#The First Daughter AU

[dead-girl-tells-stories]

DP x DC prompt:

Daniel was seething. It's been a year since he left the league and they've already found him. Well, it was his mother who found him. Not that that was any better but at least it wasn't Grandfather.

It also shouldn't have taken him so long to dispose of those soldiers. They weren't even that capable. Far below his level and yet he struggled. He needed to resume his training soon or else he would become rusty.

He cursed himself for getting too comfortable with civilian life. Not that his life was comfortable, far from actually.

He had been adopted by a pair of mad scientist with no concept of lab safety; and for all the intelligence they had, they couldn't fathom how to properly take care of a child, leaving their daughter to take care of herself and now her newly adopted sibling!

He sighed. He was starting to get angry. He couldn't afford to get angry. Especially not at Jazz. She was only two years older than him and was doing her best. She's also the only good thing in his life right now meaning that he had to cherish her, not break her. (He wouldn't be like his brother)

His mind stayed on Jazz for a while before immediately increasing his speed. He really needed to resume his training. How could he be so slack to forget such a possibility! Daniel desperately hoped that his sister Jazz was okay and that they wouldn't dare.

Entering through his bedroom window he rushed straight to Jazz's bedroom. It was open. She wasn't there.

Daniel started to panic when he heard a muffed scream coming from downstairs. Adrenaline coursed through his veins as he rushed down the stairs and into the kitchen.

In all honesty Daniel expected the worse. To see his sister Jazz dead on the floor, thick red gushing from her neck, the scent of blood in the air. And there was blood, it just wasn't her's.

Daniel always prided himself on having a vivid imagination. It was a great way to escape after an especially hard training session with his brother. But he would have never imagined this.

In the small, laughably suburban kitchen of the Fenton household was a sight to behold. In the air were two mangled bodies, unidentifiable if not for the league's emblem still visible on one of them. And on the wall was a splatter, a rather big one. It wasn't blood. It was too dark to be. But whatever it was was very unlucky.

In the center of the kitchen was Jazz. Her arms were outstretched, burning sigils rotating at the end of each palm. Her eyes glowed a bright icy blue.

Upon noticing him everything stopped. She looked fearful. Tears threatening to come forth.

"Wait I can explain, just don't tell mom or dad! Please!"

Daniel, still a bit shocked but not as much, simply walked into the kitchen towards the cupboard. Taking out a clean towel he unsheathed he sword and began to clean it.

He looked over his shoulder towards Jazz. She didn't look as scared but her eyes still held some fear. So he spoke, making sure the still bloody sword was in veiw.

"I won't tell if you don't." He flashed a grin his tiny fangs peaking out.

Jazz sighed as in the weight of the world was lifted off of her. She looked at him and smiled.

"Mom and Dad aren't going to be back for a while. Wanna help me clean up?"

[viixenvi]

𝐖𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐝𝐨 𝐰𝐞 𝐠𝐨 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞

Summary: Natasha Romanoff is your bodyguard. Recently hired to be by your side everywhere you go. Your father, the president, deemed her the perfect bodyguard for you. Apparently, she's known for getting her job done and has never once had an incident. You make it your mission to be unbearable so she can back off and you can have fun. Until one day, you get too frustrated and Natasha can't help but be there for you.

Characters: Bodyguard!Natasha x First daughter!fem!reader

Warnings: angst, fluff, nicknames (Милая=darling), cuddling, kissing, reader being overly sexual (in the beginning)

A/N: First daughter x bodyguard is something I've been wanting to write!! As always forgive me for any mistakes this was not proofread!

𝐌𝐢𝐧𝐨𝐫𝐬 𝐃𝐍𝐈

You sit on the counter of the kitchen. The white house has many places you love, but the kitchen might just be your favorite. You lick the spoon as you look at Natasha. She is standing across from you by the door. There are two other agents outside the room.

Natasha watches you intently, her eyes on your lips. She doesn't hide her hard stare. Natasha was professional, but you made it extra hard. You made it your mission to break her. You hoped if you did it then your father would lessen the security he had with you constantly.

"This is so good, you want some?" You pull the spoon out of your mouth and extend your hand toward Natasha. She just shakes her head and averts her gaze.

You sigh and jump off the counter, making sure she can see your boobs bounce when your feet hit the cold floor. Natasha follows behind you, keeping a slight distance.

All you can hear is her footsteps behind you as you walk toward your bedroom. There are two guards stationed across the hall either way. Natasha stops and takes her post in front of your bedroom. You giggle to yourself as You realize you have the perfect plan for her to crack.

When you get into your bedroom, you rush to the closet and pull off your shirt. Your pink bra and shorts are all you have on now. You reach to unclip your bra but purposefully pretend you can't reach it.

"Natasha!" You call out, she comes into the room with her hand at her belt where her gun is. When she sees you she immediately looks around to not look at your body.

"Yes, Y/n?" She questions. You turn and point to your bra clip.

"Can you help, I'm stuck," You whine slightly, hoping it's believable. Natasha walks to you slowly, you can feel her eyes burning into the skin on your back.

She had never seen you undressed before. Sure she's seen her fair share of your scandalous clothes, but never anything like this.

Her warm breath hits your neck as her fingers graze your back. You can feel a shiver go down your spine. She quickly unhooks your bra and turns around to give you privacy.

"Thanks, Natasha," You say in a whisper, you throw the bra to her feet and pull your shorts off slowly. You know she can see you through the mirror on her right.

Natasha takes a deep breath and tries to look away, but she can't stop from trying to see every inch of your skin. She was a professional, but you made it so damn hard for it to stay that way.

"If there is nothing else Y/n?" Natasha's voice is low. She goes to walk away but your hands on her arm make her stop.

"Help me pick out pajamas," you stop yourself from moving your hands any lower. You didn't really realize it, but at some point, this dumb mission stopped being pretend.

"Ma'am, I'm sorry if I'm out of line, but this is extremely unprofessional and I must say no to your request." Natasha's tone makes you step back.

"Oh. Sorry. You can go." You turn around and grab your robe off the couch. Natasha walks out of the room and shuts the door behind her. You stand in front of the mirror and look down at the bra sitting on the floor.

You didn't like the way you listened to her. Natasha had to go, it didn't matter what she felt. Right?

You sigh and walk to your bed, pulling the covers up and slipping under them. You open your laptop and put on a random video. You weren't even watching it, you just needed some background sound.

You pulled out your makeup, you had a person to do it but you had been practicing. Eyeliner was the one thing you couldn't get right. Your hands always shook and it was hard to get it right.

You held the liquid eyeliner pencil in your hand and got close to the mirror you used to do your eyebrows. The tip of the pencil was slightly dried out from all the times you used it. You press down and it messes up the line, making it chunky and messy. You wipe it off and keep trying.

After your sixth attempt, you finally get frustrated enough to throw the eyeliner pencil across the room. You let out a frustrated groan before you hear the door opening.

Natasha is standing at the door, looking down at the eyeliner and then back at you. You are crying a little from not being able to get it right and you know the eyeliner on your face is messy and streaking down your cheeks.

"Get out! Why do you never leave me the fuck alone?" You shout at Natasha. She doesn't deserve it but you need someone to get your frustrations out on.

Natasha raises her eyebrow and picks up the pencil off the floor. She shuts the door behind her and locks it, which you don't notice. You turn your head away from the direction she's coming from. You feel embarrassed she has to see you like this but that doesn't stop you from crying.

These tears weren't just from not being able to do eyeliner. You were frustrated because you realized that somewhere along the way, you caught feelings for Natasha. Everything you did may have just made her want to leave and that was not what you wanted anymore.

Natasha stands next to you, one hand reaching for your chin and moving your head to face her. You can't help but look up at her through your lashes. There is a smile on her face and she takes a seat on your vanity's stool.

You look at her face, she is stunningly beautiful and her red hair makes it better.

"What's wrong Милая?" she asks as she grabs a makeup wipe and holds your chin so you don't move. (darling)

"Nothing," you whisper while she wipes the eyeliner off. You feel her warm breaths again and you love it. Her hands are so soft and you hate the way you can't stop looking at her lips.

You had spent weeks trying to get her to quit and now you sat here wishing she'd never leave.

"It had to have been something, no?"

"I'm sorry." You look down, pulling away from her grasp on your chin. You can't let her touch you like this if you want her to stay.

"Sorry? about what?" Natasha looks at you, confused.

"I've been making your time here as bad as possible just so you could quit and Dad would let me have less security," you explain. Natasha smiles as if she finds it amusing.

"I know," is all she says as she gets up and starts to walk away. You get up and grab her wrist. She turns around and looks at you.

"What do you mean you knew? How di-" You are cut off by Natasha pushing her lips onto yours. You didn't move for a few seconds, afraid if you did then this would all be a dream.

Then her hands are on your waist, pulling you closer and you finally kiss her back. Her lips were as soft as you had thought and that same shiver went down your spine again.

Natasha pulls away first, letting you get air. You stand there frozen for a moment. Natasha had kissed you and you kissed her back.

"God, I've been waiting to do that since I got here," Natasha shrugs, chuckling a bit at your reaction. Her hands find their way to your waist again as she spins you and sits on the bed. She pulls you onto her lap and you feel your face start to go red.

"Natasha, what about your job?" You question, suddenly remembering that she works for your father.

"I don't care about my job, as long as I can finally have you." Natasha kisses your lips then your cheek and then your neck. You push her away playfully and she lays you on your bed. You close your laptop and Natasha climbs in rich next to you.

You yawn and look at the time on your alarm clock. It's way past the time you'd normally go to bed and Natasha knew that.

"Go to sleep Милая, I'll stay here till you do." She wraps her arms around you, the blanket over the both of you. You close your eyes and move your head closer to her chest. She smells so good and you inhale the scent as you relax in her arms.

