pleasure.”

“I enjoyed myself.” Marcus admits with an embarrassed grin. “I enjoy getting a little rougher or darker depending on how my partner feels about it.”

“It’s not an every time thing,” you agree, enjoying the way Marcus almost blushes over admitting his pleasure, “but when you’re in the mood it’s so much fun.”

“I can completely agree.” He hums as he shifts to move off of you.

“Do you still want to go to the flea market today?” You’re up for anything. As long as you get to spend the day with him, everything is golden.

“What do you want?” He asks softly, cupping your cheek. “Your birthday was emotional and I just want to give you a day to enjoy.”

"I just want you. As cheesy as that sounds." Reaching up to peck a kiss on his lips, you shift off the bed along with him despite still-wobbly legs. "Let's take a shower and head to the flea market just like we planned. If something else strikes our fancy then we'll switch gears when we think of it?"

“That sounds like a perfect day to me.” Marcus quickly follows you, holding onto your waist as you go into the bathroom. “Shower together?”

"Absolutely." Naked Marcus is rapidly becoming one of your favorite versions of him, and you fully plan on pampering him in the shower in thanks for fucking you senseless. Seems like a fair trade in your mind.

He hums in approval and moves towards the shower stall to turn on the water while you take care of your after sex business. “Do I need to leave for you to use the bathroom?” He asks, aware that it might not be something you like to do— peeing in front of a partner.

"Not on my account." While some girls might be squeamish about that, you're not one of them. "If you can be inside me, you can stand to be in the room while I pee. That's my feeling, anyway."

“Sound logic to me.” He can’t argue with it. “Especially since one day I’ll be in a delivery room as you give birth to our children.”

"And you need to be okay with bodily functions way before that day comes." Hearing him be on the same page as you is both an enormous relief and absolutely thrilling at the same time and you flash him a grin. "Can I...tell you about the dream I had last night? Without you thinking I'm an absolute crazy person?"

“You can tell me anything, always.” He promises, returning your grin easily and reaching for the towels that are neatly folded on a shelf. “I want us to share anything and everything. For us to be more than just soulmates. Friends too.”

"To be fair, we were friends for a whole month before anything happened," you remind him. The shower is already starting to steam the bathroom mirror but you instinctively wash your hands after you finish on the toilet. "We were f-w-y. Friends with yearning."

“Lots of yearning.” Marcus can agree and he opens the door to let you step into the shower. “Tell me about your dream, Princess.”

"It was about us." Stepping under the hot water with him right behind you, you sigh and lean back under the hot spray. "We had..." A small laugh escapes you and you shake your head. "We had four kids, a big, beautiful Golden Retriever, and we were living in a beautiful little house that looked like a converted barn. It was the most beautiful little domestic vision and I almost didn't want to wake up, except I knew that you were there for real right next to me."

“Four kids, huh?” He grins as he wraps his arms around you and slides his hands up to cup your breasts. “These will be off limits for a long time then.”

"Your fault for telling me twins run in your family," you huff at him, though you arch into his touch immediately. "It got in my subconscious."

“I kind of like the idea of four.” He admits, whispering into your ear. “Two for each of us to corral.” He jokes. “We’ll need a big bed for Sunday morning snuggles when they are young.”

"California king and great big blankets for them to cuddle under." The image is a sweet one, and it conjures up lazy morning and plenty of giggling kiddos in your mind. "And the dog, to cap it all off. Because you know the dog will corral them and be their favourite playmate."

“Absolutely.” Marcus agrees, chuckling himself. “And shedding everywhere, getting muddy with them. Shrieking when he flings water all over them after a bath.”

You both laugh as you start to wash up, reaching for soap and for washcloths and maneuvering around each other in the shower that was definitely not built for two. "So thank you for a beautiful dream and a beautiful wake up."

“It was absolutely my pleasure.” Marcus puffs proudly. “Every single second of it.”

______

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[sukitruqui]

PEDRO PASCAL | THE MANDALORIAN SEASON 3  CCXP 2022 - December 1st, 2022

[sukitruqui]

star crossed | marcus acacius 18+

summary: cursed by the gods to be forever apart, you are forced to wander alone for eternity, until a night shift at a museum changes everything for the better.

warnings: night at the museum!au, mentions of violence, death, and grief, angst, soft!marcus, unspecified age gap, established relationship, smut. (size kink, sir kink, general kink, a bit of switch vibes, oral sex, handjob, unprotected sex, hair pulling, biting, etc.)

a. note: NOT spell checked or read back over or anything. just typed this out and hit post. enjoy xx

In the dark of night, beneath the comfort of the moonlight, you would yearn for what once was.

