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rideofthevalkyriess · 3 months

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home sweet home | chapter I

🌿 Pairing Small town au! - Doctor!Gojo Satoru x Teacher&Painter!OC/Reader; Doctor!Gojo Satoru x Dancer!Utahime Iori

🌿 Summary Satoru, or more formally known as Dr. Gojo was a great doctor from the big city. He lived a life that everyone thought was perfect: he worked at the city hospital, lived in a beautiful apartment in the center and was engaged to Utahime Iori. However, he had a big secret that he hid from everyone, which is that Satoru was actually already married to his childhood friend who he left behind in his hometown. And now, it's time for Gojo to face the past and the choices he made, especially his beloved wife.

🌿 Words 4.7k

🌿 Warnings [+18], smut, mature themes, angst, cigarettes and smoking, drugs, drinking/alcohol, adultery, commitment issues, marriage problems, divorce, death, illness and chronic disease, miscarriage, family drama, angst with a happy ending; (more to be added)

🌿 Author's Note Welcome to the first chapter of my new series!! I was inspired by one of my favorite comedies, Sweet Home Alabama. It's not the first time I've written, but it's the first time I've published, so please be patient. I also gave the reader a name as this makes writing easier for me. I hope you enjoy!

Satoru Gojo's life had fallen into chaos and it was entirely his fault.

But no one who knew him would claim that, as he was deceptive and good at keeping up appearances.

To the people who know him, Satoru, or more formally Dr. Gojo, is a great doctor in the city of Boston, his speciality being cardiology. He work in the city central hospital and live in a newly renovated old flat near Beacon Hill.

In his free time, he plays basketball and enjoys learning languages, most recently German. Satoru didn't have a large social circle, as most of his friends were in the world of medicine. And according to these same friends, Gojo was choleric, perfectionist and impatient, which made him a difficult person to approach; but deep down, he just took his job very seriously.

The news that the hospital nurses were gossiping about was this: Dr. Gojo was engaged to Utahime Iori and they were going to get married the next summer.

Such gossip was always accompanied by the story of how they met. It was a night when Gojo was on a night shift and Utahime was admitted to the emergency room with a knee injury caused by a fall while dancing. She was - and still is - a dancer by profession and well known for it. It turned out that it was Satoru who attended to her that night, and after a very promising diagnosis followed by release, the two exchanged contacts.

Their relationship developed ardently and quickly, like the rhythm of the great city of Boston. It had only been a year since they met and they already had a wedding date set, much to the delight of Utahime's wealthy family.

However, his relationship with Utahime and the gossip about him were of little concern to Satoru. In fact, there was one secret that kept his mind occupied during the day and robbed him of sleep at night, and that was this: He was already a married man.

And well married, to his childhood friend whom he had left behind in his old and insignificant - in his eyes - hometown.

But no one in Boston even dreamed or imagined that Dr. Gojo had such a deep and striking stain on his past as that of a failed marriage, so he secretly met with Hiromi Higuruma, a lawyer who specialised in divorces.

Specialised or not, the truth was that Higuruma was a shark when it came to his clients and was the best lawyer in his law firm - and the most expensive too. It was he who discreetly prepared Satoru's divorce papers and encouraged him to take the papers personally to his wife, much to his client's displeasure.

“You know, Dr Gojo, I think it would be a good idea if you handed over the divorce papers in person and had a heart-to-heart talk with your wife. I think you two must have a lot to discuss.” Higuruma advised as he gave him the papers.

“I can't think of anything we need to talk about.” Satoru contested, looking away towards the office windows. It was storming outside and the wind was howling.

“Believe me when I say that divorcing couples always have something to say to each other. How long has it been since you last spoke? Two years? Maybe three?”

“Two years and a half.” Gojo quickly corrected, making the lawyer frown.

“...Well, think about my advice, will you? And you'll see that things will work out.”

That evening, when Satoru returned to his flat, he discovered that although the divorce papers were light, the weight they represented in his life was overwhelming.

He put them down on the desk in his bedroom, and there they stayed for a few weeks, robbing him of his peace and sleep.

Until one night, he decided to put an end to his misery - and insomnia - and return to his hometown, Fairview.

In the early hours of the morning when Gojo made his decision, he was very agitated. He emptied half his wardrobe, even though he only intended to be out of the city for a week. He vacuumed the entire house, even though he had a maid who could do the job for him. And he washed the car, even though it was spotless.

At dawn, Satoru called his fiancée to tell her of his decision, while he prepared the food for the trip, which was going to be a long one. And upon hearing her fiancé's decision, Utahime was less than pleased.

“Why? Why all of a sudden?” She asked alarmed through the phone.

“I want to visit my family before we get married.” Gojo replied quickly, while preparing the sandwiches and a salad. “That way I can announce the engagement to them.” He concealed it.

«Ah, but that's where you're wrong, Uta.» Satoru thought to himself. «If you knew what was waiting for me in Fairview, you wouldn't say something like that.»

“Some things have to be said in person.” Gojo hid, as he finished preparing his food and carried his bags to the car. “Don't worry, I'll be back in a week.”

And although Satoru had made a promise to his fiancée, it would be broken for the most unimaginable reasons.

“I swear I'm going to get grey hair before I'm forty if you continue to get on my nerves like this.”

“But that's a good thing, we will match.” He joked, sitting down in the driver's seat of the car with a smile on his lips.

“That's not funny.” Muttered Utahime. “Drive slowly. And watch out for wild animals.”

“I will.” Satoru reassured her. “I'll let you know when I arrive. I love you, Uta”

She didn't reply, but she didn't have to. Gojo knew her feelings, which were now a mixture of love and anger. He knew that she found it difficult to reveal her emotions, which often led to misunderstandings. But deep down, she loved him and was very worried about him.

When the call ended, Satoru turned on the car and pulled his vehicle out of the carpark of his apartment.

The nervousness that had plagued him all night had ceased after talking to Utahime, whose voice always calmed him down, no matter what her mood. More calm, Gojo had the chance to enjoy the cool morning breeze and appreciate the beginning of spring.

The big city was as busy as ever.

Traffic and shops were in full swing early in the morning, and this was the pace of life that Satoru admired, liked and desired.

As Satoru left the city centre and headed for the suburbs, the city rush diminished. But it was still beautiful in his eyes, because it was an interesting mix of the urban and the countryside. Big and small houses, with perfectly tended gardens and families straight out of a soap commercial. Perhaps one day, when he grew old, he would experience that lifestyle.

When Satoru left the populated areas for the motorway, he saw little more than green forests just awakened from the harsh winter.

The rest of the journey remained like that, accompanied by the trees and the radio, playing classics from the eighties and nineties.

Gojo knew he was in town the moment he spotted a large wooden sign painted in white, announcing "Welcome to Fairview, land of sailors and crabs", much to his displeasure and annoyance.

It was dusk by the time Satoru reached the center of the small town that had once, long ago, been his home.

Near the beach, he saw the theater built on a pier, suspended over the sea. There he had unique memories of his teenage years, where life seemed easier and simpler. Satoru also appreciated the cathedral, illuminated by the fiery colours of the sunset, in the heart of the city.

And deep in his heart, Satoru knew that he missed his town, but at the same time, it was this very community that made his spirit and heart sick.

However, this was not the time for him to feel sentimental and nostalgic, as there were more important matters that called him to reason.

Satoru drove to his old home, which he had bought together with his wife in their first years of marriage.

The house itself was nothing luxurious. In fact, it was a very old cottage, located at the entrance to the forest that surrounded Fairview. On arriving at the house, Gojo decided to appreciate - or rather judge - the place that brought back so many memories.

Although the house was small, its grounds were so vast that they followed the forest. Close to the cottage, there was a small lake with a newly built pier, which gave the place its charm. A small greenhouse was built on the other side of the lake, with walls and roof made of glass, supported by white painted steel.

The cottage was still exactly as Satoru remembered. Small and tall, painted white and decorated with reddish bricks that matched the thatched roof. The windows and door remained the same, made of light wood and very traditional.

On the porch of the house, illuminated by fairy lights and decorated with a very nice garden table set, a dog was lying down resting peacefully when he heard Satoru's footsteps.

The dog, a German shepherd, quickly lifted his head and his eyes went wide, like lamps, when he saw Satoru approaching the porch. With his ears raised towards the strange man, the shepherd began to bark quietly, like a whisper, warning him not to go near the house.

Gojo, on seeing that large, unfamiliar dog, was startled to think that his wife no longer lived there. His wife wasn't the type to like such ferocious animals and this dog was very different from the beagle she used to own.

“You're not Maple.” Satoru muttered, rubbing the back of his neck nervously.

As soon as Gojo had spoken, the dog got up and started barking loudly, warning its owner that there was an intruder on the property. He reflexively moved away and decided it wasn't wise to approach the beast.

Realising that he wouldn't be able to reach the front door, Satoru decided to try the back door, which was always unlocked. As he walked to the back garden, he noticed something that made him hopeful again. In the garage, which was always open, was his wife's old car, a 2000s platinum-coloured Mercedes that had belonged to her mother.

The interior of the house remained the same as he remembered it. The floor and doors were made of oak wood, which matched the coffee table and shelves occupied by books and trinkets. The sofa was large and cream-coloured, as were the old walls. The ceiling was adorned with vertical wooden beams the same colour as the floor. And in the center of the room was a very old fireplace made of white stone with a stove in its interior.

A picture frame with a photograph from their honeymoon was carefully placed on top of the fireplace. Satoru smiled slightly and carefully picked up the frame to take a good look at the photograph he hadn't seen for years.

The photo was taken in Greece, near the Aegean Sea, on a very hot summer's day. Gojo remembers that his wife felt very happy that day, in her translucent white beach dress and her hair blowing in the wind, as she searched for shells and whelks in the sand. And he also remembers his wife complaining about the sunburn she got, later in the evening.

“Satoru?” A female voice spoke, drawing him away from his memories.

Gojo put the photograph back where it belonged and turned to face his wife, with whom he hadn't spoken for over two years.

With his discerning eyes, he judged and admired her from top to bottom.

To Satoru's eyes, his Emma looked very different and at the same time very similar to the one of his memories. She was wearing a light blue painting apron, all stained with paint, as was her face, which had traces of oil paint. Her blonde hair was quite long, down to her waist, and tangled into a braid. Emma appeared to have lost a lot of weight and her face was more defined and tired, with dark circles under her eyes.

For Emma, if it hadn't been for Satoru's height and unique silver hair, she wouldn't have recognised him.

«Is he taller? No, he's stronger.» It was the first thing she noticed. The truth was, since his departure to Boston, Gojo looked herculean and healthy. The second thing Emma noticed was his beautiful, captivating eyes, and how much she missed having them around. Eyes embellished with delicate silver lashes that made him look divine.

But, in the back of Emma's conscience, there was a small voice telling her that her husband hadn't come back for the best reasons or because he desired her again.

«I know you want something from me, I just don't know what it is. Yet.» She reflected, as she watched Gojo smile widely.

“Hello honey, how have you been?” He greeted her teasingly, leaving Emma perplexed.

“What are you doing here? How did you get into my house?”

“Through the back door. You should be more careful, anyone can get in that way.” Satoru explained, slowly approaching his wife.

“You've got a lot of nerve telling me that when you've just broken into my house! Through the back door!” Emma said, raising her voice as she pointed in the direction of the laundry room.

“I know, that's why I'm warning you.” The man teased, boldly sitting down on the sofa.

Emma sighed at his audacity and put her hands to her head, trying to keep calm and avoid committing an offence.

“What are you really doing here, Satoru?”

Gojo, still sitting on the sofa, reached into his backpack and pulled out a set of papers, placing them on the coffee table.

“I want a divorce, Emma.” He revealed in a serious, firm tone of voice, which made Emma smile and relax.

“You wish.”

«Ah, so that's what your visit is all about.» Emma thought, relieved, as she left the room and went to the kitchen to wash her hands from the ink.

And Satoru, who didn't appreciate her response, stood up and followed her quickly.

“You don't have to make this any more complicated than it already is, honey. There are three copies, one for me, one for you and one for the lawyers.” He retorted. “I even made sure to tick it to make it easier.”

Emma looked at the papers in her husband's hands and didn't know whether to feel upset that he had insinuated that she was slow, or that he had shown up years later asking for a divorce.

She started laughing in disdain and disbelief.

“What?”

“You've got a lot of nerve for coming home, three years after you left, asking me for a divorce.”

“Are you complaining now?”

“Not really, I just expected something more extravagant coming from you.” Confronted Emma. “I'm not signing those papers. They're not in my interest.”

Out of frustration, Satoru started rubbing his hands over his face, trying to moderate the throbbing pain in his head.

“Come on Emma, why do you have to be so stubborn? Don't you want to leave this phase of your life in the past and start again?”

Emma, who had just washed her ink-stained hands, was furious at Gojo's words and accidentally broke a mug that was lying in the sink, causing the German shepherd to start barking anxiously outside.

“I don't remember you asking my opinion or worrying about me when you left. Or when you decided that Fairview was no longer your home. You made that decision all by yourself! My God, Bear, shut up!” Emma scolded nervously.

An uncomfortable silence fell over the kitchen.

“Sorry, he's nervous because he doesn't know you and we're arguing.” Said the woman with a tired tone and looking away from her husband.

“What happened to Maple?” Satoru asked, looking at the dog, who was also staring at him through the window.

“She died in her sleep. You weren't here…”

Gojo stared at his wife patiently and saw that her eyes were watery, as if she was about to cry. He could tell that Emma was still suffering. And even Satoru couldn't help but feel sad about the death of Maple, who had been a good and special dog and was present in many of their memories.

From the window, it was evident that the sun had hidden and the night reigned outside. Looking at his wristwatch, Satoru realised it was already late and grabbed his backpack, preparing to leave.

“I'll leave the papers with you, make sure you sign them.”

Emma went into the living room and leaned against one of the pieces of furniture, admiring him again.

“If you leave it here, I'll put it in the fireplace.” Warned Emma with a provocative little smile, which made Satoru sigh and put his backpack down on the sofa.

“Why do you have to be so difficult?” He grumbled. “All right, until you sign them, I'm not leaving.” Gojo said, shamelessly sitting down on the couch.

“Careful, that sounds tempting to me.” Emma teased, approaching him. “Go stay with your mother. I'm sure she doesn't know you're in town.”

Satoru remained in silent and that was all Emma needed to hear.

“Satoru, please.”

He just handed her a pen, which made her even more frustrated.

“Do as you wish.” She said with a long sigh and turned away from him.

But Emma wasn't someone who gave up easily or declared defeat after a lost battle.

Cunningly and discreetly, she picked up the landline that was resting on one of the tables in the living room and locked herself in the bedroom, making an unusual call. And there she waited, until she began to hear loud sirens and flashing lights.

“I hope you've got something striped in that bag, it'll come in handy.” Emma joked, leaving the bedroom to the living room, where Satoru had been sitting on the sofa until then.

“Why would I-” Satoru complained, but stopped the instant he heard the deafening sirens of the police car. “You called the police? You know very well that the chief hates me!”

“And with good reason.”

Few stories of rebelliousness could surpass those of Satoru during his teenage years. He was someone who collected achievements like a stamp collector. But despite the wide variety of stories, none surpassed the night he drank too much - as he never had in his life - and stole a car owned by Masamichi Yaga, the chief of the police of Fairview.

What happened that night remains a mystery, but Gojo recalls rallying the car up a hill away from the town. By the end of the night, the vehicle was completely wrecked. Yaga never found out who had committed the crime, but he had strong suspicions.

“Hey Emma, I heard your call on the radio.” Satoru would recognise Suguru's sweet, concerned voice anywhere. “What's happened?”

“The intruder is in the living room. You can take him with you.” Emma explained, making Suguru confused and wrinkling his forehead.

Geto walked heavily to the living room due to his uniform and the tiredness of a long day's work. But all the fatigue and exhaustion quickly disappeared when he ran into his old friend Satoru.

“Satoru?!”

“Hey, it's been a while.” Greeted Satoru excitedly, and moved to give his old childhood friend a strong hug.

After a long hug and a few pats on the back, they separated. Emma enjoyed the reunion of these two tall, strong men, and felt nostalgic about her youth. Until Suguru decided to ask the question of millions.

“You look well. Where have you been?” Suguru asked, making Emma and Satoru look at each other intensely.

“Boston.” Gojo said, looking at Emma. “From what I see, you're still a policeman.”

“Yeah. They pay me well to walk around the city.” Geto jokes, fixing his uniform. “My God, Em, you scared the shit out of me. You know how worried I get about you living alone in such an isolated place.”

“Suguru, be a little more professional. You're handling the suspect of a crime.”

“She doesn't live that isolated. On the way here I saw that they had built two new housing developments nearby.” Satoru replied, leaning against the back of the sofa.

“Still, she's a woman who lives alone in the middle of nowhere.” Suguru reminded him. “She's vulnerable here.”

“Vulnerable? Haven't you seen the wolf she has outside?”

“Excuse me! Firstly, Bear is not a wolf but a German shepherd. Secondly, I don't understand why I'm the subject of this conversation. And thirdly, Suguru, please, get him out of here!” Protested Emma, pointing her finger at Gojo.

“She's right Satoru, you can't force your way into a house.”

“But I didn't break in, I came in through the back door.” Satoru revealed with an insolent smile, causing Suguru to look in disbelief at Emma.

“Really? I already warned you to lock the doors, Em. You should be more careful.” Suguru reminded with a firm voice tone, making Emma feel ashamed. “As for you, this isn't your home anymore, you can't come and go as you please, Satoru. I will have to escort you out.”

“Use the handcuffs, please.” Emma says with a teasing manner. Gojo gave her a perplexed look.

“Suguru, if you can get her to sign these papers, I'll let you run me out of town.” Satoru suggested with a smile on his lips, staring at his wife.

Emma recognized that cheeky grin, full of insistence and the threat of turning lives into a living hell.

«No one so arrogant should have such a charming smile.» Emma thought, looking away from her husband.

“Papers? What papers?” Suguru asked, as Satoru grabbed the documents and handed them to the policeman.

“This is a private matter, Suguru.” She said, feeling uncomfortable as she watched Geto read the documents.

“A divorce application?” Questioned the policeman, looking bewilderedly at Satoru. He then turned to Emma, still surprised. “I thought you'd taken care of this.”

“Me too…”

“Clearly not.” Satoru objected.

“If you two are still married, it's his house too, Em. This is a domestic dispute.” Geto said slowly.

“...He didn't hit you, did he? If he did, I'll take him to the police station.” Suguru declared, leaving Satoru with a tense expression and a furrowed forehead.

The two men stared at her, tense and suspicious of each other.

“No Suguru, Satoru never hit me.” Emma confessed, to the relief of the two men. That was the truth, and although Gojo had many and countless flaws, being violent certainly wasn't one of them.

But the mood for nostalgia had cooled and an uncomfortable silence settled over the living room.

“Well, you two have a lot to catch up on. I'd better go.”

“Suguru, wait! Please don't do this to me! Take him away!” Emma asked anxiously.

“You make me crazy! Sign the damn papers!” Satoru asked Emma.

“There's nothing I can do. The law is the law.” Geto said, pointing at Gojo. “And he hasn't done anything wrong.”

Nimbly, Emma moved and stood between Suguru and the front door, blocking his passage.

“Please, Suguru!” Emma begged, rubbing her palms together. “If you won't take him to the police station, at least get him off my property. I can't get stressed out.”

Suguru looked at Emma closely and saw that she was desperate and distressed, noticing the dark circles under her eyes.

He let out a long sigh and scratched his forehead with his thumb - as he used to do.

“Satoru, I think we should go out and have a drink, what do you say?”

“Wait, are you kicking me out? You can't do that.”

“No, I don't have the authority to do that. I'm giving you advice, because you're being an ass.” Suguru responded, with Emma glaring at the two men. “It's getting late, and I'm sure this discussion can wait until tomorrow.”

Gojo rolled his eyes and bowed his head, before grabbing his bag and heading out the back door without saying another word. Meanwhile, Emma and Suguru look at each other smiling once again.

“Thank you.”

“Just be careful. And lock the doors and windows of the house, please.” Suguru warned before going out through the front door to the porch where Bear was.

Geto petted the head of the German shepherd, that wagged its tail happily. Bear had known Suguru since he was a puppy and enjoyed the biscuits the man gave him.

Suguru opened the door and let him in, as it was already cold outside. Fairview might have a mild climate during the day, but it's nights were always freezing, with sharp winds.

Satoru was leaning against his car, enjoying the night. The full moon's moonlight, delicate and shiny, reflected like silver dust over the garden lake. A light fog rose near the forest and in the trees, he could hear owls hooting and flying.

Despite the cold, it was a lovely evening.

“Nice car.” Suguru said, lighting a cigarette.

“Thanks, it's a BMW X7.” Satoru answered, still frustrated. He turned round and saw the patrol car. “Yours isn't too bad either.”

Both remained silent.

“Have you got a place to stay yet?” Suguru asked, taking a drag from his cigarette.

“I'm going to spend the night at the hotel near the beach.”

“Aren't you staying with your mother?” Geto asked, but Satoru didn't answer. “Does she know you're in town?”

“No. I didn't tell her…”

Suguru let out a long sigh and smoked again.

“You should visit them. Megumi talks about you all the time, he misses you.”

Gojo took a deep breath and looked down at his feet, crossing his arms tightly. Geto looked at him with an arched eyebrow.

“Look, a new bar has opened in town. What do you say we go there for a drink and catch up?” Just as he finished speaking, the radio in his uniform sounded, alerting him to a new occurrence. “Looks like we'll have to wait for another time.”

“Hard day?”

“Yes, a very busy one. You must have brought the chaos of the big city with you.” Joked Suguru, finishing his cigarette and dropping it on the floor. “Well, I should go. It was good to see you.”

“You too. Drive safe.” Satoru reminded, because Suguru was a driving maniac. Geto laughed and shook his head as he remembered something.

“Hey, there's a reunion of old friends this weekend. Just people from school and college. Do you want to come?”

“ I don't know if that would be a good idea.”

“It's nothing formal, just a casual get-together of old friends. We'll have dinner at six at Shells n'Roses and then go to a bar for a drink. It's Saturday, in case you change your mind.”

Satoru nodded slightly and the men said goodbye with a pat on the back.

However, even after Geto left, Gojo remained. In the company of the lake and the moon dancing on the water, he rethought his life and his choices. What his life was and what it could be.

From the window, Emma saw Satoru and, although the man seemed eternally beautiful, with the silver moonlight shining on his white hair, she noticed that he seemed melancholic and quiet compared to who he used to be.

Although compassionate, the woman still felt furious and betrayed by her husband's actions and decided to close the curtains and continue her nightly routine.

She had already experienced too many emotions for one night.

Author's Note - Thank you for reading my story and feel free to comment or talk to me! Soon I will post this story over on AO3. If you want to be added to the taglist, please comment on the series masterlist. Bye~

🏷️ @kalopsia-flaneur ; @tojideckmuncher ; @hauntedcrownpost ; @nervousnightthing ; @slowlyshycomputer ; @kazehayaaa ; @blushedcheri ; @eolivy

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wardenparker · 4 months

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Hummingbird Has Landed, ch 16

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: M for Mature but this blog is always 18+ Word Count: 10.6k Warnings: *Blanket warnings for this series: occasional mention of American politics, pregnant character, food/alcohol consumption, mentions of clothing/regulated dressing for occasions, mentions of therapy because we believe in self care here, reader is in a previous relationship, love triangle, reader is mentioned as turning 30 during the course of the story, dom/sub dynamics* Tooth-decaying sweetness, talk of pregnancy/impregnation, fleeting mention of everyone's least favorite Pike cousin. Summary: A bridal shower, a night out, and an evening babysitting that all have surprises of their own. Notes: Happy pride month, Pedro Nation! We're edging closer to the end of this story at a brisk pace. Just a few more chapters before the epilogue 🧡✨

Ch1 ~ Ch 2 ~ Ch 3 ~ Ch 4 ~ Ch 5 ~ Ch 6 ~ Ch 7 ~ Ch 8 ~ Ch 9 ~ Ch 10 ~ Ch 11 ~ Ch 12 ~ Ch 13 ~ Ch 14 ~ Ch 15

"Birdie, stop." The stern but loving words are an order as Sydney places both of her hands on your shoulders and demonstrates a slow, steady breath for you for the second time today. "Amelia and Sean have the whole party under control. Your wedding planner has done an immaculate job planning this bridal shower and my sous chef knows this menu like the back of his hand." Her thumbs press gently into your bare shoulders, the edges of your Jackie Kennedy-esque pastel 60s shift dress not quite covering your shoulders and making you feel much cooler on this hot July afternoon. You're both wearing white gloves, completing the ensembles you've chosen, but at this moment you're much less worried about propriety than other things. "It's going to be fun, you just have to chill out."

"I know." The closer the wedding gets the more anxious you get about absolutely everything, and you take a deep breath because Sydney is completely right. You need it. "Is it dumb to wish Marcus was here? I'm so jealous that the guys are all at a Nationals game today."

“I’m jealous too, but I also know that Marcus and Juan would love nothing more than to be right here.” She reminds you with a grin. “Firmly inserted up our asses, which is where they like to stay.”

"Only because you told Juan you wanted to wait for another baby," you snort under your breath, shaking your head at your best friend. "I think I just want everybody here and for things to be underway. Bridal showers can be brutally boring and I just don't want today to be like that for anyone."

“I didn’t mean like that.” She huffs, rolling her eyes and grinning at you. “Do you honestly think your bridal shower is going to be boring?” She asks, stepping back and gesturing to your outfits. “We are dressed up as famous women that have made significant contributions to our society, we are having our now famous tea service, and we have booze.”