"Goodnight Милая," Natasha whispers in your ear, her left hand running through your hair to make you sleep faster.

[chippedcupwrites]

Sandor Clegane & Arya Stark + emoji kitchen

[starry-bi-sky]

What would a mother not do for her child What lengths would a mother not go There's a bond that exists between mother and child With no end to how strong it can grow It's a promise for life between mother and child It begins from the moment of birth.

================

She is six years old, and standing on the porch at her Auntie Alicia’s cabin. She is six years old, and holding an old rifle in her hands, standing at the railing and pointing the nozzle at a large target a couple feet away. There’s a pair of old ear muffs covering her ears. Behind her is her daddy and her sister, and Auntie Alicia. She can’t see them. 

Danielle Martha Fenton is six years old, and her momma has her arms wrapped warmly around her, keeping the gun steady for her. It’s heavy and the butt digs into her shoulder uncomfortably, and she feels nothing but determined. And nervous. 

Her momma was teaching her and Jazzy how to shoot, and they’re down in Arkansas to visit Auntie Alicia for her second “Divorce-iversary” as Auntie calls it. She keeps a hunting rifle in her gun safe for the rabbits that like to nibble on her garden. She mostly grows rhubarb, which goes untouched. But her carrots and greens and other veggies like to be tempting snacks for the game. 

Regardless, she is six years old and learning how to shoot. Her momma and her daddy (mostly her daddy) have been banned from every shooting range outside of Amity Park in a hundred mile radius. So Auntie is the best place to learn, or so momma says. 

Danny thinks it's just an excuse to see her sister, not that she's complaining. She loves visiting Auntie.  

She’s already seen Jazzy do this, her momma told her before the muffs went on to shoot when ready. No use trying to fire when you’re not; you can’t afford to miss when shooting ghosts. 

Danny breathes out steady, just like momma taught her, and quells her trembling little fingers. She focuses down the barrel, and pulls the trigger. 

Immediately, the recoil throws her off, the side of the gun that her cheek was resting on knocks against her skin, harsh enough to bruise if it weren’t for her momma’s steady hands holding onto her. The bang of the gun startles her more than she thought it would, and her heart leaps up and runs a jackrabbit through her chest. 

The gun is carefully slipped out of her hands, and Danny lets it go easily, her cheek smarting in pain and her eyes wide and following up to momma. Momma turns the safety on, and with a gentle hand, pushes against her chest. Danny takes a few steps back, and slips the ear muffs off her head. 

Mommy is smiling big at her, something that Danny can’t help but replicate on her own face as her heart swells. “Did I get it, momma?” She asks, watching as she passes the gun off to Auntie Alicia, who steps over to take it.

“I’m going to go see, sweetie, but I think you did.” Momma coos, before planting both her hands on the porch railing and, in a single leap, vaults over the side and onto the grass. She’s dressed all comfortable for the summer heat, with her hair all tied back and in shorts and a tank top and nice boots. Danny’s ribs swell hopefully, and she stands on her tiptoes to watch her walk over.

“I’ll be hard-pressed to believe if you didn’t, Martha Mae,” Auntie tells her, grinning like a cat, “that was a damn good shot.” 

‘Martha Mae Knight’ was Danny’s granny’s name. Auntie Alicia calls her that because of her middle name — and because, by her words, she has her momma’s weird-shaped eyebrows and piercing blue eyes. The kind that could scare a hawk into singing like a robin. It was Danny’s favorite nickname ever.

Daddy laughs brightly, the sound painful on her ears but twice as nice, and despite the distance, Momma whirls her head around to shoot Auntie a glare; “Language, Alicia. Not around my girls.” She warns. Her accent always comes through when they’re around Auntie. It’s Danny’s favorite thing to listen to. 

“Do you think so, auntie?” Danny says, bright-eyed and ever-optimistic. Auntie Alicia nods fiercely as Momma finally reaches the target and searches for the bullet hole. Daddy then comes up behind her, still laughing, and claps a hand onto her shoulder so hard that it makes her knees hurt.

“Of course she did!” Dad boasts, as bright as the sun and twice as warm. He shakes Danny affectionately, wobbling her on her feet and pulling her straight into his side. She goes so willingly with a burble of giggles. “She’s got the eyes of a Fenton! And our family are darn good shots.”

Auntie eyes him up and down, her smile immediately fading off into a pressed line. “I’m sure you mean she’s got the eyes of a Knight. You couldn’t hit the broad side of a barn at twenty paces, Jack Fenton.” 

Jazzy holds back giggles from where she’s standing by the door, her ear muffs in hand, and Danny watches her Daddy’s dark eyes immediately narrow. Just like Auntie’s, his smile tapers off into a frown. 

Before he can say anything, there’s a cheer from the yard, and they all turn to Momma clapping her hands in delight. 

Danny immediately pricks her ears up, and would’ve darn near rushed over to the railing if it weren’t for her Daddy’s hand on her shoulder. She yells instead, excitement thrumming like a hummingbird against her ribs, “Did I hit it, momma?!” 

Momma beams at her with all the pride in the world, “You sure did, Danny!” And she turns to press her finger against the target, right on the inside red ring of the battered old bag. “Right here, sweet girl!” 

There are cheers from all around, and Danny’s heart bursts inside her lungs with shiny, sunshine glee. She puffs her chest out big, and smiles so wide it hurts the cheek where the gun smacked her. Her Daddy shakes again, squeezing her tight against his side in a hug that Danny happily reciprocates. 

“What’d I tell you, Martha Mae?” Auntie tells with a big wink and a wide grin, the gun still gripped tight in her hands as Momma makes her way back over. “You got a Knight’s eye.” 

When Momma makes it back over the railing, she hugs Danny tight and praises her shot. Danny looks her in the eyes and chases the feeling, and asks to shoot again.

[wardenparker]

Hummingbird Has Landed, ch 1

Marcus Pike x female reader Co-written with @absurdthirst

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I can certainly understand that.” Marcus admits.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

______

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

HHL: @haileymorelikestupid

My Masterlist!

[leyendadospuntos]

Properly introducing Blythe to the pet- I mean kids!

[hyperblue]

imagine that before his death, Kon accidentally wounded Tim - this is a tragic mistake and as a result one eye is completely blinded [it is cloudy and dull gray like dirty glass], and there are ugly stripes of scars on his face that could not be removed in any way.

Kon blames himself, Tim comforts him and says everything sooner or later he would have been disfigured anyway. He's glad it was Kon.

And Tim, blind in one eye and with a half-mutilated face, holds his daughter in his arms wrapped in a red blanket with the symbol of the house of El and smiling tenderly.

okay now that one just straight up killed me

[pandeesall]

smol angy man with big forehead full of regret

[justaflyintooka]

First line challenge!

Rules: post the first line of your WIP, the first line you worked on today, or any other “first line!”

Thank you for the tag @babyscilence! <3

This is from an AU, post chip-arc, where the Daughter takes the fate of the galaxy in her own hands and gives Fives a second chance by bringing him back -- only he's now a cadet on Kamino, about to face graduation. What could go wrong? a lot :)

I've got a lot of ideas for this one, so probably I'll rant about it in the future but for now here's the first few pharagraphs :)

The last thing he sees is Rex's face, the teardrop spilling down his cheek and then darkness consumes everything. Fives presses his eyes shut and lets it take over him. I'm sorry Rex. He doesn't feel his limbs, like he's floating. It's alnost...comforting. Sort of. He creaks his eyes open and they widen in surprise as the stars appear. One by one. White and blue, bright and faint. Thousands of them.

Also if it sounds a bit weird, I always write in my first language and kind of just hastily translated this :))

NPTs: I really don't know if you guys did this already, but if you'd like to join: @bladelei, @aknightreaderr

[add1ctedt0you]

Me, with the unpopular opinion that, in a wq lives au, where wq marries jc, novel canon wwx is not taking well the news about chengqing marriage

[moeblob]

son boy raccoon trash can man suffering in a dnd au as a cleric bc his warlock will not stop committing murders and he has to keep coming up with reasons murder is valid to convince the gm its fine and under control

[nychthemeron-rants]

Inspired by @marlindotzip 's comics, I've made a Butch Chilchuck AU: Pretty much everything is the same except Chilchuck is a butch woman instead of a man.

Here are my basic headcanons for Butch Chilchuck:

Chilchuck is a he/him butch queer woman and prefers masculine language being used towards him (though he does like being called his children's mother and dislikes being called a man directly).

He is perfectly fine with people assuming he's a man professionally because it doesn't really matter to him (besides, people take him more seriously when they think he's a man, including other half-foots at the union and its easier to only fight one battle for respect than two)

That being said, he is SUPER proud of Meijack for fighting for respect as both as a half-foot and as a “fem” (by Chil's standard) woman in the same field.

Chilchuck has PCOS which is why he has facial hair as both a tall man and as a dwarf. (Though he developed it AFTER the births of his daughters) He has some facial hair and chest hair as a half-foot too, but shaves fairly regularly when possible.

His wife is trans. They were childhood friends because Chil was too masculine to get along well with the other little girls and his wife was bullied by the “other” little boys for being to feminine. Both not fitting the mold of their assigned genders, they became close friends and eventually fell in love.

Chil was a “teen” mom because he and his wife thought her hormone treatment acted as birth control. That little goof resulted in the twins and their marriage arriving before either hit adulthood.

He eventually got top surgery (or the fantasy equivalent) sometime after they had served their purpose because he thought they got in the way at work and added unnecessary weight. He finds his armor is a lot more comfortable now and he has to pack slightly less clothes as an added bonus.