The heavy spear of guilt would wedge itself deep between the bones of your ribcage, the tip of its blade poking into the blackness of your old heart. Blood, in the form of tears, would dribble from your eyes, like hot drops of rain pouring from the summer sky.

In moments such as this, you would remember him.

Always bruised, always battered, always yours.

The way he would hold you when no one else was around, the way his lips felt against the dip of your neck- chapped and hot and rough and wanting. The way he would take you in any which way he could have you, be it in the bath house or his private garden.

The ghost of his mouth, the whisper of his body, had lingered with you for two millennia. You were haunted by him, forever doomed to spend eternity away from the man you loved.

You knew why. He had defied the gods, and you were the one to blame, another woman felled by their viscous mockery.

“A victory well earned, carissimus.” You whispered to him, your palm dragging the pumice stone across the broadness of his back. Your finger wrapped a curl that hung against his neck around its knuckle, and you massaged the tips of your digits into his scalp.

The General groaned softly, craning his neck to lay his eyes upon you. “My victory was for you. They always are, my heart.”

“For me?” A smile stretched across your rose colored lips, and you pressed a soft kiss to his shoulder. “And what of the gods? Do they not deserve your victory, too?”

“The gods?” The man before you laughed, a deep, hearty laugh that you had rarely heard from him. He leaned against you from where he sat in the steaming water, his calloused palms moving to your knees. “Oh, my darling girl. The gods are nothing compared to you. Venus herself could come before me, and my heart would only ever yearn for you.”

You moaned out softly at his words, leaning the weight of your body against him as you wrapped your arms around him. Your hands, so small against the expanse of his golden stomach, dragged down his belly, focusing on the tuft of hair that rested at the bottom.

“How am I to do my job when you speak to me like that?”

General Acacius chuckled, grabbing your wrist and pressing a chaste kiss to your knuckles. “Your job is to be a dutiful lover.”

“Oh, is it now?” You taunted, letting him move your hand low, low, lower, until it rested against his upper thigh. Your fingers brushed against the length of his hardening cock, and you watched as his jaw clenched.

“Mmhm.” He purred, turning to look at you. The umber of his eyes darkened at the vision of your face, and he let out a sigh that was dangerously close to a growl. “So I would advise you to kneel, and serve your general.”

The morning after that night, an Oracle stopped you at the entrance of her temple. You had never forgotten her words, her words that lingered in the back of your mind.

“Come no further, child. The gods above have given me a message.”

“A message?” Your gaze lingered upon her own, and you took note of the crazed fire which danced within her irises.

“Yes. A message.”

“Speak. What did they say?”

“They have cursed you and the one you love, forever doomed to spend eternity apart. You, who will never know death, and he, who will die too soon.”

And now, here you were.

What the Oracle had spoken was true, and now in the comfort of your apartment, with the soft hum of the city bustling beyond your window, you sat alone. Doomed for eternity to cross the expanse of the world without him by your side.

You had lived hundreds of times over, crossing continents and decades to arrive where you were now, in the bustling concrete jungle of Manhattan.

You had witnessed the Renaissance, been painted by Caravaggio, shook hands with George Washington, fought in World War I, and convinced JFK it was a lovely day to ride with the top down. (That one you regretted.)

There was so much you had done, so much you had explored, so much world you had traversed.

And despite it all, despite all the history you had seen and done, nothing compared to your home, to your love. You had not know the taste of another’s lips, or felt the touch of another man- you had dedicated yourself to your carissimus, to Marcus Acacius.

Perhaps one day, if somehow the fates allowed it, you would be reunited with him, you would be taken to the height of pleasure and made to feel like a goddess once more at the tips of his fingers.

But for now, you had landed a new job in the archives of the history museum, filing away paperwork and making sure everything was organized.

It would do, for this period of your life.

It would do.

“-and if you have any questions, don’t hesitate to call me! We’re understaffed right now, so you’ll be here all alone.” The nice girl in front of you smiled wide, handing you your file of paperwork and a laminated badge. “Have any questions?”