It's true to say that this is not anyone's average bridal shower. The Famous Women of History theme had gone over wonderfully with guests and the tea service now being run each and every weekend by the inn has been written up in multiple publications all over the country. Even if you only had those two things going for you, you would be miles ahead of other parties. You soften into a smile, bolstered by her confidence. "Your Julia Child costume is immaculate, by the way."

Sydney immediately adopts the characteristic accent that Julia was so well known for. “Of course!” She agrees, grinning. “Who would not want to be me?”

Accents have never been your forte, but you aim for something vaguely Transatlantic and fall comically short when you reply: “No one I can think of, darling.”

Sputtering out a laugh, she grabs your hand. “Come on Jackie.” She teases. “We’ve got a party to go to.”

The gallery hall that has been rented for the party is stunning. Paintings hang immaculately on the wall and a baby grand piano sits at the ready, while small table for four or six guests each dot the area facing a larger, longer table. The pastel color palette is perfect, welcoming without being babyish, and you soften a little to look around and see flower petals sprinkled artfully over each table, brightening up the place settings and name cards. “No centerpieces, so we have room for the tea towers,” you hum, checking out each table. “It’s perfect, Syd.”

“I thought you would like that, letting the food decorate.” She beams at the compliment but she is more excited to celebrate you.

“I absolutely love it.” Simple and classy, that’s what the decor is, and you give your best friend a squeezing hug as people start to arrive.

The group is a mixture of family and friends. Everyone from Marcus’s side comes out, with the exception of one, which no one misses Hannah here if they were pressed for an opinion. The mood is festive and despite the invitation saying presents aren’t necessary, no one comes empty handed.

Your own side of the invitation list is a tad smaller, but no less enthusiastic. The girls from game night are all dressed as famous authors, including Sydney’s sister AnnaLeigh as Mary Shelley with a big heart necklace, and Selena is wearing a Rockford Peaches uniform for all the women baseball players she idolized growing up. Even Sydney and AnnaLeigh’s mother has come in from Philadelphia, dressed as Marie Curie with glowing jewelry to bring in the ‘radiation’ aspect.

It’s a given fact that your mother will always arrive last to any gathering, but she makes a hell of a splash arriving in her Votes for Women sash and the costume that she has worn for every Halloween party for your entire life. "Alice Paul." You laugh when she comes over to give you a tight hug. "I almost thought you might go for something else but it has to be Alice Paul. But I see you've gotten a new hat. It's perfect."

“Of course.” She snorts, grinning at you. “How could it be anything else? Birdie, this looks amazing.” She gushes. “Your bridal shower is gorgeous.”

"We said no gifts," you laugh half-heartedly, seeing the boxes and bags and assorted packages on the table by the door to the gallery. "I mean we knew most people wouldn't listen, but really it's so sweet of everyone."

“Honey, people are so happy for you and Marcus.” Your mother reminds you with a soft smile and a hug around your waist. “I’m sure that they just want you to know how loved you are.”

"We're very lucky." That is the least of it, but of course you're very lucky. Having the love of your life is about the luckiest thing you could possibly ask for in the world. Today is the icing on the proverbial tea cake, as far as you're concerned. But it's wonderful to get to see all the ladies of your family. "If you like what's been set up, then you should make Amelia Sharma your official event planner," you tell your mother, before seeing your sister spinning around the room like a whirlwind. "I think Junie likes it, too."

She hums as she looks over at your younger sister. “Is she— Jane Goodall?” She frowns slightly as she tries to understand the costume that she is wearing.

"Of course she is." It doesn't surprise you one bit, and you offer your mother a cheeky grin. "Her childhood hero. I would expect nothing less of Junebug."

“There was a time that your sister insisted that we adopt a gorilla.” Your mother snorts. “So I don’t doubt that at all.”

"Do you know why she stopped asking?" The smirk on your face is unapologetic, but considering you were not more than eleven or twelve at the time your baby sister insisted on wanting a gorilla for a sibling, you think it was still a clever comeback. "I told her we already had Alex."

Your mother rolls her eyes and sighs. “That’s why?” She huffs. “You always liked to try to rock the boat.” It’s an affectionate chiding and she is grinning while she delivers the chastisement.

"It only took her her entire childhood to be able to have a pet," you tease back. "Are you even the least bit surprised she named the rescue puppy Koko?"

“Not in the least.” Your mother admits with a wistful smile. “Just like I know Koko will go with Junie when she moves out.”

“All three of your kids have their soulmates, Ma.” You nudge her affectionately, and the warm and proud smile on her face grows with the reminder. “You might have a quiet White House next term if we all end up settled down and domestic.”

“All I’ve ever wanted was for the three of you to find your happiness.” She takes your hand and squeezes it. “My dreams and goals have never been any of yours, your paths are different from mine.”

“And we appreciate the fact that you recognize that. More than you could possibly know.” It would be easy for her to be blind to it, after all. Or to find the three of you unambitious because you don’t have goals as lofty as hers. But a small business owner, a future lawyer, and a future veterinarian are nothing to sniff at. You squeeze her hand back and tilt your head toward the other side of the room. “Come on, Mom. I sat you with Donna and with Syd’s mother. The Mom Table.”

“The Mom Table.” She hums. “I appreciate that. Donna and I have fabulous conversations.”

“It’s such a relief that you guys get along.” Of any two mothers in the world, you know your own mother and your future mother-in-law feel very strongly about wanting the best for their kids, so you’re glad they agree on what the definition of best is.

“I couldn’t imagine a world where we didn’t get along, to be honest.” Your mother admits. “I have been giving serious thought to having Donna appointed to a member of my cabinet.”

After staring at her for a few seconds you just blow a raspberry and shrug, letting out a small laugh. “I honestly can’t even tell if you’re joking.”

She frowns for a moment. “Why would I be joking?” She asks. “I don’t think that she accept Surgeon General, since we have a fantastic doctor in that role, but I think that she would be amazing at guiding our country forward through the mental health crisis that is emerging.”

You gape slightly, mouth open, and shut it again twice more like a fish before trying to talk again. “So you’re going to create a government position for a mental health professional alongside the Surgeon General…and offer it to Donna Pike?”

“Mental health is linked to physical health.” She has been considering this a lot and it’s the first time she’s mentioned it outside of her private office. “I think a practicing therapist and doctorate of physiology would understand the shortcomings of our current healthcare system and help put protocols in place to improve our mental health as a nation.”

“In no way do you need to convince me of the ongoing mental healthcare crisis in this country. I see my therapist every two weeks like clockwork.” Stopping in your tracks, you level your mother with a serious expression. “I think it’s a fantastic idea. Regardless of whether or not you appoint Donna, mental health needs to be made a more important conversation.”

“Absolutely.” She nods. “Would you mind if I broached the subject with her? Nothing would interfere with your wedding, or any wedding related activities.”

"Not at all." She doesn't need your blessing but it's nice of her to ask for it. "Why don't you guys have a walk around the gallery after tea? Talk all you like."

“After the party.” She won’t take away from this time for anything in the world, but your approval was important to her.

"In that case?" When you reach the table you show her which seat is hers and gladly accept another hug. "She's going to be in town all week. I bet she'd love some sweet tea on the White House lawn."

“I’ll have to have her put on my schedule then.” She shoots you a wink and sits down so you can focus your attention to other guests. “Go, mingle.”

There are a whole lot of people to mingle with. That was part of the point, of course, and getting to see more of the Pike family for the first time since April is a welcome occasion. When you eventually get to sit down at your table, it's a sigh of relief to be with your closest friends.

Champagne is distributed, although this isn’t supposed to be a boozy event. It is however a historical nod towards gilded age. The sous chef that is in charge of the menu starts to have the staff bring out the tiered tea service trays.

"So." When the tray for the six of you goes in the middle of the table between you, Sydney, Selena, AnnaLeigh, June, and Issy, you narrow your eyes at all of them. "When do I get to actually know something about my bachelorette party?"

“Nope.” Selena pops back, a grin on her face as she takes a demure sip of her drink. “Just that you are going to love it.”

"A hint?" You beg, trying to look suitably pathetic for your friends. You know it will be great, whatever they have planned, and you do love surprises. But they have been remarkably good at keeping this under their hats. "Are we talking a day? A night? Travel? Doing something at home?"

“It’s going to be fun.” Junie supplies unhelpfully with a knowing smirk. She knows how much you want to know about this and it’s been a huge planning event for all of them. They even created a group chat without you to organize it.

"Seriously, guys?" Snorting at them as you all start to pick through the assortment of finger sandwiches on the bottom tier of the tower, you just shake your head. "Fine. But be prepared for me to ask a million and a half questions while I'm trying to outfit plan."

“We’ve already got your outfit planned.” Sydney tells you. “Don’t worry. We will be bringing it when we get you.”

"You're kidding me?" They have been extremely thorough – extremely thorough – it seems, and you huff at the lot of them playfully. "You guys really thought of everything, didn't you?"

“It’s our chance to make sure that all you do is show up and enjoy yourself.” Anna Leigh snorts. “Even your bridal shower had you planning things. And you can’t tell me you didn’t because that would be a lie.”

"I like to plan things," you remind her, even to the point where you automatically pick up the teapot from beside you and start pouring for your friends. "I might not be as good as Juan, but it's fun."

“But there are times where you deserve to be treated.” Selena adds. “Your bachelorette party is one of them. We do promise that no scandals will erupt from the night. No strippers have been hired.”

"We will be saving that for Junie, I'm sure." It's really just to get a reaction out of your little sister and her face wrinkles immediately.

“Eeeew, no.” She snorts. “The last thing I want is for some strange, naked man to rub on me.”

"Couldn't agree more, baby sis." You fill up her teacup and hand it back across the table. "Could not agree more."

“No, I don’t think any of us would want that.” Selena huffs. “I think you would be too busy thinking about my cousin, as gross as that is.” She teases playfully.

"I could completely freak you out if I wanted to." The silent confirmation of that fact is the necklace you've worn almost every day since Valentine's Day, and you unconsciously touch the heart-shaped charm where it lies just under the collar of your dress and under the string of pearls that goes with your costumes. "Get all lovey-dovey and thoroughly gross you out."

“Please don’t.” She grimaces and everyone at the table laughs. “I am related to him, and despite what Hannah thinks, I don’t sleep with my cousins.” She snorts. “Just because I’m from Texas doesn’t mean I’m into that kind of crap.”

"Nobody reasonable thinks you do." It really is sort of a blessing that Hannah Pike couldn't come to DC this weekend, being stuck on a mandatory business trip. Keeping the bridal shower drama free is important to everyone. "For a fully different topic, did everybody bring their song request for the wedding band if you have one? I promised I would send the list of requests in this week."

The topic on much nicer things, the party goes into full swing and Sydney makes sure to glance around at the tables to see the reactions of the tea service.

"I'm calling it." Issy says, halfway through the tea service when the savory tea towers around the room are switched out with sweet options. "You're going to have at least three people wanting to reserve tables for afternoon tea at the inn after this party. Maybe up to five."

“It would be good.” Sydney hums. “The tea service has been good for business. The restaurant is now full most of the day. And guests at the inn have even requested tea trays to their rooms.”

"We're pretty much booked solid through to the end of the year." Which is startling considering it's only July, but the inn has been packed. "Tea service reservations have been filling up, too. Which reminds me," you glance around the table after snagging a teacup full of lemon tiramisu. "When we get back from the honeymoon, I want to take all of you guys and Alex and David out for a night. To say thank you for how much help you've all been and show my gratitude. And no protests, I know you've all put immense money and time into these wedding events. I'm grateful."

"I heard something about a special pianist?" Not knowing a whole lot about the classical music scene despite enjoying it, you had just smiled and nodded when your mother mentioned it.

“Yes, I’m sure he will be here soon.” Sydney smiles as she looks around the room. “I wonder how it will sound in here, I’m sure it will be gorgeous.”

“Will I get called cheesy if I say it’s just as perfect as everything else has been?” Of course there have been hiccups along the way — most notably the night of the engagement party — but they’ve been handled and haven’t affected how lovely the road to your wedding has been. It’s been an absolute fairy tale.

“Of course you will.” Junie grins. “But that’s okay, because you are cheesy.”

“You’ll be cheesy too,” you assure your little sister. “In a couple of years when we’re doing all this for you.”

“I don’t want a big wedding.” She shrugs. “I appreciate you doing this so I can claim that it was too much.”

“Glad to do my duty as your big sister.” That has you raising your teacup in salute, a gesture echoed around the table. “But things with Dylan are good?” Junie and her soulmate have been together just as long as you and Marcus, but you’re grateful to see them moving much slower. There’s no need to rush at their age.

“They are wonderful.” Instantly her grin softens and her eyes take on the moony quality she is constantly teasing you about. “Really, really good. His parents like me, so that’s a plus. His mom cried when she met me, happy that her son had finally found his soulmate.”

“Good.” Junie’s been so happy this last year and more. It’s been bleeding into every aspect of her life and you swear even her GPA is up just by proxy of being in a better mood so she’s less grouchy about studying. “Just as long as nobody’s pressuring you guys about moving faster than you’re comfortable with.”

“No, I think that Dylan wants to move in together soon.” She admits with a grin. “And I don’t mind that.”

The table going silent and still for a long moment before breaking out into squeaks of glee, each woman reaching for Junie or hugging her from the side as she expresses the sweetness and happiness of that news in her own words. “Our little Junebug is growing up,” you huff softly, carefully wiping away a sentimental tear so as not to smudge your makeup. “Whatever you need, you have all of us and Alex and David and Marcus and Mom and Dad—” The length of the list makes you pause, and laugh softly. “You have so many people who love you, Junie. And we’ll be here to help you with anything you need.”

“I know.” She does know that her family loves her, her given and made families. It’s something that gives her comfort and joy in knowing that she doesn’t have to be alone. “But right now, we have a bride to celebrate and that is my big sister.” She tells you. “A woman I have looked up to my entire life.”

“Well gosh.” You exaggerate the word and wipe your hands down your face like Goofy blushing in a Disney cartoon. “I love you too, Junebug. Being your big sister is a privilege.”

“I know.” She quips, making everyone laugh and distracting you as a man in a suit walks in and quickly strides to the piano to sit down.

“I don’t think I could eat another bite but I want to.” Selena sighs, and you hum your agreement with teacup in hand. The food, as is the custom for anything coming out of Sydney’s kitchen, has been both endless and utterly delicious.

No one notices him, except your mother, until the first sound of a key strike from the piano is heard. Conversation stops and heads turn as the broad-shouldered man starts to play, his back to his audience.

You recognize the song immediately. La Vie en Rose is the song that you played for Marcus the night you confessed that you had feelings for him and it has been your song for the entirety of your relationship. It's even what you have planned for your first dance at your wedding. So to hear it now brings a tear to your eye even before you look up to watch whatever mysterious musician your mother has hired.

Except you know those broad shoulders. The haircut he got barely a week ago. The cut of that suit. The charcoal suit that he likes to wear with a blue shirt to offset the dark tone. But since when does Marcus play piano?

Another man enters the room, a violin on his shoulder as he starts to slowly join in the song as Marcus plays. His shoulders move as his fingers caress the keys and pull the song out of them that has become so special to him.

One by one, a full band strolls into the room with their instruments to join the tune, and all you can do is try to ebb the flow of tears welling up in your eyes. By the time the song swells, there are six more musicians in the room with Marcus, and you're suddenly convinced that all those golfing trips with your father have been a cover for the time he must have spent learning piano for this moment.

The song comes together beautifully. The building design is actually perfect to echo the harmonious stringed instruments. Making Marcus smile as he works through the song.

You aren’t really sure at what point during the song you pushed away from the table, open mouthed shock in your face but with so much love and gratitude in your heart for this man that a few tears have spilled over while he plays. This is true proof, at least to you, of how thoughtfulness between partners can make moments that last a lifetime.

Marcus feels you staring at him, making him wonder if you recognize that it's him. He smiles softly as the song slowly starts to wind down after an extended verse, one he had added himself.

The whole room is on their feet with applause, but your feet are on a wholly different mission — carrying you forward through the gallery to throw your arms around Marcus’s neck almost the second he’s stood up from the piano bench. There are tears, of course there are, but they’re such joyful ones that when you sniffle in his ear and chastise him for keeping such a secret, he knows you don’t mean it.

Marcus holds you close and when you pull back just the tiniest bit, he is pressing his lips to yours. “Sorry for crashing your party, but I wanted to give you your wedding present early.”

“Don’t be sorry,” you insist, not quite understanding what he means but over the moon that he’s here. “I missed you.”

“I missed you too.” He promises, admiring your outfit and reaching up and caressing your cheek. “Are you enjoying yourself?”

“Even more than I already was.” Kissing him again gets a soft Awwe! from your assembled friends and family and you fluster a little. “Are you staying for the rest?”

“I don’t want to take away from the festivities.” He winks at you. “Besides, I still have a game to go watch with the guys.”

A soft pout only makes him chuckle quietly, but it earns you another kiss so that will have to be enough for now. “Then I expect you to come pick me up so we can sort through all the shower gifts at home tonight. Deal?”

"I will be here." He promises with a small chuckle. "I want to see how adorably drunk you get while you are celebrating with your ladies."

“Just tipsy enough to be cute,” you promise him. But before he can wave to your friends and make his exit, you place one soft hand on his chest. “You changed the song,” you observe quietly, as though it has only just occurred to you.

He smiles, eyes lighting up as you recognize that the song was longer than it should have been. "I added a lyric." He admits. "You'll hear it," he promises as he takes your hand and bows slightly like a gentleman would as he kisses it. "It will be in my wedding vows to the most beautiful woman I know."

Rather than your usual self-deprecation or teasing Oh yeah? When do I get to meet her? you find it impossible to do anything but smile and moon at him with the most lovestruck expression on your face as he makes his exit.

"When did Marcus learn to play the piano?" Selena walks up to you, wide eyed and obviously impressed with the display and a little envious of the lengths that her cousin will go to in order to show you the depths of his love for you. She can only hope her own soulmate would be as equally devoted.

“My guess?” When you turn around to face Selena, she looks as dreamy as you feel. “The regular golfing trips with my dad have actually been piano lessons.”

"Oh...you think?" It's entirely plausible, especially because Marcus spends all his free time with you beyond the golfing trips. "That's probably the sweetest damn thing I've ever heard."

“That’s…” you sniffle, wiping away the last bit of sentimental water from your eye. “That’s Marcus.” Perfect, wonderful, sweet Marcus.

"You deserve everything wonderful." Your mother comes up, flanked by Donna. "Marcus wanted to surprise you and give you a...'grand gesture'?" She tilts her head curiously.

“Learning to play piano so he can play our song and write a new lyric for it definitely counts as a grand gesture.” If you’re smiling half as hard as you think you are, you must be beaming. “It’s…something I did for him. My grand gesture was when I told him I loved him for first time. This is his.”

It's very sweet and very on point for the two of you. Donna smiles softly. "Marcus must have love that. So often he is the one to give a grand gesture."

“That’s why I did it,” you admit, knowing that it makes you an incredibly sappy couple together. “Because he deserves just as much love as he gives.”

"You are perfect for him." She coos, making your mother smile and shake her head. "By the time the wedding comes around, you'll be asking for a fireworks airshow with the Blue Angels and the Marine Corp marching band." She teases.

“Oh gosh.” The sound of it is sweet and very grand, but you shake your head and laugh right along with both mothers. “I think that might be a bit much. Even for us.”

Everyone laughs and your mother smiles softly. "Well, how about we move on to your gifts?" She asks, turning towards the table that stacked with boxes and bags. "There's quite a few to go through."

“There’s so many.” Unpacking the car with Marcus back at the house after the party is like unloading clowns from a Volkswagen Bug. “Didn’t we say that gifts weren’t necessary? We even listed a non-profit on the invitations for people to donate to instead.”

His eyes widen at the stack of gifts, and he chuckles, his hands on his hips as he determines the best way to attack the mound of boxes. "They love you. Or they just wanted to give you one hundred toasters." He glances back at you. "They aren't all toasters, are they?"

“Maybe,” you tease, looping your arm through the handles of all the gift bags on one half of the backseat. Just because you know what all the gifts are already doesn’t mean you’re going to spoil it for him. “I guess you’re just going to have to find out.”

"That's a lot of toasters." He huffs, shaking his head.

"Come on, baby." Leaning over, you smack a kiss to his cheek and grin, happy to be home. "Let's get this stuff inside and you can open everything while I enter who gave us what into a spreadsheet. I am not getting behind on thank you cards this early in the game."

Despite the fact that you no longer have to go up to the third floor or carry everything through the inn, it still takes several trips from the car to the house. "Did they buy out a Home Goods?" He grunts, finally bringing the last of the packages in.

"Two, I think." He's hauled everything into the living room, but you're in the kitchen grabbing drinks. "Do you want alcohol, caffeine, or to hydrate, babe?"

"I think we need to hydrate." His answer is slightly because of the heat, somewhat of how giggly you had been when you were picked up, and because it's too late for coffee.

"Two waters coming right up." You also grab your laptop from the kitchen table where you had left it this morning, and bring everything over to him on the big sectional sofa in the living room. "Where do you want to start, my love?"

"I honestly don't know." He huffs, "I guess we just go from one side of the room to the other?"

"Start with the thing closest to you, then." The spreadsheet is all made and ready to go, all you have to do is sit back and sip on your water as you enter data into it and Marcus marvels over the gifts that your friends and family decided would be perfect for your home. "The big box on your right is from your Aunt Clara."

"Okay, the big box." Marcus nods and moves towards it. "Have you already written down what everyone got us, or do you need to do that now?"

"Sydney did the typical bridesmaid with a notebook thing at the shower," you assure him. "Right now I'm just noting down if we have any specific reactions or ideas that I include in the thank you cards. Like 'Oh, Great-Aunt Martha, this electronic toaster is fantastic, we can't wait to make the fanciest grilled cheeses known to man.' Or whatever."

"Soooooo many toasters." He grunts, grinning at you before he opens the first box and finds the impressive looking espresso maker. "Huh...that's not going to toast bread, but I think I like it."

"It's definitely not." Giggling a little at how his eyebrows have raised, you tap the side of the box to draw his attention to the machine's advertised settings. "This is the model up from what we had on our registry. It's even fancier than what we picked out."

"Well damn Aunt Clara." He snorts, looking suitable impressed by the higher model machine. It will look good in the kitchen that currently sports a regular drip coffee pot. "We do have her sitting at a good table at the reception, right?"

"I think I have her at a table with David's parents because they're all scrapbook people." You glance up from your laptop and raise an eyebrow at him. "David's parents have already said they're making a scrapbook of the wedding, by the way."

"Interesting." He hums quietly, wondering if that will be something that you love or end up hating.

"However it ends up looking, it will be done with love." Pointing to the next bag to Marcus's right, you urge him on, trying to building momentum. "Next?"

He picks up at bag. "And who is this lovely gift from?" He asks, showcasing it playfully.

"That is from my baby sister." Scolding Junie had done no good, she just grinned at you and gleefully handed it over when it was time.

“Oh?” He hums as he opens it up and pulls out an organizer. “Ummmmm.”

“Flip it open,” you urge him, knowing that Junie put quite a lot of thought into the gift and he’ll like it once he realizes what he’s holding.

Once he opens it, he realizes what it is for. “Oh wow.” It’s an organizer, but it’s not for a single year. It’s for the two of you for your lifetime. Some pages are meant to be filled out separately, before your time together, but the majority is for you to record your major life events. Marriage, children, buying houses, moving. All organized into a beautiful leather binding that can be lovingly preserved for future generations.

“Our life together, between two covers.” Or, it will be, when you’re sitting together as old folks reminiscing as you fill the last pages. “Junie’s getting sentimental now that she has Dylan. It’s actually very sweet.”

“Dylan is showing her that emotional attachments are not just reserved for animals.” He has talked to the younger man several times and found him to be extreme nice and caring. That positive reinforcement has seemingly broken your younger sister out of her shell.

“Apparently they’re talking about moving in together.” It’s still a little unbelievable that you heard that out of your own sister’s mouth, but you absolutely couldn’t be happier for them Junie really does deserve the best and she’s been so happy since finding her soulmate.

"Oh yeah?" He looks both impressed and surprised. They are moving faster than he imagined, although it is still slow for some soulmates. "As long as they don't feel pressured."

“She said it was his idea and she seems so totally over the moon about it.” Flipping through the book together, there are some pages — engagement, moving in together, first house — that you can already fill out. “She thanked me for having the big public wedding so she doesn’t have to.”

That makes him laugh, a totally Junie thing to say since the younger sibling likes the spotlight even less that you do, although you handle it better. "I'm so glad we can help her out like that." He snorts. "I see Junie honestly doing a court house wedding with a small little family reception."

“I told both of my siblings when I bought the inn, that they just have to say the word and it’s their wedding site.” You shrug lightly and lean your head on Marcus’s shoulder. “I hope at least one of them takes me up on it, but we’ll see.”

"I think that it will be your brother." Marcus admits, shrugging slightly. "Whoever wants to use it, they will have a ton of help."

“Yes they will.” And it’s a comforting thought, considering how much work you now know a wedding to be. Marcus had tried to warn you, but you had been an enthusiastic new bride who dove in headfirst. Well, at least it’s been fun in addition to being a lot. “Want to open the next one?”

It takes forever to go through the stack of gifts, none of them were repeated surprisingly enough. It must have taken some behind the scenes coordination that you and Marcus weren't aware of. Maybe you should be considering everyone's love of surprises.

“If we recycle all this wrapping paper, we won’t have to buy more for a year.” Slumped back on the couch, both you and Marcus are boggled all over again by the amount of packages there were to open, but you made it.

“A year? Try three.” He jokes, shaking his head. “If you never knew how loved you are, you should know now.”

“This is for both of us,” you remind him, looking around at the piles of gifts you received today. Housewares, linens, gardening things, and decor amongst others.

"It's a bridal shower, not a groom's shower." He reminds you with a grin and drops a kiss on your nose. "You're loved, just admit it."

