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wardenparker · 1 month

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Hummingbird Has Landed, ch 8

Marcus Pike x female reader Co-written with @absurdthirst

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

Rating: E for Explicit! 18+ Word Count: 11k Warnings: *Blanket warnings for this series: occasional mention of American politics, pregnant character, food/alcohol consumption, mentions of clothing/regulated dressing for occasions, mentions of therapy because we believe in self care here, reader is in a previous relationship, love triangle, reader is mentioned as turning 30 during the course of the story* Teasing, flirting, nudity, bathing together, fingering, a smattering of dirty talk. Summary: This wedding night is special for more than just the happy couple. Notes: A little light smut for your Sunday! Thanks for sticking with us this long, but these two are finally starting to get to know each other. 🧡 As always, please remember that the gif choice at the top of the chapter is not meant to represent reader's physical appearance. In this case, it's for Cameron and Wiley!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It’s like they knew.” He chuckles.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

______

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 #love triangle

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helloalycia · 1 year

Text

watching TV [three] // kate bishop

summary: after your feelings come at you in full force, you're not sure what to do with your relationship with Kate.

warning/s: mentions of injury and violence.

author's note: this is the last part! i hope you all liked it :)

one / two / masterlist / wattpad

The night of the event soon arrives and as if worried that Kate will somehow back out last minute, Kate's mum sends over a driver to stop by both of our places and pick us up.

Always the people-pleaser, I have no choice but to wear the dress she bought for me. It isn't actually too bad, but the pressure of wearing something extremely expensive (because I have no doubt it costs more than all of my belongings put together) and not damaging it is intense.

I'm picked up first and Kate doesn't live far, but the last thing I expect when the driver stops outside her place is for her to be wearing the exact opposite of what her mum left her. In fact, instead of the strapless, elegant blue dress she was given, she's decided to wear a scarlet-coloured tuxedo. She pulls it off extremely well, I'm not blind, but it's hard to appreciate when I know she's only done it to piss of her mum.

"Wow, you look beautiful," is the first thing she says when she sits beside me in the backseat.

I give her a look of disbelief, ignoring her bright smile and the way my insides go all mushy at her words. "Seriously? Kate, what happened to the dress?"

She shrugs, putting her seatbelt on. "Wasn't feeling it."

I sigh deeply, leaning back into my seat as the drivers sets off. "Your mum is gonna kill you, you know that, right? She gave me one job. Get you there in a somewhat-respectable outfit."

"Hey, this is respectable!" she defends, tugging at her bow tie and grinning at me. "Don't I look great?"

Trying my very hardest not to give in to her charm, I give her a sideways glance. But of course, the most adorable expression is staring back at me and she really does look good. She must notice I'm giving in because she starts to laugh.

"I knew you loved me," she decides, smiling to herself as she looks out the window.

"Luckily," I mumble, trying to fight the smile from my own lips.

When we arrive at the hall booked out for the event, I'm not surprised at how lavish and amazing everything looks, from the venue itself to all of the wealthy people in it. I don't expect anything less from the Bishops. But it still takes some getting used to.

Kate's mum finds us in no time, greeting us, (scolding Kate), showing us around and then leaving us to acquaint ourselves as she gets ushered away by some guests. Again, this sort of thing isn't my cup of tea, neither is it Kate's, but I put on my best pretence and try to at least look like I'm enjoying myself. Kate is a lot more transparent with her feelings however, so it seems that distracting her is the only way to get her to behave.

"Okay, your mum has glared daggers at us three times from across the room because you won't stop messing about," I tell her after removing the breadstick from her hand that she is pretending is a magic wand. "How about we play a game?"

"A game," she says, unconvinced. "What game?"

I bite my lip, looking around the room for inspiration. Something has to keep Kate occupied apart from torturing her mother. But the only thing here are a bunch of guests whom I know nothing about. It's some sort of networking event for all the people in Kate's mum's circle – nothing that I can get involved in but definitely something for Kate if she was interested.

"Kiss, marry, kill," Kate suddenly says, and I glance at her with a raised brow.

"Pardon?"

She smiles cheekily as she always does. "Let's play kiss, marry, kill with the people around us. C'mon, it'll be fun."

"Will you sit still for two minutes if I say yes?"

"Cross my heart," she mutters mischievously, motioning across her chest with her finger.

I groan quietly, grabbing two drinks from a nearby waiter as they walk by. "Fine. Let's go find a seat."

She accepts the drink I give her and we take a seat in one of the few seating areas. It's occupied by a few other guests, but Kate and I are able to snag a small couch with the perfect view of this corner of the room.

"Okay, me first," she says with a childish excitement, eyes scanning the guests. "Okay, I've got one. That couple there and the old guy behind them."

I follow her gaze, spotting who she's talking about. "The woman with the curly hair?" She hums, so I answer, "Easy. Fuck the old guy, marry the woman, kill the boyfriend."

She snorts with amusement. "Really? Fuck the old guy?"

"He gives off better vibes than the sleazy boyfriend, what can I say?" I say with a shrug, making her laugh. "Seriously, what is it with pretty girls dating gross guys?"

She rolls her eyes playfully. "If only we knew."

"It's a phenomenon that needs to be studied," I say seriously, before looking around. "Okay my turn. That woman over there by the table. Red dress. Dark hair. Her, the guy who looks like her son that she's talking to. And the lady beside him."