You rocked on your heels, shaking your head slowly. “No. None at all. Thank you.”

“Of course! Have a good first shift.” She waved, disappearing out the door with her bubbly personality following suit.

Now, loneliness.

Blissful, quiet, wonderful loneliness.

You pushed your way through the double doors that led to the dimly lit corridor, finding the archival space full of shelves and filing cabinets.

Home sweet home.

You sat yourself down with a heaving sigh, looking at the countless folders you had to shuffle through tonight. From the corner of your eye, you saw a poster advertising a new exhibit.

Walk Through The Streets of Ancient Rome:

Meet Generals, Explore Temples, and Gaze Upon Artifacts From Day’s Gone Past!

Generals.

Your eyes scanned over the words, tracing the outline of the illustration they had placed upon the magazine cover.

In the West Wing! It had labeled in the corner.

“West wing.” You murmured to yourself, pushing yourself up from your chair. “West wing!” You ran out the door and down the hall, no time to catch your breath or think about your work load.

You looked at your watch: 11:47PM.

You had all night to get your work done.

For now, your thoughts lied with getting to that exhibit and seeing, for the first time in more than ten centuries, remnants of your home.

You reached the exhibit with a heaving chest, shoulders shaking as you gasped for air, your lungs raw and burning.

Before you, stood two delicately crafted columns, the triangular roof the color of the old terracotta of your home. You let out a soft breath, your fingers dragging across the stone work which lay before your eyes, soaking in the scene before you.

Stepping in through the entrance, you saw the long expanse of an old Roman street, villas and temples lining each side. Fake pomegranate trees were planted on either side, and wax figurines of mothers holding babies, children carrying baskets of fruit, and street goers arguing had been resurrected all around you.

There were glass display cases full of pottery shards and artifacts, each with a small chunk of text explaining what it was for.

You closed your eyes, and for a moment, you had been transported back to the august days of your youth, when all you had to worry about was getting home on time for dinner.

You remembered the first night you had ever met Marcus, on a street that looked eerily similar to the one you found yourself in.

The clang of metal against metal rang through your ears, the fiery blaze of the furnace before you melting down precious metals. You watched as your father poured iron into moulds the shape of spear tips and gladius blades, whistling the tune of an old war anthem he once danced to before battle.

“The General is coming tonight. I’ve been crating him a new blade.” Your papa explained gruffly. “I have to take a crate of honey to Titus. Will you make sure the General gets what he comes for?”

You nodded happily, not knowing at all what the future had in store for you. “Of course.”

That night, when you were left all alone in the quiet blacksmith’s shop, you waited for the esteemed Marcus Acacius to show up. You knew you weren’t supposed to, but you couldn’t help yourself.

Picking up the blade of his sword, you inspected every inch of it. On the side, the sigil of a lion had been engraved into the metal. You traced your nail down the design, swinging the sword in the air. For a moment, you allowed yourself to pretend this was your weapon, and you were about to face victory on the battlefield.

Someone cleared their throat from the doorway, and you turned as quick as a strike of lightning, seeing a broad figure of a man outlined before you. In the golden light of the setting sun, the shadow he casted across the floor was imposing, and as he slowly walked towards you, you realized just how large he was.

“General Acacius!” Your words clamored from your mouth through a broken jumble of syllables, and the man who towered above you raised an eyebrow. Your head must have reached the middle of his bicep, his large palm raising to stop the beginning of your rambling.

“Are you the daughter of the sword master?”

“Yes. Yes sir… Yes.” You watched his teeth grit at your words, and you wondered if your voice truly was that grating.

The General cleared his throat, straightening his back out. “And you don’t know how to wield a sword?”

“I’m….He never let me pick a weapon up.”

“It’s a valuable skill to know. To defend yourself. Come.” He waved you closer, extending his hand. You went to give him the sword, but he stopped you, gently grabbing your wrist and positioning your fingers around the handle, showing you how to hold it.

“Like this?” You asked softly, clearing your throat as he brought you closer to the warmth of his body. The General was behind you, his chest lingering against your back.

“Yes, just like that. Good. Good girl.” His praise made you bite your lip, and you watched with bated breath as he enveloped your hands within his own, your fingers completely disappearing beneath his palms.

He rocked his body in unison with yours, showing you how to raise it above your shoulder and swing it. “Just like that.” He craned his neck down, his lips lingering against your ear. “See? You’ve got it. You would make a valuable asset in my guard.” The General teased.