“I am loved.” That much you’ll agree to, dopey smile and all. “And I love you right back.”

He smirks and kisses your nose again. "Okay....we have our list, do you want to start messing with this stuff or tuck it away in that nice, empty storage room off the laundry room?"

“Why don’t we put each pile in the room where it belongs? It will be incentive to put it away.” You smirk at him and bop his nose with your finger. “Since you hate piles, it’ll bug you until we put everything away.”

"I feel like you are using that against me." He huffs, and shakes his head even as he starts to reach for the items to organize them for the rooms.

“Only in that it keeps me motivated too.” The pile for the kitchen is the largest so you move to that, first. “The fact that you’re happiest in a clean house makes me want to keep clean.”

“But if you’re tired, the dishes or laundry or whatever else can wait.” He promises. “Or I can do it my damned self if it’s bothering me that badly.”

“Oh, I’m not saying I feel pressured.” This stack is going to take several trips, you find rather immediately. The espresso maker is one trip in and of itself. “I’m saying you keep me honest, and I appreciate it.”

He chuckles and even though his hands are also full, he manages to shift everything to slap your ass as you pass by him. “Good to know.”

“So where are we going?” June asks, though she and Dylan are following dutifully behind as the six of you — her and Dylan, you and Marcus, and Alex and David leave Friday night dinner together. David had invited the siblings and soulmates out someplace but she can’t remember where.

"It's a surprise." David throws her a cheeky grin and a wink. "It wouldn't be any fun if I told you were we were going."

"Well, whatever it is, he has the blessing of the Secret Service," you note, glancing around the group of six of you to see the three agents giving you all a wide birth as you walk out to your cars. "Or is that just because we have Marcus?"

"I would like to think I have a little pull." Marcus teases, tapping your hip as he guides you towards your car. "Maybe not as much as I give myself credit for. But Agent Bailey appreciates the security around the house."

"She also appreciates that you built her an office with a daybed," Alex points out, smirking a little as he leans into his soulmate's side.

"I figured it was the least we could do." Marcus huffs. "The house is completely secure and that way whoever is with us can catch a nap."

“Step up, little brother.” Teasing between the six of you is natural, but of course it’s heaviest between the three siblings. “When you move out of the White House, make sure you have an extra bedroom for your agent.”

Alex snorts and shakes his head. "I'm honestly hoping that by that time, I can opt out of agents."

“I have to be honest…” As you walk, you glance back at the lagging agents and back at your siblings. “I’m pretty sure Mom exaggerated the mandatory part of our protection detail to us. But a lot of people were mad about the first female President being elected and I get how she would want us protected.”

"Yeah, I know." Alex snorts, shooting you a grin. "I looked up the rules before the detail ever was assigned." He admits with a shrug. "It gives her peace of mind and it's one less thing she has to worry about while she's busy being the most important person in the U.S."

“Maybe we’ll ask her to ease up next term.” Junie theorizes, shrugging as the group of you reach your cars. “Maybe not. By then, Birdie and Marcus will have produced at least one or two First Grandbabies, so she might double down on them and let me and Alex off the hook.”

"No." Marcus shakes his head. "We aren't going to have agents follow the babies around. I don't even think that's allowed for a protection detail."

“He’s joking.” David assures him, nudging his soulmate toward the car with a dramatic roll of his eyes.

"Follow you?" Marcus asks Dave as he opens the passenger door for you. Agent Bailey had followed in her car since Marcus's car is a government vehicle with the appropriate plates. It gives you just a few more moments of privacy.

“Yup.” The younger man nods and then tilts his head to June and Dylan as well. “It’s not far. Be there in no time.”

As soon as Marcus climbs in beside you, he asks the question while he's buckling his seatbelt. "So where do you think we are going?" He asks. "It's odd, right? Going off after dinner like this?"

"It's a little weird," you admit, buckling in as Marcus pulls out of the White House driveway behind your brother and his soulmate. "But more like a callback than anything else. When we would have big family dinners back in Philly, sometimes we would all go out after and shoot the shit somewhere. Usually in somebody's backyard or we'd go out to the suburbs where we knew we could find a pond or something to sit and stargaze. Our parents never minded as long as we all stuck together and didn't do anything illegal."

He hums, wondering if Alex and David just want to have a moment with Alex's siblings and their soulmates. Maybe they wanted to plan something for your mom and dad's anniversary. He knows there's nothing malicious, so he just follows the car in front of him and snorts at the six car motorcade that is winding through the city.

The National Mall is largely deserted when your little parade arrives well after dark on this arbitrary August night. There are very few people around, and none at all at the base of the Washington Monument when David pulls his car to a stop and everyone else follows suit behind him.

"The Washington Monument?" Marcus puzzles as he puts the car into park and glances at you, his eyebrows raised in curiosity. "Interesting."

"Don't look at me," you shrug, but point out the windshield where David and Alex have climbed out of their car already. "This is it, though."

You and Marcus join and equally confused Junie and Dylan, unsure of what the plan is as David shuffles you all together and towards the monument.

"So..." Alex starts, looking around at the confused group of you with a grin. "You're probably wondering why we brought you out here at night instead of when the Monument is actually open, but I promise it makes sense."

“Marcus and Dylan are new to this." David acknowledges, looking at the other two men. The other two soulmates to the First Kids. His adopted brothers in arms in a way that no one else can ever quite understand. "But when we were growing up, we used to stargaze all the time. And a couple of weeks ago...the night after Birdie's bridal shower...we were sitting out here after dark and we got to talking."

Alex shuffles slightly and reaches for his soulmate's hand. "David and I have decided to come out, officially." He tells you, a small - but determined - smile on his face. He's nervous, of course he is, but he's also tired of denying his love for the boy he will spend the rest of his life with. It's not fair to either of them.

"Oh my god..." June breathes, lighting up just a split second before you squawk the same words in a much more exuberant, excited tone.

"Oh my god, oh my GOD!" Both sisters sprint forward to wrap their arms around Alex and David, squeaking and babbling and giggling in absolute glee. The thing that has made their brother unhappy the most consistently in his life is staying in the closet – and that time is finally ending.

Marcus and Dylan hang back, allowing the siblings to smother the couple in affection before moving in with hugs and handshakes of their own. "Congratulations on making that decision." Marcus murmurs, knowing that sometimes doing the right thing is the hardest thing. "We will be right there beside you, for anything you need."

"You guys have been dealing with plenty of media bullshit over the last year and a half." David shakes Marcus's hand gratefully. "Any advice you have would be appreciated and valued."

Marcus chuckles, knowing that is the absolute truth. "Anytime. I would be glad if you and Alex don't have to go through any of that bullshit."

"Whatever comes our way, we want to try to be the best examples we can be for other people who have been afraid to be themselves." For as long as David has been thinking about this, personally, he's grateful to be surrounded by so much support. "It's...it's a lot to think about. And to process. But I think we're finally ready."

"That is great." Marcus grins, loving how completely besotted you look at the two of them as you squeeze Alex again. You have worried about him, often sounding out those worries to Marcus and this has to be a relief for you.

"Oh god, are you crying?" Alex huffs at you, trying to diffuse his own emotional reaction by teasing you about yours. You're both wiping at your faces anyway so it's all even in the end. "Of course I am!" And you're not even sorry about it either, as you squeeze both of your brother's cheeks in your hands. "I'm so proud of you that I don't even know if I can think of an insult to temper it right now."

"I didn't think it would garner this dramatic of a reaction." David jokes, moving over to Alex and slightly pulling him away from you. "But since the tears have already started...." He grins and one hand flicks away the tears under his soulmate's eye and he sighs softly. "There's another reason why I brought you out here."

"Please tell me it's to teach my sister that tears are contagious," Alex jokes, not sensing the deep tonal shift that is rippling through the group, starting with David.

David laughs, once again struck by how perfect Alex is. His thumb rubs the back of his hand and he shakes his head. "No. Something more important than that." He reveals. He doesn't look around to make sure that no one is watching. The area is deserted and he knows that he would rather this moment be more about just pure love and joy than looking over his shoulder. He smiles as he shifts down to one knee in front of his soulmate. "I need to ask you a question."

"Oh my god." He might be the last of the three siblings to say the phrase in the last three minutes, but when Alex gasps his hand goes over his heart and he looks down at David in utter shock.

“We have know that we are soulmates for so long, long before I ever truly understood what the word meant.” David tells him. “You’ve been my best friend, my confidant, my shoulder to cry on, my very best and worst secret. But there’s never been a day that I haven’t loved you.” Reaching into his pocket, David pulls out a ring box and opens it to show Alex a beautiful wood and tungsten ring that has a single diamond in the center. “Will you marry me?”

The air is sucked out of the whole group as Alex works to compose himself. You and June clutch each other's hands as well as your soulmates', and Alex gulps at least four times in a silence that draws longer and longer the more he tries to hold back tears and try to think of the right thing to say. Finally he just bursts out a "YES" and lunges for David, wrapping his soulmate up in his arms and claiming a kiss as he shakes with the joy and surprise of the moment.

David laughs into the kiss, holding Alex close and his own tears of joy slip out. He had honestly had thoughts at times that they would never be here and even if their parents aren’t, he had wanted to share this with you and Junie. “I love you.”

“I love you, too.” He always has. Since before Alex knew what love meant, he knew he was completed irrevocably by this boy — this boy who has grown up into a thoughtful and keen-minded man that he is proud of and hated having to deny. “I love you.” He repeats, the tears streaking down his face as they stand up together, still clinging to each other and the moment.

Marcus’s phone is used to capture the moment discreetly, having figured out what it was and pulled it out quickly. He knows that they will want it later on.

You and June are jittery on an inhuman level, practically dancing in place as David slides the ring onto Alex’s finger and steps back. He’s all laughs as the three of you fling your arms around each other and cling to each other in another moment of shared joy.

“You’re next.” Alex warns Junie, practically beaming bright enough to light up the night. “Only one of us left now.”

“We’ll let you two wackos get it out of the way first,” she laughs, sniffling as she squeezes both of her big siblings. “We’re just apartment hunting. No rings yet.”

“Apartments lead to sex on every surface. Sex on every surface leads to babies.” Marcus teases, grinning broadly.

“And they can have their life and as many babies as they want without getting married,” you remind him, smirking up at your fiancé and grinning. He’s so close to being your husband. Just a few more weeks until the wedding. “If that’s what they want. Just like we want to get married, and so do Alex and David.”

“Of course they can. Notice I didn’t say anything about marriage.” He teases right back and pulls you close. “Although I’m desperate to be married to you.”

“Four weeks.” The hum in your voice is practically a pure as you lean up to nudge his nose with yours. “Just one little month left.”

“And we still don’t have a single clue about our stag parties.” He huffs, cutting his eyes over at your sister and brother with their respective soulmates. Everyone is apparently in on the secrecy for both parties. He had laughed when you had pouted about not knowing and then he had found out that Juan wouldn’t say a thing about his own party.

“And you’re just as frustrated as I am, even after teasing me.” You tilt your head back and leave a kiss on his cheek, grinning the whole time. “Whatever they have planned, they’re keeping State secrets like pros.”

“CIA level secrets.” Marcus snorts. “Your mom I understand, but I don’t get why it’s so secret.”

"They're having fun with it." And given your love of secrets, you honestly are too. You may jokingly call it torture to be left out of the loop, but it's all in good fun. The playful delight of having absolutely no idea what it expect is actually pretty fun.

“Yes they are.” He grins as he enjoys the sparkle in your eyes. “We will be finding out soon.”

"The thing is, sweet Con..." you have a tendency to talk softly to your goddaughter when you're carrying her around, and babysitting is a time when you frequently have her strapped to your chest as you pick up around Sydney and Juan's house so they can come home to an even cleaner place. Sometimes – like today – you'll do a bit of cooking or baking too. There's muffins in the oven so that your best friends can have snacks or breakfast ready and waiting for them when they have crazy mornings with their almost-one-year-old. "The thing is, midterm elections are stickier than your hands after you play in applesauce. So things are going to get very interesting."

“Hey babe, I’m back.” Marcus opens the door and lifts the bag, the diapers secured. There had been a recall on the ones his goddaughter wore and when Syd had called you, he had immediately gone out to get some new ones. “We can change diapers again.”

"Yaaaaayyyy!" You cheer in the most hushed tone possible, waving Constance's little hand in the air. She'd curled her fingers around one of yours and held on tight. "Thank you, love."

“No problem.” He grins and winks at both you and the baby. Constance likes Marcus and giggles when he comes closer. “Is she ready for one, or still good?”

"She's still good for now. No bombs while you were out, thank goodness." With her hand around your finger, you make Constance wave and the baby giggles again. She really does love Marcus.

“That’s good.” He lifts up the second bag. “I also picked up dinner. I know you are baking, but I figured we deserved some take out.”

"Ooo, what kind of take out?" With the baby held tight to your chest, you rock her a little bit as you follow Marcus into the kitchen and try to get a peek at the bag, but there is not a single logo in sight beyond the diapers.

“Figured we would change it up this time.” He waggles his brows. “Thai. And Chinese. They had this new fusion place that I saw.”

"I like that even when we change it up, we stick to Asian." While he starts unloading the bags, you keep your movement going, dancing around the room with Constance to keep her laughing. It's almost naptime, which is perfect timing. "Did I tell you I had a nightmare the other night where I couldn't tolerant Indian food while I was pregnant? Woke up terrified and craving tandoori lamb chops. Very confusing way to wake up."

“Ohhh is that why you begged me to pick up Indian on the way home on Wednesday?” He tilts his head and chuckles. “That is your version of hell.”

"It really is. Having food aversions to highly spiced foods or to chocolate will make me utterly miserable when the time comes." Constance pauses in her laughter to yawn and you look down at her, wrapping both hands around the baby at your chest. "I saw that sweet girl. Is it nap time, honey?"

“She’s so damn good.” He can’t help but melt at the sleepy baby, “why don’t I put her to bed and you can go through the food?”

"Perfect." It takes a little maneuvering to hand her over to Marcus, but she goes relatively easily. After her parents, you and Marcus are two of her favorite people. as her godparents you've been a constant presence in her life, two of her most regular babysitters, and two of the first faces that she learned. "I'll grab plates and we can load them up in here?"

“That works.” She snuggles into his chest and he sighs. Almost willing to suggest that you go off your birth control now even though you are only three weeks away from your wedding. “Come on, sweet girl.” He coos. “Let’s get you down for that nap.”

Five or so minutes later, Marcus is back downstairs with the baby cam link pulled up on his phone and Constance happily set down in her crib with her current favorite stuffed animal – the panda bear that Sydney's sister gave her when she was born.

“Why do I think that Constance is such a good baby, that Juan and Sydney will be trying for a sibling soon?” Marcus asks, patting your thigh as you watch the monitor for a moment with the most poignant yearning in your eyes.

“Syd wanted to wait a year before they tried again.” After the trauma associated with the birth of her first, you were honestly surprised Sydney only wanted to wait one year. “We’re almost to that mark, so I guess it could happen any time now.”

“Yeah.” He hums, hoping that the next one goes so much smoother for your best friend. Although, if it’s like last time, Juan has already said that will be the last child they have. He won’t risk his wife’s health anymore and Marcus can completely understand that.

“Let’s make our plates.” As much as you could sit here and stare at the baby monitor all evening, food is good and relaxing with Marcus is even better.

“Sure baby.” Since you are baby sitting, Marcus had forgone picking up a bottle of wine. While neither one of you had a problem with having some normally, it was better to be sober while caring for the little one. He stands up and offers you his hand. “Then we will stuff ourselves and find something to talk about.” He teases, knowing that it’s going to be wedding or honeymoon related. Both of you are way too excited to talk about anything else right now.

“Oh that will be so difficult to do,” you tease, happily accepting his hand and winding your own into it. “We never ever have anything to talk about.”

“Nothing at all.” He jokes. “No plans, no dreams, nothing.” The walk to the kitchen only takes a moment and he appreciates that you laid everything out. “Thanks babe.”

“You picked it up, this is the least I could do.” It only takes a few minutes to fill your plates and then you’re sitting down together at the neat little kitchen table with Marcus’s phone between you to keep an eye on the baby monitor. “I got an e-mail from the inn in Inverness, by the way.” Alright, apparently it’s honeymoon talk. “A little welcome note from the owner and suggestions of things to do or places to eat while we’re in town.”

“Oh?” He loves how accommodating they have been and he knows you will be thrilled to stay in a Scottish inn. “That is incredibly thoughtful of them. Any ideas you didn’t already have?” He smirks. “I know you want to go to those Outlander stones.”

“I got a few good ideas for visiting filming locations,” you admit, grinning at him guiltlessly. “And some recommendations for places the locals actually eat at, instead of all the tourist traps that I’ve been finding online.”

He snorts, knowing you have been doing a deep dive on where to go and what to see. It won’t be disappointing at all. “I know you will enjoy that. Taking lots of notes for Sydney.”

“I’m under orders.” Solemn ones, to take pictures and notes about foods you both try and fall in love with while you’re on your honeymoon. “Which reminds me, our dinner reservation at Shish Mahal is all set.” The Glasgow restaurant where tikka masala was first served had been declared a mandatory stop on your trip around Scotland.

“I know you are excited about that.” He grins. “Although I want to try Scottish pub food too.”

“That’s why I was glad to get the recommendations from the innkeeper.” You tell him excitedly. “So you can have plenty of old school Scottish food to feed your heritage.”

He nods, happy you are so excited about the honeymoon. It’s going to be an adventure for both of you. Despite his time in Europe, he’s never been to Scotland and neither have you, so it will be something you can both enjoy together.

“Can I…talk to you about something?” You glance over at him from watching the baby monitor, food almost entirely forgotten — almost, it smells and tastes amazing so you’re not going to forget it entirely.

“Absolutely.” Marcus knows that it won’t be anything bad. It’s just something that has obviously been milling around in your brain until you were ready to talk about it. “Hit me.”

It doesn’t require a deep breath, or concern, or any kind of worry. It’s just a gentle smile that creeps across your face like sun rays from behind a cloud. “I don’t want to wait anymore to start trying for a baby. The only reason I wanted to wait earlier was because my dress was fitted already…and we’re so close to the wedding. A few weeks won’t matter even if we’re lucky enough to get pregnant the first try.”

The food is forgotten and Marcus almost forgets how to breathe. “Are you sure?” He knows you are, but he always likes to double check. “I know I’m ready whenever you are.”

“I’ve been ready,” you admit, tucking your hand into his to hold onto him tightly. “I just didn’t want to throw a monkey wrench in our wedding when we’ve put so much work into the day.”

“Baby, I would not have cared if you were about to pop, but I know what you mean.” He rushes forward to kiss you. “When can you make the appointment?”

“I’ll call first thing in the morning and see when they can fit me in.” Of course he’s just as excited as you are. You didn’t expect anything less. “Hopefully it won’t take long.”

“The appointment or getting you pregnant?” He asks, smirking slightly at the activities that involve getting you to that condition.

“Yes.” You tease right back, poking Marcus in the side as you both laugh.

He waggles his brows playfully. “So that breeding kink can come out to play?”

“Full throttle.” And you won’t complain about it one single bit.

“Yesssssss.” He pumps a fist playfully even though he’s only half kidding. Just the idea of it has caused some extremely good nights rolling around in bed together.

“I didn’t think you would mind that.” You lift his hand to your lips to kiss his knuckles and laugh again. “I’m excited, baby. And I love you so fucking much.”

“I love you too.” Marcus promises softly. “And I’m going to love the day I call you Mrs. Pike almost as much as the day you tell me you are pregnant.” He smiles. “Our dreams are coming true Hummingbird.”

______

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 @anoverwhelmingdin @storiesofthefandomlovers @missladym1981 @babeincolor @angelofsmalldeath-codeine

My Masterlist!

#Pedro Pascal #Pedro Pascal character fanfiction #Pedro Pascal fanfic #Marcus Pike #Marcus Pike x you #Marcus Pike x reader #Marcus Pike x female reader #Marcus Pike x f!reader #The Mentalist #soulmate au #First Daughter reader #Juan Badillo #Graceland #Juan Badillo x f!OC #Juan Badillo x OC #PrincessPike2018 #PikeWedding2018 #WhiteHouseWedding2018

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abibliophobiaa · 1 year

Text

Beyond - s.h. x f!reader

Chapter Five: Somewhere in the Crowd There’s You

a/n: here’s chapter five of my purely self-indulgent fun — a little later than i anticipated because i was sick and got a little derailed. we are half way now and things will be heating up in the next few chapters, haha. wanted to play around with one of my favorite tropes, so here we are with modern day!rich!fake husband!steve harrington x afab!reader.

warnings/tags: (10k words); mentions of alcohol; parent loss, both parties; r has a sister and father; smut in later chapters, so 18+, minors dni; additional tags to be added.

masterlist

“You sent too much money.”

It’s your father’s voice that spills down the other line. Gruff in a way that alerts you your fears aren’t for naught, as he’s likely had many sleepless nights since the last you spoke. You recall days as a child, when your mother had been sick, and your father would stay awake all hours of the night, if only to clean up the house so she didn’t have to. To make sure that her worries were only meant to be on getting better and resting.

“I…have a business and it’s going well,” you explain, chewing on your bottom lip.

Across the room, Steve’s fluffing pillows and putting a champagne bottle on ice. Your guests will be here soon, likely within the next few minutes, though when your father’s name flashed across your screen you knew you needed to answer.

“Only a few clients now, but I’m hopeful I’ll pick up more,” you continue, exhaling deeply. “I want you to have it. I know Caroline mentioned needing new shoes. Please let me do this.”

There’s a long pause. “Okay, okay. I’m so proud of you, sweetheart. Clinical year at school, newly married, and now a businesswoman. How is my son-in-law?”

“He’s…”

Steve rushes into the kitchen where you’re standing, hands curling around either of your hips to shift you away from the refrigerator so he can pull out the charcuterie board you had commissioned for the evening’s gathering.

“He’s really great. He’s been busy since we got back from our honeymoon, but he’s doing really well.”

Ever since your moment days ago in the kitchen, after Steve had pushed aside picking you up and opted to send Hopper in his stead, your relationship has taken new form. True to his word, Steve started a new habit of not answering his phone after you're done with your clinicals for the evening. Afternoons now had been spent watching your shows together on nights you didn’t have prior engagements with his coworkers, merely existing in the same room together, becoming…friends.

Literal friends, in the truest sense of the word. And it’s more than you can ask for, though you can’t lie that even the slightest touches leave you a little breathless. There’s also the kisses to the back of your hand at dinner, the way he curls his palm around the top of your thigh while his coworkers regale a particularly interesting story, the lingering press of his mouth against your forehead when he’s feeling especially doting in mixed company.

Progress.

You’re making progress.

“I actually should go and help him. We have company this afternoon. His cousin and wife are visiting us for the first time since the wedding. Still getting used to hosting gatherings as a couple, you know?” There’s a chuckle on the other end, and you know him well enough to imagine the slow shake of his head. “I love you so much and I’ll talk to you soon, okay?”

The line clicks, leaving you to witness Steve elbow deep in the sink, washing your coffee mugs from earlier that morning. Your eyes slide to the perfectly operational dishwasher on his right side, though you can’t deny that the sight of your husband, bare arms shifting and moving as he works, is a lovely one. None the wiser of your ogling, you step forward to him, elbow leaning down against the counter.

“You know, the dishwasher is empty,” you point out.

“I am perfectly capable of cleaning a few dishes,” he grouses, rinsing a cup and settling it in the drying rack. “I also need to keep moving. Getting antsy now that they’re running late.”

“Hey, Steve?” You step closer, your front brushing his hip. He shakes his head as you do so, a laugh breaking free from his mouth as you grip his arms and still him in his frantic movements. “Put the sponge down. And the plate. The fork, too.”

The three items plunk down into the sink, a loud clatter in your otherwise silent home. Fingers curl around a hand towel and he reaches over to grasp his wedding ring, pushing it back into place against his knuckle. One thing you’ve found, and you particularly enjoy, is the fact Steve’s never taken off his ring. Not once. Even under the false pretenses of marriage, seeing him wearing a symbol of your union, of the vows you shared some time ago now, erupts dozens of bees into your bloodstream. Humming, buzzing, igniting your every nerve ending with electricity.

“Are you okay,” you ask, hand coming to rest against his back.

It’s the softest brush, and yet he turns his head all the same, hazel eyes meeting yours, and then trailing up the inside of your arm to where you’re touching.

“Yeah, I’m okay,” he says unconvincingly, shifting to face you now. That arm drops as he does so, but is replaced by his two large hands cupping your biceps. “Just want to get through this afternoon and then I’ll be much happier.”

Your mouth opens to speak, to ask him why the stress over this afternoon, when his phone rings and the doorman lets him know Theobald and Cami have finally arrived. It’s not the first time you’ve met them. The first had been at your wedding, where introductions to most of Steve’s friends and extended family were done so in a rapid fire manner. They’d been kind enough; as much as one can be in a two minute conversation wherein you welcomed them and thanked them for coming to celebrate your “special day” with the love of your life.

But now, seeing them there in the flesh, brought a new wave of nervousness into your belly. Theobald Cletus, with his dark hair that resembles Steve’s, with tan skin and the beginnings of wrinkles that crease his forehead and around the corners of his mouth. And beside him, his stunning wife with silky red curls that fell to her waist in ringlets, delicately freckled cheeks, and impossibly green eyes. Ethereal—she looked ethereal and, by your guessing, quite a bit younger than her husband standing with a hand against the smallest point of her back.

As your mouth opens to speak and welcome them into your home, Cami rushes forward, curling her arms around your shoulders in a frighteningly tight hug that has you wincing and peering over your shoulder to your husband. Steve only shrugs as he steps forward and cups his hand around his cousin’s, only to be tugged forward into a hug of his own.