She scrunches her nose up, laughing. "Oh, Y/N, c'mon! That's gross! It's incestuous!"

I chuckle. "I said they looked related, not that they were! Now answer."

She nudges me slightly before getting comfortable and narrowing her eyes. After staying deep in thought for a moment, she decides, "Okay, fuck the red dress, marry the daughter-in-law, kill the son."

I laugh at her bluntness, before slapping her leg. "Kate, why did you have to say it like that?!"

She turns to me, eyes flickering between mine as an amused smile tugs at her lips. "What? I don't know what you mean."

She definitely does, but I let her have it as I shake my head dismissively.

"Okay, make mine challenging like I did with yours," I tell her, before taking a sip of my drink.

"You found me a MILF, it wasn't too challenging," she jokes, making me stifle another laugh because the nearby guests are definitely sending confused glances our way.

"A MILF?" I return the teasing, raising an eyebrow. "Right, where's your mum at?" She gasps as I continue the bit, looking around and saying, "Eleanor Bishop? Do you see her?"

"That's disgusting!" she exclaims, yanking me back and slapping me on the shoulder as I sink into a fit of laughter. "I'm gonna throw up. Actual vomit is rising in my mouth, god!"

"I'm kidding," I say between laughter, tears forming in my eyes because she looks disgusted and I love it. "Well, kind of. Your mum scares me, don't get me wrong, but she could technically be classified as a MILF."

Kate makes a vomiting gesture with her hand and mouth, making me grin.

"Don't worry, I prefer her daughter anyway," I say reassuringly, not realising it's slipped out until she does a double take.

Oh my god, why the hell did I say that?!

Hoping to play it off as mere friendly banter, I look the other way, distracting myself with my drink.

"Your go then, c'mon," I say nonchalantly, trying to change the subject.

I feel her nod beside me and wait, wondering if it is suddenly hot in here or if it is just my embarrassment haunting me. Glancing over at Kate, I see she's smiling to herself as she too distracts herself with her drink, and immediately look away because– nope. I'm not even going there.

A few hours pass and Kate and I are having a blast. Luckily, I manage to keep her out of her mum's laser stare for most of the evening, distracting her with silly games and the snacks table. It works, until Eleanor herself finds us and unfortunately has to excuse Kate from me so she can introduce her to some of the company's investors. After giving Kate a warning look that meant for her to behave, I let her go and busy myself with making a plate of food.

"Can I just say that I love your dress, sweetie."

I look up when I realise someone beside me is speaking to me. It's an older lady, gorgeous in every aspect of the word and whom I've never seen before. Actually, now that I think about it, she might be one of the women Kate and I deemed a MILF in our fuck, marry, kill game earlier tonight. Trying to erase that from my brain, I smile at her gratefully.

"Thank you," I say, before returning the compliment. "I love yours, too! Red really is your colour."

She waves a dismissive hand, though is smiling all the same. "Please, I just threw this on."

I chuckle a little, before looking back to my plate, wondering if she's going to leave, but she doesn't.

"You're here with the Bishops, right?" she asks, making conversation as she too makes a plate of food.

"Yep."

"Eleanor's daughter, Kate... her girlfriend, right?"

"Yep." Then my eyes widen and I look up. "Wait, what was that?"

The woman pauses, confused. "Kate? Your girlfriend?" She smiles kindly. "I saw you both together and you look lovely. It's sweet she brought you along." She laughs as I digest her words, leaning in and adding, "My husband did the same with me, but between you and I, I'd rather have stayed home."

I smile awkwardly, though I'm still reeling from her assumption. "I, erm, sorry, but I think you've misunderstood." At her head tilt of confusion, I clarify, "Kate and I– we're not– we're just friends."

Gosh, why am I so flustered right now?

"Really?"

"Uh-huh."

Embarrassed, she laughs uncomfortably. "Oh, my, wow, I'm so sorry for assuming! I just– as I said, I saw you both around all evening and you were together, laughing and looking all cosy and– never mind. I'm sorry. It's nice of you to have joined her anyway."

Wishing the Earth would swallow me up here and now, I merely smile awkwardly and nod. She looks as uncomfortable as I and smiles once more before leaving with her plate of food.

After doing the same, I find an empty standing table with the intention of eating, but all I can think about is this evening. Yes, tonight has been fun and a lot of that is down to Kate, but that's not any different from any other night, is it? We're just friends.

I look up, searching for the girl in question and hoping she's almost done with her mingling – it seems that whenever I'm left alone, I start to overthink every single thing. I find her across the room, stood slightly behind her mother as she's talking to some guests. Kate's smiling politely, nodding and surprisingly behaving, but I know her well enough to know she's extremely bored. Glancing around thoughtlessly, her eyes catch mine and she immediately brightens up, smiling for real. I return her smile with my own, watching as she looks back to her mum when she's involved in the conversation.

She's saying something, earning a laugh from the guests, before she's bored yet again. Her eyes catch mine once more and she tries to suppress her smile as she widens her eyes, looking to the guests next to her.

Behave, I mouth to her with amusement, but she doesn't listen.

She looks back to her mum and the guests, but I notice her hand behind her back, making a chatterbox gesture. She's doing it on purpose to make me laugh and, goddamn it, I hate that it works. Glancing at me again, I spot a mischievous glint in her eyes, even from across the room, and it makes my insides go warm and fuzzy.