Chilchuck is naturally a very masculine looking woman with a fairly deep voice. He sometimes jokes with his wife that being as butch as he is is the best possible outcome, as his body would probably make a more feminine woman very insecure.

That being said, Mei has a lot of the same traits and is confident and comfortable in her skin, and is proud to look like her mother.

He understands 100% when people assume he's a trans man, but he has done a lot of introspection on that topic (at his wife's behest as she thought he was an egg for the longest time) and he is confident in his womanhood, even if it looks different than most other women's.

He isn't uncomfortable with feminine clothing but is VERY uncomfortable with the questions and comments he gets when he wears it and generally prefers masculine clothes.

(Part 2: How this AU affects party dynamics!)

[wardenparker]

Hummingbird Has Landed, ch 8

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: 11k 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* Teasing, flirting, nudity, bathing together, fingering, a smattering of dirty talk. Summary: This wedding night is special for more than just the happy couple. Notes: A little light smut for your Sunday! Thanks for sticking with us this long, but these two are finally starting to get to know each other. 🧡 As always, please remember that the gif choice at the top of the chapter is not meant to represent reader's physical appearance. In this case, it's for Cameron and Wiley!

Ch1 ~ Ch 2 ~ Ch 3 ~ Ch 4 ~ Ch 5 ~ Ch 6 ~ Ch 7

Not even the nonstop amount of work you’ve been doing for the wedding can stop how much you’ve been thinking about Marcus since he left early on Thursday morning, and obviously Sydney isn’t going easy on you. The merciless, good hearted, happy-for-you teasing started the second you and Marcus came downstairs together the morning after the rehearsal dinner and has kept going through the texting and when you appeared for the actual wedding looking like you had paid a great deal of extra attention to your appearance for tonight. Not even to take away from the bride of course, but enough to look special for the occasion.

It had been so hard to not go back to your apartment after leaving the office yesterday. He had wanted to. So badly. To pick up the conversation and possibly do more than that kiss on the cheek he had thought about the entire time he was on the golf course and in the office. Now, getting ready for the wedding, he pays special attention getting ready so he can look his best for you.

The greenery that has been brought into the gardens, the subtle lighting accents, the clover-shaped place cards, and even the Kelly green silk shirt and matching heels that you picked out to wear with your most flattering suit are all festive for the St Patrick’s Day wedding. Each time you have checked on Joyce and her bridesmaids they have been jittery with excitement but doing well, and the florist was an astonishing ten minutes early to drop off the flowers, so everything is moving along perfectly.

By the time guests begin to arrive, the groom, ushers, groomsmen, and father of the bride are all in place. Considering the chaos this wedding was thrown into just two weeks ago? It might be the best organized night you’ve executed by yourself in years.

He has no problem not being in the wedding party anymore, however, Marcus escorts Joyce’s mother down the aisle to her seat with pride. The accents of his tuxedo had been the same color as the bridesmaids, but he had willingly given them up for her father, deciding on a classic grey accent to contrast for the vest, pocket square, and bow tie.

The only two things that save you from crying during the ceremony — which you always, always do — are how busy you are and how damn good Marcus looks. Through the ceremony and photos you catch glimpses and share smiles, but it takes until cocktail hour before you get a chance to sneak up in his side. “You know it’s bad manners to show up being more handsome than the groom.”

“Don’t think that I did that.” Marcus immediately warms from the inside out at just hearing your voice as he turns towards you. “And you look like you stepped out of a fashion shoot.” He compliments. “Upstaging the bride.”

“I would never.” Just hearing his voice in person instead of over the phone practically makes you giddy, but you demure. “Thank you, though. I will pass the compliment along to David, who is my fashion consultant.”

“Well, the linen suit is perfect with the vivid emerald green.” He smiles as he motions towards the reception. “It’s wonderful and they are beaming.” He smiles at the now family pictures being taken with Joyce’s parents and a large bouquet. While Michael’s parents hadn’t shown, they had sent a flower arrangement so it had made the couple hopeful that they would be accepting of things down the line.

“As long as they’re happy, that’s all that matters.” So far nothing has gone wrong, and you’re keeping your fingers crossed that it stays that way. Or at least, that when something finally does, it will be either small or insignificant enough that you can fix it without the couple even realizing.

“You have a gift.” Marcus praises softly. “Which do you prefer? Running the inn or planning? I’m assuming the day to day for the inn.”

“I do prefer the day to day of the inn,” you admit, looking around the garden filled with reception guests. “But I think I’ll be broken-hearted if I don’t get to help my siblings plan their weddings. I do like it.”

“I can see that.” He reaches out and slides a hand around your body, resting on where the tattoo sits in the small of your back. “You are wonderful and you’ve created a day they will never forget.”

“I won’t take an ounce of credit.” Looking up at him, though, you do smile. Just about as broadly as you can. “I will steal a dance from you later, though.”

“I think we can manage that.” He nods, smiling just as wide as you are. “Let me know when you are free.”

“I’ll come and find you when things are under control enough for me to slip away.” Not that you think it will take long, but there is always potential for things to happen. That’s why you have the radio in your ear, after all. A discreet Walkie talkie on your belt is hidden by your suit it makes you reachable by the whole staff working tonight. It gives you the luxury of stepping away to say hi to Marcus without worrying about a major disaster breaking out.

“Let me know if I can help.” He tells you, knowing that you would never ask, but he will offer anyway. “I can carry a case of champagne or something.”

“You’re a guest.” Never in a million years would you ask him to do any work when he’s attending an event in space you control, and you shake your head. “Relax. Enjoy. Eat and drink. Dance. I’ll come and find you later, handsome.”

He rolls his eyes and grins at you. “I knew that would be your answer, but my offer will stand.”

“Noted and appreciated.” You lean into his side for a brief hug before slipping away again, shooting a teasing wink his way from halfway across the garden as you go.

The garden lights are on. White mixed with green to match the theme of the wedding party and Marcus has danced with the bride and her mother by the time you come back to his side. More than a few glasses of champagne in, and relaxed with his bow tie untied now.

“Having fun?” You may have snuck over to the deejay to ask him to play a slow song, but no one needs to know that you planned it.

“Enjoying myself, but now…” he turns and gives you a slow smirk. “It’s even better since you are here.”

“Oh yeah?” That has you beaming at him as the next song starts.

“Yeah.” He hears the slow, sweet strains of the song and lifts a brow. “Are you here long enough to dance before you flit away, hummingbird?”

“I’m all yours.” It sounds a bit more like a pledge than the playful thing it had sounded like in your head, but that’s okay. You still mean it. “For at least a song or two.”

Humming happily, he holds out his hand for you, watching you with almost tender affection. “We seem to be good at this.”

“Those lessons that our parents insisted on have paid off.” Those lessons don’t dictate how well you fit in his arms, though, or the way you feel drawn into him like a magnet.

“It’s like they knew.” He chuckles.

“We can never tell them,” you snicker, leaning into him a little more as the song goes on, and resting your head comfortably on his shoulder. “We’re still their children, after all. Can’t let them know we think they were ever right.”

“Never.” He had already received a call from his parents after the photos of the State dinner were published, only a case of mild humble bragging allowed before they changed the subject.

“You’ve never told me if you have siblings or anything.” The thought occurs to you almost belatedly, as the world is hazy around the two of you and you like it that way.

“Only child.” He chuckles. “Although I am possibly the only case of single child syndrome in my extended family.” He tells you. “I have twenty-seven first cousins.”

Your head nearly snaps back, wide eyes and a laugh of shock making your face look comically surprised. “I’m gonna need flash cards, aren’t I?”

He laughs, making several others look towards you, curious as to the amusement. “No.” He promises. “Most of the time, we all wear name tags.” He grins. “My family has six sets of identical twins in mix. They decided to make it a family traditional to tag us so no pranks were played.”

“Criminey.” Even on a low huff, you shake your head in wonder. All his poor aunts! “So an only child but plenty of playmates, then?”

“Always.” He laughs. “Always felt like I lived in a zoo when family was around.”

"You must have had hellacious games of Hide and Seek." The huff is replaced with a giggle, imagining little Marcus with all those cousins and all the chaos they must have gotten into. "It sounds amazing."

He agrees with you. “It was a competition to see how long we could last.” He tells you. “Had to stay on the property though.”

“Big family house?” You guess, figuring that his grandparents must have at least had a little bit of land. That’s the image you have in your head of Texas, anyway.

“Ended up having like a family compound.” Marcus admits with a chuckle. “For the summers together.”

"That sounds like so much fun." As the first song bleeds into a second, you don't move an inch from his arms. There's nowhere you would rather be than right here. "My parents are both only children, so I have absolutely zero first cousins. That's how we all ended up with best friends that basically got adopted into the family."

“There’s nothing wrong with that.” Marcus smiles at the image of your family adopting friends over the years, collecting them.

"Don't get me wrong, it's great." It's how you have kept Sydney in your life, and her sister, and your other best friend from college. It's how Alex and David got so close so young, and how Junie and Kiley became so close. "It's just different, that's all."

“I know.” Marcus would never put down your experience. “You might be overwhelmed by my family and think we are all insane.”

"Or I might have a blast." You raise an eyebrow at him, wondering if he's really saying that he wants you to meet his family or just postulating that someday down the line it would happen. Probably the latter. "We'll find out when we're ready."

“I’m going home at the beginning of April.” He informs you, wondering if it’s too fast. “You could always come with me.”

From intrigued to bewildered at the drop of a hat, your face morphs into something soft and your head tilts in a gentle awe. "And I thought I was always the one running headlong into relationships with my heart out there on my sleeve," you murmur, realizing that Marcus must be very much the same way. "I—I would absolutely love to."