“Theobald, you’ve met my wife,” Steve finally says once you’ve managed to extract yourself from Cami long enough to sidle back up to him, his arm settling around your waist, palm curling affectionately around your hip. One of the appropriate touches you’ve discussed, and yet it has your head spinning all the same.

Just as it does every time.

“Ah, yes.” His eyes flicker to yours. Darker than your husband’s, corners twitching as his lips curl into a smile. “The new Mrs. Harrington. How could I forget that whirlwind affair?”

Head dipping uncomfortably, you press your palm against Steve’s where it rests against your hip, sliding your fingers between his to lace them tight. “It was pretty crazy, wasn’t it?” Awkwardly laughing, you turn to look to Steve for support. “Should we take this into the living room?”

“Please!” Cami exclaims, flicking her hair over her shoulders. “I would love to hear all about the honeymoon. I want all the details. Should we be expecting any little Harringtons soon?”

Just as you say, “Absolutely not,” Theobald echoes, “My cousin loves kids. Always wanted a brood of them.”

It’s expected, you think. It’s a common question after marriage, no matter how inappropriate. Society says once you’re married you’re to obviously have children next. Frankly, it’s archaic and a ridiculous practice. And even so, Theobald’s words strike a sudden sadness into your chest. This thought that Steve so deeply wants children. A thought you could completely see come to fruition based on his interactions with El and Will alone. They’d been immediately endeared to him. All wide eyes and bright laughter, vibrant conversation, his endless bantering with them.

Steve Harrington would be a good father to his future children one day with his real wife. Not the woman you are to him for the next three years.

However, it’s at this moment you rationalize the error in your plans. A real couple would have had these conversations about future children already.

“Not now, at least,” you giggle airily, curling your arm around Steve’s and tugging him close. His brows furrow as you add, “Right now I’m just enjoying spending time with my husband. I want to be a little selfish for a while yet.”

“Understandable,” Cami agrees, settling down on your living room couch, crossing her legs and revealing a stunning pair of Gucci pumps that likely cost your half of the rent while still living with Robin. “I love our two little gremlins, but they take up all our free time. Constantly running them around to school events, dance classes, sporting events.”

“Sweetheart, the au pair does all of that,” Theobald chuckles, earning a whack in the arm from his wife. “Enough about that. Tell me…how did you two meet? It all happened so fast.”

“As you already pointed out,” Steve warns, hand around yours growing tighter.

Cami moves to open the champagne bottle, easing the tension in the room with the echoing pop. Glasses are poured and passed around the table, glasses coming together in a soft ‘cheers’ before you bring the champagne flute to your lips and take a large swallow. Bubbles burst against your tongue, eyes training on Theobald’s, just as he passes a look your way.

A battle of wills then, you think.

“We met at a party,” you begin, removing your hand from Steve's and gripping the bottom of his chin, shifting him enough that he’s looking at you. “We’d known each other for a bit through our mutual friend, and we’d always kind of danced around one another. In the same spaces always, yet too nervous to make the first move.”

Steve watches you carefully as you weave your tale that isn’t really a tale. It’s mostly the truth, with the romance added in. But it comes naturally. Pours out of you with an unexpected ease that has Cami leaning into her husband’s shoulder, green eyes twinkling as you speak.

“And then one afternoon, Stevie bought me a drink and walked it over to where I was standing by myself. My friend had just left to use the restroom, and here he stood…all tall, dark, and handsome. We started talking that night and just realized how easy it was to be around one another. I’d never talked so much on a first date, and yeah—I considered that our first date. After that we spent nearly every day together. It didn’t take long for us both to realize we wanted to spend the rest of our lives together. Some might think it was rushed, but there’s that saying, right? When you know, you know. And with my school starting up again, and us wanting so badly to get married, we thought no time like the present. Now here we are.”

For emphasis, you lean forward. Close enough that Steve’s eyes cross, his mouth dropping a hint at the corners, before twitching upward when your lips press against the corner of his mouth. A tentative press of your skin just barely against his. You linger with your forehead against his, trying not to focus on the temperature in the room, or how it feels it’s creeping higher and higher with every passing moment you remain connected to him.

“Here we are,” Steve echoes, breath fanning against your bottom lip.

Were you to even move an inch, your mouths would connect. A thought he must have as well, because he brings his thumb up and taps your bottom lip gently, nuzzling your nose until you hear the excitable clapping of Cami’s hands where she’s sitting on the living room touch. Pushing the hem of your summer dress down back around your knees, you shift and take in the older man sitting across from you. His eyes are narrowed on your face, a twitch not unnoticed in his cheek as he jolts to his feet and suggests Steve and him have a little bit of time as ‘cousins’ on the private patio. Noticing your hesitance at him leaving your side, Steve brushes a gentle kiss against your forehead, pours you another glass of champagne, and promises he’ll be right back.

With the door closed and the men left to their own devices, you look over to Cami. Cami, the picture of beauty. An image of a woman who walks in this world of the elites and has no qualms about it; steps into it and commands it, whereas you’re still walking around on wobbly legs like a baby deer. Even her clothes look like they were made for her. Luxurious fabrics that ebb and flow with her every movement, high neck of her summer dress leading to a gorgeous diamond necklace falling to the hollow of her throat.

Across from her, your dress suddenly feels too tight. Gifted by your mother-in-law who insisted she owned her own fashion line, and therefore absolutely must dress her only daughter. A quick phone call wherein you protested her suggestions ended with a ring from the doorman alerting you a delivery of multiple garments had arrived for you. Various dresses for each occasion, pants, shoes, blouses and anything you could imagine ever needing were added to your closet. All elaborate in design, and becoming for a new wife to the CEO of a major contracting company. The biggest the city touted, if you were completely honest with yourself.

Today you wore an off the shoulder floral patterned dress and the diamond earrings gifted by your mother-in-law as a bridal shower gift. You’d pushed aside the thought of heels for the afternoon; instead opted for a comfy pair of sandals that were maybe in their last season of use, but now they only looked garish in the light beside the Gucci pumps on Cami’s feet.

Comparison, this ugly weed of a thing, grew up within you against your better wishes. Robbed you of what little air fell in and out of your lungs as you sat there, sipping your champagne. You didn’t care for these preconceived ideas of what a Harrington wife should look like, right? You were your own person, had been long before him, and would continue to be so after him. Yet sitting there, watching her gracefully move about the room, and commenting on the pictures you’d added from the wedding, reminds you of how some people were meant for this life. Some people were raised for it.

You were not.

“He looks so in love with you,” Cami trills, fingers running along the silver edge of your photo frame, lifting it nearer to her face for inspection. You know exactly which one it is. Jonathan had told the two of you to look one another in the eyes and press your foreheads together. He’d draped your veil over the both of you, the setting sun basking you both in a golden hour halo. It’s dreamy. A shot so dreamy it’s easy to believe it is of a man deeply in love with his bride. “That new love look. Cherish it. You know how these Harrington men are.”

Actually…you don’t.

You’re not interested in even asking her what she intends by her words, but when she places the photo back down and turns your way, there’s a glimmer of something wet on her lower lashes. Awkwardly, you clear your throat, reaching over and offering to refill her glass. She heartily accepts, fingers combing through long amber locks as she settles back down on the couch across from you, crossing her legs once more. Again, she’s the statuesque image of perfection; cracks visible in her foundation, yet devastatingly beautiful all the same.

“You’ve got the best one,” she sniffles, grasping a piece of cheese and a cracker within her index and pointer. “Stevie is a sweetheart. Always has been. Theobald is hard on him, and I always try to tell him to ease up. The late Mr. Harrington was always so rough on his son as it is without Theo breathing down his neck.”

The late Mr. Harrington.

You knew very little of him. From what you’ve gathered—the very scraps of things here and there, as Steve never really mentioned him—their relationship, while his father had been alive, was a strained one. His parents had him later in life; a quick Google search would show as much. The heir to the company born with a silver platter before him, wanting for naught, pushed into the limelight.

Still, hearing Cami talk about Steve…with pity—grief tightens like a vice around your heart. Envisioning those hazel eyes of your husband, staring up expectantly at a man who never saw his son’s achievements for what they were. And now, at his young age, trying to make his late father proud at the expense of his own self.

Long hours, constant meetings, coaching calls. Pushing, striving, hustling.

With a long sigh, you glance toward the outside patio, where you can see your husband with the sleeves of his shirt rolled up. His left hand curls around the stem of his glass, hand gesticulating wildly in the air as he talks with Theobald, hair in disarray. Like he’s been raking his fingers through it. Eyes trail his shoulders next, along the contours of sinewy muscle, then further up where you can visibly see the rigidity in his form.

“Steve is…”

Your voice breaks, eyes tipping downward to your bubbly drink in hand. Cami’s fingers curl around your wrist, a sympathetic frown lining her pristine features, and you know she’s thinking you’re caught up in your emotions. But in reality, it’s because there are so many things he is, all of which swirl like a muddied mess in your hazy mind.

“Steve is a good man. He’s the best man. I’m really lucky to have him.”

When you glance up, there he is, grin gracing his features. It’s plain as day he’s heard you; those stiff shoulders slacken. Tension eases from the curve of his mouth, as well as in the grip of his fingers around his glass. Instead his face morphs into elation, feet carrying him over to where you sit so he can once more slide an arm around your waist and tug you close.

Theobald regards you carefully in the distance, taking in the way you slide into the crook of your husband’s chest, seeking the warmth of him. The comfort of someone in your corner, seated in a room ripe with scrutiny.

“Thank you,” Steve whispers against your ear, just as Cami dives into conversation about her and Theo’s children, revealing photo after photo of their adorable faces on her iPhone screen.

“We’re the Harringtons, aren’t we?”

He chuckles brightly, nodding. “Yeah. Yeah, we are.”

Day shifts into evening.

Conversations drift around lighter topics. Talks of your schooling, your plans for the future, the business you’ve started. A fact which, to your unamusement, Theobald finds more than mildly intriguing when he later corners you in the kitchen as Steve and Cami flip through the photos she had taken at the wedding on her phone (despite Steve’s pitying gazes for you to rescue him). Instead, you’d offered to start cleaning up, knowing your husband and you had dinner plans with another couple from the office.

“A dog walking business…” He mutters, elbow dropping down onto the counter. “How quaint.”

“It’s extra money,” you say simply, placing a watery glass into the drying rack. “You’re a businessman, aren’t you? Isn’t it better to make all my money now while I’m younger?”

“That I am. And I would agree,” he murmurs, eyes trailing your profile. “It’s just curious since you know how wealthy your husband is. He’s CEO of the company now, and that’s not even counting the hefty inheritance he got as the sole Harrington son. That kind of money is generational. He could never work another day in his life and be well off.”

“My husband is supportive of my endeavors,” you grumble out, training your eyes on the kitchen backsplash.

“Obviously,” he agrees goodnaturedly. “He loves you. Everyone can see it. All of a sudden our hard working golden child is leaving the office at normal times, running home to his lovely wife. I just hope he knows what he’s doing.”

Heat flashes like lava in your gut over the revelation that your ruse is working. It’s hindered by Theobald’s latter statement, mind stuttering over his blasé persona. The question as to whether or not Steve knows what he’s doing. Trying to hide your piqued interest, you harden your expression into one of neutrality.

As your mouth opens to speak, Cami cuts you off with a shrill, “Theobald, they have to get ready for their dinner. We’ve overstayed our welcome. But I would absolutely love for us to do this again!”

Uncertain if you’re happy or sad about this latest development because you still needed further clarity over Theo’s words, you place the remaining glasses into the drying rack and slide your rings back into place, pressing yourself into Steve’s side as he approaches. For a dramatic flair, you even press your left hand to his abdomen, rings glinting in the light, head leaning against his chest as you wish them a wonderful rest of their evening.

Theobald gives you one last fleeting look just when his wife nearly strangles you in another bear hug, and claps a hand against his younger cousin’s shoulder. “We will definitely have to do this again. It was nice officially meeting you, Mrs. Harrington.”

The doors slide closed and a sigh spills from your lips. Against you, Steve relaxes, hand rubbing up and down the length of your spine idly, eyes still fixed on the doors across from him. Slipping away from him, you quickly gather the rest of the snacks and glasses from the living room table and drop them down into the sink, pinching at the bridge of your nose.

“Is he always like that?” You wonder out loud, whirling around to face Steve.

His head jerks at your words, mouth pulling southward. The solidness of his right hip rests against the kitchen counter. You try to not dawdle on the way his bicep twitches as it rests on the surface beside him, nor as his fingers sprawl around the base of his jaw, keeping his head propped up.

“He’s usually worse,” he admits. “What did he say to you?”

“Just commented on my business,” you tell him, deciding to ease in with that before asking what his cousin had meant by ‘hoping Steve knows what he’s doing’, moving to place a plate in the drying rack. “He couldn’t seem to fathom how I would resort to the life of a peasant, when I should be rolling around in your endless buckets of money.”

Snorting, he teases, “Someone’s angry.”

“Yeah, and for once not at you, so I’d be thankful.” Your nose wrinkles as he barks out a laugh, head tipping back in his glee. Mirth bubbles up within your belly at the lyrical sound spilling from your husband, the way his cheeks stretch wide on his face, how the corners of his eyes crinkle in his happiness. “I told him I liked what I do. Is that so wrong? I like having my own thing. Just like you have your own thing.”

Without a warning, he turns the water off. Grips your shoulders lightly, turning you to him. “Theo is an entitled idiot, okay? He thinks he runs the company and the world, and anyone who doesn’t live like him is beneath him. Notice how he’s got this constant look on his face of disgust?”

At that, your lips twitch. Steve coaxes it further by shaking you slightly, earning a giggle. “He does kind of look like he hates everyone around him. It’s a wonder he married Cami. She seems sweet.”

“She is sweet. A saint for putting up with him for all these years, honestly,” Steve says, giving you one last shake until you’re wiping your hands off and slouching against his frame. “What?”

“I want a selfish hug,” you grumble against his shirt, face pressing into a sternum.

“A selfish hug?” You can hear the questioning lilt, the probing in his kind voice.

Nodding, you step closer. The tips of your sandals meet his leather shoes, hem of your dress spilling over the dark material. Your head shifts just the slightest, ear resting over the curve of his chest, relishing in the warmth of another body. This. Hugging? It’s not new. You’ve been practicing. As odd as that sounds, and though you don’t want to unpack it, since your argument with Steve he’s come home every day and greeted you with one. You’d say you’re pros at this point.

“And what might a selfish hug be?” He muses, hands coming up to rest against the center of your back.

“I just stand like this,” you begin, dropping your arms to your sides, letting them dangle at your hips. “And you hold me.”

You can feel the vibration of his laugh against your ear, but his arms tighten around you all the same, holding you in place. Melting into him, you rest in the comfort of his embrace. Merely focus on the sound of his breath pouring in and out of his lungs, the gentle beat of his heart beneath your ear, the brush of his thumb against your skin, soothing you.

“You’re too much,” he says, but there’s no weight behind the words. Can feel his mouth curling upward against your ear.

“Thanks, Steve.”

For the evening. For helping you in a time of need. For holding you now. For holding you tomorrow. You’re not really sure you know what you mean. But all you do know for certain is that, when his arms tug you closer, you loop yours around his waist, and your selfish hug becomes a real one.

Lightning streaks the sky. Bright white illuminates your bedroom, then settles into dark once more. A loud boom echoes, rattling the foundations of your home. Jolts your bed, and thus your body out of it. Grasping at your chest, you try to tamper the frantic rise and fall. The rush of breath forcing itself in and out of your screaming lungs, ejected from your dreams into waking so suddenly.

Another flash sparks your room in a moonlit glow. Falls dark a second later as you brace for the crack of sound that pierces your ears after. Groaning, you grasp the edge of a fluffy blanket on the foot of your bed and curl it around your shoulders, padding through your home in search of the living room, sights set on watching Netflix until you fall back asleep from reruns of your favorite shows.

Only upon entering, you find you’re not alone. Already doused in colorful light from the episode of New Girl playing on the screen is none other than your husband. Where you’re standing you can see the frames of the thin glasses he wears, the unkempt bed hair at the top of his head, the hoodie pulled over his body to block out the air conditioned chill in the living room.

“You’re awake…” It comes out hoarse, the rasp of your voice drawing your husband’s attention. “And you’re watching without me?”

The mock gasp has him moving over on the couch to make space for you, your rear dropping down into the couch cushion beside him. There’s another blanket across his lap, impossibly soft and a pretty navy color that pops against the pale fabric of your carpet. Getting comfortable, you unloop yours from around your shoulders and drape it across your bare thighs, sleep shorts doing very little to block out the chill in the air. Once satisfied, you lean back and watch the chaos between Jess and Nick unfolding on the television screen.

“What are you doing awake?” you ask after some time. Wince as another boom of thunder rattles the walls of your home.

“Couldn't sleep,” he says, breaking off into a yawn. “Had a lot on my mind.”

“From dinner or…?”

Dinner itself hadn’t been stressful—at least nothing that occurred would have alluded to as much. You’d met up at an Italian restaurant with a business partner of Steve’s and the business partner’s husband. Two older men in their fifties, with graying hair and a kindness that radiated from them. Most of the conversation had been of things outside of work, so you’re uncertain as to what might be bothering him.

“Not dinner,” he confirms, pausing the show on the TV screen. His head rolls back to rest against the plush cushion, hands coming up to press into his face. Slides his palm down the contours, exhaling deeply. “I really don’t want to talk about it.”

“Oh,” you mutter softly, picking at a nonexistent thread on the edge of your blanket. “That’s fine. I just figured—”

“It’s nothing personal toward you. I just don’t want to bother you with it. Why are you up?” He queries, head turning to look in your direction.

“You never bother me.”

Steve levels you with a blank stare and you laugh. “I’m not afraid of thunder…but it definitely woke me,” you admit quietly, sounding more than a forlorn without meaning to. “My room gets really dark at night with the curtains, so when it lit up from the lightning I was a little spooked.”

“Understandably,” he says. “Want me to grab you coffee or tea or something?”

Head perking up, you ask, “Do we still have the camomile? If it’s no trouble, I mean…”

“I wouldn’t be asking you if it was,” he says, but there’s no hint of any condescension there, only his increasingly familiar thoughtfulness.

You lean your chin over the top of the couch to catch the retreating form of Steve’s back swathed in his dark hoodie. “Thank you.”

“It’s the least I can do,” he says, starting up your warm drink. “Want anything else? We still have those chocolate covered strawberries from dinner.”

“Do you want the chocolate strawberries from dinner?”

His grin turns wry. “Maybe.”

“Bring them over, you grown up baby,” you tease, extending a hand so he can place the covered plate in your awaiting palm.

Peeling back the tinfoil, you rest the tray on the coffee table, hiking your blanket higher around your thighs. Steve’s pouring hot water into a mug that says ‘Future Veterinarian,’ humming a familiar tune as he works.

“You usually do honey and…a bucket load of sugar, right?”

Eyes roll. “I like a spoonful of honey in my camomile and nothing else. The sugar is for my iced coffees, thank you very much. Also thank you for making sure Hopper always has it on standby lately.”

“What’s that thing you said to me when we first talked about us getting married?” He taps his chin mock thoughtfully, his other hand twirling a spoon around the inside of your cup. “Happy wife, happy life starts with always knowing her coffee order.”

It’s true, and you hide your lips behind your palm at the realization he’d been listening as he crosses the space between you and rests the steaming mug in your hand, muttering quickly, “Be careful, it’s really hot.”

“Thank you,” you say as he drops back down into the couch and plucks a chocolate covered strawberry off the tray. “I know you didn’t want to talk about what’s bothering you…but I figure…I don’t know. It’s storming out, we’re both not getting much sleep tonight, we could play a game or something.”

“A game?”

Nodding, you add, “An icebreaker. I know we talk more now, but we could try and get to know each other better. A little look into the person we married.”

Your husband shifts on the couch beside you. Presses his back into the arm rest and stretches out, arching a brow pointedly. Smirking, you do the same. Shift just enough so your back is up against the opposite end, your socked feet just barely brushing Steve’s.

“Okay. Night out or night in?” you ask.

“Before…night out.”

“Before?”

“Well, now you force me to watch Gilmore Girls.”

“I don’t force you! And it’s only been a few days. I’m sure it’s an absolute horror of spending time with the woman you fake married,” you gasp, feigning terror. “Just admit it. You like spending time at home.”

His eyes are set on yours as he says, “I like spending time at home.”

“I’d agree for myself as well. Life is so busy as it is lately, it’s nice having a space to come back to.”

One thing you’re very grateful for on a growing list is the space your new bedroom has given you. Sure, it can get lonely, but it’s an escape from the long days, a haven from stress, a bed to crawl back to when your eyes can hardly stay open any longer after a particularly hard day at clinicals.

“My turn,” Steve says, crossing his arms over his middle. And no, you don’t allow heat to crawl across your chest at the mere sight of his chest and arms flexing from the motion. “Would you rather go forward or backward in time?”

“And what would be my purpose of going forward or backward? Am I rectifying my mistakes? Seeing the future? Looking to see how my life pans out?”

“I…it’s whatever you want it to be.” He blanches.

“I don’t really have a lot of regrets in life. I make a choice and however the cookie crumbles is how it crumbles. Exhibit A,” you say, holding aloft your left hand, where two rings glint in the dim living room. “So I probably would want to go forward. But that’s dangerous, because if you go too far forward, you might see things you don’t like. I definitely wouldn’t want to know how I, uh, you know? Check out of here. What about you?”

Steve pauses for a moment, brows drawn in thought. “Honestly? There are things I’d want to change about the past, sure. But I think I’d want to see the future. See if all I’m doing is worth it, you know?”

“You don’t think what you’re doing right now is worth it?” You wonder if he’s talking about the business. Assume he must be, but don’t press any further.

“I wonder sometimes, yeah,” he admits.

“Well, what would you be doing if it weren’t what you’re doing right now? To see if something else would potentially be worth it.”

He rubs a hand along his neck, shrugging. “I thought about being a teacher once. My dad thought that was a silly idea. But I’ve always been good with children, and I think I could have been good at that.”

“You are good with children,” you tell him, thinking to Will and El. To the friends you’d met at dinner in the past weeks who brought their little ones. “I don’t think that’s a silly idea at all. Not in the slightest, and I’m sorry if anyone ever made you feel that way. Like your interests were inconsequential.”

“Thank you.” Clearing his throat, he asks, “Movie night or date night?”

“Are you asking me on a date?” His eyes grow wide at that. Cheeks darken visibly in the moonlit living room. “I’m teasing you, Harrington. I think there’s a case that those can be one in the same. I would say broader…I love the idea of going out for a date, but I love those inside sort of dates more. They’re more intimate, there’s the comfort of your shared spaces, the fact there aren’t any crowds around you. Only that important quality time with your partner.”

“I don’t have much to contribute there, seeing as I haven’t dated much in the past year. And now I won’t be for another three years.” He chuckles, combing fingers through his hair.

“Okay, this question is super serious.” You fold your hands across your midsection, inhaling deeply, eyes shut. “Would you rather have a third nipple or an extra toe?”

“Seriously!”

“I’m very serious, Steve.”

“Extra toe.” He reaches up to rub the back of his neck again, wincing slightly as he presses into a spot between his shoulder blades.

Your lips tug southward. “Are you hurting?”

“Just my office chair, I’m sure,” he grumbles, nonchalant.

“Get on the floor.”

His brows arch. “Huh?”

“On the floor,” you repeat, tapping the space in front of you on the carpet below. “In front of me.”

“Why?”

“Do you trust me?”

He doesn’t answer. Instead, long limbs slip off the edge of the couch and settle down where you’ve asked. You move to tuck his hoodie in as best as you can, fingers moving to spread across the slope of his shoulders. He exhales deeply at the first press of your hands in the muscle wrought with tension. A low sigh spills free, head tipping back to rest on the cushion nearest to your knee. Fingers crave to brush the hair along his scalp, to see if he’ll make that same, soft sigh once more. But instead you continue, pressing slowly into his flesh, listening to his cues, figuring out what works and doesn’t.

“Would you rather have a big family or a small one?” You ask after Steve has gone quiet, thinking back briefly to the moment earlier with Theobald and Cami.

Steve, with his wishes to be a father. Steve, who wants a huge brood of Harrington babies. Steve, who wants a family.

And yet it’s not even that. Not the questions as to what he sees for his future. It’s the tangible worry of slipping up in your facade. Of revealing too many cracks in the foundations of your dynamics. That had been the first, and you know if this relationship is going to hold up for three years, communication is a must. Absolute transparency at all times, so as to not muck it all up and land yourselves both in some hot water.

“Growing up, it was just me. My parents had me a little older in their life. They were already further into their careers by the time I was born. So…it was often just the au pair and myself,” he explains, letting go of another deep breath.

His body slackens against your knee caps. Warm flesh of your husband pliant beneath your fingertips.

“I always had this dream of giving my kids the opposite of what I had. Always knowing love, family outings, doing everything with them. Dance class, football, acting—whatever they wanted. And I’d wanted as many as possible. A silly dream of six of them, running all over the world together as a family.”

“It’s not a silly dream. None of your dreams are ever silly, Steve.”

Warmth pools as Steve slides his hand up and covers yours where it rests against his shoulder. Heart stuttering, you continue, “Your family will be lucky to have you some day. I, for one, haven’t given much thought to that aspect of life. I hope Theo and Cami didn’t find that suspect. I just…”

“Have been busy with school. You’re becoming a doctor, that’s time and hard work. No one can fault you for that.”

“Right. Yeah.”

You resume your kneading, fingers stroking at shoulders, down the sides of his neck, attentive to all the tension. He grows softer beneath your fingertips, head against your knee, his eyes closed. Where you’re sitting you can see the moles on his face, the length of his lashes, the lines of his nose. Pretty. He’s pretty, and it’s always something you’ve known, but being so close—

“Sunrise or sunset,” Steve asks.

“Hmm, sunrise.” You poke at the middle of his forehead, and hazel eyes meet yours. “That one was simple.”