Oh, God, there it is again. It keeps happening, a lot more than usual tonight. Am I falling for her? It can't be. Because it will ruin everything. Sure, I sometimes see her and think 'wow, she's just effortlessly pretty today' – but that's mere appreciation! And the cosy feeling I get whenever I'm around her is nothing more than a safety net because she's my best friend. It isn't anything more, it can't be. It's not allowed to be.

Fuck, I think it is.

My palms grow clammy with nerves as I begin to panic slightly. Fuck, fuck fuck. I don't like Kate. I don't.

Liking someone, especially someone as important as Kate... No. Memories of Hannah comes to my mind. What she said, how I felt when she just decided to leave, just like that.

No. I refuse to have that happen again.

A tap on my shoulder interrupts my panicked train of thought and I jump, looking up. It's Kate, smiling humorously as she looks between my plate and I.

"Are you done hoovering the appetisers?" she teases, but my heart feels like it's going to beat out of my chest and I can't find it in myself to smile.

"What's up?" she asks with mild concern, lowering her head to find my eyes, but I can't meet hers.

I can't be here any longer.

"I'm not feeling well," I say, mouth dry.

She snickers. "It's probably all the bread rolls you've put away."

I shake my head, stepping back and making her drop her hand from my arm. "I've gotta go home."

Realising I'm serious, her smile drops. "Wait, what? What's wrong?"

She reaches for my hand, holding it lightly and taking a second to study my expression. The simplest of touches makes my skin burn, and it doesn't help that she's watching me with the utmost concern. Blue eyes are softened, twinkling, beautiful... She's always cared this much, hasn't she? I've just never noticed.

"I'm just not feeling entirely well," I try to reassure with a small smile. "Maybe I did eat too much. I should go before I throw everything up."

"Okay, I can come with you," she says.

"No," I say quicker than I should have, making her raise an eyebrow. "I mean, it's your mum's event. It won't look right, you leaving early. Stay, please."

She frowns, eyes flickering between mine. "Are you sure? I'd rather be with you."

My heart swells instinctively, touched by her words, and I try my hardest to stop feeling this way, but the only way it will stop is if she stops looking at me like she is.

"I'll be fine," I promise her, needing her to let go of my hand because I can't feel it anymore.

"Okay," she gives in reluctantly, letting go. "Call me if you change your mind and I can stop by."

I nod, forcing a smile and avoiding her eyes. "Will do. Have a nice evening, Kate."

Just when I'm about to turn and leave, she steps forward and hugs me. It's brief, but my whole body is on fire by the time she lets go.

"Feel better," she says sweetly, smiling.

Oh, I'm fucked.

It's hard not to overthink every single interaction I've ever had with Kate following the evening of her mum's event. I can't help it.

Back when we first became friends at university, she's always been so considerate, so easygoing, so lovely to me. She's just a naturally caring person and she's never let me down, not once. And I've loved and appreciated every part of it, though nothing more than in a platonic appreciation sort of way. It had to be like that because I was with Hannah, and why would I think of my best friend in any other way when I had a girlfriend at the time?

But lately... I don't have a girlfriend anymore, and now my feelings for Kate are no longer platonic. I try to ignore it, but every touch, every glance, every sweet thing she says to me is misinterpreted on my end. I know I'm falling too hard too fast, but I can't stop it. Why now? What's so different now versus three years ago?

I don't know. I just know that every moment I spend with her, I can't not feel how I do when I'm around her. Elated, fuzzy, warm. She doesn't know and I'm not planning on telling her. I don't think she feels the same, and if she does? Well, all the more reason to keep this to myself because it would only lead to the inevitable, and that's something I'm actively trying to avoid.

I can't say it's going too well though.

Kate has been on a mission for the past two weeks and I haven't missed her this much in a long time. So, when her return date finally arrives, I bring a box of doughnuts and head over to her apartment to see her.

"Kate?" I ask, knocking on the door before pulling out my key. "It's me, I'm letting myself in!"

When there's no refusal, I do just that and look around, only to find her sitting on the couch with a bag of frozen peas on her shoulder and a compact mirror in her hand. My eyes widen when I see the fresh cuts on her face, matching the black eye forming.

"Oh my god, Kate!" I exclaim, shutting the door and leaving the box on the kitchen table before rushing over to her. "What the hell happened?"

She smiles, though it's pained. "Minor incident on the mission. Not a big deal."

I sit beside her, raising my eyebrows. "Seriously? Don't they have an infirmary at the Compound?!"

Lowering the mirror, she tuts defeatedly. "Ah, you got me. The mission went fine, but there was a mugging happening close by on the way here and I couldn't just watch it go down."

Sighing, I can't help but look at the swelling on her eye and the small bleeding cuts. "That's very heroic of you, Kate, but you need to be careful. You're not invincible."

"Well, if you were getting mugged, wouldn't you hope somebody would step in and help?"

"Yes, but–"

"There you go then," she cuts me off with playful smile. I give her a disapproving look, and she merely winks and gets back to cleaning up the cuts on her face in the mirror.

Rolling my eyes, I take the mirror from her hand and close it. "Let me help, idiot."

Relieved, she gives in without a fight and explains what to do. After listening, I take over and finish cleaning up the cuts, applying little plasters to help them close up. Thankfully, it's nothing too serious, but I definitely don't feel good about seeing her in pain like this.