You giggled softly, shaking your head. “I think not, sir.” Once more, his body tensed against yours, and he pulled away with a hefty throat clearing.

“I must leave now. Remember what I’ve taught you.”

With a smile, you bid him farewell, and the next morning your father woke you to tell you the General had left you a gift: A dagger with a lion sigil on the handle.

From that day forward, you were his.

You opened your eyes, breathing in the air of the world around you, coming back down from the memory that had you grasped within its clenching jaws. An overwhelming sense of emptiness overtook you, the fleeting feeling of familiarity flying away, somewhere far off in the distance.

The exhibit around you was beautiful, but it wasn’t real.

You walked down the cobblestone street, the painting of the Coliseum on the wall farthest back. There was a sign pointing to another hallway, with the title “Heroes of Rome” painted on the paneling.

Slowly, you made your way down the hallway, seeing rows of wax figurines standing tall and proud, their blank expressions burning holes into your body. There were the usual heroes everyone knew, like Cicero and Marc Antony, and then there were some you had never seen before.

Far back, at the very end, you saw the last figure, one of the last Roman Greats to ever be known.

Your Marcus.

Your feet carried you before your mind could fully process what was going on, and soon you saw the figurine, tall and towering before you. He wore what he had on the last time you had ever seen him- white and gold armor, a symbol of his status, and the beautiful laurel wreath you had made for him many, many moons ago.

The heat of tears welled into your eyes, and you traced your finger down the length of his cold chest. On his finger, he wore the ring you had gifted him, a testament to your undying love.

Oh, it was undying. Wasn’t it?

“Marcus.” You whispered, cradling his lifeless face in your hands. “Carissimus.”

And although you knew he couldn’t hug you back, you threw your arms around him, standing on the tips of your toes to bury your face into his collarbone.

Your mind flooded with memories of your love. The memories no one else knew about, the ones you had carried with you, testaments of your love and bond throughout time.

Late nights spent in the bath with carafes of mulsum and freshly roasted lamb, feeding him pomegranate seeds in the early morning. Oiling his arms before his fights, riding his throbbing cock well into the depths of midnight after a victory. Consoling him after rage induced meltdowns, allowing him to take his anger out on you through deep bites against the blade of your shoulder and drops of spit forced down your throat.

A moan of agony escaped you, and you held him tighter than you ever had before.

“Come back.” You begged quietly. “Please.”

His palms held your face tightly in their embrace, and with heavy eyes full of pain he looked deep within your soul.

Rome was ablaze around you, battle roars and cries of help echoing around you. “Listen to me. Listen to me! There is a tunnel, to the west of Palatine Hill. You must get to it. I will follow suit… if the gods are willing.”

You cried out softly, staring up at Marcus with wide eyes. “No! No, come with me. You can’t stay here. You can’t!” Your throat was raw from pleading.

He knew of the fate the Oracle had bestowed upon you, and yet- he did not listen.

The poets, far down the line from his time, would label it the Hubris of Man. Marcus thought he could beat the gods at their own game, but you knew this was his last night on earth.

“I can’t. You know this, my heart. I am the General of Rome, and I must protect her. Before you- she was my only love.”

“Marcus.”

“Go, my darling girl. I will find you. If not in this life, then the next.” He pushed you away, and you heard the crackle of the burning barn pop and snap through the smoke filled air.

“Please.” You begged softly, burying your face into the fabric of his top. “Please.”

And then, a gentle thump.

The beat, beat, beating of a heart breathing itself awake, stuttering back to life like the engine of an old car.

Warmth.

Sweet, glorious warmth overtook you, unlike any you had ever known before, and a pair of strong palms grasped at your arms, fingers digging into the softness of your flesh.

Slowly, you looked up, glossy eyes wide with wonder.

“Marcus?!”

The man before you stared down at you, blinking slowly, as though he couldn’t believe what was happening. He was just as lost as you were.

“I…” Marcus went to speak, dragging the tip of his index finger across your cheekbone.

“What?” You both spoke in unison, and in the midst of your confusion, you had not noticed the hustle and bustle of life awakening around you, the thrum of ox pulled carts and bleating goats coming to life.

The air smelled of freshly baked bread and nectarines, along with the wafting odor of animal shit and clogged water ways.