“I could tell you were overthinking,” he says simply. “We’re not going to be perfect at this marriage thing. But no one expects us to be.”

“I still think we need to get our stories straight at the very least. And I sorta messed that one up with the honeymoon baby thing.” You shrug, palms sliding down a bit onto his upper chest. He’s still sitting there, taking you in with his stare, hand around yours. “Kind of why I suggested this game.”

He offers you a gentle smile, saying, “Then let’s keep going.”

The conversation continues until the sun begins to change colors. Until the rain has since stopped, voices carrying above the television playing low in the background. You learn Steve’s a romantic; loves movies like the Titanic and The Notebook. And will also admit to enjoying some of the same romantic comedies you do.

He prefers rainy days, because he enjoys the respite they give from a constantly busy city just outside the walls of your home. He’d rather have happiness than wealth; enjoys chocolate chip cookies fresh out of the oven for dessert (and you make a note to pick up some stuff to make them on your next planned night together); he’d never had any pets growing up, but he’d love a dog.

And you tell him about yourself. How you love cozy socks and would prefer scrubs over real clothes; how you also never had pets growing up and would love to adopt and foster as many as possible one day; how you enjoyed fantasy over romantic movies; how you’d watched Titanic about a hundred times in your life and you still cried.

How you wanted to watch it with him next, and he agreed, stating it would be the next thing you do when you cook together.

Before long he’s yawning and your eyes are closing. His fingers remain around yours as you knead his muscles, prattling on about your plans for the week, school, your friends. And he talks about his own schedule, his meetings, proposes dinner for the both of you that upcoming Saturday. A cooked meal in, with a movie and some wine. Maybe you tease him a little, because he makes it easy when he blushes that pretty pink, and maybe he grins up at you fondly, eyes hooded in his sleepy daze.

Eventually, you lay on your side and he remains in front of you on the floor. You’re hardly awake as he drapes a blanket over your form and tucks a pillow under your head, whispering to one another as the sun starts to come up over the city.

Eventually, both of you fall silent at last, comforting sleep there to find you.

“I want to make it very clear before we go in there that we are not getting a dog. We are donating all the things we bought earlier, and then we are going home and having dinner together,” Steve reiterates for the umpteenth time that day.

“We are not getting a dog,” you repeat, mock stonily, looking your husband dead in the eyes.

Clearly unamused, he shoves at the arm you have jokingly curled around his forearm, but there’s no malice there. Only a gentle huff of laughter as he opens his car door and rushes around the other side to help you out. You never need him to, but he insists every time. Even offers an arm for you to grab as you hop onto the sidewalk. Once back on solid land, summer dress dancing around your kneecaps, Steve walks around to the back of the car and lifts the box of pet food, blankets and toys you’d picked up while at the pet store. Today, you decided, you wanted to give back to the local shelter in your new town.

And maybe you had an ulterior motive of trying to realize a dream of your husband’s by making him fall in love with a shelter dog in a way where his only option is to bring them home to live with you forever. But he’s been adamant all morning—so certain today’s events will not lead to four legs becoming part of your odd little family.

Inside, you’re greeted by one of the workers. A woman named Chelsea rushes around the counter to collect your donations and asks if you’d like to walk around a bit. Steve’s reluctant at your side, sunglasses peeled off and tucked into the neck of his shirt, but he comes along all the same as you grip his palm within your own and drag him along behind you.

You pass dozens of kittens and cats. Young and old all alike as you go. Some who meow as you pass, and others who linger in dark corners of their confines. It breaks your heart seeing so many, wanting to adopt them all, knowing you’re unable to. Sensing your unease, Steve squeezes your hand tighter and listens for the both of you while Chelsea speaks and your mind wanders.

“Down here are all our adoptable dogs.”

It’s a sight you never get used to. Dogs barking as you pass, bodies brushing against their cages, yearning for attention. You linger by Chelsea as you walk, rubbing noses and ears and backs. Tongues glide over your palm, wet noses brush your skin, dark eyes hold yours through metal bars. Somewhere in the midst of introducing yourself to all your newest furry friends, you find Steve’s hand is no longer in yours. Turning on the heel, you find him crouched low to the ground, fingers curled inside metal bars, softly speaking to the animal hidden within.

“Oh,” Chelsea mutters, shock evident in her tone. Steve looks up to her imploringly, then glances back at the dog inside. “That’s a new arrival. A ten month old male Bernedoodle. He’s a black tricolor puppy. His previous owners got him as a gift, and turned him over when he started getting bigger. They’re a smaller breed, but have a lot of energy and unfortunately you see a lot of this happening. People buy luxury pets and drop them off when they become too much. He’s been very timid since he arrived.”

“He just lost his family,” Steve says to no one, swallowing thickly. The woman at your side doesn’t speak, only watches as your husband continues to gently coax the puppy forward. “Hey buddy. I’m Steve. Wanna come over here? No?”

“Should we…” the woman beside you begins.

“Yeah, let’s give them a moment,” you mutter, a little breathless as you turn around and face the other direction, quiet footsteps carrying you further away.

But you still hear it.

Still hear Steve’s voice in your ears. A sad, “I know what it’s like. Feeling left behind, left alone. Especially from the people you want to love you most. But you don’t need to be afraid of me. I get it.”

There’s an echo of soft paws padding against a tiled floor. And the soft exhale from Steve. “There you go. See, I’m your friend. I’m here. You don’t have to be afraid.”

And when you and the shelter worker turn around, you find Steve with his fingers in the puppy’s fur, that pink tongue of his brushing over the inside of your husband’s wrist. That resolve in Steve’s eyes crumbles, your heart shattering along with it as you press the heel of your palm to your sternum.

He turns to Chelsea and asks, “Can we take him out? Just for a minute?”

Chelsea passes you a knowing look and that minute Steve requests turns into an hour in the yard outside of the shelter. The puppy seems hesitant at first, lingering near Steve’s thighs as you stand nearby. But once Chelsea hands Steve a frisbee and ball, it’s as though the puppy is sparked to life once more. Soon enough he’s frolicking around the field, playful yips streaking the summer silence as he retrieves his toys and rushes back over to Steve, paws pouncing playfully against your husband’s designer jeans.

But he doesn’t care.

No—you haven’t seen him light up like this in the nearly three months you’ve been married. The joy illuminated his features. The crinkle of his eyes at the corners. The belly laughs as the puppy eventually knocks him to the ground and demands belly rubs on the grassy floor below. He falls in love before your eyes. With no warning, impossibly fast, and so suddenly it comes as no shock to either you nor Chelsea when he asks about adoption.

As you sit in the lobby with the puppy on a leash on the floor, you turn to Steve, grinning widely. “You said we weren’t getting a dog.”

Steve pats his new fur son’s head and grins as the dog tips his head back to look longingly into his new father’s eyes. It’s sickeningly sweet, and does things to your insides that makes you feel hot all over. You chalk it up to the shoddy air conditioner system, tugging at the neckline of your dress to let the air chill your slick skin.

“I couldn’t leave him,” he says, brushing fingers along a furry ear.

“He picked you.”

“He did, didn’t he?” Fond. Smitten. He’s so in love it’s ridiculous, and all you feel is affection.

Affection.

Towards your husband.

New. But maybe not so scary.

You lean down to pet the puppy’s neck. He jumps up and scrambles up with his front paws against your lap, licking a broad stripe along your chin. “Steve, we have a puppy.”

Your first pet.

His, too.

“Yeah,” he says, but he’s only staring at you. You swallow. “I guess we do.”

A few questions and references and a small adoption fee later, and you’re both the newest proud parents of your still presently unnamed new puppy who pokes his head in the front seat as you drive to the nearest pet store in search of all the things you’ll need to make his transition as simple as possible.

Steve, ever doting as he is, grabs the leash as soon as he helps the little guy out and greets you as usual on your side of the vehicle. You spend the better half of the afternoon purchasing things for him. A dog bed, food, toys, a new collar with his name and address engraved into it.

Charlie Harrington, you both eventually decide, when the cashier asks how you’d like it engraved.

Charlie Harrington, who the doormen at your apartment building immediately fall in love with as you later walk in, you holding the puppy’s leash this time, and Steve trying his hardest to carry all the things you bought.

Charlie Harrington who bounds happily into your home and immediately starts sniffing around in his new space, excited to simply be around people who love him in such a short span of time and want to play with him like he deserves.

“I’ll get started on dinner, if you want to show your fur child around the house,” you tease, laying out Charlie’s shiny new bowls on the floor, and the basket of toys and bones you got for him in the living room, right by his bed beside it.

“You are a sneaky woman,” he jokes, coming up behind you in the kitchen.

Heat blooms where he rests his hand on your shoulder and presses a kiss to your cheek like it’s something he’s done before in the confines of your home, with no one looking. So casually, and yet stark in contrast to the riot of butterflies that stir to life in your stomach.

“And why might that be?”

“Played that ice breaker game with me, found out I never had a pet, and then brought me to a shelter…where I then got a pet.”

You shrug, turning on the stovetop to let the water boil. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. But you’re welcome. Now go—play with him. I know you’re itching to. You’re like a little kid on Christmas right now. It’s kind of cute, Harrington.”

“Thank you.”

He smacks another kiss to your cheek, his face pink from your compliment, before rushing into the living room where you hear Charlie barking as he’s once again joined by his new best friend. You reach over to tap Steve’s phone, where Spotify is already open from the car ride, and hit ‘play,’ Leon Bridges the background music to your cooking in the kitchen and Steve’s laughter as he crawls on his hands and knees to rub Charlie’s stomach on the floor.

Perfect.

It’s about as perfect as a day could be.

And later, as you sit together in the dining room, with Charlie sitting patiently in the corner, and talk about the evening, you start to think maybe being married to Steve Harrington for three years will be a little more difficult than you imagined it would be.

Because the feelings stirring in your chest are beyond that of friendship.

No—there’s a suddenness to the clarity of your realization that you like your husband. And the sinking reality that this is merely transactional.

In three years you’ll go your separate ways. Just as you both intended months ago at that coffee shop table.

“You’re overthinking again,” Steve points out, reaching over to center your engagement ring on your left hand. His thumb lingers over the diamonds. “I was telling you about the benefit gala in a few weeks.”

“Oh,” you mutter tiredly. “Sorry. Yeah, uhm, I’ll go. Obviously. It’s part of our arrangement.”

“If you don’t want to go with me…”

“No, I’ll go,” you say, taking a sip of your wine glass. “Black tie dinner event, I’m assuming?”

“Buy yourself a new dress kind of event, yeah.”

“Okay, yeah.”

You nod.

It’ll be October.

Approaching four months into your agreement. Time is already flying.

“Our first big event as a couple outside of our wedding,” you state plainly, gathering your things and Steve’s as you rise to your feet. He grabs the wine glasses and follows you down the hall to your kitchen, dumping all your dirty pasta plates inside. “Anyone I should know or be aware of when we’re there?”

“It’s a lot of partners in the company. Some celebrities, actors, musicians, models. Eddie will be there—he’s been invited. It’s a little bit of everyone. This time they’ve organized donations for a shelter for homeless youth in the city.” He hands you your wine glass, peering into your eyes. Noting your lingering hesitance from your overthinking once more, he continues, “I can cancel you as my plus one. Say you’re not feeling well—”

“No,” you place a hand on his sternum. Pause when you realize what you’ve done. He trails his eyes south where you touch. You don’t move away. “I love the purpose of the benefit. I want to be there. I-I want to go with you.”

“Good,” he says, stepping closer. You could reach out and touch the outline of his jaw like this. The lines of his perfect nose. “Because I want you there with me.”

You don’t miss the way his stare lingers on your face, or the timber of his voice. The darkness in the depths of his eyes. How the weight of his chest against your palm as he pushes forward has it stuck as a barrier between the two of you. Mere inches of separation.

It’s confusing, maddening, and terrifying all the same.

Two years and nine months.

You’ve got this.

#lunalovessteve #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington x you #Steve Harrington x reader #fake husband!steve harrington #steve harrington modern au #modern!steve harrington #steve harrington x female reader #steve harrington x fem!reader

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allwaswell16 · 11 months

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A fic rec of One Direction fics that are romantic comedies or have a rom com vibe to them as requested in this ask. If you enjoy the fics, please leave kudos and comments for the writers! You can find my other fic recs here. Happy reading!

—Louis/Harry—

🧡 You Drive Me Crazy (but it feels alright) by MrsStylinson

(T, 102k, movie au) Bridget Jones' Diary AU.“Harry is not short for Harold,” he corrects, his voice as thick as molasses. He lowers his eyes to Louis’ sequined lapels, rubbing one between two fingers. “Is this small or extra small? It looks lovely.”

🧡 Don't Stop Thinking About Tomorrow by @1diamondinthesun

(NR, 84k, movie au) the American high school AU loosely inspired by She's All That.

🧡 Gemma's Dad (Could Use A Guy Like Me) by @lululawrence

(NR, 82k, age difference) Louis wasn't planning on getting home and learning that Gemma's dad had gotten the house in the divorce and was dealing with things by focusing on work, the house, and his newly planted garden. It becomes obvious early on that Harry is a bit lost and Gemma is worried about him. To help both of them, Louis is more than happy to help Harry find himself again.

🧡 Let Our Hearts Collide by @crinkle-eyed-boo

(M, 76k, movie au) When Harry, a lonely transit worker, saves the life of the handsome commuter he's been secretly pining for, an innocent mistake results in Liam Payne's family believing that Harry is engaged to their son. A While You Were Sleeping AU

🧡 i must admit i thought i'd like to make you mine by @disgruntledkittenface

(M, 50k, girl direction) Blindsided and scrambling to save face, Louis lets herself get talked into a fake relationship with her new friend Harry.

🧡 From Dust to Lust by jacaranda_bloom / @jacaranda-bloom

(E, 45k, Australia) the one where Louis and Harry are fly-in-fly-out mine workers, coincidences are totally a thing, karaoke is an underrated form of foreplay, and the universe most definitely works in mysterious ways.

🧡 Love Isn't Always on Time by @softfonds

(E, 45k, movie au) Falling in love with your best friend sounds like a good idea, until he comes back from a work trip engaged to another man. A Made of Honor AU.

🧡 Until That Day by @kingsofeverything

(E, 44k, movie au) Hoping to witness Harry leave another groom at the altar, Louis heads to Holmes Chapel, where nothing goes as planned, and he finds himself falling for the serial heartbreaker. A Runaway Bride movie AU

🧡my only working remedy by YesIsAWorld / @louandhazaf

(E, 42k, famous/not famous) His Team steps it up a notch when Harry is in between movies and they do a promo by launching the contest “Win a Date with Harry Styles!” Everything goes wrong for Harry's Team when the winner is a guy, Louis Tomlinson.

🧡 crown me with your heart (your love is king) by @perfectdagger

(G, 41k, movie au) The Princess Diaries 2: Royal Wedding au in which Harry is the Crown Prince of the small island of Eroda and Louis’ uncle is trying to take the throne from him, with a slight a/b/o twist and some more.

🧡 Set the Sky Alight, Oh Holy Night by LadyLondonderry / @londonfoginacup

(T, 33k, roommates) One house, five almost-strangers (plus Niall), six new beginnings.

🧡 From the Start by @allwaswell16

(E, 32k, fake relationship) Louis has no idea that one act of kindness will cause his life to spiral out of control. But that's what happens when his new friend fake proposes to him and a video of it goes viral.

🧡 Making Waves by @haztobegood

(E, 30k, movie au) the one where Louis can’t remember, Harry needs money, and Niall has a plan. An Overboard AU.

🧡 Supposed to Be by kikikryslee / @flamboyantommo

(M, 26k, movie au) the Geek Charming AU where Harry's a film geek, Louis' a popular jock, and they both need each other to get what they want.

🧡 Retiens la nuit by TeamLouis / @teamlouis2023

(E, 26k, movie au) Everything is too much for Harry. His exboyfriend, his job, his whole life actually. Flying across the globe to find a quiet place for Christmas holidays is exactly what he needs. The Holiday AU

🧡 And I’d Marry You Harry (Because You Forced Me) by @2tiedships2

(NR, 24k, movie au) The Proposal AU featuring Harry as Sandra Bullock, Louis as Ryan Reynolds, and all the fun a fake relationship and forced engagement can bring.

🧡 in the end I started thinking about the beginning by @infinitelymint

(E, 21k, wedding planner) When Louis returned from Malaysia to attend his best mate Zayn's wedding, he hadn't expected their wedding planner to be Harry Styles.

🧡 i'd never sing of love if it does not exist by wildestdreams / @lavendrhaze

(M, 20k, movie au) “This…,” Louis said. “Use each other for sex…at all hours of the day and nothing else.” or a No Strings Attached AU

🧡 Your secret's safe with me by lightswoodmagic / @lightwoodsmagic

(M, 7k, royal) when Louis' favourite singer comes back and announces he's performing again, him and the rest of his group chat decide to go. When Haz, the man Louis' fallen in love with without meeting him, says that he can't, Louis tries his best to convince him with a drunken phone call, hearing his voice for the first time.

—Rare Pairs—

🧡 Eight Days by LadyAJ_13 / @ladyaj-13

(T, 22k, Liam/Louis) Louis and Liam got hitched in Vegas, completely forgot about it for more than a decade, and it comes back to bite them. Sort of.

🧡 I Got the Recipe (And It's Called Black Magic) by @fallinglikethis

(T, 10k, Liam/Louis) Louis needs to believe in love again, and with a little help from Almost-Liam Payne, Harry makes it happen.

#ficrec #1dficvillage #trackinghappily #trackinghome #tracksintheam #1dsource #hltracks #ficsfor4am

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nan-hawthorne · 26 days

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Pearl O'Day - Nan Hawthorne

I'm just here to make sure my children don't do anything stupid...im talking about you, boys

@zarahawthorne-calligaris - Oldest granddaughter, strong woman, i heard Xander call her "Girl boss" before. whatever that meant

@theonlyskyehawthorne - Other granddaughter, has a bit of a problem when it comes to men, tried killing the poor new girl. I have no words.

@xanderlovesscones - My youngest, but most less-hit-on-the-head, if you know what i mean. Totally not my favourite great grandson

@the-eldest-yehawthorne - My eldest great grandson, most mature, respectful and loving. He's married to quite a decent girl. I'm happy for him.

@therealgraysonhawthorne - Second eldest grandson, (great grandson) he means well. But the poor boy needs a good whack in the head so that he won't overwork himself. I've heard he found himself a girl. Finally.

@jameson-hawthorne - sigh, Second youngest grandson. Most hit in the head, crazy, stupid, reckless. But I'm happy that he found himself a girl who will set him right.

@the-hawthorne-heiress - The poor, smart girl who unfortunately inherited all of that horrible man's money. Jameson's girlfriend.

@gothic-cupcakemaster - Nash's newly wed wife. Her baking skills are quite impressive. I need to see how she bakes an apple pie. She's always makes those darn cupcakes.

@motherfaxingmax - Xander's girl. And the new girl's good friend. She matches Xander's energy. But talks a lot. I don't mind.

@lyracattalinakane - Gray's supposed new girlfriend. i haven't met her yet. Though I've heard whispers that she has quite some character. I hope she can talk some sense into Grayson's stubborn brain. I would really like to meet her.

@omg1g1 - Skye's ex husband's daughter. Also Grayson's sister. She also has quite some energy. But she has a lot of determination. I just pray that she doesn't get too caught up in boys.

@savannahgrayson - Gigi's sister. Also Skye's ex husband's daughter. She is stubborn. Like Grayson. Supposedly kissed some mysterious man in the games. What is up with girls and these dark and mysterious men? I don't get it.

@rebeccalaughlinsblog - The Laughlin's daughter. Many people just remember her as Emily Laughlin's sister. But that girl is really something. I actually need to catch up with her and see how she is doing.

@theaaacalligaris - Rebecca's girlfriend, Zara's step-daughter. I have never really spoken to her. So I don't really know her. I hope she is good for Rebecca.

@evelaughlin - horrible, horrible girl. Instead of knocking some sense into poor Gray, she knocked him out emotionally. Apparently she looks like Emily. I do not ever want to meet her. And she better not want to meet me.

@leelee-ortega - Tobias's old Lawyer and Avery's current one. She also dated Nash. Poor girl is still broken from the break up. Can you believe that they were engaged when they broke up? oh dear, God bless her poor soul.

@rohan-his-lordships-successor - Savannah-girls weird boy. I don't know him. People say he's strong and cocky. A little like my poor Jameson. I also heard Jamie let the bastard break his ribs. That man will have a lot to explain if we ever meet. I hope he is good for the girl.

@acaciagrayson - the mother of the two Grayson girls. Don’t know much about her. She seems nice

@gimmechocolatenow - The whole families emotional support. Loves treats and poker or bingo

@john-oren - the new girls bodyguard. oh he- nope. Pearl. No Gossip.

#tig rp #Pearl O'Day #the inheritance games #the brothers hawthorne #the grandest game #the final gambit #the hawthorne legacy

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wintaerbaer · 11 months

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things we don't say: part 5 TEASER (kth)

banner credit: @itaeewon

summary: Three years after graduating college, everything seems to be falling into place for you: stable job, cozy apartment, and a long-term boyfriend with a ring box hidden in his desk drawer. But when a mutual friend makes a remark that your best friend of nearly two decades is clearly in love with you, you realize that life may not be as simple as it seems.

pairing: Taehyung x Reader (with some VERY brief Seokjin x Reader and Yoongi x Reader)

rating: 18+

genres: best friends to lovers, idiots to lovers, slow burn, angst, fluff

word count: 721 (for the teaser; full chapter is expected to be 8-10k)

chapter warnings: weddings!, feelings, seventeen is here now because i fell into a rabbit hole and needed fill-ins, jimin kinda ruins everything, jk is relatively well-behaved, kissing?!

a/n: given that it's been the craziest time of year for work (and i may be focused on a jk oneshot rn), i figured i'd throw out a teaser since it's taking me longer to write! i'm heading into my job's off-season soon though, so i'll have more time to write and will aim to have this next part out by end-of-year :)

PART 4 // SERIES MASTERLIST

You look up to find Taehyung's eyes gazing steadily down at you, a small but confident smile playing on his lips.

"Dance with me?"

And in spite of the unease that had plagued you only moments ago, you don't hesitate to let him wrap up your small hand in his large one and lead you to the dance floor. His palm settles on your lower back to pull you in close, and maybe it’s the proximity or the intoxicating smell of his cologne that weakens your resolve, but you find the words spilling out.

"Did you get her number?"

Taehyung looks at you quizzically, brow furrowing in confusion. "Whose?"

"The woman at the bar."

His face relaxes as he realizes. "Oh, yeah. I did."

"Good." You manage a smile. Why does it feel so hard? "It really is…good you're getting back out there. Are you going to ask her on a date?"

He laughs, mischief in his eyes. "I don't think her fiancé would like that." And now it's your turn to look confused.

"Her fiancé?"

"I met the two of them through Hoseok a couple times so we've chatted. Nice people." He nods his head, and you look over to see the woman now dancing with a man not too far from you. "They just got engaged, and she knows I'm a photographer so she asked if I'd be interested in doing the wedding. I said I'd call her this week to talk about it."

"Oh." You can feel your face flush, but there's no doubting the relief that floods through you. And Taehyung surely notices, grinning down at you in amusement.

"Were you jealous?"

"No!" you say, but perhaps a little too quickly because Taehyung laughs, his fingers applying a gentle pressure to your back to pull you closer.

"I'm here with you," he murmurs matter-of-factly.

You shake your head at him. "It's fine, Tae. If someone catches your eye…like I said, it could be good—"

"I'm here with you," he repeats, more firmly this time. He releases your hand for a moment to tuck a stray curl behind your ear, and you have to look away. You spot Hoseok and Sunny swaying together in the middle of the dance floor, pressed closely together and smiling at each other like they're the only two people in the world. What it must be like to have someone look at you like that, you think, to hold you like you're something precious to be cherished. You had thought Jace made you feel that way, but now, watching your friends gaze at each other so delicately, so in love, you're no longer sure he even came close.

"What are you looking at?" Taehyung's voice rouses you out of your thoughts, and you suddenly notice his hand has drifted a little higher to where the back of your dress dips down low, exposing your bare skin.

Trying to pass off the shiver that involuntarily runs through you as a nod, you gesture at the newly married couple. "They're so good together."

Taehyung follows your line of sight, watching Hoseok lean down to murmur something in Sunny's ear that makes her giggle and press her face into his chest. "They are."

"Can you imagine loving someone like that?" Your voice is a bare whisper as if the words slipped out of their own accord, like a wish you didn't even realize you were making.

Taehyung's fingers splay at your spine, gently tugging you in until your hips are bumping his. Startled, your eyes snap back to him, breath catching in your chest. He's gazing at you intently, but as opposed to the intense fire that you've seen from him at times, there's only a deep warmth to his brown irises that you're not sure you've ever seen before. He looks at you with softness, with both a sense of familiarity and wonder that can only be attributed to your many years of companionship, and you see it all swimming behind his eyes—every day spent together seeking refuge from your families, every stupid childhood fight, every time you comforted each other through the bad days. And before you can deflect, can explain away the question as a rhetorical slip of the tongue, you hear his answer come out on a breath.

"Yes."

#taehyung x reader #taehyung x you #taehyung fluff #taehyung angst #bts x reader #bts x you #bts imagines #taehyung imagines #taehyung fic #taehyung fanfic #bts fluff #bts angst #taehyung #bts fic #bts fanfic

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massivedrickhead · 2 months

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Bechloe Week Day 2: “You’re up early”

Words: 1694

Notes: Trigger warning: an eating disorder is alluded to.

Read on AO3

“Hey,” Beca said, entering the kitchen that morning, her hands pulling her hair into a ponytail. “You’re up early.”

“Hmm?” Chloe said, blinking as she looked up from her phone. “Oh, yeah, I guess I am.”