When I'm done, she thanks me before lifting the frozen peas from her shoulder with a wince.

"Do you need to see a doctor?" I ask with concern, taking the peas from her hand and putting them to the side.

She shakes her head casually. "Nah, I'll be alright. It's just bruised. The guy got a good whack with his bat."

I frown subconsciously, hating the thought of her fighting a thug as is. She's capable, I know, but reckless, too.

"How have you been anyway?" she asks, leaning back into the couch with a content sigh. "Tell me everything I've missed these past few weeks."

Reluctantly, I share what I've been up to. Nothing exciting, mainly work stuff, but she listens intently all the same, a captivated smile on her face.

"That's me, anyway," I finish. "I just came by to see how you are. Brought some doughnuts, too. If I'd known, I would have brought a doctor."

She rolls her eyes with amusement, before her eyes settle in the kitchen. "You didn't have to, but I can't say no. One might say, I dough-nut mind if I do."

It's such a terrible joke, but it brings a small smile to my lips anyway. Satisfied, she smiles before attempting to stand up quickly. She flinches instantly and sits back down, hand falling to her shoulder.

"Easy, Kate," I tell her, keeping her still and resting my hand atop hers. "You can't rush around like that."

"Sorry," she mumbles, frowning at the pain before sighing once it passes.

"You seriously need to be more careful," I tell her sternly, eyes roaming her face. "Returning to me all banged up and bloody isn't what I want."

Instinctively, my hand raises to touch her face, fingers wavering over the cuts that are now cleaned up. My thumb barely grazes her black eye before falling to her lips, particularly the cut just next to it. I find myself getting distracted by her lips in general, thumb moving over to them, almost tracing them before I realise what the hell I'm doing.

Clearing my throat with embarrassment, I drop my hand and look up to her eyes, an apology on the tip of my tongue. But she's distracted, too, eyes half-lidded as they focus on my lips. I hold my breath when she leans in, but my eyes close when she closes the gap between us. It's a simple brush of her lips against mine, making my heart skip a beat at the contact. I'm barely thinking straight, unable to comprehend what's even happening as everything works on autopilot.

I feel her hand lift to the back of my neck before she presses her lips to mine again, this time with more intention, and I fall into it so easily like it's always supposed to have been like this. Her breath tickles my nose when she parts for a second, sending shivers down my spine, but just like that, she takes my bottom lip between hers and presses her tongue to mine. I let her, melting under her touch and not giving it a second thought.

Only when we run out of breath and part for seconds longer than before do I realise what's just happened. And then panic begins to set in, making me back away and stand up quickly.

"Y/N, oh my god," she says suddenly, standing up when she too realises what's happened. She takes a step forward, but I take one back, lips swollen and heart racing. "I'm sorry, I– please, wait, I–"

"I should go," is all I can think to say, still reeling from the taste of her.

Nope, can't think about that.

Turning on my heel, I speed-walk to the door, but she races after me, stopping before me and making me stop, too. Wincing at her shoulder from the quick movement, she pulls a face before meeting my eyes with pleading ones.

"Just wait, please," she says breathlessly, holding her shoulder.

I swallow thickly, staring at her feet because I can't seem to look up without staring at her lips. I wait.

"I'm in love with you," she finally says.

Suddenly, I feel sick at her words, definitely not expecting her to say that of all things.

"I have to go," I say, before pushing past her gently and leaving.

Thankfully she doesn't follow me, and I'm glad because otherwise I'd have to explain why my heart is beating so loud I can't seem to hear anything.

It's horribly unfair to avoid Kate after the kiss, but I can't help but do that, finding it easier to shut her out whilst I try to figure out what to do. A few days goes by and I still feel like I'm stood in her apartment, watching as she tells me she's in love with me. It's replaying in my mind, no matter how hard I try to avoid thinking about it.

How can we come back from that?

She tries to get in touch with me, but I can't talk to her or text her or hear her voice because I need to collect myself. She's in love with me, and I think I'm in love with her, too.

No, I know I am.

The kiss was perfect. And that's why it's wrong. I just want to be friends, it's so much easier this way. But how? The line has been crossed. It's too late now.

I'm returning home from work almost a week later, tired and cranky and just wanting to collapse on my couch. But when I walk to my floor and approach my doorway, I recognise Kate's figure waiting outside. Pausing, I wonder if I can slip away before she's seen me, but she notices me anyway, standing up from the floor instantly.

"Please, don't leave," she says desperately, eyes widened.

I swallow uncomfortably, keeping my eyes on the keys in my hand as I attempt to open the door. "I don't have time for this. I'm tired from work and–"

"Y/N, please," she pleads.

"Sorry, Kate," I say, finally unlocking my door and hoping to get in quickly. "Not now."

I suppose it's my idiocy that makes me believe I can get in without it her managing to slip in behind me. She is a superhero after all.

Groaning, I turn around to politely tell her to leave, but she's already talking before I can.

"I'm sorry for what happened," she says earnestly, a slight frown on her lips. "I know you want space, but I need to fix this. I didn't mean to kiss you. Or– well– I did, but I didn't mean for it to ruin everything."

I shake my head and step past her, heading to the kitchen. "I can't do this now, Kate. I need time to think. I–"

"I'm in love with you," she says, and it makes me stop in my tracks.

There she goes again. So easy of her to say.