It smelled like…. Rome.

“I can hardly believe my eyes.” You spoke, swallowing a thick lump that had formed in your throat. “Have…. have I died? Have the gods freed me from my curse?”

There was a sadness brewing in the woody irises of his eyes, and Marcus slowly shook his head. “I’m afraid not, my heart. This… I…. none of it is real.”

“But you’re here. Standing before me.”

“Yes. But I am more myth than man. Each night… this place… it fills with life, and we are awake once more until the sun rises, forced to return to our slumber.”

You shook your head, letting out a soft breath of shaking air. “But how-”

“None of us know. It just happens.”

“Each night?”

Marcus nodded, brushing a strand of fallen hair behind your ear before he spoke again.

“What a miraculous turn of fate, bringing you here to me.” He murmured, leaning down to rest his forehead against yours. “I held on to hope, each night since I arrived here, that perhaps you would walk through those doors. If not, why would the gods have birthed me anew? And now here you stand before me, as beautiful as the day we parted.”

His name tumbled from your mouth as you reached up, your fingers digging through his hair. You were shocked, frozen to the core, unable to fully process what was happening around you, and yet you were consumed with thoughts of Marcus, and only Marcus.

The magic, the science, the whatever that was behind all of this, none of it mattered. You didn’t care how, but you did care about him.

“Oh.” You finally let the air you had been holding out, your arms dropping to wrap around his neck. “You’re here. You’re here.”

“As sure as the sun rises in the east.”

“Carissimus.”

“Yes, my heart?”

Your nose brushed against his, his palms lingering against the curve of your hips as he pulled you closer, your body flush against him.

“I’ve waited for centuries to see you once more.”

“I know you have.” He rubbed his thumb into your cheek, warming it back to life beneath his touch. “We have many a lost night to make up for.”

“We do indeed.”

Marcus let out a hum that rumbled from the back of his throat, a smirk befalling his mouth as he leaned down. The curve of his nose nuzzled against your own, his lips almost brushing into yours.

Your name fell from his mouth as he kissed you deeply, your eyes fluttering shut as you leaned forward, grabbing a fistful of hair curls as you melted into him. He held you close, his fingertips tracing shapes alongside your lower back, his tongue swiping across your bottom lip, begging you to open up for him.

Like always, you obliged, eyelashes fluttering against your eyelids as he explored your mouth, tasting your spit and tracing your own tongue.

“Come. Away from here.” Marcus whispered, pulling away to lean his head into the crook of your neck. “I’ll take you somewhere quieter. Somewhere I have awaited your arrival for many years.”

He took your hand in his, lacing your fingers together before walking out of the exhibit, down the lively hall as you pattered by his side.

The world around you was awake, and you watched with wide eyes as the museum thrummed with life. You saw Pharaohs walking with their noses up, a group of ladies in waiting powdering the nose of Elizabeth the I, a herd of wild zebras migrating down the foyer- every new corner you turned, there was something more brilliant and exciting waiting there than the last.

Marcus watched your face with soft eyes, his thumb tracing across your knuckles.

“Magnificent, isn’t it?”

“Yes.” You whispered, nuzzling your cheek into his bicep. “It’s incredible.”

He nodded in agreement, turning towards a pair of black doors. “I would always sit in here, and think about you.”

PLANETARIUM was etched into the entryway, and Marcus held open the door for you as you walked in, your body soon enveloped in the darkness of nighttime.

Above your bodies there was a dome of brilliant light, stars twinkling and constellations dotting themselves together right before your eyes. Comets flew through the heavens, the navy hue of space reflecting against your skin.

“It’s beautiful.”

Marcus smiled, scooping you up into his arms. “Sit and watch with me, my heart.”

He cradled you against his lap, your body close to his chest as you stared up at the sky of the planetarium in wonder.

It reminded you of the night he proposed, the way the sky above Rome was ignited with millions of slivers of silver light, your bodies bathed in their celestial glory.

He had you by the thighs, his face buried beneath the skirt of your stola as he lapped at your glistening pussy, your fingers knotted in his hair as you cried his name out, your back leaning against the cliff ave as your threw your head back.

“Marcus. Gods above. Oh.” Your heard his muffled growls as he devoured you, his tongue buried deep in the folds of your cunt as he fucked you slowly with it, his nails digging into your flesh, soft cries of delicious pain whimpering from your lips.