You don’t have to come of course, but he thinks you really mean that you would want to. “No pressure, of course.” He adds. “We don’t have to be press official or anything. My family is tight-knit, they wouldn’t breathe a word.”

“There is already speculation,” you admit, though you have to shrug about it so it doesn’t upset you that people are speculating about your life at all. “We…didn’t do a great job of not looking enamored with each other at the State dinner.”

“I understand that.” Marcus has read the speculation and seen the photos. Both of you are photographed looking completely taken with the other. “However, when you decided to confirm is completely up to you.” He reminds you softly. “You owe no one anything before that. Not even as the First Princess.”

“It’s more important to me that you know I want to be with you. And that we tell our families when we’re ready. The nation can wait, it won’t kill them to not get gossip right away.” You bite your lip though, leaning into his side again as you dance. “My family is probably going to be very enthusiastic tomorrow.”

“You plan on telling them tomorrow?” He asks, slightly surprised that you would be so willing to say something so quickly. It’s not that he’s been viewed as undesirable, but often the women he dated were more cautious.

“The only thing that would stop me would be if you don’t want me to.” Otherwise, sharing this new step forward in your life with your family is just one more thing to celebrate.

“You’re my soulmate.” Marcus reminds you, smiling softly at the reminder himself. “I don’t mind telling a stranger on the street, let alone people you love.”

When Juan had told you what a romantic Marcus is, you had almost taken it with a grain of salt. A friend talking up his friend to the girl who likes him. But it hasn’t taken long at all for you to see the truth of it shining in Marcus’s eyes, or widening his smile. And a man who wants love is exactly what you have always hoped for. “I’m glad we agree,” you murmur, swallowing around the first time your heart has burst with those words. You’re not going to come out with that full-scale declaration before you’ve even gone out on your first few dates. Before you’ve even kissed.

He smiles even more, his fingers pressing into your hip and lower back, pulling you closer to his own body. It’s not possessive, more protective over you and the moment that is unfurling between you. “Just let me know if I come on too strong.” He asks, knowing that it could annoy some and he doesn’t want to do that to you.

“That’s…usually the warning I have to give.” The striking similarities between the two of you aren’t lost. The way your wishes and dreams and treatment of your partners all lines up…it makes sense why they always say that your soulmate is your ideal fit. Especially in this moment, as your arms tighten around each other and the world seems to stop around you.

He chuckles softly, leaning in and pressing his lips to the edge of your hair. “You will never have to worry about that with me.” He promises.

The way your heart stops completely for a moment at the bare touch of lips to skin before starting back up at double the speed is so telling, and so overwhelming that your fingers dig into his jacket to keep him close. “You don’t have to worry either.”

The moment is perfect and it’s one of those moments that a first kiss is almost required. Like it’s the Hallmark movie it feels like. Marcus stares into your eyes and his gaze flickers down to your lips for a moment before there’s a snort beside him.

“You two look like the newlyweds.” Joyce teases, a broad grin on her face as she leans into the arms of her new husband.

Thwarted for the second time in as many days, you swallow the disappointment but have to appreciate the irony of who’s pointing it out. “That’s your job, today, I think.”

“No way we would want to upstage the happy couple.” Marcus adds, sending them a smile.

“No reason it can’t be a happy day for more than just us,” she hums, grinning again when they turn away to keep dancing.

Marcus laughs quietly as he continues to dance with you. “I think they suspect something.” He teases softly.

“Like I said,” you laugh quietly, beaming at him impossibly brighter. “We’re not very good at hiding it.”

“No, we aren’t.” He agrees, deciding that now is the perfect time to dip you like he had during the State dinner.

The same joyful shout of laughter bubbles out of you that had then, drawing some attention again but this time you revel in it. Marcus’s soothing presence is there to let you enjoy yourself without fear, so that when you wrap your arms around his neck again on the upswing — this time there is no hesitation in following your natural impulse. Your lips find his like you’re coming home again, in a kiss as sweet and bright as the rest of this moment.

He expected the kiss, had anticipated kissing you so it’s a shock to have you initiating the kiss. Eyes widening for a split second before he closes his eyes and leans you down even more. The brilliancy of having him lean into the moment is wonderful, and you suddenly don’t know if your head is swimming from being dipped or from him. Not that you care. Not that any of it matters. Because the electric spark of it is so brilliant you could sing.

Marcus has kissed women, lots of them. Some of them women he had loved, but nothing compares to this kiss. He had always heard that soulmate intimacy is beyond description and that is exactly what this is, indescribable.

The buzzing seems to start at the top of your head and go all the way down to your toes, making you hum against his lips when you finally have to pull away. Can’t be making out in the dance floor. That will definitely be noticed. Marcus slowly pulls you upright, his lips tingling and his heart feeling like it is soaring through the clouds.

“I wanted to do that so badly at the State dinner,” you whisper, beaming at him and glowing in the moment. He knows that. You told him already. But you’re too lightheaded to care about repeating yourself.

“I did too.” Marcus confesses just as softly. It’s impossibly amazing to have someone that feels the same way and he absorbs it like it’s oxygen to breathe.

There’s a giggle in your throat, but it’s small and feels like a hiccup, making you grin even more. “But that was better than I imagined.”

“Same.” He looks around the dance floor, aware that you weren’t at a soulmate wedding before he leans in to whisper in your ear. “I had never thought touching my soulmate would be so exciting and soothing all at the same time.”

“No exciting touches while I’m working,” you chide, knowing it isn’t what he meant but unable to resist teasing him.

He snorts quietly and arches a brow mischievously. “And if I do?”

He is a tease, and he said as much to you with pride, so you just quirk a smile up in the corner of your mouth and stroke one thumb along the line of his neck. “Then you’re not staying on the couch this time.”

“Am I staying?” He asks softly, not wanting to presume anything and he grins at your huff.

“Only if you want to.” You have no intention of pressuring him, but if he wants to spend the night you will welcome him with open arms.

“I don’t think that’s a question in my mind.” He chuckles. “I just don’t want you to think that I only want to take you to bed.”

“If I thought that, you wouldn’t be invited.” Enough years of second guessing and wondering have made an impact on you that way, and you certainly aren’t going to entertain any kind of advances from someone who isn’t interested in you for the right reasons. Not anymore.

“That’s good.” He admires your spirit and self-assurance. They are traits that he always likes in a woman and he’s happy to find that his soulmate is aligned the same way. Reaching up, he smirks slightly as he touches an earring. “So what time do you get off work, beautiful?”

"As soon as the reception's over." Subtly turning your wrist on his shoulder, you check the time and press a kiss to his cheek when your heart flutters at the end of the song that had been playing. "Just a couple more hours, handsome. I hope you're one of those G-men who keeps a change of clothes in their car."

“I do.” He nods, butterflies swirling in his stomach like he’s untried all over again, even though his virginity is long past gone. “The other night was an odd thing because of just coming back.”

"I'll let my temporary roommate know you're coming up." That's not exactly the kind of thing you can spring on Agent Bailey, even if she is at the end of her shift. Her shift relief will need to know there's someone spending the night so they don't hear noises and burst into your room.

“If it’s not convenient, we can always plan something out.” Marcus immediately assures you. He knows that it has to be a little stifling at times with the agent there and he doesn’t want you to stress if there’s some reason he can’t stay.

"I just don't want an agent interrupting us," you assure him quickly. "That's all. I want you to stay."

Marcus grins. “Afraid of a shift change and the agent thinking you’re being attacked?” He jokes.

"Stranger things have happened." Unfortunately, the ear piece you're wearing to stay connected to your team crackles to life with the voices of servers get ready for the cake cutting. "That's my cue," you hum, tapping your earpiece with a slight frown. "Save me one more dance later, okay?"

“Absolutely.” Marcus lets go of you reluctantly, although he knows you are still working to make the night magical for his friends.

The wedding is as close to perfect as any event that you've organized in possibly your entire career. By the time the last guests are trickling out of the garden and the wait staff is bringing in the last trays of glasses to be washed, your work is fairly well done for the night. The overnight manager can oversee the rest of the cleanup, and you've already sent Sydney home to her comfy bed after freaking out with her over the fact that Marcus has agreed to stay over tonight. Joyce and Michael left straight for the airport to be off on their honeymoon after many, many hugs. Agent Bailey looks positively relaxed compared to some other events you've held at the inn, but you can tell she's ready for a cup of coffee and a crossword to wind down with before her relief arrives.

"Hey." You find Marcus on the porch when you step back outside, and your face splits on a big, beautiful smile.

“Hey.” Marcus turns to find you watching him, your jacket discarded somewhere and you look softer, a little worn. “I have to just give you a round of applause.” He hums, clapping silently. “You made this look so easy, even though there are a million balls up in the air at one time.”

"I'm exhausted," you admit without shame. After two weeks of basically working nonstop, you would feel like you're about to drop except that you have the promise of the rest of the night ahead of you. "Thank god I took the whole weekend off. We can sleep in tomorrow."

Marcus frowns, not liking that you’ve overworked yourself and he is immediately pulling you close and rubbing your back. “Why don’t we go upstairs and you let me take care of you?”

“Because that will require an entire reprogramming of my personality?” The attempt at a joke just makes him raise his eyebrows at you and deepens his frown, and you know instinctively you’re going to give in to him. You may not be good at letting other people be in charge of you ever, but the warm and fuzzy feelings you get from being the sole focus of Marcus’s attention outweighs it. “Okayyyyyy.”

At the almost petulant tone, Marcus smirks slightly. “Good.” He nods and pulls you closer. “You deserve to let someone do for you.” He whispers softly. “You’ve done so much for my friends tonight. Let me return the favor.”