"You're not," I mutter, unable to face her. "You can't be."

She doesn't answer straight away, but her footsteps sound closer and then she's stood before me, searching for my eyes as she lowers her head.

"I am," she says with certainty, blue eyes sparkling as they find mine. "I have been for three and a half years."

Every part of me feels like it's on fire when she keeps staring at me with such adoration that I don't know what to do with it. Three and a half years? We've known each other for four.

"I am," she repeats, nodding slightly.

"No..."

"You kissed me back," she points out, voice so soft as if she's afraid I'll kick her out or find a way to leave the conversation.

"I know." I look away again, unable to hold her gaze for much longer.

"So...?"

I close my eyes, squeezing them shut as I try to calm my raging heart. She makes everything seem so easy. Though, if she's been in love with me for so long, maybe it hasn't been as easy as it seems.

"Y/N–"

"I love you, too," I finally admit aloud, opening my eyes to be met with her surprised expression. "But it can't happen, Kate. I can't lose you."

Recovering from her momentary surprise, she shakes her head. "You won't. Why would you?"

Subconsciously, I begin to tense my jaw. She's doing it again, watching me like I'm everything to her. And it hurts so much, reminding me of why this can't be. I've seen that look before. It's only temporary.

"You're going to realise," I start, and my face immediately heats up with embarrassment because of the lump in my throat and the tears stinging at my lids.

"What?" she prompts, resting a hand on my shoulder with concern.

I suck up a breath, looking to the side. "You'll be in love for now, but not forever. You'll realise that I'm not worth loving and then you'll just leave. And I'll be alone again. Not only losing my girlfriend, but my best friend, too. And I can't have that, Kate, I can't lose you. Not another person I love. Not after last time."

"No, no, no," she rushes out, clasping my face and wiping away some stray tears. "It's not going to happen, Y/N."

I meet her eyes, my own staring bluntly. "Nobody plans for it to happen, but it could."

It's happened before.

"It won't," she says with such conviction that I almost believe her. "I didn't stick around for this long just to stop loving you one day. That's not how it works."

I carefully pull her hands down from my face. "Kate–"

"No," she says sternly, clutching my fingers in hers and holding my stare. "I'm in love with you, Y/N! Every part of you. Even when I was certain you wouldn't feel the same. I didn't care that I'd only ever have you as a friend because you're just that amazing. That loveable. And I'll spend every day for the rest of my life showing you that, telling you that, if I damn well have to."

My eyes are blurring again, myself unable to stop the tears from forming. Why is she saying this? Why did she believe it?

Why hadn't I seen it sooner?

"Don't push me away," she begs. "Please. I won't hurt you. I won't do what Hannah did. I wouldn't dare."

Squeezing her hands gently, I start, "Kate..." But I don't know what to say. All I know is my heart is thumping in my chest and I can't think straight when she's pouring out her heart to me like this.

Her eyes dart between mine, as confident as ever. "I once told you that you deserve the world and every good thing in it, but that you would just have to settle for me. Well... I'll live up to that, Y/N. For you."

She holds my gaze, patient as I try to make sense of everything. Never has she been so vulnerable with me and I feel like an idiot for not noticing all of this sooner. Nobody has ever loved me so dearly or made my heart burst with adoration as much as she has in just this conversation.

I rest my hand on the back of her neck and pull her close, hugging her tightly. Her hands lift to my back, holding me, too.

"You're already everything good in this world," I murmur into her neck.

Pulling back, I keep ahold of her, eyes flickering between hers. I want to believe her. I think I might. How can't I? She makes it sound so easy and she's quite convincing when she wants to be. I'm terrified, nothing will change that. I never want to experience what I did with Hannah, especially not if it means losing Kate. But sometimes it's better to give it a go than push it away. If I don't act on my feelings, I still lose Kate. Either way I lose her.

I can't lose her.

"I love you," I tell her firmly, needing her to know that I feel the same way. That I'm not doubting it anymore.

She's quiet, content with holding me close and studying my expression. I can't help it anymore, and I close the gap between us, pressing my lips to hers. She sighs before pulling me close by the waist, and the feeling of her fingers against my shirt in such a tender movement makes my heart skip a beat.

I'm not sure what will happen, but I know I trust Kate. I always have.

#marvel #marvel imagine #mcu #hawkeye #hawkeye imagine #kate bishop #kate bishop x reader #kate bishop imagine #hailee steinfeld

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moonlightreal · 5 months

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Night World: Spellbinder

Let’s talk about Blaise!

Spellbinder stars the blonde, animal-loving nice witch Thea and her cousin the dark haired seductress Blasie. LJ Smith was clearly revisiting Faye and Diana here, though with Thea being the protagonist she couldn’t be quite as ethereal and perfect as Diana.

Blaise is very much Faye. She is described like a lioness, dark haired and curvy, able to get guys just by existing. And then she convinces her crowds of paramours to do more and more extreme things to prove their love. Guys ditch their girlfriends, give up treasured possessions, and commit crimes for her sake. And Blaise’s attention leaves them damaged. One of her past followers turns up in a horror scene in the book and his mind was clearly broken by his experience with Blaise. Another ex tried to burn down the school to prove his love.

Blaise says, “When they give in completely there’s a ‘pop’ like a balloon breaking…. And after the pop, they just kind of collapse, and everything they are, their whole self, just sort of pours out in this internal hemorrhage. And after that, of course, they’re useless. Like a stag that’s too old to mate. they’re just—over.”