“Cry for me, darling girl. Make noise for your general.”

“Oh, General.” You pulled him closer by the back of his head, and as he fucked you with his tongue and nose straight through your orgasm, he pulled away, his dark eyes full of love and adoration for you, his beautiful lover.

“Marry me.” Marcus whispered. His words were more of a command than a question, for you both knew what your answer would be.

A gentle kiss to your shoulder roused you from your thoughts, and you turned to see Marcus smiling at you, his face sparkling with pure love.

You smiled softly at him, nuzzling your cheek into his. “Do you know what this reminds me of?” You whispered softly, gently biting down on his earlobe.

Marcus tilted his neck, allowing you to press your face deeper into the crook of his shoulder blade. “What?”

“The night you made me your wife.” You pressed a soft kiss to his jugular, and you felt the vibration of his purr of approval.

“Mm, oh yes. I remember that night well.”

You turned, straddling his waist as you grasped ahold of his shoulders. “Shall we recreate it?” You asked, a devious grin tugging at your mouth.

The General’s gaze darkened, and he hooked his fingers in the belt loops of your skirt. “As you wish.”

Your hands moved down to the skirt of his armor, and he watched with furrowed brows as you slowly undressed him, your fingers tracing lines into the roughness of his skin.

Gone was the wax. Now, in the beautiful light of the heavens above, Marcus was a man, a man who ached and writhed beneath your touch.

You watched the length of his dick pop free from the confines of his clothing, and he groaned out as your small hand wrapped around the thickness of him, giving his cock a few slow, gentle pumps.

Marcus wrapped his hand around yours, speeding your movements up as his hips bucked into you.

“No.” You whispered, pushing his wrist away. “Let me take care of you. You are my love.” You sat in his lap, your chest to his as you continued jerking hum off. Slowly, you met Marcus’ gaze, raising an eyebrow. “You are my general, and you deserve to be worshipped.”

He groaned out at the sound of your voice, his head falling back as his palms moved to your waist. You pressed a kiss to his jaw, gently biting down on his skin, your incisors marking into his flesh. He held you close and tight, as though you would evaporate into nothing if he ever let you go.

“Like that.” Marcus murmured, and you could have sworn his whimpered at the feeling of your thumb dragging across his leaking tip.

“Like this?” You mocked, your movements slowing down to barely nothing.

He growled out in annoyance, digging deeper into the skin of your sides. “Don’t.”

“Or what?”

“Oh, I have yearned for you every night, my heart. Do you know how many ways I’ve imagined folding you in half? All the ways I’ve pondered making you sing your song of pleasure for me?”

“My darling General. I’ve spent the last millennia yearning for you. And now that I’ve finally got my hands on you, I am going to savor it. Each thrust, each kiss, each moan.” You smiled a dazzling smile up at him, relishing in the pretty sounds he was making for you.

Marcus knew he had lost his argument, so he eased back, allowing you to touch him. He grabbed your wrist as his cock twitched, shaking his head. “Lay back.”

“What-”

“Now.” His tone was threatening, and although you savored your moments of dominant victory, you did as he commanded, laying back on the ground.

Marcus tugged off you skirt, your panties and afterthought as he ripped the lacy fabric away, diving into the folds of your puffy pussy like a starved man.

He was a starved man, that much was certain. And you, a starved woman.

The General traced over your throbbing clit with the tip of his hot tongue, his name on your mouth like a siren call, pulling him deeper and deeper into your love. He savored the taste of you, the saltiness that filled his mouth as he pushed his fingers knuckle deep into your tight pussy, moaning out at the wetness that reverberated through the air.

You brushed his hair back, his laurel crown half hanging off his head as he moved it back and forth, nuzzling himself further into your cunt, face glistening with the shimmer of your arousal.

With your back arching off the ground, you clamped your shaking thighs around his head, nails scratching across his scalp as you brought him closer. He groaned, suckling on the pretty bud of your pussy, hooking his fingers to hit against that spot he knew made you come undone for him.

You gasped out as pleasure rippled through you like ocean waves, his name the only things tumbling from your lips. Like a chant, a secret, a promise meant for his ears, and his ears only.

You felt your stomach tightening with an oncoming orgasm, and right at the height of your pleasure, Marcus pulled away, smirking down at you as you whimpered and mewled out in annoyance.