“Everything okay?”

“Yeah,” Chloe said. “What are you doing up? I thought you were off today?”

“I was, but they want me to go in and meet a potential new artist for the label,” Beca said, turning on the coffee maker. “Which apparently can only be done at the ass-crack of dawn.”

Chloe nodded but offered no more conversation, which was extremely unlike her. The coffee maker beeped, Beca poured some into her thermos and then poured a mug for Chloe.

“Are you sure everything’s okay?” Beca asked, setting the mug down in front of her.

Chloe opened her mouth to say yes but then closed it. “It’s nothing,” she said, after a few more seconds of silence. “Just family stuff.”

Beca’s shoulders slumped. “Your Mom again?”

“It isn’t important,” Chloe said. “You’re going to be late.”

Beca pulled her bottom lip between her teeth and looked down at her watch. “We’ll talk later?”

“Sure,” Chloe said, trying her best to give Beca a reassuring smile.

Beca kissed Chloe goodbye and grabbed her keys from the kitchen counter.

“I shouldn’t be too late,” Beca said. “I’ll see if I can score an early finish since I had to go in at this time. Love you.”

“Love you too,” Chloe replied, wishing she could take hold of Beca’s hand and stop her from leaving. Wishing she could pull her close and cling to her. But she knew Beca would stay if she asked her to, and she couldn’t do that to her career. Not when they were finally starting to take her seriously as a producer.

At the sound of the door closing, Chloe let her shoulders slump. She twisted the engagement ring around her finger and picked up her phone again.

Chloe scrolled up through the barrage of texts she’d received from her Mom since 3 am.

Some of them seemed perfectly normal - a text about a friend of a friend who was a wedding photographer who might be available for their chosen date, or an update on how her uncle was doing after his knee surgery, or pictures of her cousin’s new puppy - but then every so often there would be a jellyfish sting amongst the calm water. A new diet she’d heard about, because Chloe would need to fit into her wedding dress. A photo of her neighbour’s newly single son who apparently had a thing for redheads. A lamentation about not having any grandkids yet, and how now it was unlikely that she’d ever get one.

Her relationship with her Mom had always been difficult, and she’d done bouts of little to no contact before, but when Beca had proposed last week, Chloe had decided to extend an olive branch.

It was something she was regretting now.

Her phone buzzed with a new message.

Mom: Well? Aren’t you going to reply?

Chloe: I’ve only just woken up, give me a chance to read through them.

Mom: It’s 10 am! Why are you only just getting up now?!

Chloe: It’s 7 am in L.A., and it’s my day off. You’ve been texting me since 3, I had to put my phone on silent.

Chloe decided a lie was better than the truth in this situation. She didn’t want her Mom to know that she’d crept out of bed at 3 in the morning and had sat at the kitchen island, her stomach full of dread and anxiety, as she’d watched each message come in.

Mom: What if it had been an emergency?!

Chloe: I assumed you’d have called if it was. Me being too fat for my wedding dress doesn’t really seem like it needs an urgent response.

Mom: You’re too sensitive! I’m only telling you that because I’m worried about your health. If no one else is going to be honest with you about this, then I’ll have to be the bad guy. I usually am anyway as far as you’re concerned.

Chloe sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose. She could feel a headache beginning to push at the backs of her eyes.

Chloe: I’m not fighting with you about this. We’ve had this conversation a million times, please just keep the comments about my body to yourself.

Mom: I don’t know why you have to take everything so personally. Anyway, did you see my text about Alice’s puppy?

Chloe: Yeah, it’s super cute. I need to head out so I’ll talk to you later.

Chloe locked her phone and closed her eyes, wishing more than anything that she could just have a normal relationship with her Mom.

Her phone continued to buzz, and Chloe switched it to silent. She was exhausted both physically and mentally, and she didn’t think she could read another text from her Mom without snapping and uninviting her from the wedding.

She made her way back to bed, crawled under the blankets, and fell asleep in seconds.

It was close to 2 pm when Beca made it home. She was pleased with how the meeting had gone and was even happier about being able to get home before 5. Being home in time for dinner felt like a rare occurrence these days, and Beca was excited to spend the rest of the day with her fiance.

She frowned when she walked into their home and saw that Chloe wasn’t in the kitchen or lounge like she’d expected her to be. Her coffee mug from that morning was still on the counter, and it was still as full as it was when Beca poured it.

“Chlo’?” She called out, wondering if she’d gone out for the day.

She went to their bedroom so she could shower and change into some sweats, and she saw Chloe curled up in bed.

Beca sat on the edge of the bed and gently put the back of her hand against Chloe’s forehead.

Chloe didn’t seem to have a temperature, but Beca assumed she must be sick. It was the only reason she could think of for Chloe being asleep in the middle of the day since she never napped.

Not wanting to wake her, Beca stood up from the bed and went for a shower.

Chloe was just beginning to stir when Beca was pulling on her sweats, her hair still damp.

“Hey,” Beca said, her voice quiet.

“Hi,” Chloe mumbled back, rubbing her eye with the heel of her hand. “Time is it?”

“Two-ish,” Beca said. “Are you okay?”

Chloe nodded and settled back against the pillows again. “I didn’t mean to sleep for that long.”

Beca climbed onto the bed beside her, and Chloe turned to cuddle into her side.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Beca asked, her arm wrapping around Chloe. “You aren’t sick or anything?”

“Not sick,” Chloe said, stifling a yawn. “Just tired.”

Beca pressed a kiss against the top of her head.

“How was the meeting?” Chloe asked.

“Pretty good,” Beca said. “The kid was really talented, I think he has a good shot at being signed. How was your day?”

Chloe shrugged as best as she could, and Beca knew that something was definitely wrong.

“You gonna tell me what had you up so early this morning?”

Chloe sighed. She grabbed her phone from the nightstand and opened up her text thread with her Mom. She scrolled back up to where it had started that morning, and she handed the phone to Beca.

She could feel Beca’s anger increase with each message she read. She could feel the tension in her arms, the way her breathing changed, could see the scowl on her face becoming more and more pronounced.

“I know,” Chloe said when Beca handed the phone back. “You don’t need to say it, I already know.”

“Okay,” Beca said, trying to soften herself. Trying to shift the anger out of her bones to a place where Chloe couldn’t feel or see it anymore. “I won’t say anything. Just… You know she’s wrong, right?”

“Yeah, I do,” Chloe said. “And I’m gonna tell her that if she wants to come to the wedding - if she wants to be in my life at all - then she needs to change.”

Beca stayed silent. It was a conversation Chloe had had with her Mom before, and the outcome was always the same. Tears, pleading, and promises to do better, but it never lasted, and Beca was tired of seeing Chloe get hurt by the one person who was supposed to love her unconditionally.

“I know you think she’s already had enough chances,” she said.

“I do,” Beca agreed.

“But she’s my Mom,” Chloe said. “I want at least one parent at our wedding.”

“I know,” Beca said. “And I know it’s not my place, I just…” Beca trailed off. “I want you to be happy, and she doesn’t make you happy. She’s… You’ve worked so hard to get to where you are now, and I’m terrified that, I don’t know, like, one afternoon dress shopping with her will have you spiralling again.”

“That won’t happen,” Chloe said. “I’m not a kid anymore. I know that everything she says comes from a place of jealousy and insecurity, and it actually has nothing to do with me.”

Beca wasn’t convinced, but she nodded anyway. “I’m sorry that your Mom can’t see you for the amazing, incredible, beautiful person you are,” she said.

“I love you,” Chloe said. “Thank you for asking me to marry you, even with all my Mom issues.”

“I love you too,” Beca replied. “You’ve got Mommy issues, and I’ve got Daddy issues. I’d say we make a pretty great pair.”

Chloe laughed and felt some of the tension in her shoulders loosen.

“She gets one more chance,” Beca said. “Right?”

“Right,” Chloe agreed.

They lay together in silence for a little while longer before Chloe spoke up again.

“Bec?”

“Hmm?”

“Can we get pizza for dinner?”

Beca smiled and squeezed Chloe tighter. “Absolutely we can.”

#bechloe week 2024 #bechloe week #bechloe #bechloe fanfiction #bechloe fanfic #bechloe fic #pitch perfect fanfiction #pitch perfect fanfic #pitch perfect #fanfiction #fanfic #beca mitchell #chloe beale #beca #chloe #no matter the timeline

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willowed-wisp · 2 months

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HER KNIGHT, HIS HEART - part six

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Ser Harwin Strong x female!OC/x reader

WARNINGS: mentions of non-con, suggestive themes, mentions of death, descriptions of childbirth

Their bliss had to end at some point. And it was business as usual. Logistics hadn’t been taken into account upon being wed.

Where would they take up as permanent residence?

With Harwin being in the City Watch and her wanting to watch over Alicent and Rhaenyra, they were to remain in King Landing. The Princess would have ordered she remained in Court anyhow.

Elspeth secretly hoped to smuggle her younger sibling away - from the grasp of the Crown and Lord Hand. It would have been easily done… not in her condition, though. She could barely smuggle herself anywhere, let alone another.

She had no idea where Cannibal was. Dragon tamers unable to keep them in the Dragonpit, what was the point in having a dragon if she didn’t know where it roosted?

The newly-wed bride did not want the stress- and she wouldn’t tolerate it. Harwin had left for watch with a kiss. At least they were allowed to sleep in the same bed- in the same chambers.

Despite the ethereal haze she found herself in the thralls of, Elspeth was aware of the wariness of the council concerning Viserys’ marital standings. Rhaenyra had been less exuberant, watching her father walk around gardens with a twelve year old Laena Velaryon. It wasn’t her business to expose Alicent, but with this growing sense of betrayal the Strong found herself approaching the princess’s chambers.

Knocking in a weak motion with her left hand, “Rhaenyra…” A voice came from the other side. The woman plodded through the door, Rhaenyra getting ready for cupbearing duties. A frown turned to smile seeing Elspeth.

"I trust you enjoyed your afternoon with Ser Harwin..."

"You should not think about such things, princess..." A gleeful tone, "I hear Lord Corlys and Rhaenys are in Court... as is little Laena..." That struck a cord in Rhaenyra. Elspeth closed the door, withdrawing further into the room. "You can talk to me, you know... I'm no longer a Hightower, after all." Picking at her nails, not sure when the right time was.

"How does it come so easy for you?"

"What are you referring to?"

"Being yourself. Everybody tries to smother me from me... what are the 'order of things' supposed to be? My father named me as his heir, they all bent the knee to me... and so their loyalty..." Rhaenyra slumped against whatever was closest- the foot of her bedframe. "You didn't relent for two years when your father lined up suitors for you and planned engagement after engagement against your will, yet here you stand, a Strong because you fell in love and made the choice," Tears brewed as her blood boiled- Elspeth could feel it from across the room.

The woman dragged herself closer, "I thought you wanted to 'fly around on Syrax with me and eat cake'? Not the throne. What's changed, Nyra?"

The girl struggled under the green gaze, "I don't know... I never thought I would ascend to the throne... just because I am a girl. If my father remarries and produces male heirs, my claim along with the memory of my mother and Baelon fades into the background. I will not be thrown to the wayside by my father's new bride..." She spat with pure venom.

Now was the time, "There's something you should know..." Risen blonde eyebrow in response, "My father coerced and manipulated Alicent to give company to the King..."

Rhaenyra's eyes glossy, "Why are you telling me this?"

"Because I think you deserve better than to lose a friend because of a moronic play at power for a stupid chair," Elspeth did not care how Rhaenyra reacted- this could dissuade serious ramifications, "Blame Otto Hightower, not my sister."

The Princess was statuesque- thinking, "How long have you known?"

Her gut felt torn- wavy. "A half-year," A simple nod, but Rhaenyra chewed her lip while Elspeth tore her nail down to the cuticle- both drawing blood, "The King was so devoted to Queen Aemma, that I never thought the King would remarry..."

Her blonde hair shook, "You always have and always will be a Hightower. You didn't think to tell me that Alicent of all people was going behind my back to marry my father... I haven't lost one friend... I have lost two sisters!" The Princess had screamed, growing in closeness so that it was directly in Elspeth's face.

"Rhaenyra..."

"You will address me as 'Your Grace'! Now leave before I have you removed..." Elspeth was utterly defeated... how had she thought Rhaenyra would act anything less than what she had? Because she hoped that she would see Alicent as her best friend and not as an usurper.

But know she saw Elspeth Strong as one in the same.

Though Elspeth would stand by what she said and the honesty she held. Hoping that the blow was lessened to the Princess when Alicent was named as King Viserys' betrothed. The woman would hold her baby sister as she cried- allowed to in Elspeth's arms, instead of the Princess who did so alone in her chambers and on the back of Syrax.

She ventured out that very afternoon on the back of her horse, unaware of where Cannibal had abandoned her to. No guard would have been able to capture the wild Lady Strong- as she rode like the wind on the back of Slapdash- or 'Dash'. She ventured down to the beaches- greeting remarks unto the fishermen that scattered the sodden beach at lowtide. "Lady Hightower, or should I say 'Lady Strong'..." The wise, feminine voice spoke from behind- settling at her side. “Congratulations are in order.”

"Princess Rhaenys, I'm flattered that you even know my name," She was still gorgeous- moon-kissed hair and soulful eyes. She had never been the 'Queen That Never Was' to Elspeth, she had always thought, 'The Queen That Should Have Been'.

A slight laugh caught the ferocious howling winds, "You're much too modest... you've defied every order you have ever been barked, I admire that kind of strength," They continued to ride at a steady trot, beside one another.

"You flatter me so. But I think you speak for reason, Princess, not out of necessity- what business do you have with me?"

"Yet you are a wildcard. Just like your father... at least you are shrewd.”

"I have never heard the Lord Hand be called a wildcard before..."

The Princess stopped, "I may live off-shore, Elspeth, but I am no fool. The Hightowers have never married into Valyrian heritage- bar your sister now. So how by the Seven, did you manage to bond with a dragon," not a question, "Otto Hightower is not your father. Prince Daemon is, but from the look on your face... that is not news to you."

Elspeth turned around her horse, to face the Velaryon, "With all due respect, Princess, what does that matter? Nobody at court is aware, and they never will be." Rearing Dash around, away from Rhaenys.

"Those blonde hairs will keep regrowing," A smile- Elspeth didn't know of what kind- graced Rhaenys' lips as she spun her head back, "Alyrie Florent, unlike everybody in her House- had always held such beauty, like yours. I used to call her 'Red', not very inventive but it suited that gorgeous hair and her temperance. She was my closest friend even before Otto was made Lord Hand to my cousin." Contemplation slowed the Princess- memories behind those eyes unravelled as she spoke.

"Why did she never mention it?" A tear slithered down her cheek, quickly wiped away before facing the now much closer Princess Rhaenys. Eyes solemn and kind- she could imagine her mother being friends with such a formidable lady.

Rhaenys gave a warm smile, "When Alyrie was first with child- with Gwayne- I was there during his birth and through till his second nameday. Then she was with child again- you, she was different. Taken unwillingly by Prince Daemon... and mortified that you carried the blood of the dragon," she paused, a soulful gaze, "I never spoke to her again after that. Otto Hightower forbade her associating with Targaryens or Velaryons because of what happened. And so, I never got to know her other children and Gwayne will have no memory of me."

Elspeth fought that urge to bawl, "I will repeat the question, Princess. Why does any of this matter?" Not preventing the droplets descending down her cheeks- not unnoticed by the Velaryon, who garnered closer- touching distance.

"When Viserys marries your half-sister, she will produce male heirs and then a battle for succession will take place. When you have to pick a side- Rhaenyra's or the new claimant, I wanted you to know," The woman grabbed Elspeth in her gloved hand- locking eyes with one another, "That you are always safe and welcome at Driftmark- with your Lord husband and future kin." Elspeth was not one for physical affection from those she didn't know, but she held tighter onto that hand- as if it were that of Alyrie Hightower.

"That is very generous of you, my Princess," Those doe eyes looked upon the younger woman.

Hand still holding hers, "No need for such formalities. It is Rhaenys to you, as it should have always been."

"Am I-," Hesitant to ask- fearing the answer, "Am I like her? When she was my age?"

Rhaenys gave a low laugh, "Forgive me. It is just... I have to remind myself that it is not her hand in mine. You are the spitting image and essence of her. In every way, shape and form."

Lady Strong had returned to the Red Keep. Head clearer and shoulders bore less weight. Settled in her husbands chambers- looking at the blank page on the desk. To her elder brother.

No ink, parchment remained. She didn’t exactly know what she wanted to write- she needed stability for the good of her and so she could better the lives of those she loved. Gwayne had remained so clear and fair in Oldtown. But she could not muster the words to ask him and so that blank slate remained the same.

Until firm hands braced her shoulders, she sat there trying to come up with some kind of genius that awaited. Thumbs wound into the tense muscles from being hunched over. A moan slipped through her parted lips, “Lady Strong,” it was him, “watch your mouth, I may put it to other uses…” a heat inside of her funnelled.

Lips on hers, tongue delving as she keened her face to his- bearded and rough. “Get on the bed, Ser.” Her last words before only screaming his name and curses.

Hopefully the entire Red Keep heard who she belonged to that looming sunset.

When the sunrise hooded the sky in peach and aqua- she knocked at the Princess’ door, knowing she would be up and ready to ride Syrax, without word she entered. Sharp blue eyes burned her, “You are not welcome in here…”

But she was not leaving, “I know that, Princess. But may I explain- you didn’t give me chance the other day - if our friendship was worth anything, let me do that much?”

She weighed up the idea, “You have five minutes.”

“My father wanted a linchpin in the Crown... and Alicent was his way in,” the Princess was listening with care, “She had been taking some of my gowns and some of our mother’s- I approached the Lord Hand, who… forcefully…. stopped my investigation,” her hand went to the spot that had been bruised, before it dropped to her side. Rhaenyra seemed to get the insinuation.

“If we are to be friends again. Are there any more secrets you are keeping from me?”

“Your uncle, Daemon, is my father. Hence I bonded with the Cannibal- not that I know where the beast is…”

Rhaenyra was taken aback at first, before realising the similarities between the pair.

Unruly.

Furious.

Deadly.

The personalities were uncanny, yet Elspeth held remorse and accountability for her own actions while Daemon had never been the honest type. “And how long have you been withholding that from me?” Impatience rued Rhaenyra’s voice, not that Elspeth was entitled to give her an answer- it hadn’t necessarily been the princess’s business. But she wasn’t to say that aloud.

“Not even a week… my father told me. Mother was attacked by the Prince, I am the result.” Rhaenyra was young, Elspeth truly hoped that when she grew older that she would see the bigger picture if she didn’t already see it in that second.

Elspeth never wanted to hurt anybody - she wanted the least collateral damage for those she cared for. And sometimes that meant keep information secret. Rhaenyra had such loses in that year, she couldn’t bear to scorn her with dragonfyre onto the already burned girl.

“So what did you come here to say? Make excuses?”

“I came to say that I’m sorry. For lying to you, Princess,” it took everything Elspeth had not to drop to her knees, “And I hope you can forgive me because I cannot lose a true sister of the soul- I will never lie to you again, lest I be sent down to the Seven hells-,” cut off by the Princess’ body wrapped around her own. Chin nestled into one another’s shoulders. Rhaenyra cried from the bottom of her heart. As she always had been able to in the arms of Elspeth Strong.

And Elspeth was neither Florent, Hightower or Targaryen… from that day onward she was a Strong and she upheld that name well.

Especially when she was carrying the future heir to their House. The woman discovered a week after Alicent’s wedding.

She had nearly forgotten about her dragon, but it showed up when she discovered the news. Despite the advice from Maesters not to ride dragons in her condition- who was going to stop Elspeth Strong?

Upon her return- smelling like dragon - she thought her husband would be a little more concerned of her dealings but he just twirled her around. Causing her to giggle. The pair went against another advisory of the Maesters…

The more she flew on the Cannibal they became acquainted, friends. One soul. And she detested calling her companion ‘the Cannibal’. So she asked the dragon about itself… not much response was received- dragons only understood Valyrian, not spoke it. They circled around the plains Dragonmont; the beast’s nest.

She had asked its name over and over- when it reached that midnight indigo dusk, the Cannibal roared at the horizon.

Dusk.

Remembering her mother’s words.

'The one of dusk and blood.'

She spoke, “Ebrion,” the dragon roared.

Ebrion the Cannibal. But for all intents and purposes he was no longer a cannibal- that’s what Elspeth told herself anyway.

She had never experienced such pain liked childbirth. Nor had she felt it being restrained from the touch of her husband- who had been barricaded outside of the door. With the Lord Hand and Ser Gwayne- who she had sent a letter to two months prior, requesting him there to meet his future niece or nephew.

Elspeth wouldn’t have heard the end of it if she hadn’t. He had always been a diva.

But the woman wanted one person as her head went numb from the pain, “Harwin!” A banshee, the Maester attempted to calm her down. She batted his hand away, “I want my husband. Harwin!”

A ruckus from outside. There he was, barrelling through the heavy doors- a midwife swiftly closed them. His fingers weaving through her hair. Elspeth’s heart rate dropped, she could breathe easier… now he was here. Holding her hand in his over side palm. Kissing her temple. “You’re doing beautifully, my heart…” His voice low and charming. Her gentle knight…

An involuntary push.

And the cries of a babe filled the room. All the chaos in the room background noise. She purely focused on that sweet, innocent face as the babe was wrapped and cleaned by one of the many women in the room. “It is a boy, Ser Strong.” Harwin’s nose nuzzled into her neck.

The woman witnessed her husband - her heart - fall in love with another person. As he had seen with her the entirety of her pregnancy. She had spoken to this tiny human being for nine months in her stomach. And now he was finally there. “Do you have a name, my Lord?”

“Alyric.” Her heart beamed, looking into the bluebell eyes of her beloved. And back to the identical ones of Alyric Strong. Named after his grandmother, and looked wholly like his father. Down to the dark hair and that grin.

Once in his father’s arms Alyric stopped his crying and fell into a sleep. She was covered once again- bloodied sheets and afterbirth out of the room with Maester and midwives.

The room filled by her father and brother. “Meet Alyric Strong.” Her father looked tired as per usual but adoration filled his eyes at the boy cradled in her arms. Gwayne was instantly reaching to hold the boy.

A smile on his face, before finding himself again. Clearing his throat, “May I hold my nephew, dear sister? Ser Harwin?” They both gave gentle nods, handing the bundled babe to his uncle- whose eyes glazed over. “He resembles his father.”

As she rested against the muscular shoulder, she looked at her father. The Hand of the King couldn’t take his eyes away from Alyric. “You may pass Alyric to our father, Gwayne. If you wish, father?” The brown haired man nodded, cradling Alyric much better than Gwayne had- he would learn when he had children of his own.

Her father didn’t say much at all. Leaving a kiss upon the boy’s forehead, Harwin received his son back into his arms; where he could stay for the rest of his life simply looking upon the babe.

The men left for the duties. Gwayne would return back to Oldtown in a week’s time. Ser Lyonel, avoiding the Lord Hand, arrived later that day. While Elspeth slept. Her sister carried the King’s child, and for the duration of her pregnancy had not been allowed to exit her chambers but she was due in three months. Little Alyric was not starved of visitors, blessed with the love of two Targaryen princesses.

Rhaenyra visited the day of his birth. Claiming he was a handsome child who would grow up with the fairness of his mother.

Rhaenys visited while her husband Corlys was fighting in the Stepstones- alongside Daemon. “You have been blessed with a handsome boy,” she arrived while Harwin was in attendance. “If you ever wish for him to be sent to Driftmark… all you need do is ask,” a warning. If Daemon made it out of the war against the Triarchy, she may indeed make use of that offer.

But, “I will not be scared of tyrannical Prince,” Elspeth warned a smile from the princess.

“I didn’t think you would, Elspeth.”

Elspeth loved being a mother, but she also loved to fly around on Ebrion. The dragon did not devour young Alyric upon meeting the future inheritor of Harrenhal- the dragon merely nuzzled the boys forehead with gentle touch. But she limited the encounters while he was so young- not blind to Ebrion’s past.

Elspeth’s own nephew was born with a mane of angelic Valyrian hair. Prince Aegon Targaryen. Rhaenyra’s claim was diluted. Her father called for Aegon to be named heir, because of his sex.

Harwin’s uniform had been ripped off his body by his Lady wife every night he returned from patrols. And she was with child four months after the birth of Alyric.

Despite the strengthened relation with Otto Hightower, Elspeth couldn’t help but support her Princess’ claim to the throne.

She would follow Rhaenyra to whatever end. But hopefully it did not come to that.

Her and Harwin would protect their children fiercely. With a dragon at her call.

Even if that meant facing against her family in a battle of succession… at least she knew their weaknesses…

___________________________

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6thofapril1917 · 5 months

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don't wanna be alone anymore [ken lemmons x oc]

A/N: the first in what will (hopefully) be a series of maggie/ken drabbles and one-shots. this one is pretty stream of consciousness and shifts tense so i apologize if it's incomprehensible. in my defense uni has been kicking my ass lately (one more week of the semester left, thank GOD) ken lemmons x oc. word count: 1.3k. crossposted on ao3.

For Maggie Zielinski, romance is something that she watches other people get to experience. She’s long been resigned to the fact that it isn’t something she’s meant to experience herself.

She doesn’t know what it is about her. She certainly isn’t bad looking, she understands that much. Clear blue eyes, full lips, and an even fuller chest. Still, that had never stopped her from becoming the butt of all the boys’ jokes back in grade school.

And it’s not like she’s never had friends. No, Maggie’s always had loads of friends. She knows how to work a crowd, how to say the right things at the right time to set the whole room laughing. Even before she met Vee, Loretta, Mabel, and the rest of the ground crew, she’d had a whole gaggle of friends back home in Detroit.