It seems like Blaise is just talking emotion here, not magic. I don’t think she’s sucking the boys’ souls to fuel her spells or anything, she just likes ruining lives. And ye gods Ms. Smith is a weird writer. You can just tell she really imagined herself into the emotions inside Blaise’s terrible brain, it’s amazing. Ms. Smith is no Pratchett, nobody is, she’s no Garth Nix, but she’s got something.

There is one moment that hints that Blaise might be unhappy with her life of being awful. A boy grouchily asked, “What do you want?” and Blaise is momentarily taken aback and says, “Nothing I can have.”

What could it be that she wants? I assume in Ms. Smith’s mind this is a hint that deep down Blaise wishes she could experience actual love, with a partner who loves her for herself rather than being blinded by her sex appeal. Maybe by pushing her followers to more extreme acts of devotion Blaise is hoping to find one who stands up to her and can be her equal. But if that’s the case, why is she chasing human boys rather than witch boys?

Spellbinder tells us that witches in the Night World tend female. “More girl babies are born and more survive to grow up.” so every make witch has plenty of female witches interested in him. Maybe Blaise with all her beauty and charm can’t compete. Or maybe male witches can see that she is in fact a horrible person and run like hell.

But there’s another possibility. Blaise wears a tuxedo to the school dance. This isn’t proof of anything; straight girls can wear tuxedos too, and Blaise is very clearly out to seduce boys in her red silk bow tie and cummerbund. But is it possible that what she really wants, and can’t have, is a female partner?

This was 1996 when being gay was not accepted like it is today, but I would think it would be accepted among witches. “Sisterhood is the strongest bond there is—for a witch.” And if there are more women than men and the Night World witches tend to see humans as vermin so it makes sense to pair up between themselves. So why would Blaise think she could never date a girl?

One possibility is that witches need to marry other witches to have witch babies. We never really learn how the magic is passed down and there are definitely some witches with lots of human ancestors, but maybe you’re more likely to get a baby witch out of two parent witches. Which would make it more sensible to detach biological parenthood and active parenthood, let witches choose a bio-dad and a father for their children separately, live in mom-munes or harems, all kinds of unconventional families… all of which are too wild for 1996.

The other possibility I thought of is that witches could have a “hetero only” rule to stay under the radar in human society. Being different could get you noticed and that could get your magic noticed. Maybe some witch once delivered magical justice on some bigot and almost revealed the whole Night World. Witches go to great pains to hide their magic; familiar animals have been outlawed so outlawing unusual relationships makes sense.

I don’t really think Ms. Smith meant for Blaise to be gay. I think she was aiming for hetero and leaving things vague in case Blaise got her own book later. But I do think Blaise being gay is a valid headcanon if that’s the way you want to go. Blaise never did get her own book so her fate is left to our imagination.

#night world #lj smith

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ladyswillmart · 4 months

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You think Nero knew that Marques was actually Cid Garlond?

Because I think Nero knew that Marques was actually Cid Garlond, and here's how I think that went down:

---🏜---

(This is like, maybe a little after Werlyt, and Cid and Nero are doing something pretty mundane like trying to repair one of the workshop's malfunctioning toilets. Yeah, and they can both be wearing overalls. Also Cid's wearing one of those t-shirts that's printed to look like a tuxedo jacket with a bow tie. I don't know why, I don't control these things. Anyway, Nero offhandedly makes a Marques joke which makes Cid drop his socket wrench and realize:)

Cid: Wait. You knew. You knew I was Marques...?

(And Nero's like, trying to prise the lid off the toilet tank. And like he's wearing a Rush t-shirt beneath his overalls.)

Nero: Of course I knew you were Marques, Garlond. (snickers) Not like you were trying very hard to hide it.

Cid: I wasn't trying to hide anything. I didn't even know who I was! But you did?

Nero: (beholding the innards of the toity) Disgusting. You know, I'd say this mess extends well beyond the agency of a Million Flushes, much less 2000...

Cid: Nero—!

Nero: (groans) Yes, Garlond. I knew you were hiding out—or amnesia slumming, or however you want to say it, but whatever it was, I knew it was you and I knew you were doing it around Drybone. So what?

Cid: Well, I don't recall ever getting any... visits from the XIVth Legion, if you get my drift.

Nero: I never told them. (Scoffs) Can you imagine if I had? Gaius would've cast kittens and I would've never heard the bloody end of it. (doing his best—and by best, we mean absolute worst—Gaius impression) ~THE GREAT CID NAN GARLOND HAS BEEN LOCATED IN THE DESERTS OF EORZEA, WE MUST SEIZE HIM NOW.~ And then what...? Well, it would be back to the dole queue for poor old "Second Best" Nero Scaeva, wouldn't it? No room in the XIVth for "also-rans" like the Skeever of the Academy, eh? I would've been tossed out on my arse into the street! With no visible means of support! Save for my sparkling wit. (He pauses and thinks for a moment) And my fabulous hair. (He thinks again) And my car. Mm. The car, not so fabulous.

Cid: You told me it was a brand new Novus D, one of the LIX models with the improved fan belt and the 8-track player and the optional moonroof.

Nero: It was. Loved that little beauty even more than I love myself. Took her just about everywhere. Maybe a little too everywhere...