“Why’d you do that?” You cried out, watching him hook his hands beneath your knees. He bent your legs back as far as they could to, the tip of his cock pressing into the folds of your pussy.

“Because I want to fuck the cum out of you, my darling girl.” He responded sweetly, brushing his knuckles down your cheek. “Fret not. Your General will make you cum.”

You moaned out, grasping ahold of his chest as he leaned forward, the length of his cock rubbing up and down the swelling lips of your cunt as he kissed you deeply, his tongue tangling with yours as he wrapped his fingers gently around your throat.

Not to choke, but to hold you in place. He wanted to see what your face looked like when you came undone around him.

Marcus slowly pushed within you, and you felt the burn of his girth stretching you out. Your pussy ached, your belly tightening as he filled you to the brim, the tip of his head reaching your cervix.

“You feel as good as the first time.” He praised, scattering a string of kisses down your neck.

You breathed out softly, nodding against him. “As do you.”

Marcus kissed your nose, his eyebrows furrowing as he fucked himself deeper in to you, allowing you a moment to adjust to the size of him once more.

“My beautiful lover. My Venus on earth.” His words were muffled in the crook of your neck as he held you close to his face, the sound of his skin slapping against yours filling through the room.

There were stars in your eyes- literally- and Marcus couldn’t remember the last time he had ever seen someone so beautiful, the last time he had ever witnessed something so divine.

“Every night, I dreamt of you. Of your smell, your voice, your laughter. When I died, I did not meet my demise in the underworld. There was no Pluto, no lake of death. It was only you. My darling wife. I’ve dreamt of your eyes for many years, of your body writhing beneath mine.”

You whimpered, your nails pressing into his flesh as he fucked you harder, a soundless gasp leaving your mouth agape.

“Look at me.” He tilted your chin to meet his eyes, and his grunts of pleasure soon filled your ears. “Look at me.” His voice was softer now, his eyes peering into your own as he leaned down to kiss you.

“Now you have me.”

Marcus moaned at the sound of your voice, nodding in agreement. “Never to part.”

He reached down, his fingers finding your clit and rubbing gently. You whimpered with pleasure, nodding up at him as though he had just asked a question you knew the answer to.

“Marcus!” You gasped out as you felt your climax dawning on you, and he knew what was coming next.

“That’s it. Let go for me, my heart. Let go.” And you did just that, your body shaking and convulsing as you cried out for him, his cock fucking you through your orgasm until his own washed over him.

You felt him fill you with his seed, painting your walls as white as the tunic he wore, before collapsing in to you. Marcus’ fingers found your hair, and he leaned down until his face was pressed into your chest, allowing himself a moment to catch his breath.

“Oh, my carissimus.” You whispered softly, running the palm of your hand down the back of his head.

“I told you.” He whispered. “I would find you in another life.”

You laughed softly, tears of relief pricking at the corners of your eye. “Indeed you did… indeed you did.”

Marcus kissed the curve of your breast, pulling away to stare down at you. “I can’t believe it.” He murmured, rubbing your cheek gently. “How lucky I am to have known you, to have been alive at the same time as you.”

“I have crossed time and space to see you again. I’ll be damned if we’re ever to be forced apart.”

His lips met yours in a soft, gentle embrace, and when he pulled away, his eyes glistened with love, pure, consuming love. “The gods have nothing on us now.”

You shook your head slowly, cupping his cheek in your palm. “I’m cursed to live forever, and you’re a display at a museum. If they have any more tricks to pull, I’m not sure they’ll get very far.”

The General chuckled softly, sitting up and pulling you up with up. “We are our own gods now, my little heart.”

“Until the end of time.”

You both craned your necks, looking up at the twinkling stars that dazzled and hung above you, beautiful and twinkling, as though it was a canvas painted just for your eyes.

“I love you, Marcus.”

He let out a gentle sigh, the familiar feeling of his breath fanning across your neck. “And I love you.”

Marcus held you until the sun began to weep from the horizon, and you watched as he climbed back into his display, kissing his cheek as he slowly turned back to wax. Come tonight, you would be right back in his arms.

It seems as though even the gods could not stop the red string of fate that bound you two star crossed lovers.

[sukitruqui]

"Pedro looks so out of place, he doesn't look like he belongs there." Shut up.

[sukitruqui]

"Pedro looks so out of place, he doesn't look like he belongs there." Shut up.