There isn’t any use protesting, and you like the gentle security of his arms too much to leave them right now, so the two of you make your way to the elevator wrapped around each other as though there is nowhere else you could possibly be. “Did you have fun tonight?” Aside from Joyce and Michael — who had thanked you profusely before leaving for the night — his opinion of things is the only one you care about.

“Probably the best wedding I’ve ever been to.” Marcus isn’t just saying that. The staff milled around, wearing happy expressions that weren’t painted on, even when they were busy. The entire event flowed smoothly and the atmosphere was one of celebrated joy. A lot of that comes straight from the top, how you treat your staff and the environment you’ve created. “I’ll say it again, you are amazing.”

“You may have noticed by now that I’m not very good at taking compliments.” You up at him, though, warm cheeks and broad smile making you look bashful. “But…thank you.”

“Well, I plan on giving them to you often.” He admits, admiring your beautiful face. He’s always believed in giving compliments, but he never says something he doesn’t mean.

“Then I will try to be better.” Having only kissed him once so far, the tantalizing closeness of where he hangs his head as you step into the elevator together beckons you, but you resist if only out of manners. Agent Bailey doesn’t need to be made to feel awkward in such a small space.

He can tell that you want to kiss him, but he can also see how incredibly worn out you are. Marcus shifts slightly, moving behind you so he can let you lean against him. The small, nondescript duffel bag in his hand brushes your leg, and you smile gently at the idea of waking up beside him tomorrow morning. As tantalizing as taking him to bed is, it’s the soft, domestic dream of waking up to see his sleep-mussed face that has you weak in the knees. When the elevator stops upstairs, you pause to let Agent Bailey work and then go in when she gives you the signal.

“Are the threats bad enough she needs to check the apartment every time?” He asks softly, frowning at the idea that you would be in so much danger.

“Mom is slightly overprotective,” you explain, dropping your jacket on the coat rack by the door when you come in. “I give it another month of all-clears before she stops insisting the apartment be checked every single time.”

“She loves you.” It’s not hard to see why but he also doesn’t want to minimize its effect on you.

“Oh, I know.” Turning around again, you reach for him even though he isn’t far away. “And I love her. Which is why I’ve never fussed at her for anything reasonable she’s ever asked of me. Including letting my agent check my apartment before I go inside. If it eases her anxiety to know I’m safe, that’s fine. She’s got plenty else to deal with right now.”

“It’s probably because you live alone.” He murmurs, sliding his arms around you. “When I first moved away, my Mom called every night to make sure I locked my door. And I was not nearly as pretty as you are.”

“I don’t believe that for a second.” His chin weighs on your shoulder and you cover his arms with your own, wrapping them around your own waist. “You’re much prettier than me. But you’re right that it’s about me living alone. When I lived with Syd she never worried out loud. But she also wasn’t president then.”

“Maybe we will have to get you a roommate.” Marcus isn’t pushing for anything, only teasing out loud. “And a really protective dog.”

“If you want a review of how I am to live with, Syd will tell you everything, I’m sure.” Though neither of you believes in pushing the other, it’s obvious that a fully functioning and committed relationship is on both of your minds. “And you know I’m dying to have a dog, we talked about that. I just can’t do it here. There’s nowhere near enough space.”

“There is if you build a cottage behind the inn.” Marcus suggests. “Gives you space for the family and keeps you close enough to your work to still pop in whenever you need.”

For a second you just stand stock still, shocked at the idea, before you slowly turn in his arms and look up into that sharply angled face with the gentlest eyes in the whole world. “I had never thought of that,” you admit, astonished now at your own lack of imagination.

“Maybe now you will.” He smiles, happy to have offered a suggestion that might be of use to you. “It’s a perfect compromise, and then you could turn your apartment into another suite for guests.”

“It’s a perfect compromise as long as it’s something my partner also likes the sound of.” Thinking of him as a partner — a long term one, the long-term partner of your life — sends that tingle out to all your extremities all over again and you find yourself smiling even brighter. “I guess we’ll have to think about what kind of cottage we would want, if that’s something we decide to do together.”

“Stone.” Marcus immediately says. “Designed to fit in. Perhaps an old carriage house design.”

The way he offers such unfettered support softens you, and you reach up to press a gentle kiss to his lips. “Have you thought about it before, or are you just brilliant with improvising ideas?”

“Haven’t thought about it before but I hate when I see a historic building and some addition that’s completely modern or doesn’t match the style.” He admits with a sheepish grin.

“Then I’ll just call you brilliant and you’ll have to live with being positively adored.” He blushes at that declaration, and you end up smiling all over again. “And it’s very Sabrina of you to think of living in a carriage house. Which makes it thematic, of course, and now we have to.”

“Now we have to, huh?” He chuckles quietly and leans in to press a kiss to your hair. “Then I guess we better start designing a carriage house worth of the First Princess.”

“I don’t care.” Even though you’re shaking your head, you’re transfixed, looking up into his eyes. It’s too soon for these things you’re feeling — too quick and too untried — but they’re so honest that they catch in your throat and bubble over. “As long as you’re there, too, I don’t care about anything else.”

It’s a loaded comment and it’s one that would have him searching your eyes to see if you are being truthful but he doesn’t have to. He feels that you are. “We will decide when the time comes.” He promises. “Where we live.”

“I’m just grateful you don’t think I’m crazy,” you admit softly. “For feeling so certain already.”

He snorts and pulls you close. “When I realized that you knew we had to be soulmates, there was another reaction that I needed space from you because of.” He admits. “Do you know what that was?”

“Not a clue.” Whatever it was, he’s here with you now, so you aren’t afraid of it. “Tell me.”

“So I didn’t beg you to run away with me and get married.” He flushes slightly and bites his lip.

“Oh god…” The breath of disbelief that leaves you is as disbelieving as it is giddy. “I would’ve said yes and we would’ve been doing text message breakups from the car on our way to the nearest soulmate chapel.”

“And we are better than that.” Marcus agrees, “so it was a good thing that I left for London.”

“Long distance so that we were forced to not be impulsive.” In a very real way, he’s right. You would both have jumped headfirst into this and being on separate continents forced you to calm down. You do smirk, though, and hold him a little closer. “It didn’t stop us from bathing together, though.”

Your smirk is tantalizingly wicked and innocent, making him return it. “I was trying very hard to be good while we were on the phone together. To not think about you naked.”

"I admit," you aren't embarrassed or shy about it, though. "I was decidedly less well behaved..."

“Oh yeah?” He arches a brow curiously. “What— were you touching yourself while we were talking?”

"After." It's not something you expected to admit tonight, but you have no intention of keeping the truth from Marcus at all. "I...wasn't confident I could keep quiet if I actually did it during one of our conversations."

“So you are vocal.” He hums softly, starting to get an idea of what might be a perfect ending to the night for you.

"Maybe a little." It's definitely something you have to control to be considerate of the other person in your apartment at all times.

“That’s good.” He’s aware that Agent Bailey has disappeared around the corner, trying to give you the illusion of privacy. “I like vocal.”

Instantly, your eyes snap up to his. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” He hums, pressing a little closer to you with a weighted smile. “Why don’t we run a bath? Soaking sounds like a good idea for you, doesn’t it?”

“Thank god my tub is big enough for two people,” you huff, immediately grabbing his hand and heading straight for your bathroom.

He hadn’t actually meant for him to soak, but it’s obvious that’s what you want. Allowing you to guide him into your bathroom, he looks around the room. He hadn’t really paid attention to the tub when he had spent the night or when he was here for the game night, so it was a charming surprise to see that the tub is big enough for two.

"Are you a bubbles or salts guy?" You have a whole shelf dedicated to bath things that you've actually started working through thanks to the frequent phone calls you shared while he was away. Before that, you barely made time to touch them.

“Either one.” He shrugs slightly. “Depends on the mood, but I’m thinking bubbles tonight. What about you?”

"Sweet Surrender or Heart of the Ocean?" The two yet-untouched bottles on the shelf have abstract names but smelled amazing in the store when you bought them, so you give him the choice. Either way, the light and airy scented candles in the room will add ambiance more than anything else.

“Sweet Surrender.” He likes the sound of it and shrugs off his tuxedo jacket to drape over the counter.

“Honey, almonds, and pomegranate,” you read from the bottle as you turn to plug up the tub and start the bath. These first moments of intimacy are so delicate, and even though you have both verbally confirmed your shared marks — this will be the first time you see them on each other.

“That sounds like the perfect scent to relax in.” He doesn’t glance up at you, slowly starting to undress in case you change your mind.

“Hey.” As soft as your voice is, your hand reaches out to touch his arm. He isn’t looking at you and you just want to be sure that he doesn’t feel pressured. “If you want to wait, we can wait as long as you need.”

“No.” He laughs at the irony of you voice his own thoughts. “But I also know you are tired. Why don’t we soak without any expectations?”

“No expectations is good.” You nod, appreciating the way he already looks like a weight has been lifted off his shoulders. “There are a lot of different kinds of intimacy.”

“My idea was to get you into a bath, maybe make you feel good, and wrap you up in my arms to sleep.” Marcus voices softly.

“Is that what you want to do?” He’s only undone two buttons on his shirt, and you rest one hand lightly on his chest to ground yourself in him and give him your full attention. You said it earlier in the night — you are both just out of relationships. If he wants to take things between you physically slow even if they are moving at emotional light speed, you’ll honor that and make sure he feels comfortable and safe.

“The romantic in me wants to wait for your birthday tomorrow night.” He admits, huffing at himself. “For sex. Not for making you cum.”

“Honey.” Your hand goes to your mouth instantly, stifling a witheringly heartfelt sigh, and you step into him immediately with a sort of lopsided smile settling into your features that tells him exactly how sweet you find that idea. “That is…quite possibly the sweetest thing I’ve ever heard. And I adore you for wanting to make it special.”