Cid: Dare I ask what happened to it?

Nero: (He pauses and thinks for a moment) Anyway. Of course I didn't say a single word to anyone about Marques. I couldn't afford to lose my job, and we both know Gaius fully intended to get rid of me the moment he found you. Honestly, I thought you'd be glad I kept my mouth shut. Not only did I alone spare your precious conscience from being forced to work on the Ultima Weapon, but I also spared your sanity from the unyielding torment of having to share a cubicle with Valens Varro.

(Nero stares down into the murky depths of the toilet tank, pensively, thoughts unknowable, which is definitely for the best.)

Cid: Do you want this plunger, or...?

Nero: No. I'll do it with my bare hands. (Sneering) It's what he deserves...

#ffxiv

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gradienta · 2 years

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SUITS and LAPELS [EP2]

Part 1 Moving on.

All bodyguards wear black suits with notch lapels. Again, it’s a “default” lapel style; both it and the colour represent more function and less individuality. And of course Porsche refuses to wear his jacket! He rejects his assigned function and holds onto his individuality with all his might.

He sticks out like a sore thumb.

Chan also wears the uniform, but his shirt is black which makes him stand out while remaining part of the system. It’s clear that he has a special place in the mafia hierarchy which he deserves.

Tiddies hidden! So, it’s serious. Shawl lapels (maximum level of importance of the event, our boy is dressed up), a bow-tie (which is clip-on! A blasphemy after the trailer’s real deal!)

Back to the white tuxedo. It’s highly formal, and while I sincerely despise the black buttons which remind me of snowmen, it’s a standard. Kinn wants to appear elegant and sophisticated.

And the black “I’ll choke you” suit with peak lapels. Notice that Kinn matches the aggressive formal style of the lapels of the minor family. They mean business, and it’s going to be brutal.

In the episode, Korn wears a suit for the first time. Before, he preferred soft sweaters, but now he’s in a plain dark suit with universal notched lapels. He’s trying to be unassuming, and I guess he’ll be very consistent in his choice till the end. He knows his place, he has no one to impress, and it’s a stark contrast to his brother who’s fighting for power, money and attention.

Part 3

#kinnporsche #kinnporsche the series #gradienta on bl shows

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abybweisse · 2 years

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Why does rciel have bows everywhere?😂

Real Ciel's style

Does he really have more bows than our earl?

Possibly.

Well, one explanation would be that real Ciel hasn't matured over the past nearly four years the same way that our earl has, so he might have younger tastes in fashion. However, he's not wearing the sorts of outfits he wore when he was 7-10. No cute little sailor suits, etc.

Another explanation would be Undertaker, who might be making clothing choices for real Ciel much the same way that Sebastian makes clothing choices for our earl. I recall that images of Undertaker, as the active reaper 136649, wore a bow in his hair and another bow at the back of his long coat. This suggests a time when it was more fashionable for adult men to wear bows, like the 18th century. Of course, not all images of 136649 are like that, and he might have been pretty good at changing his own style to match the fashions of the time (in the human realm). Of course, we know he can also be very fashion-forward, like the Eldredge knot in his tie at Weston, and his very modern, casual take on a tuxedo in the Akuma6 side chapter (ch107.5).

I'm not entirely sure real Ciel's outfits have more bows, but if they do, he might just like them... or Undertaker thinks it's appropriate... or it's just that Yana-san likes guys in bows and heels.

#black butler #kuroshitsuji #real ciel #ciel phantomhive #bizarre doll ciel #undertaker #earl phantomhive #our earl #fashion #victorian fashion #aesthetic #bows #anon asks #i answer #answered asks #jun 2 2022

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i-am-still-bb · 1 year

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Deano Bingo 2022 - General Prompts Card - “I just wanted to make sure you were okay.”

DarkHawk, T

Despite the Winter Winds series (Tumblr / Ao3)

Length: 3,803

A/N: The series itself has some inconsistencies and repetitions. I have not been keeping good notes on it. I should fix those one of these days.

There is a planned second part to this that will be rated E if I can get my brain and fingers to write some sexiness.

Read on Ao3

New York, 1966

The hotel for the UN’s peace dinner was over the top. Ross had never seen anything like it. He could see almost all of New York City from his bedroom window. There were lights as far as the eye could see, and the snow twinkled as it fell. He could not remember the last time that he had thought of Russian snow as twinkling. Usually it just gleamed dully and piled up in corners only to melt, refreeze, and make you slip when you were least expecting it. Or it would simply melt and get your socks wet. It would also build up on the bottoms of your shoes until you had to stop and scrape it off or risk falling flat on your face.

Ross had been downstairs earlier to see everything. The floors were polished within an inch of their lives, Ross could easily see his reflection in them, and there was a massive American and a gargantuan Soviet flag framing the entrance into the ballroom. Soon it would be filled with men in tuxedos and women in evening gowns. Then they would eat and make small talk all while pretending like their countries were not trying to steal each other’s secrets while preparing for mutually assured destruction with hydrogen bombs should one of them look at the other funny.

But right now Ross was struggling to tie his bow tie.

The room that he was sharing with Oleg had two beds. It smelled strongly of oranges and spice. A member of the American delegation that he had spoken to yesterday had said that it was for the Christmas season, so that everyone would feel festive. It was nice, but not particularly festive for Ross since he did not associate it with Christmas. Not that he associated anything with Christmas. Yes. They put up trees in December, but the tree was for the New Year, not any sort of religious festival.