Her main circle was a raucous group of six—Ida and Annemarie, Nina, Victoria, Victoria’s brother Paul, and Ida’s cousin Vinny. They’d been friends since the very first day of junior high, maybe more out of the novelty of the experience than anything. For all that Detroit was a metropolis, its neighborhoods could be as insular as any backwater town. In Maggie’s world of newly-arrived immigrants and babcie who watched the streets like hawks, where everyone worked at the same auto plant and everyone knew everyone else’s business, it was nice to see some new faces.

Maggie loved her Detroit friends. She loved their laughs, their smiles, their inside jokes and their secrets. She tried her best to help them out when they needed it, to offer a shoulder to cry on or an ear to talk off. She gave her friends everything she could. It was just a shame that they never did the same for her.

As the years passed, Maggie found herself confronting a terrifying reality—that for all she was devoted to her friends, they would never love her as much as she loved them.

Sure, things were fine when it was just two or three of them alone. Catching a matinee with Victoria, or going out to lunch with Ida and Annemarie—here, Maggie felt comfortable. Victoria would always riff on whatever movie they were seeing, making her dissolve into giggles. Ida and Annemarie would insist on paying for Maggie’s meal, and they’d stay in their booth for hours on end, just chatting the day away.

But when it was the six of them all together, Maggie couldn’t help but feel that something was off. That there were things that the other five were privy too that she wasn’t—and to which she maybe wasn’t meant to be. There’d be some new in-joke that nobody ever bothered to explain, some party that she hadn’t been invited to, some other get-together that they’d forgotten to tell her about.

Well, two could play at that game.

When Maggie enlisted as a technician with the Army Air Force, she didn’t tell any of them what she had done.

Nina and Vinny, newly engaged, spotted her the day before she left for basic training. The image of the couple stopping dead in their tracks, eyes wide as they took in Maggie’s new uniform and fully-packed suitcase, filled with a determination that would carry her thousands of miles away from Poletown, was forever burned into her mind.

Maggie wasn’t sad that she’d be missing the wedding. It wasn’t like she was going to be chosen to be a bridesmaid. Money was still tight, after all. There was only enough in the budget to get dresses made for Annamarie and Victoria. Ida, of course, would be the maid of honor.

(She understands, Maggie says. No, Nina, really. It’s fine. She understands completely.)

(She cries herself to sleep into Agnes’ shoulder that night.)

When she meets the Mavens in basic training, she spends the first few months of their friendship waiting for the other shoe to drop.

It’s not that she’s awkward around them; in fact, it’s exactly the opposite. The four of them get on like a house on fire. Loretta with her witty comebacks and shining black curls, Mabel with her dry wit and hands that always smell of chain grease, and Vee with her earnest modesty and the snapping lens of her Kodak 35. For all her faults, Maggie’s never had a problem charming people. It’s getting them to stay that’s the difficult part.

Is she boring? She doesn’t think she’s boring. Especially not here in the army, where stories of home practically form a currency among the enlisted women and men. Besides, Maggie knows how to spin a yarn, to make even the most mundane story from a life spent in auto plants and dim garages seem like something out of an adventure magazine.

But that’s never enough, is it? It wasn’t enough to keep the people she thought were her friends, the people she loved more than life itself, from leaving her in the dust. It wasn’t enough to keep her from becoming a veritable untouchable among the boys in grade school, the kind of girl you would ask out to the pictures on a dare, only to leave her stranded at the ticket booth. Even the boys who considered her friends were just that—friends. Never anything more. While Ida and Victoria and Nina and Annamarie were busy with first kisses and sneaking out of bedroom windows late at night, Maggie sat in her room and watched them grow up without her.

There’s only so many rejections you can take before you start to think that romance, hell, even reciprocated platonic love, just isn’t something that you’re made for. Only so many missed engagements and plans made behind one’s back until you start to think that maybe there’s something, some reprehensible quality inherent to yourself, that pushed people away.

So, she holds her breath and waits. Waits for the Mavens eventually grow tired of her.

But they don’t.

Because it’s there, isn’t it? The love.

It’s in the filmstrips Vee develops late at night after their shifts, holed up in the makeshift darkroom she’s set up in an abandoned storage closet. It’s in the magazines Loretta always passes to her once she’s finished reading them, telling her to use it for the scrapbook, there’s some great stuff in there. It’s in the way Mabel taught her how to ride a bike way back during basic training, shocked that she had never learned, but oh so willing to help her try. Maggie can never forget the way Mabel had cheered when she finally got the hang of pedaling.

And then, of course, there’s Ken.

When she kisses him that night on the floor of Rosie’s Riveters, she burns with shame and tears, shed and unshed for her siblings and for Cleven and for Ken and for herself. She waits for him to recoil, to glare, to tell her not to do it again. At best, she waits for him to let her down easy. But he doesn’t.

That night he kisses her like she’s the only thing in the world that matters, and it just makes her want to cry harder, because she doesn’t deserve it. Her brother is dead, her sister is missing, Major Cleven is God knows where, and she completely lost it at Rosenthal, so what right does she have to be touched like this, to be held like this? None. None at all.

At the same time, she doesn’t have it in her to fight herself. The floor of the nose is cold, and Ken is so, so warm. The kind of warmth she wishes that she could crawl into and live inside of. East Anglia is chilly this time of year.

She shifts, opening her mouth to his, and for a moment wonders what sins she’s committed to have had this feeling denied to her for twenty-one years. Yet there’s no use wondering, is there?

Ken loves her. That much is clear.

She just has to be ready to accept it. And after two decades of loneliness, that’s easier said than done.

#ken lemmons x oc #ken lemmons #masters of the air x oc #mota x oc #masters of the air #mota #mota fanfic #ch: maggie

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wardenparker · 4 months

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Hummingbird Has Landed, ch 15

Marcus Pike x female reader Co-written with @absurdthirst

Rating: E for Explicit! 18+ Word Count: 10k Warnings: *Blanket warnings for this series: occasional mention of American politics, pregnant character, food/alcohol consumption, mentions of clothing/regulated dressing for occasions, mentions of therapy because we believe in self care here, reader is in a previous relationship, love triangle, reader is mentioned as turning 30 during the course of the story, dom/sub dynamics* Tooth-decaying sweetness, talk of pregnancy/impregnation, unexpected visitor, references to rough sex, possessiveness. Oral sex (female receiving), vaginal sex, unprotected sex. Summary: After almost a year together, you and Marcus celebrate your first Valentine's Day together with a weekend trip away. Notes: We are inching closer to the wedding with every chapter! This week enjoy some sex and romance, Pike style.

Ch1 ~ Ch 2 ~ Ch 3 ~ Ch 4 ~ Ch 5 ~ Ch 6 ~ Ch 7 ~ Ch 8 ~ Ch 9 ~ Ch 10 ~ Ch 11 ~ Ch 12 ~ Ch 13 ~ Ch 14

The flight from Dulles to JFK would be shorter, but there’s a certain charm to taking the train. The rhythmic clacking of the wheels on the track is almost romantic and Marcus had secured an entire compartment for you, him and Agent Sellers. Agent Bailey will meet you in New York with a car and to trade off with your other security detail, but for now, it seems like it’s just the two of you in the car. “Hotel first?” Marcus asks, kissing your fingertips and you look out the window at the passing scenery.

“Because you want to drop off our bags or because you want to test out the mattress?” Either way the answer is yes, and you relax in your seat all over again. This idea to go away for a few days for Valentine’s Day had made you feel guilty at first, but you were easy to convince once you remembered that it was around Valentine’s last year that everything has started to happen between you. Now that chaos of finishing the house and moving in together is over with, a couple of days in New York sounded perfect.

"I do need to see if your legs look different on my shoulders in New York than in D.C." he teases, wagging his eyebrows playfully. "Three days of no house details, no work, and all we have to worry about is walking out of our hotel room dressed."

“And making our reservations on time.” With your fingers tangled through his, this time you pull his hand over to kiss his fingers instead. “I may have called in a favor for our dinner tonight.”

"Where are we having dinner?" He had left the dinner reservations up to you, knowing you would have a list of favorite places you would want to go.

"Tonight we're going to see a friend," you hum, leaning into him as much as you can in your seat as the train speeds toward New York. "One of Syd's friends from culinary school opened a restaurant right in the city a couple of years ago and I've just never gotten the chance to go up and try it out. So I called in a favor and got us a reservation for after the theater tonight. Neo is an Italian steakhouse, which sounded right up your alley."

"Nice." He's impressed by the idea of a nice steakhouse that is close to you and Sydney. His hand slides down to your thigh and he squeezes it gently.

"And then tomorrow night..." Your hand over his on your thigh is basically just grounding. Holding you to him and making sure you don't float away on the bliss of having some time off with your fiancé. "Every time we watch FoodTV you get obsessed with watching Alex Guarnaschelli, so I got us a reservation at Butter."

"Really?" His eyes widen in delight and he can't believe that you would go through the trouble for something like that. It's the small things that you notice that makes him feel special. You do so many little things that show him you pay attention to his interests, passing or intense. "That's— wow." He shakes his head. "Thank you."

“Happy Valentine’s Day,” you hum, leaning your head on his shoulder. The train ride was a special treat but now that you’re almost in the city you’re eager for your trip to really begin. “I love you more than anything.”

"I love you too." He leans his own head against yours. "I booked our tickets to the Met." He tells you quickly, knowing you will like that.

“I’m sooooo excited for museum time with my own personal art expert.” He claims he isn’t, but you’ve learned in the last year not to listen to his protests. He practically gives guided tours whenever you go to the Smithsonian together.

He rolls his eyes playfully but he doesn’t naysay. He knows that you look at it as a point of pride almost. “Anything else you want to do? I think it’s a little too cold to take a boat out in Central Park.”

"There are a million museums and historical sites." And you can't wait to explore each and every one of them with him. "It's just too bad it's too early in the year for a ball game."

“We can always make a summer day trip.” Marcus immediately offers. “Maybe the subway series?”

"That would be fun." You perk up instantly at the idea of it. "The MET is tomorrow, so how about we ask the concierge at the hotel what their favorite underrated attraction is for today before the theater?"

“That sounds good.” He agrees. “Something that is kind of off the beaten path sounds fun.”

The last hour of the trip is smooth sailing, and early check-in at your hotel means that you and Marcus are unpacking your suitcases in almost no time. It’s snowy in New York but not in a way that will add up, and it makes the whole thing look quite picturesque from your seventh-floor window.

“Too bad the fireplaces have been closed for years.” Marcus comments. “Couldn’t you imagine curling up next to a fire and watching the snow fall?”

“Next year let’s rent a cabin,” you hum, leaning back in his arms as you look out the window together. “Get snowed in.”

“That sounds like something we can definitely do.” For the suggestion, you deserve a kiss. “Unless you are pregnant. Then I don’t know if I would want to risk it.”

“If I’m pregnant we’ll choose a very easily accessible hotel where we can watch the snow fall instead.” His concern is sweet enough to earn him a kiss in return, and they’re getting longer every time. “Someplace where we can get snacks delivered.”

“Pregnancy cravings.” Marcus practically moons at the idea and he cups your cheeks to kiss you again.

“So…I’ve been thinking about something.” This calls for a face to face conversation, and you turn around in his arms.

“Oh yeah?” He doesn’t think that it’s anything bad, you come to him when something heavy is on your mind. “Tell me what you’ve been thinking, sweetheart.”

The two of you have always agreed that the timing of your lives needed to be a joint conversation, but somehow you don’t think this particular idea is going to need much debating. Not much if any, knowing Marcus. “I think I’d like to stop taking my birth control the day before the wedding,” you tell him, slipping both arms around his waist. “I know it might not happen for us immediately, but I think everything else has fallen into place for us so maybe this might, too.”

Marcus tilts his head, a slow smile spreading over his face and lighting it up. “Yeah? You want to do that?” He asks quietly. “I— I think that’s perfect.” He admits. “As long as you are ready.”

You're glowing as you lean into him, already feeling like you could burst with happiness and pride. "I'd say we should start now but there's no way my wedding dress will fit me if I'm pregnant."

“I want you to be able to drink a toast at our wedding if we can help it.” Marcus admits.

"Especially since you went through all the trouble to pick out good toasting champagne with the wedding planner." It had been an entire conversation of wine pairings and champagne choices that you hadn't understood a word of but watching Marcus get excited about tasting notes had been well worth it.

“I think you will enjoy it. It will go well with our wedding cake.” He reminds you, knowing you are excited for the replica cake the bakery in Boston had fallen over over themselves to agree to bake.

"I'm excited for everything to come together." After so easily picking out bridesmaids' dresses last weekend and even finding a mother of the bride dress at the same shop, the wedding is feeling like everything is really falling into place. "Last things are to pick a place for the rehearsal dinner and to book our honeymoon."

“We’ve had so many ideas for our honeymoon…” he laughs quietly, remembering all the various places you’ve both come up with. “Have we actually decided on where we are going to go?”

"I think we've talked about almost every place on earth," you laugh right along with him. "But no. We haven't decided. I think the last time we talked we said it should be someplace that neither of us have been."

“Maybe we need to make a honeymoon wheel.” Marcus snorts. “Have you seen the trend where a guy will make a restaurant wheel to spin when their girlfriend or wife can’t decide?” He shrugs. “We could do the same thing with our honeymoon ideas.”

“Hotel room crafts.” It’s silly and sweet enough of an idea to make you giggle, and you press more kisses to Marcus’s lips and cheeks. “I don’t know about making a wheel, but we could do slips of paper with destinations on them in the ice bucket instead of a hat.”

“Like a lottery drawing.” He snorts. “That could be fun.”

“I have a notebook in my purse.” Which doesn’t surprise him one bit, but you tug Marcus back into the room from the window. “Grab the ice bucket?”

“In a minute.” He smirks and his hands slide from your waist to your ass. “You remember what I told you I wanted to do on the train?” He coos, leaning in and kissing your neck.

“Mmmmhmm.” A soft moan of approval and agreement sounds from deep in your throat, but you feel like teasing him just a tiny bit. “Something about…shoulders?”

“Your legs, my shoulders.” He grinds his hips against yours, his hardening cock proof of his desire and he smirks. “I need to see if you taste different in New York.”

It is pretty much never difficult to convince either of you when a good time to be intimate has appeared, and you nudge him backward again toward the bed. “Then why are we still wearing clothes?”

“That’s a good question.” He goes willingly and he reaches for the edge of your sweater to pull it up. “You’re wearing far too many of them right now.”

Sweaters, t-shirts, pants, and everything else end up scattered around the room, littering the carpet with evidence of the romance in the air. Marcus has you laid out on your back on the bed in no time and you happily tug him down to you for a kiss when he climbs in with you.

“My gorgeous hummingbird.” His hands slide over your clavicle and he kisses your collar bone gently. Worshipfully. “My love, my soulmate.”

“I love you.” Simple words, but meant with all the feeling in the world as your limbs curl around him and you melt under his kisses.

“I. Love. You. Too.” Every word is punctuated by a kiss. Making sure that he teases and caresses your skin with his lips.

“Baby.” After almost a year together, you and Marcus have no trouble finding the right buttons to push. You know each other’s favorite things, each other’s ticks and hidden kinks. You know Marcus adores being showered in praise just you like him to have a firm hand. The flow of your relationship has been built on respect and trust and mutual admiration. Which has made experimenting and finding the things you enjoy together all the more rewarding.

“What do you need, sweetheart?” Marcus pops his head up, eyes dark and fixed on you. “What do you want me to give you, sweet thing? I’ll give you anything you want, you just have to tell me.”

"Just you, baby." Anything and everything he is will to give you is always what you want. Just him. As much of Marcus as he is willing and able to pour into you any time you have moments to yourself.

“You have me, baby. You’ve got all of me.” He groans, adding to teeth to his kisses as he starts to move down your body.

"All of me." It's so true. And true for both of you. The complete devotion you have to each other is obvious. Lying naked wrapped in each other's arms might be the most honest and most vulnerable you ever are, and there is no one in the world you are more grateful to share that feeling with.

Marcus groans, your words of affirmation and affection always affect him, but none like they do when you are both stripped bare. When there is nothing between you but the air and your beating hearts. He drops a featherlight kiss on your stomach, which will one day hopefully protect his children, and then down to your hip.

"We really need to start asking hotels if they have sound proof rooms," you giggle, already sighing as Marcus moves lower and lower on your body.

"Let them hear." He chuckles, never having a problem with others knowing how satisfied you are. He brings your leg up onto his shoulder as he settles between your thighs and he licks his lips as he parts your folds to expose the sensitive little clit that he will lavish with attention.

The touch of his fingers makes you gasp, but you still chuckle despite yourself and know that you'll hold back more here than you do at home. Having the house finally be finished has been a blessing. "Last thing we need is a sound bite of the First Daughter getting eaten out."

"Then it's a good thing they don't have access to those little videos we've made, isn't it?" He smirks, having enjoyed the clips of sexy scenes both of you had made together and while you were apart to send to each other. They were in a locked file and heavily guarded so no one could get to them.

"Well I don't want you to miss me while you're on a long case," you rationalize, letting out another deep sigh as his finger paints a long stripe along your slit.

"Oh I always miss you." He promises, leaning in and nudging his nose against your clit before he samples a small taste of your essence.

He knows how to make you moan. He knows as well as he knows his own name. And yet the first moment your back lifts off the mattress always takes you by surprise and you have to remind yourself not to squeeze his head too tight between your thighs when they clench with that first feeling of pleasure. "Fuck, baby."

The noises you make are always so fucking sweet. He’s addicted to them, to you. His own groan is sounded into your pussy as his tongue flutters around, sweeping the edges of your folds in a pattern that always makes you whine.

The fingers of one hand twist into his curls and you’re prepared to thank every possible god all over again that Marcus has been growing out his hair. It’s all his own style of course, but you don’t mind having a handle to keep him close as he devours your pussy every chance he gets.

The small whine of pleasure that he gives at the pressure of your hand in his hair is one you thoroughly enjoy and he gives you that sound every time his cock twitches against the bed. Making him even more eager in his task as he flicks his tongue over your soaked hole.

Curses and praise and moans of pleasure fill the room, babble verging on incoherent as Marcus plays you with as much skill as his bass or guitar. It’s the w of pleasure that makes you feel like you’re floating all the way above the mattress. It’s ecstasy, all on the curls and flicks of your soulmate’s tongue.

Marcus has always enjoyed sex, enjoyed giving and receiving pleasure, but there is something incredibly unique about his intimacy with you. There is a fusion of your bodies that match your souls, where your pleasure magnifies his own and he gets lost in it.

You shatter for him as easily as breathing, although in the moment you come apart you’ve replaced panted breaths with an orgasm so intense that your mind goes blank as you sob his name into the bright white afternoon. It’s almost like being at peace, the way he breaks you apart and puts you back together with tender caresses and loving kisses, and you wouldn’t have it any other way.

Your come down is his favorite part of foreplay. The pliant limbs and pleasure warmed skin. He loves the dazed look in your eyes, as if you are surprised by how good you feel. “Maybe I need another taste.” He murmurs against your lips.

“Babyyy.” You whine and grab his shoulder when he ducks his head like he’s going to travel down your body again. “Don’t you need to see if I ride you just as well in New York?”

He stops, tilts his head as if he is considering that point before he sighs. Making it seem like it’s a big concession on his part. “I think that needs to be explored too.” You love to ride him and he always lets you be in control when you want it, since so often you want him in control.

“It seems very important.” You nod in agreement, grinning lazily to see his eyes light up at the prospect of having your tits in his face while you bounce on him.

He comes back up to kiss you thoroughly before rolling onto his back. His hard cock laying against his stomach as he reaches out and caresses your side. “Whatever you want, sweetheart.”

It’s just teasing, but you straddle his waist and lean over to press a kiss over his heart before shifting back into position. “That’s a very dangerous thing to promise your fiancée.”

“Not at all.” His hands find your waist and he squeezes gently. “I mean every word.”

“Dangerous.” You admonish him again with a tsk, but sink down on his length all the same — making both of you gasp and moan in unison.

Marcus’s eyes flutter closed with a silent prayer of thanks. His fingers digging into your flesh and for a second, he wishes you were already off your birth control. “Fuuuuuuuuck.” He groans when you roll your hips in a little circle and clench down around him.

“Fuck, you always feel so fucking good.” Letting your head fall back makes it feel like he’s gotten all the way up into your throat and your whole body tightens like a bowstring in response.

“That’s because you’re so perfect.” He groans in appreciation, rocking his hips up. “Tightest little cunt I’ve ever fucked.” He flashes a grin and twitches inside you. “Last little cunt I’ll ever fuck too.”

"All yours." As many times as you promise him that, it never diminishes how much you mean it. He has your whole heart for your whole life. "All yours and you're all mine and fuck you have the best cock in the world."

He chuckles, proud of your happiness with his abilities. His hand slides up your neck to cup the back of your head as he drags you down for a kiss.

The rhythm you set is quick but thorough, making sure to rise and fall on every inch of him to swallow his moans in equally thorough kisses.

He loves when you ride him. Your tits bounce and your kisses are greedy, leaving him to touch you how he wants to while you use his cock for your pleasure. “Fuck, baby.” He grunts, twitching when you swivel your hips.

The figure eights you draw in his lap are his favorite. They always have been. They're brilliantly drawn out and exaggerated to leave him groaning and greedy, pawing at you as you bounce on him. It's greedy for both of you in different ways, which is probably why this is one of your favorite positions.

“You’re teasing me.” Marcus huffs, lunging up to capture one tit in his mouth and scrape his teeth over your sensitive nipple.

"You — ah! — love when I tease you." And since he's so good at teasing you back, you don't ever hesitate.

Marcus just groans against your breast and slaps your ass playfully. Rocking you harder on his cock as his mouth works your breast.

It’s the hungry kind of sex where you know you’ll be sticky and sweaty and need a shower after. Where you know Marcus is going to leave teeth marks pebbling your skin. Where you know without a shadow of a doubt that you’ll be achy and feeling him in your theater seat tonight. And it’s exactly the right kind of fierceness for both of you, so you amp up your pace and throw your head back, letting the bliss of it all wash over you. Lovemaking is what you’ll do tonight, with moonlight streaming through the windows and soft touches and whispered promises. This is a deeply cathartic and energizing fuck — the perfect way to start your weekend.

“Fuck.” Marcus hisses and his fingers slide down to find your clit. Sensing the urgency to your pace and knowing how badly he wants to see you fall apart for him before he finds his own release.

Your whine of agreement is high from the added touch. His fingertips are calloused, giving you added friction as well as added tension, and every time you roll your hips you get more pressure and friction. It's stunning, the way he drives you toward the edge of that cliff of pleasure, and your head spins from how close you are.

“That’s it baby, you’re so good to me.” Marcus groans, loving how you just give him everything you’ve got. “So pretty on my cock. You gonna cum for me? You know I want to see it. Cum for me, sweetheart.”

"I'm so close baby." So close that you feel like you're about to fall over onto his chest from the way you're tensing up. Every part of you is tense, right down to the way your greedy cunt is clamping down on his cock.

“That’s it, fuck- you’re so tight.” Marcus hisses, watching you as your hips stutter and your shoulders start to shake. “So good baby, want to feel you.”

"Fuck, fuck, oh my god, Marcus!" The freedom to cry out, even though you joked about volume earlier, isn't lost on you. The way you tense and shatter and cry his name is his favourite music in the world.

He can’t help himself. Lunging up, he presses his lips to yours desperately and rolls you over to keep pistoning his hips and drilling into your spasming walls. Working you higher through your orgasm and chasing his own.

It would be a whole different ballgame if you were already off your birth control, but you still want Marcus to cum inside you. There's no better or more indulgent feeling in the world, so you wrap your legs around his waist and shake with the last waves of your own orgasm knowing that it will bring him toward his own.

“I love you, I love you. I love you.” Marcus begins to chant as his hips rock forward desperately, barely pulling back as he feels his body pull tight.

"I love you." Those words never diminish, especially not when he's driving his hips forward to bury his cock deep inside you, coating your walls with his searing hot release.

He whines your name as he rides out the release of every tense bone in his body. Pouring himself into you as he collapses against you. “Fuck.” He huffs, face buried against your neck and panting softly. “Always.” He murmurs, kissing a damp patch of skin over your pulse.

“Always.” A fact which leaves you breathless and tangled up in each other more often than not. Right now you hold him tight, hanging on to a confessional sigh. “I almost wish I was off my birth control already,” you admit quietly.

“Me too.” He chuckles because the two of you seem to always be so in sync about your goals and desires. “But we know that it would be better to keep to our original timeline.”

"It's a nice dream, though." Your fingers run up his shoulder and through his hair, and the softness in your eyes is pure adoration when your eyes meet again. "And I can't wait for it to come true."

“I know.” He smiles softly as he presses his lips to yours. “You know I’m going to be feral over you.” He warns. “Not going to be able to stop touching you.”

"Oh nooo." The laugh in your voice is as joyous as your smile but you toss a tone of sarcasm into your teasing. "That will be terrible. I just hate when my fiancé, the sexiest man in the whole world, wants to fuck me."

“You might hate sex while you are pregnant.” He huffs, knowing he would hate it, but he would never pressure you to sleep with him if you don’t feel like it. From what he can tell, it’s hard work to grow a human.

"I don't think I will." Of course, you can't be sure. But as you stretch your neck to kiss him again you enjoy the image tucked away in your mind. "I think I'm going to melt in your arms every single time like I already do."

“I love you.” The simple words are more vow than statement, completely true and undeniable. Luckily, the nasty rumors have tapered off and you have been able to enjoy the wedding planning so far.

"I love you, too." It doesn't take much surging to kiss him one more time, and then you're grinning all over again. "Now...how do you feel about naked honeymoon planning?"

“Naked anything with you is good for me.” He jokes. “Unless it’s frying bacon.”

"Aprons when we cook." You quote Sydney with a grin. "I think I can walk. I'll grab the notebook from my purse and we can write down the ideas we're serious about?"