“You don’t think it’s silly?” He’s been told he tries too hard or overthinks in relationships a lot and it’s something he’s worked on.

“No.” Shaking your head just once, you run your thumb over one of the buttons of his shirt and nearly sigh again. “I think it’s romantic. And it tells me you’re a thoughtful partner.”

“What do you want?” That is equally as important in this scenario as his own wistful flights of romantic fancy.

“I want to wake up with you tomorrow.” It might sound odd or even a little creepy to anyone else, but you’re confident that Marcus will understand. It’s not possessive or obsessive, it’s domestic and romantic in its own right. “Find out what you look like sleep mussed and bathed in sunlight all tangled in my sheets. Anything else that happens is a bonus.”

“Then let me take care of you tonight?” He asks softly, leaning in and kissing your forehead. “I can wait, and I want to make your weekend special.”

It’s impossibly romantic and probably the first time in your entire life that the man you’re romantically involved with isn’t clamoring to fuck you as quickly as humanly possible. Instead of making you feel less desirable, like it might have at earlier points in your life, it makes you feel special. Cared for. Like the fact that you have his focus means more than anything else ever could. “Okay,” you murmur, nodding once before you turn to shut off the hot water filling your bathtub. “If you prefer, there’s a little stool next to the sink. “You don’t have to get in with me unless you want to.”

“I don’t mind getting into the bath with you.” The idea of pressing his body against yours is incredibly erotic and sensual. “You can lean against me.”

“Okay.” Even as simple as a word is, the acknowledgement is important. Right now it’s just as important as the mounting hum of tension between you, and His your fingers prickly with the desire to continue undressing him. How you’re dying to press your bare skin to his, even if it doesn’t come with sex just yet.

He wonders if you are disappointed, if you are wanting him to just jump you and take you to bed. He wants to, but he wants to celebrate what is between you more.

"There's only..." Your hands go to your own buttons. Undressing yourself is not pressuring him, but just offering. Offering to deepen this connection and share this part of yourself. "Only one thing I want to ask...that's all. If it's okay with you?"

“Anything you want, sweetheart.” He’s willing to whatever you want to make you happy. “What do you need to ask of me?”

It seems silly, all things considered, but when you bite your lip it feels like asking permission to smile. "I just want to see the marks we share. On both of us."

Marcus chuckles and nods, finishing the buttons on his shirt and he slips it off his shoulders. “The most obvious one first, I think.”

"I hope you don't hate it." His shirt lands on the stool you had offered him, and yours follows it.

“I don’t.” He promises, smiling at you. “Your explanation makes complete sense, now that I know that it’s you.” He tells you. “A Hummingbird for my little hummingbird.”

"And you know why I was never on Mate Marks now." It was something he had pointed out at the State dinner and you had felt awfully about the way he took it. Thinking that you never wanted to be found, when in fact it's the opposite that is true. It's just that it was considered unsafe for you. Now, though? Now that you have him right in front of you? You can turn around and show him your back and let him see the hummingbird for himself.

Your bra is still on, but he doesn’t mind that, watching as you slowly turn to let him see the tattoo on your lower back. The hummingbird that has marked his own skin, the exact same one. “Does it look different on someone else?” You ask, suddenly afraid to see his reaction.

Reaching out, his fingers brush over the skin, feeling the slight rise in it where the ink has been pushed underneath. His own is flat, not raised and it’s a wonderful little contrast between your tattoo and its counterpart on his own body. “It looks beautiful.” He murmurs softly.

"If I had been older than eighteen, I might have had it put somewhere else," you admit with a wry laugh. "But I don't care as long as it helped us find each other."

“It’s discreet.” He snorts, still tracing it. “If you want it to be.”

"I tend to tuck my shirts into my pants these days." His fingers are burning hot but not in an unpleasant way. More like the tension and promise of them is scorching your skin with eagerness. "Or just wear a longer top layer. No bikinis, ya know?"

“That’s why there aren’t pictures of it out there.” He huffs slightly, amused that if you had been photographed it would have been splashed in some kind expose or something.

"It doesn't matter anymore." Before, discretion had been something that was agreed upon. You didn't want someone claiming to be your soulmate falsely and your parents considered it a safety concern. But now that you have Marcus? Any claim would be an obvious lie and easily taken care of. "You're what matters."

Marcus turns so you can see the tattoo on his skin, verifying the same design to you. “You matter too, sweetheart.”

You never thought it would be such an emotional moment, but it’s only in the last few days that you realize how silly that assumption was. Of course this is emotional. This connection goes far, far beyond any that you’ve made otherwise. It is, just like the ink marking both of your bodies, under your skin. The tears are more than you were expecting, and you wipe one away on your thumb after a pause. “Holy shit,” you laugh after a second. “It’s real…”

He lights up at the giddy excitement in your voice. The yearning has him turning around and wiping away another with his own thumb as he caresses your cheek. “It’s real, sweetheart. We’re real.”

When he turns to you fully you can see the scar from your childhood surgery on his torso, the line of healed flesh where the doctor cut into you as clear as day on his otherwise smooth skin. “I’m sorry,” you murmur quietly, tracing it with your fingers. “We were so young to have to carry this and know what it means…that we were always connected…”

“You have nothing to be sorry for.” Marcus shakes his head, frowning at your apology. “I was worried about you.” He admits softly. “If I had known you, I would have been visiting you in the hospital.”

"I told you." A thin smile brightens your face, reminding him of what you said at the State dinner. "Appendicitis sucks."

“I will take your word for it.” He chuckles quietly and his fingers brush your scar. “Were you scared when it happened?”

"Terrified." You nod slightly, eyes transfixed on his fingers touching your skin. "I was six and I had never, ever felt that kind of pain before."

“Poor thing.” Kneeling down, he leans in and presses his lips to the scar.

You swallow hard as he reaches for the button on your pants, skin singing at every little bit of contact. It’s only a second before he pulls the zipper open that you frankly try to remember what panties you put on for today, but it doesn’t matter. Every stitch of clothing will be gone soon, and you’re okay with that. Losing the last barriers between the two of you is exactly what you want for this weekend.

He continues to kiss along the length of the scar, watching you looking down at him as he slowly opens your trousers. Finding it incredibly sexy that you are already breathless.

“Just had a mini panic,” you admit, raking your fingers through his short hair. “Can’t remember if I put on presentable panties today or not.”

He can’t help but laugh at the very normal fear. “I don’t care about what kind of panties you wear.” He promises with grin. “But I did wear my good boxer briefs.” He jokes. “Keep it all contained properly.”

“Can’t have you letting it all hang out.” When you laugh along with him, it comes out like a snort. “Very undignified.”

“Very.” He joins you in the laughing, his fingers running along the edge of your panties. “No erections allowed in wedding photos.”

“Fully permitted later in the night, though.” He’s still on his knees in front of you, and despite being nervous you reach behind yourself to unhook your bra. “In fact, I’m pretty sure it’s encouraged.”

“Well, of course it is now.” He huffs playfully, hooking his fingers into the band of your panties. The last scraps of fabric fall away, leaving you naked in front of him, and you shiver slightly without knowing if it’s the chilly bathroom or nerves that are doing it. Marcus debates, seriously debates, if he should just lean forward and bury his face into the pretty, neat little patch of hair. To use his tongue on you. When you shiver, he knows he needs to get you into the bath, so he stands quickly and unbuckles his belt.

You aren’t a virgin. You never claimed to be. At one-day-under-30, you’ve had your fair share of sexual and romantic partners, and not everyone in those two categories overlapped. Still, when Marcus pushes his boxer briefs and trousers away in one go, you inhale sharply at the first glimpse of his half-hard cock. If you hadn’t promised to let him take care of you, you might be reaching forward or dropping to your own knees — but you did. You promised. And you can barely hold back a smothered groan of regret at that fact because he’s stunning.

If it weren’t for the lusty, glazed look on your face, he might have thought something was wrong. As it is, his half hard cock twitches and hardens even more as he guides you towards the tub. “Get in, sweetheart.” He urges. “I’ll get us some towels.”

“The cupboard behind you.” They’re big, fluffy, soft things that you count as an indulgence, but they won’t be anywhere near as comfortable as having him in this bath with you. Still, you step into the hot, sudsy water without him, knowing he’ll follow in a minute.

Marcus grabs the towels and sets them close before striding back over to the tub. He’s not some Greek god, but he’s in good enough shape that there’s no reason to slump or hide as he walks towards you naked.

“Fuck.” Just one word groaned softly, but your eyes stay on him with every step. “You’re gorgeous.”

“Are you stealing my lines?” He teases, flashing you a grin as you sit in the sudsy water. “Because the only gorgeous thing I see is you.”

“We can both be gorgeous to each other,” you point out, still transfixed by him.

He had never really thought of it that way and shrugs slightly. “If you say so.” He bites his lip and watches you lean forward to give him room behind you.

The water is just a tiny bit high with both of you settled into the tub, but you don’t care. It’s not in danger of flooding the floors so you’ll just revel in being warm and comfortable with your soulmate for as long as the hot water holds out. You lean back against him, making him sigh softly in your ear and his arms come around you.

“Is this okay, hummingbird?” He murmurs quietly. “Can I touch you?”

“You know you can call me Birdie.” Settling back against him, you guide his hand around you and under the water to let him start exploring. “Hummingbird is my Secret Service call sign. Don’t wanna start accidentally moaning as a Pavlovian response whenever Agent Bailey says it.”

He chuckles quietly, a warm sound in your ear as he splays his hand over your stomach. “If you want me to.” He slowly starts to stroke your skin. “Hummingbird sounds a little more intimate, I thought.”

“Whatever you want, gorgeous.” The way he laughs and the way he touches you? You’d probably agree to anything right about now.

“Is that how I get my way?” He asks teasingly. “Get in a hot bath with you and I get what I want?” His hands, both of them, slide up to fill his hands with your tits and squeezes gently, enjoying the way your nipples harden against his palm.

“Apparently.” Sighing lets your body loosen even more in his arms and you rest heavily against his torso but your back arches to press your chest into his hands. “And ya know what? I’m okay with it.”

He laughs again, squeezes and then massaging the flesh before his thumbs brush over your nipples. “That’s right?” He asks. “You enjoying this? Feeling relaxed already?” Flicking your nipples again lightly before he cups your tits again.

“Mmmmm, it’s perfect,” you hum, letting your eyes slip shut to just enjoy the sensations.

“Good.” He’s slow to explore, letting the moment expand naturally and taking his time as he listens to your soft moans. Wanting to learn what makes you hum and purr like a kitten in his hands.

“Are you going to make a Goldilocks joke if I point out what big hands you have?” You ask, humming again when his large hand spans what feels like your entire thigh.

“The better to feel you with, my dear.” He growls into your ear playfully, squeezing your thigh slightly and massaging it gently.

The giggle you let out is low and deep, but cut off sharply by a gasp when his fingers ghost over your core. He hums, more of a raspy growl as he slides his fingers through the wet curls and into your folds. Groaning at the slickness that has nothing to do with the bath you are in.

“Fuck.” One syllable, repeated as many times as you want to tonight, and you drop your head back on his shoulder with a moan. “Feels so good and you’ve barely touched me.”

“That’s it, beautiful.” He coos softly. “Just relax, I’m gonna take care of you.” The water ripples as he slowly starts to caress your folds, rubbing and stroking the velvety skin as he listens to you moan again.

Pliant is an understatement as Marcus starts to explore, gauging your reactions and keeping his other hand busy with your tits now that he’s figured out how much you love having them played with. The itch in the back of your mind that you’re neglecting him is very real, but this is what he wants tonight and what he’s ready to share with you, so you’ll just make tomorrow twice as good for both of you when you can share the sensations.

He keeps the motion of his fingers slow, sensual as they dance over your sensitive clit. “Does that feel good, sweetheart?”

“So good—” So good that your breath is coming short, shallow pants already and only occasionally punctuated by longer and deeper ones. It’s like he can read you as easily as a book. “So fucking good.”

He hums softly, keeping the pace up and his cock is throbbing against your lower back now that he is fully hard. He ignores it and squeezes your breast again before teasing the nipple. “That’s good, baby girl.”

Your hips tilt, searching for more pressure and trying to show him where to focus his attention, but Marcus is exploring. He’s learning. And as much as you love it, it’s making you twist and pant and rub against him in ways you’re sure are not helping the hard on pressed between you.

“Ohhhh my soulmate gets eager, hmmm?” He coos, chuckling at the way you are grinding against him. “What do you need sweetheart?”

"More." You aren't above begging and he's already professed to being a tease so you just bask in it when his husky voice is right by your ear. He doesn't mind that you're eager and you don't mind that he's a tease, which means there's going to be a whole lot of fun ahead of the two of you. "Please, baby? More?"

“I’ve got you.” He knows there is a fine balance between being a tease and tormenting someone. He turns his hand, his thumb pressing against your aching clit so he can push two fingers deep inside you. “Fuck, you’re so tight.”

"Oh fuck." The whine that comes out of you is something unrestrained and probably louder than you meant it to be, but it hardly matters when he's stretching you out on two thick fingers. Your hands scramble for purchase, one clutching his arm against you and the other holding on to the side of the tub as he begins to finger fuck you slowly but determinedly.

“Gotta stretch you out.” He croons in your ear, his breath washing over your skin. “Get your tight little pussy ready for me tomorrow.” He curls his fingers up and continues the slow circles on your clit.

"Knew those fingers would feel amazing inside me." And after thinking about it for about two weeks solid, you're thrilled to find out exactly how right you were.

“Been thinking about that a lot?” He asks, deciding your ear lobe needs to be nibbled on.

"So fucking much." Every time his fingers dive back inside your cunt you give another wanton moan. "Almost as much as I've been thinking about your cock."

“Now that you’ve seen it, what do you think?” He’s curious because he knows you wouldn’t lie to him, he knows enough women have enjoyed him to not be too self-conscious, but you are his soulmate. Hopefully you will be pleased with the body the universe chose for you to share.

“I think I my imagination didn’t do you justice.” If it weren’t for his fingers moving inside you, you’d be riding that cock, but you can’t find it in yourself to be disappointed when he’s so fucking good with his hands. Instead you twist around, chest having as you claim a demanding kiss.

He groans into your mouth, cock twitching against your back as your tongue slides into his mouth. You taking control of kiss is incredibly sexy to him, and he pumps his fingers into you faster.

If you were flexible enough to reach in between your bodies and wrap your hand around his hard on, you would have done it ages ago. The angle you’ve twisted into to kiss him almost makes it work, but still not quite. It leaves you whining into the kiss as your legs quake, feeling yourself move closer and closer to that peak that he has aimed you toward.

It’s not as slow as Marcus had wanted. Expecting to coax you into a languid, drawn-out orgasm that leaves you boneless, you are insistent. Not that he could deny you, the entire point is to take care of you how you need it. Kissing you back with just as much fervor as you give him as he pushes you towards that pleasurable cliff.

It probably would have been more like the slow, sensual climb he had intended if you weren’t so hungry for him. So addicted to the way he tastes after barely the smallest sample that you just want to drown in him. It’s passion, and the kind of attraction that makes you feel like you’ll go crazy if you can’t have him burrowing under your skin. In the moment your hazy, pleasure-centric mind is wrapped solely around how he helps and tastes better than perfection, and how you never want it to end.

The kiss tangles deeper, winding through to his soul and squeezing it tights. Grunting into your mouth gently as he feels like he is home.

The whine in your throat gets tighter as you near that peak, glorious tension in the pit of your stomach flooding every other sense you have as you start to cum, except the unerring surety that this is exactly where you’re supposed to be. Right here. With your soulmate. Home.

The way you fall apart for him is breathtaking. Marcus moans in tune to your own cries, eyes closed as your walls tighten around his fingers and pulse with a throbbing tempo of pleasure. The water sloshing around you both as you shake for him.

The words stick in your throat, and whether it’s the soulmate connection or the post-orgasm bliss, or what, they hang there as you relax backward against him in a slump. Is it really that easy? Or has it been building since we met? You aren’t sure, but it’s there. Regardless of how or why.

He feels the second you soften, body relaxing against him and his fingers slow down. Drawing out the pleasure but not forcing any kind of overstimulation. Winding down until they are still inside you as he kisses you softly before pulling back to smile at your glowing face.

“You have very good ideas.” A soft laugh tumbles out of you as you work to suppress the instinct to declare yourself to him. This isn’t the right time. Or, at least, you’re afraid that it’s too soon despite the dreams you’ve already shared with him.

“Good.” He hums softly, kissing you again. “Relaxed, sweetheart?”

“Amazingly.” You can still feel him rock hard at your back, though, and your eyes search his. “Are you sure you don’t want a hand? Or any other part of me?”

He snickers the innuendo and leans in to kiss you again. “You don’t know how badly I want you.” He murmurs softly. “But your eyes are exhausted.”

“I hate that you’re right.” Wanting him so badly that it physically hurts doesn’t make you less tired, but it does make you more determined than ever to make sure tomorrow is incredible.

He chuckles softly and kisses your forehead. "You now know how I felt a couple of days ago." He reminds you softly. "It doesn't matter how long it takes, love." He promises. "We will get there and it will be amazing."

“Tomorrow.” The tone of your voice is absolutely certainty, it the yawn immediately after does put a pin in the point. “We will get there tomorrow.”

"Tomorrow." He agrees and shifts you forward slightly as he pulls his hand away from your core. "For now, we need to get some rest so you can party tomorrow without falling asleep."

“What do you want to do tomorrow before the party?” Standing on wobbly legs in the bath takes a second, but when you wipe all the suds away and step out you’re steady enough.

"You have the day off." He hums, getting out beside you and wrapping a towel around you. "We could start off with brunch if you wanted to. Or whatever you want to do? Go to the famer's markets around here?"

“I switched my day off this week to make sure the wedding would go smoothly,” you explain. He’s large and warm and strong, and the feeling of safety doesn’t elude you. “So we have the whole weekend together if we want it.”

"I want it." He immediately tells you, frowning slightly as he towels you off carefully. Ignoring the water dripping off his own body so he can attend to you. "If you do, of course."

“Of course I do.” Grabbing the second towel off the stool, you start to dry him in turn. “Just…didn’t want to be clingy. That’s been a point against me in the past.”

"You don't have to worry about me being upset." Marcus assures you. "I have that same problem sometimes too."

“Jump in head first and get too clingy and it overwhelms them?” To find out he’s the same way is an odd sort of relief and solidarity, if you’re honest with yourself.

Marcus snorts and gives you an embarrassed wince. "I did propose in the hallway at work?" he offers. "Not some of my best romantic work, and after reflecting on it, I was feeling like the relationship was slipping away and I was desperate to save it."

“This was Teresa?” He had told you a bit about his exes — just little tidbits — during your phone calls and you hum when he nods. “No offense, honey? But it doesn’t really sound like she had her shit together in that relationship. That was not your fault.”

"No, but I held on even harder when I should have just let go." He admits, sighing softly. "Too quick to jump in, to give my heart, to plan for the future."

“You’d think I would have learned my lesson when I got cheated on.” You shake your head, drawing your towel around yourself and shrugging. “Oops.”