“If you can’t, I’ll grab it for you.” He smirks, a little pleased when you are unsteady on your feet climbing out of the bed after he rolls off of you.

"Why don't you grab the ice bucket, baby?" Your purse is much closer to the bed than anything else, so it barely takes you two shaky steps before you're slumping back onto the mattress with a grin.

“Can’t make it, can you?” He chuckles as he stands up and crosses over to the desk where the ice bucket is located.

"Shut up." A playful little huff and a pout comes from the bed as you stick your tongue out at him. So what if you barely made it? You managed to grab your notebook and a pen and that's what matters. "You fucked me so good I can't walk, be nice."

He winks at you. “I fucked you so good you can’t walk because I’m nice.”

"I love you very much, now come and get back in bed," you stick your tongue out again and pick up your pen. "So what are your top choices. Are we doing top three each or top five?"

“I say we do five.” Marcus suggests, grinning as he saunters back over and plops down beside you with the bucket. “And then we use the bucket idea for the next nine anniversaries.”

"That's actually super cute." So much that it earns him a kiss when he comes and sits back down with you. A sheet of paper from your notebook is torn up into ten strips, and you hand him five. "I'm thinking my top five are Paris, Scotland, Napa Valley, New Zealand..." You grin unapologetically. "And Disney."

He shakes his head, faking a disappointed pout. “No naked honeymoon in Disney.” He grumbles. “We would be banned and then our kids would never forgive us.”

“We can still be naked in the hotel,” you remind him, grinning unapologetically as you drop the last destination into the ice bucket.

“Yeah, yeah.” He swats your thigh gently and sighs. “So I need to pick other destinations, right?”

“That’s the idea.” Being done before him lets you lay back in the pillows and idly stir the slips in the ice bucket while he thinks.

“Okay, okay…” he takes the notepad you’ve left on the bed and writes on the first one. “Ireland.” He shoots you a grin. “It’s different from Scotland.”

“Yes, it is.” You smirk at him, wondering if he’s going to pick places near all of yours.

“Let’s see…” He taps his chin. “Ohhhh Bora Bora would be good.” He scribbles it down. “Fruity alcoholic drinks, and tiny bikinis for you the entire time.”

That earns a grin from you, and you lean over to press a kiss to his shoulder. “Tiny bikinis are a favorite vacation theme for you.”

“It’s as close to naked as I can get you.” He huffs. “Unlessssss…” Marcus flashes you a teasing grin. “We go to one of those nudist resorts. Should I write Hedonism II down?”

“You try explaining that to my mother when she asks for vacation photos,” you snort, knowing that that choice would go over like screen doors on a submarine.

“Yeah…no to Hedonism.” He doesn’t write that, but he pretends to and mimes ripping the sheet out and balling it up. “How about Chile?” He asks, tilting his head curiously. “I’ve always wanted to go to the Atacama Desert or Easter Island.”

“Chile would be gorgeous. It’s too bad we couldn’t bring your bike down with us.” The image makes you hum, and your shoot him a grin. Marcus sitting astride his motorcycle in any setting just does things to you. “We’ll have to rent one when we go.”

“Absolutely.” He has rediscovered his love of having a woman on the back of his bike and often will bring you along if you can get away for a quick drive in the evenings.

“So…Ireland, Bora Bora, Chile,” you prompt him, tucking off your fingers. “Two more.”

“Greece.” Marcus decides and sends you a small smirk. “Rome.” He writes them down as well so they can be added to the trip bucket.

“Alright.” Dropping each slip into the ice bucket and stirring it around, you give it a few shakes for good measure before holding it high above either of your sight lines and angling it toward Marcus. “Go ahead. What’s our honeymoons going to be?”

Marcus grins and takes the bucket from your hands. “Let’s not pick now.” He teases. “Why don’t we pick at the end of our vacation?”

“You live to torture me!” You groan dramatically, dropping the ice bucket between you. “Do you really want to wait?”

“You don’t want to?” He teases, leaning in and kissing you playfully. “I guess we can decide now.” He rolls his eyes and picks the bucket up. “You choose. That way you can’t blame me.”

"Blame he says, as though they aren't all great choices." It calls for blowing a raspberry in his general direction, but you dip your hand into the ice bucket high above your head and swirl your fingers around to snag a single slip of paper. "Here we go," you intone dramatically, pulling the slip open and wiggling it around. "Looks like it's going to beeee..." Flipping the paper up, you grin at him. "Scotland!"

Marcus laughs at the glee on your face, knowing he would be happy going anywhere with you. “A stone cottage in the Scottish highlands where we walk the moors and burrow into each other in front of a roaring fire sounds perfect.” He puts on a thick Scottish accent for the dramatic flair.

"We can see the Highlands and the cities and go all over." Actually having a location picked out makes you giggle with excitement, and you lean over to kiss him before practically jumping out of bed. "Just like we can go explore this city right now. With clothes, of course."

“Now she can walk.” Marcus groans, climbing out of the bed after you. “What do you want to do before Ellis Island?”

"We should check what time the ferry runs." The concierge downstairs had given you a few ideas but ultimately you had decided to take the trip out to Ellis and Liberty Islands. It’s an important piece of American history and Agent Bailey won’t admit to it but she’s excited to look up her family from their crossing. "Why don't we grab a quick lunch? Give ourselves back some of the energy that we just burned off?"

“That sounds perfect.” He agrees, unable to resist grabbing a handful of your ass when you bend down to pick up your clothes. “Build up reserves for tonight.”

It's hardly a surprise when you and Marcus end up in a little café halfway between your hotel and the ferry to Ellis Island, ready to feast on French bistro classics for lunch. It's warm in the picturesque little restaurant and the snow is still falling without collecting on the sidewalk, so it's a picture-perfect winter day in the city.

“I think it’s safe to say that I will have to have the French onion soup.” Marcus tells you as he looks over the menu. “At least to start. What about you?”

"I think it's going to be a boeuf bourguignon day," you hum, spotting the item on the lunch menu and salivating over it immediately.

“Would you hate me for hurting Thumper if I had the rabbit cassoulet for the main?” He’s grinning and shrugging slightly.

"Not if you won't hate me for having cute little escargot for my first course." The one time he had expressed finding snails cute had obviously stuck with you, and since they're one of your favorite gourmet treats, it's a fair trade.

He huffs in feigned offense and sighs dramatically. “I suppose.” He jokes. “It’s only fair and I know it makes you happy.”

"What do you want to see first at the MET tomorrow?" The café is buzzing around you but you're happy in your little bubble. Just you and Marcus, cuddled together and happily plotting out the rest of your day.

“I’m not picky?” Marcus asks, playing with your fingers. “But Lady with a Parot and Perseus.” He rattles off with a guilty grin.

"Not picky, but two very specific choices." You grin at him, charmed all over again by the beauty and relaxation of the day. Agent Bailey is enjoying herself at a table across the café, also doing her best to relax despite being in the busy city. "Okay, you're on. And I want to track down Madame X."

“The American Wing.” Marcus instantly replies.

"That's my man." Of course he knows, that doesn't surprise you at all.

What does surprise you is the woman walking behind the hostess, currently approaching your table to be seated right next to you. "Vanessa?" Of all the gin joints in all the world, you think ruefully, but it's been so long since you heard from either her or Sam that you're just sort of shell shocked to see her instead of upset or angry about it.

Marcus turns to see the ex that he had hoped to never run into again - even more than Teresa - and wonders what the hell is about to happen. He warily glances behind her and around the smaller café. “This is a surprise.” He intones dryly.

“Just a coincidence.” Vanessa promises. She thanks the hostess and takes a seat, though she wishes there was literally any other table left. “I’m just having a bite after class. Forget I’m here.”

“Class?” That catches Marcus’s attention and he glances over at you to make sure that you are comfortable continuing the conversation. He feels like if there’s a change in the dynamic of your foes, you should learn all you can.

You nod subtly, but Vanessa doesn’t catch it. She’s thanking the waitress for her water. “Class,” she confirms when the waitress is gone. “I’m getting my master’s. I—” she looks between you, her former foes, and shrugs slightly. “A lot has changed.”

“Do you want to talk about it?” There’s no pressure to be applied, but it’s an offer. An olive branch, just like the one extended at the engagement party.

That’s a bit of a sticky question, but Vanessa nods. Her own is far less subtle than yours, as it’s meant to be seen. “I left Sam,” she begins, feeling that that is the most important news. “He was…he was getting out of control. There was never going to be an end to it as long as he had people on his side.”

Marcus squeezes your hand gently, the confirmation of it being on purpose was right there between the lines. “I’m sorry.” He murmurs quietly. “When you said you had discovered your soulmate, it was Sam, wasn’t it?”

“It was.” Vanessa confirms. There’s no reason to beat around the bush after everything that’s happened. “He’s just…he’s not the man he was when I first fell in love with him. Not anymore.”

“Vanessa….” Marcus sighs softly. “What was the root of the issue? We didn’t cheat. Why was Sam so obsessed with hurting us?” He phrases it that way so she doesn’t feel like he’s attacking her, and because he honestly never really imagined Vanessa being the ringleader. Now it seems as if she was a hopeless idealist, blindly following her soulmate down the wrong path.

She sighs, biting her lip slightly, and looking between you both with regret shining in her eyes. "Birdie was supposed to be his ticket to the White House," she admits, although the confession isn't hers to make. "When Marcus appeared on the scene he started getting paranoid, and then...then when you broke up with him? He seemed like he was just taking it a little too hard in the beginning but he started to go down a dark path pretty quickly."

“Did he hurt you?” Marcus’s voice gets soft, his jaw tense at the idea of violence perpetrated against any woman, even one who has wronged him. “Or made threats against Birdie we should know about?”

"No. No, he never would have had the resolve to hurt me physically. And the only threats he made never worked out." Vanessa assures him. "The worst founded one was the engagement party. Whatever you two and your social media team did to get ahead of that, well done."

“You went along with it because he’s your soulmate?” Marcus guesses. “The rumors and the whispers that were being fed from somewhere?”

"I can't exactly defend myself." Vanessa twists in her chair to face you fully, so this conversation can be quiet. "I was jealous."

"Of me...for being with the man you were in love with." You finish her thought without effort, understanding the instinct fully but from the opposite direction. "I was jealous of you. When you were with Marcus. We just...we had things switched around, I guess."

Marcus frowns, never realizing that she had been so involved with her feelings in the brief relationship. “I thought…you were waiting for your soulmate and just having fun with me?”

"I was trying to get over Sam." This is bound to be an uncomfortable conversation of confessions for Vanessa, but she is going to tell the truth. "In a sense you were a rebound for a relationship I never had. And when I realized who my soulmate was I thought everything was finally going to work out the way I wanted. But...that was even more wrong than I ever could have guessed."

“I’m sorry.” Marcus murmurs softly. “I hope that one day, you find the love and happiness you have been searching for.”

"I think I have to love myself first." Vanessa shrugs her shoulders and laughs. "I know that sounds cheesy, but...I started seeing a therapist and I got myself into grad school, and taking control of my own life has been really good for me."

“That’s great.” Marcus assures her, squeezing your hand again and glancing at you. “I can tell you that therapy will be good for you. Doesn’t matter what you’re going through. Sometimes it’s good to just learn how to cope with life.”

"I'm doing my best." Marcus has always been a kind man. It's good to know that that is just who he is, and that Vanessa hadn't been so blinded to people's good natures as to have misjudged him at any point. "I really want to apologize to both of you. Some of the things we did...that I did for him...were truly despicable. If I could take it all back, I would."

It’s not his place to accept an apology, especially when most of the attacks were focused on you. He squeezes your hand again, and defers to you.

"I wish we could have made amends sooner." You tell her, gently squeezing Marcus's hand in return. "But I'm glad that things are looking up for you, Vanessa. And I hope they continue to go in a positive direction. Nobody deserves to be defined by their mistakes when they're trying to better themselves."

It’s a gracious acceptance of the offered apology and so on point for who you are that Marcus wants to kiss you. “I completely agree.” He adds. “You focus on yourself and things will work out for the best.”

"That's very kind of both of you." And probably more than she deserves, but Vanessa isn't going to split hairs when she's stumbled into the chance to move forward. "And very diplomatic. It's...it's very easy to see, from the outside, why you're such a beloved couple." A fact which had made you both difficult to tear down, and is probably why Sam failed so entirely.

“We had some not so diplomatic moments.” Marcus admits, feeling that she is owed some truth as well. “But we aren’t going to punish you for mistakes that you are owning up to and trying to rectify.”

"Thank you." Vanessa half-smiles, looking around the small café, and makes the decision for herself with a small feeling of relief letting her shoulders relax for the first time in longer than she cares to admit. "I should let you enjoy your lunch," she says after a pause, and she stands. "It...was good to run into you. To clear the air."

“Good luck.” He won’t ask her to stay and continue the conversation and neither will you, but he wishes her well as she gathers her things.

"That was...unexpected." You murmur, watching Vanessa cross the street outside quickly, and duck into a pub instead of the little café you're still sitting in.

“Yeah.” Marcus blows out a breath and picks up your other hand. “How do you feel about it?”

"Weirdly...good?" It feels awful to admit, but getting an apology from someone who was actively trying to ruin your life not so long ago feels incredibly settling. "Or at least it feels validating. To know that we weren't crazy in thinking that Sam really was trying to hurt us so actively." It also feels awful to know that you were right about your ex not caring about you during your entire relationship, but that is a separate issue.

He sees the frown and he brings your hands up to kiss them gently. “At least we know now. You know.”

“Knowing is good.” You can agree to that, even as downtrodden as you feel right now. You got out of the relationship, found your soulmate, and are getting married. Everything is falling into place in the best way possible. But the sticky, icky, despicable sensation in your chest at being used isn’t exactly nice. “It still doesn’t feel good, though.”

“No it doesn’t.” He knows that feeling in a sense. Looking back at things objectively, it seemed like Teresa used him to prod Jane along, to pull his buried feelings out of him. “Do you want to go back to the hotel?” He asks softly, hating how your shoulders are rounded and your voice has dipped down.

“No.” This awful feeling will pass, you’ll regain your good humor, and this weekend won’t be ruined by a chance encounter in a restaurant. You won’t let it happen. “Let’s enjoy our lunch.”

He wants to ask if you’re sure, but he doesn’t. Giving you a reassuring smile, he glances towards the waiter. “How about a glass of wine?”

Determined to smile and to not be upset over a relationship that you ended willingly to begin with, you sit up your seat, roll your shoulders back, and turn your eyes back to Marcus. “Something bubbly, I think? We’re on vacation, after all.”

He smiles and nods. “I think that is completely appropriate. And it looks like they have a nice champagne on the menu.”

“Perfect.” You squeeze Marcus’s hand gently, thanking him for sticking with you through the tidal waves of clashing emotions you’re dealing with.

“Not nearly as perfect as you are.” There’s an odd sense of relief to have that chapter firmly closed, at least on Vanessa’s end. “Hopefully nothing else will happen.”

“Fingers crossed.” Huffing a soft laugh, you just shrug your shoulders and get in with ordering your lunch. It does no good to dwell and ruin the time away you have with Marcus. No good at all.

Panting, Marcus stares at the ceiling, nearly giggling at the bubbly, blissed out exhaustion that settles in the very marrow of his body. “Good girl.” He praises. “Good fucking girl.” Your own body is collapsed in a spent heap and he trails his fingers over your spine as you come down from the last, most intense orgasm of the night.

A matching giggle bubbles out of you as you curl into his side, utterly spent and gazing up at him with moony eyes. “Baby…” you laugh again, and half-turn toward him lamely. Your wrists are still bound with the tie he wore out to dinner. “Can I have my hands back?”

“Maybe I like you all bound up for me.” He teases, turning and working on the knots that are now harder than what he had originally tied because of you pulling and tugging on the restraint. Eager to touch him and frustrated by your inability to do so. “Next time I’ll tie you to the bed.”

“We’ll be back in our big four poster at home tomorrow night.” With your hands free, you loop your arms around his neck to kiss him soundly. “I’m already looking forward to it.”

“There’s something about being at home, isn’t there?” He asks, his hand coming up and tenderly caressing your throat where he had held it as he pounded into you. “I wasn’t too rough, was I?”

“Perfect level of rough,” you promise. Experimenting with his more dominant side had turned into a much-loved habit over your year together, and though you don’t get rough every single time you have sex it is definitely something you both enjoy.

“Do you need anything, sweetheart?” He asks. “Water, a rag?” Sometimes you like to keep his cum inside you, sometimes you like to clean up right after. And after every rough session, he likes to dote on you.

“I should say water.” Your eyes gleam with mischief. “But do we have any more wine? That bottle we bought in the Village was amazing.”

He smirks at your cheeky response and leans in to bite your bottom lip. “Sure.” He hums before he is climbing off the bed to get the lovely wine the two of you indulged in before your romp.

Tonight is one of those nights that you both indulged in the fantasy of getting pregnant, and lying in bed with a glass of wine with the sticky slick combination of your cum slowly dripping from your pussy sounds like pure indulgence. Plus you stashed Marcus’s Valentine’s gift in the bedside table, so there’s that too. You grab it now and slip it under your pillow, waiting for him to come back.

Pouring two glasses he turns back to admire your sprawled form as he bites his lip. It’s Valentine’s Day and the two of you have completely indulged today. Now, he needs to give you the gift he had picked out months ago.

“What’s that look for?” You hum, grinning back at him when he returns to your side in bed. “Did you suddenly remember how amazingly lucky I am to have you as my soulmate?”

“More like I remember how lucky I am.” He retorts. “I have a wonderful, sexy woman who indulges my desires and matches them.”

“So I guess we’re both lucky, then.” He hands you your glass and you take a sip, glad that you opted for a white wine tonight so you won’t accidentally ruin the sheets if you get playful. “Happy Valentine’s Day, my love.”

“Happy Valentine’s Day.” He smiles as he leans in to take a kiss from your wine soaked lips. “Have you enjoyed our weekend away?”

“To me it’s been perfect.” There are more kisses for both of you, never able to have enough of tasting or even just being near each other. “Have you enjoyed it too?”

“Hell yes I have.” He promises. “It’s been an incredible weekend, one we needed. No work, just us.”

“I’m just glad we both got through the weekend without any work emergencies.” The inn is in good hands, as Selena has finished her training to become your new manager and she and Malachi are running the place as smoothly as ever between them in your absence.

“Yeah, me too.” He takes a sip of the wine and sighs softly. “Part of me doesn’t want to go back. Just live in the hotel and run away from responsibility.”

“You would miss work pretty soon.” He loves his job, and you know that. It’s a very serious point of pride even though it’s very taxing on him sometimes. “My offer still stands, my love. Whenever you decide to retire from the FBI, you have my full support.”

“I know, and I’m very grateful for your support.” He promises. “It will come eventually, but I’m happy in my career right now and my team is excellent.”

“As long as you’re happy, I’m happy,” you promise him. With Marcus it’s always about support and communication, so having the small check-ins often is key.

“How about you?” He asks. “The inn is becoming even more popular and nearly full every night.”

“It’s nice that we’re not seeing the after affects of the smear campaign anymore.” It seems like the good will from your social media posts surrounding wedding planning has really worked to verse the damage Sam did months ago, and ever since the holidays the inn has been booked solid. “I’ve been thinking about adding an afternoon tea,” you admit, giving him a sheepish look. “Syd’s sous chef is English and French trained and the three of us were thinking about trying out an Italian-inspired tea service for Mother’s Day.”

“Like the tea cakes and sandwiches?” Marcus smirks slightly. “I can see that being a real draw.” He admits. “Older ladies coming in to socialize and then young girls coming in to learn how to take tea. Paninis and cannolis. Cups of tiramisu.”

“Teacups full of individual tiramisu was Syd’s first idea.” It’s sweet to see him get excited and you glow with pride. “I thought it would be nice to give Syd this Mother’s Day off but she came back with a whole new business idea.”

“I think she’s imagining Constance having tea there, with our girls when they are old enough.” Marcus smiles at the thought.

“It’s a beautiful thought.” The dreaminess on his face is obvious, making your heart swell at the promise of growing the family you’re building with this man. Your other half. Your better half. “I love you so much.”

“I love you too.” He promises softly, his own dreams for the future in his eyes. “I have your present, to show you how much.”

“I thought my roses were my present?” In fact, you and Marcus must have given the hotel staff a good chuckle this weekend, because you both ordered a dozen long stem red roses to the hotel room — addressed to each other — that arrived with your breakfast tray with room service this morning.

He gives you a look, one that tells you that you are being ridiculous and moves to his bag to pull out the lovely wrapped gift he had brought for you.

“Don’t look at me like that,” you laugh, sliding his gift out from under your pillow to hand over to him.

He huffs at you, even as a grin tugs at the corners of his mouth. “You should know that roses were going to be your only Valentine’s Day gift.” He hadn’t been expecting anything, and his eyes soften at the sight of a gift for him.

“They weren’t going to be your only gift either,” you tut. But sitting up together in your hotel bed, naked with glasses of wine and hearts utterly full, seems like the perfect time to exchange gifts. “This looks suspiciously like a jewelry box, Agent Pike.”

“I don’t know what you could possibly mean.” Marcus pleads his innocence, even as he smirks.

“Mmhmm.” Giggling to yourself all over again, you nudge Marcus’s package toward him so you can both open them at the same time.

“I need you to open yours first.” He wants to watch your expression and put it on you if you want.

“Very mysterious.” You eye him but obey, pulling open the ribbon on the little wrapped box and tear away the dark red paper to reveal a silver jewelry box — exactly as you suspected. When you remove the lid, a small gasp of surprise and wide eyes come with an open mouth reaction. “Is this…?” The delicate silver necklace inside has a heart pendant hanging from it in the center, but the back clasp is on display in the box: a lock, not a claw.

“A collar.” Marcus nods, watching you seriously as he picks up the small, ornate key and showing it to you. “We’ve talked about it, teasing about it, but I found this and I couldn’t stop thinking about it.”

"Honey, it's beautiful." To the outside observer, the inconspicuous little heart is a sweet token of love from your soulmate. For you and Marcus, it's a next step into the world that you've been exploring together. "I wouldn't have been able to stop thinking about it, either."

“You know you have me, every single part of me, and I have you.” He reaches out and caresses your neck. “This would be between us. Our little secret from the world. My claim on you.”

The little lock on the necklace is meant to be done for you, and you raise your eyes back to Marcus. "Will you do the honors?"

“Do you want to wear my collar, sweetheart?” He asks seriously. “Keeping me close to your heart every day?”

"I really do," you lean across the small expanse to kiss him, just as soft and steadily as the rhythm of your heartbeat. "Even though you're already in my heart every single day. This is just another way to show the whole world."

Marcus hums as you hold out the necklace to him and he carefully unlocks it. “I don’t ever want you to feel like you can’t take it off.” He tells you as he wraps it around your neck and closes the lock to secure it around your neck.

"I know I can always ask you." There are some occasions when it won't be appropriate -- State dinners, your wedding, the fanciest things that you'll do in your lives -- but each and every day of your life the necklace will either go on or off and that means that Marcus will always be with you even when he's away.

Once the necklace is locked around your neck, Marcus leans in and presses his lips to it and your skin gently.

"I feel a bit like I underdid it now," you admit, touching the necklace gently with your fingertips. "But I still hope you like it."

He snorts, not even able to imagine you not putting incredible thought and time into his gift. He picks up the box and shakes it like a kid at Christmas, grinning at you. “Nahhhh, sounds fun.”

"Oh yeah." You snort and wave one hand casually. "I figured Lincoln Logs were the most romantic gift possible."

He laughs and shakes his head as he starts to unwrap the beautiful paper. “Whatever it is, I appreciate you getting me something.” He murmurs. “A lot of women seem to think valentines is only for them.”

"You are the most romantic man on the planet." While he works open the paper you lean back in the pillows and toy with your new necklace. "I couldn't possibly leave you out of the celebration this weekend. That would be awful."

“You would be surprised how often it happens.” He knows you wouldn’t and it makes him appreciate you even more. “Babe….” he freezes when he opens the box and sees the lighter that is nestled into the protective fabric. “Is this— it’s a 1939-45 World War II Trench lighter.” He murmurs, admiring how the patina on the metal is meticulously cared for. “How did you know to get this?”

The awe on his face is enough to tell you that you made the right decision, and you leave a kiss on his cheek with pleasure. "I may have dug in your eBay search history a little," you admit without shame. "Your lighter collection is a point of pride and I know you want to keep growing it."

“I- I love it.” He promises you, leaning in and pressing his lips to yours. “So many of these have been lost or discarded but they all have so many stories ingrained in every flick of the flint.”

"The shop I got it from had a little history of previous owners." The handwritten card is tucked inside the lid of the cigar box, and you nudge Marcus to keep going. "You have to keep unwrapping, though."

“There’s more?” He huffs, rolling his eyes playfully and carefully setting the lighter aside to pull out a box of cigars. “Very nice.”

His smile makes you glow, so happy to see him accepting these shows of love and tokens of affection. "Now that you have a porch to sit out on at night, I thought you should be able to enjoy an indulgence you couldn't have while living in an apartment or the inn."

“That is as long as you don’t hate the smell.” He eyes you, even as he opens the box and pulls out a cigar to smell, groaning at the aroma.

"I called your dad to make sure I got the ones you and he smoke when we're in Texas," you admit. "So I already know I like the smell of these."

“Good.” He chuckles quietly and kisses you again. “You’re perfect, you know that?” He asks. “The universe couldn’t have chosen better.”

"I was just thinking the same about you." Nudging his nose with yours brings a smile to both of your faces. The perfectly contented kind of smile that is somehow both enraptured and at peace all at once. "So I'm very glad we agree."

“That’s why we are soulmates.” He reasons, giddy to be celebrating the holiday with his soulmate, his fiancée and the woman he will spend the rest of his life with.

______

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