"I can't fucking believe someone would be dumb enough to cheat on you." He snorts, rolling his eyes at the idiocy of his sex.

“The only good part of the whole thing is that I managed to cut his cheek when I threw the ring at him,” you huff, shaking your head again as the two of you move into your bedroom together. The age-old cliche of finding your partner in bed with someone else had been your horrible reality just a few years ago. “Asshole. I hope he has a scar.”

"Me too." He huffs, "but you don't need to worry about that with me." He knows it's sounding like a complete line, but it's the truth. "I would never – I went to break up with Vanessa because just knowing you were my soulmate, I couldn't give her what she deserved."

“I…I felt like I needed confirmation,” you admit. After giving it a few seconds of thought you simply discard your towel in the laundry basket and climb into bed naked, pulling back the sheets to invite him to join you bare. “Just knowing we both had tattoos in the same place wasn’t enough. It could have been totally different designs, and then I would have been the idiot who jumped to conclusions and ruined both of our relationships for some unfounded crush. And then…at the State dinner…finding out you have my scar, too? I knew that was it. Everything I already felt for you in that moment was more than I had ever felt about anyone else.”

"I understand now." He had been hurt, deeply hurt, but he won't tell you that now. He doesn't want you upset about that, when you needed to take time for yourself to accept the possibility.

“I’m sorry if I…if I did things wrong.” Waiting for him to get in bed makes you a little self conscious but you swallow the idea that you might deserve it. “I don’t really know how to walk up to a person and tell them that the universe thinks they’re my perfect match.”

"Don’t' worry about that," Marcus slides into the bed beside and you and gathers you into his arms. Wanting to fold you against him and hold you close. "All that matters is that we know now."

“I love you.” You might have held it back before, but when you exhale this time the words come out all on their own. “I know that’s a lot, and don’t feel like you have to say it back until you’re ready. But I — I’m very grateful it’s you.”

He stares at you for a moment and then starts to laugh. Leaning in and nudging his nose against yours. "Sweetheart, I love you too." He promises softly through the chuckles. "I think I fell in love with you over board games that first night." He admits. " I just didn't let myself believe it."

Exhaling deeply, you burrow into his side and bury your face, just letting the right release of relieved laughter roll through you. Watery eyes and sniffles are nothing now. Not compared to the elated smile on your face. “You looked like a dream when you came into the inn that day. Like you’d stepped right out of my fantasies.”

"I wanted to ask you out." He confesses. "Until I learned you were seeing Sam."

“It’s all okay now.” It’s perfect now, as far as you’re concerned, and you press your lips to his with a smile curved up at the corners. “We’re where we’re supposed to be.”

"In bed, where you are fighting sleep so you can talk to me?" He teases gently, smiling back into your lips.

“Yes,” you huff at him as adorably as you can.

He laughs again, settling back into the pillows and pulling you with him, humming when you settle down onto his chest like you belong there. "Go to sleep, hummingbird." He urges quietly. "I'll be here when you wake up. I'm not going anywhere."

______

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My Masterlist!

[aheckinmess]

All's Well That Friends Well (Dad Nanami)

(Part 2 of Season of Serendipity.)

Read on AO3.

Tags: Dad Nanami, Child Yuji, Original Child Character(s), Ryomen Sukuna, Nanami Kento, Yuji Itadori, Besu Sukuna, Parental Nanami, Dad Sukuna, Soft Sukuna, Protective Sukuna, Canon Divergence - AU, Sukuna Has a Daughter, Yuji is Nanami's Son, I Merged Two of My Series, Because I Thought it Would Be Adorable, Yuji Itadori is a Ray of Sunshine, OC Has Trouble Making Friends, But Yuji Sure Doesn't, Going to Pre-K for the First Time

Word Count: 1,025 words

Summary: Yuji goes to Pre-K for the first time; Nanami worries he'll have trouble adjusting, but Yuji is a little ball of positive energy. Needless to say, he makes friends.

While Yuji was an extroverted child by nature, Nanami still thought he might need time to adjust to preschool. So when Yuji easily waved goodbye as Nanami dropped him off for his first day at Pre-K, it soothed some of the paternal worry.

“Otouchan, how long is school?” Yuji wrapped his arms around Nanami’s neck and squeezed. “Is it very long?”

“You’ll be here for a few hours, Yuji-kun. But I’ll be back. You’ll be having so much fun you won’t even miss me.” He promised, kissing the young boy’s forehead. “If you need anything, just ask the teacher for help, okay? Remember how we practiced and…?”

“Raise my hand!” Yuji smiled.

“That’s my boy.” Nanami ruffled his hair and stood up. “Have a good day, Yuji-kun. And have some fun.”

“Okay!”

. . . . .

Yuji Itadori made having fun his mission. From the moment he stepped foot into the classroom, he curiously trotted around the room asking question…after question…after question.

“What about that? Why do you have that?” He asked Ms. Chotto, pointing at the hundredth object his little eyes had landed on.

“Yuji, honey,” Ms. Chotto laughed. “You’re such a curious little thing, aren’t you? Those are my plants and I keep them on the top shelf so none of my students accidentally eat them. They can hurt your tummy.”

“Then why do you have them?”

“I’m keeping them here for a little bit until I can find a space for them at home.” She explained, turning away to separate two girls from fighting over a doll. “Go find someone else to play with, Yuji, okay? I have to help some of the other children right now.”

Yuji pouted but did as he was told. Pre-K proved to be one of the most fascinating places he’d ever been! He’d already spoken to just about everyone in the classroom, when the door opened to reveal another little girl.

What surprised Yuji wasn’t how tightly she clung to her father, but her hair. Pink! Just like his!

As soon as Ms. Chotto got the pink-haired girl detached from her father, Yuji stood patiently to the side. He watched her hide in Ms. Chotto’s legs until she peeked out at him.

“Hi! I’m Yuji!” He beamed.

Her wide, brown eyes looked up at Ms. Chotto and then back at him.

“I’m Besu.” She whispered. In fact, Yuji barely heard her.

“You sure are quiet.” He said bluntly. When she seemed embarrassed by that, Yuji pointed towards a pile of blocks on the rug up front. “You wanna go play blocks?”

Ms. Chotto muttered something into Besu’s ear. Besu whined back at her, but Ms. Chotto delicately coaxed her in Yuji’s direction. Yuji led the way over to the blocks and Besu sat by him silently.

“I like to build castles. What do you wanna build?” Yuji asked as he got to work. A triangular orange block looked perfect to fit on top of his green stack.

Besu shrugged her shoulders as she grabbed a few square pieces to fit together. Yuji gave her time to give it a specific shape, but when he still couldn’t tell what it was by the third row, he spoke up.

“What is that?”

Once again, Besu shrugged. Yuji huffed, feeling disappointed. He’d expected her to be just like him since she’d looked so similar. But she barely even talked! Sensing this, Besu cleared her throat.

“I just like putting them together. But now I’m making a watermelon.” She explained, picking off a few blue pieces and replacing them when red and green.

“My dad put watermelon in my lunchbox! Wanna see?” Yuji stood before she answered.

“I don’t think we’re sposed to do that.” She glanced at Ms. Chotto and then Yuji’s lunchbox. “You could get in trouble.”

“Nuh-uh. It’s my lunchbox!” Yuji said matter-of-factly.

But when he went to grab it, Ms. Chotto put a hand on his shoulder.

“Yuji-san, it’s not time for lunch yet.”

“Can’t I show Besu my lunch?” Yuji frowned.

“Why don’t you show her when it’s lunchtime? That way you can both show each other what you have.” Ms. Chotto offered.

“Okay!” Yuji agreed, before toddling over to Besu. “Hey, Besu! Let’s wait until lunch and then I can see what you packed, too!”

“Father made me stew.”

“Oh, boy! Will you share?”

“...well, okay.”

. . . . .

While Nanami waited outside the classroom as kids shuffled inside, a man with wild pink hair waited with him. He couldn’t help but stare. Just like Yuji’s, and that’s not common. I wonder if he’s of any relation.

“You waiting on your brat, too?” Sukuna quirked a brow and stuffed his hands in his pockets.

“I’m waiting for my son, yes.” Nanami answered. “It was his first day.”

“Mine too. You have any trouble dropping him off?”

“I thought I might, but he didn’t seem upset. He’s more outgoing, though, so I wasn’t too surprised.”

“I had to pry my daughter from me.” Sukuna scoffed, shaking his head with a smile.

“Ah, she must be a daddy’s girl, then. Does she have you wrapped around her finger yet?” Nanami normally wasn’t one for small talk, but the conversation helped him remain patient as he watched through the window while the teacher struggled to wrangle a boy into his bookbag.

“Absolutely not!” Sukuna huffed, but he turned his head away. “That is…I don’t give her everything she wants.”

Nanami couldn’t help but chuckle.

“Don’t worry. I’m the same with my son. He’s my first.”

“My daughter is my first, too.”

And then the floodgates unleashed. More parents began filing down the sidewalk towards the portable classroom, but Yuji and Besu were the first at the door. Both of them raced and planted themselves directly into their father’s arms.

“Otouchan! You won’t believe it! That girl looks like me!” Yuji turned to Besu to see her the most animated she’d been all day, jabbering on to her father with bright brown eyes. “She’s real quiet though…like Fushi-kun.”

“I see. Did you have fun, then?”

“Yeah! I made a best friend!”

And Nanami smiled when Yuji turned to Besu, waving goodbye as Sukuna carried her away.

Continue Reading -> Chapter 3

[trippygalaxy]

Dream daddy au but its all the dads/dad figures from different LOZ aus

(Ideas in the tags)

[neomawz]

Finally back to mothy posting