Oleg was presently sitting on one of the beds and making impatient noises while Ross continued to pretend to struggle with his bowtie. He just needed Oleg to leave, to leave him alone for a few minutes.

“They're all downstairs by now, Ross. If we don’t hurry up there will be no champagne or caviar left for us.”

“Sorry,” Ross apologized. “My sister always does this for me.” He tugged the sides of the bow to make them as even as possible.

“Of course she does,” Oleg said, pushing himself to his feet. “Let me see.”

Ross turned and let Oleg tug at the sides of the bow for a moment.

“There,” Oleg said with satisfaction. “You’re ready.” He clapped Ross on the shoulders. Then he strode purposefully towards the door.

“I have to use the restroom,” Ross said, halting Oleg, “I’ll meet you downstairs.” He turned to look at Oleg and gave what he hoped was a reassuring smile.

Oleg sighed and dropped back down onto one of the beds. “Directive Twelve,” he said, as if that explained everything.

“What?” Ross asked with a frown.

“Directive Twelve,” Oleg quoted. “No member of the Soviet delegation is to be left alone on American soil.”

“Can I at least shut the door?” Ross joked, trying to hide his growing unease.

Oleg nodded with an amused snort. “Of course.”

Ross closed the bathroom door firmly. He leaned heavily on the sink, hands braced on either side. And he looked at himself. He thought he looked normal, and that was the point, he wanted to look like everything was fine, not like he was going to defect or die trying tonight.

He took a deep breath and then turned the faucet on. He splashed his face with some of the cold water and then patted his face dry. He grabbed his comb and roughly combed his hair again before tugging his tuxedo back into place.

Now or never.

—

The rest of the Soviet delegation was already in the foyer. Ross’ boss Dmitri Annishin was mingling and talking with a member of the British delegation.

“Hopefully we’ll see you in two years in Moscow,” he was saying as Ross and Oleg approached. “Ah, there you are. I think someones going to give a speech of some sort soon. You might want some champagne for that,” he lifted his own glass.

Shortly, someone clinked silverware on a glass. And the general murmur and hum of the room grew quiet.

One of the Americans mounted the dais. “I’d like to extend a heartfelt welcome to our Soviet guests. What I’ve seen here so far tonight gives me hope for the future. So here’s to peace and warmth between our two great nations.” He lifted his glass in a toast and everyone else followed.

“To peace.”

And then the music resumed, something classical that Ross did not recognize, not that that was surprising, and people began talking amongst themselves again. Oleg and Dmitri drifted off and left Ross alone in the crowd.

He took a sip of his champagne and considered his options. Someone was supposed to make contact with him, but that could only happen if he was alone. He watched Oleg and Dmitri on the other side of the room and positioned himself on the edge of a cluster of individuals so that he would look like he was engaged rather than just looking and watching.

Someone cleared their throat just behind him and Ross turned. A woman in a blue dress and fur stole was standing there. The woman looked at him expectantly.

“Ross Poldark, Department of Foreign Affairs.”

“Jackie Nathan, State Department,” she said with a smile.

And then Oleg was standing at her elbow.

Ross must have looked surprised because she added with a laugh, “I do more than just make coffee.”

She turned suddenly and spilled her champagne all down the front of Oleg’s tuxedo. She gasped. Oleg jumped back and brushed at the spreading liquid.

“Oh, I’m so sorry. Can I—”

“Go and change,” Ross told Oleg.

Jackie turned back to him. “I can’t believe I did that!”

Maybe this was not his contact after all.

Then she looked briefly to either side. “I have instructions for you.”

Ross gave the smallest of nods.

“After the first course, get to the kitchen. It’s at the end of the main corridor on the first floor.”

Ross’ breath accelerated as she spoke. He looked nervously around them checking for Dmitri, Oleg, or anyone else from their delegation.

“Take a breath. Relax,” Jackie said, resting a hand on Ross’ forearm. “This is what you wanted.”

Ross opened his mouth to speak.

“Just keep your head,” Jackie said in a low tone, before returning to the slightly too loud and cheerful voice. “So nice to meet you. Roger, was it?”

And then she was gone.

“Who was that?” Dmitri asked when he found Ross a few moments later.

“Some secretary from the Americans’ State Department,” Ross said.

Dmitri snorted. “And they let her come to this? She must be friendly with someone high up.”

Ross nodded and turned his attention to his drink.

“Champagne?” A waiter asked, holding out a silver tray.

“Yes. Thank you.” Ross took one of the flutes and put his empty one in its place.

—

The banquet room was adorned with red and white poinsettias and ivy was twined about the columns that frame the doors. They all had assigned seats with their names. Someone from their own delegation on one side and someone from another UN member nation on their other side. Ross talked with Oleg and a representative of the GDR. He talked. Even as he was talking he could not have told you what he was saying. It was just the standard pleasantries, families, children, hobbies, and the weather.

But Ross was too busy waiting for that first course, and terrified of it at the same time. He was tense. The left side of his neck ached, his arm felt a bit numb and stiff. His hands shook just a little bit. He hoped that it was not noticeable or that it would be dismissed as jitters since this was his first significant international event.

The first course was a salad with onions and walnuts and an oil based dressing. Ross cut up the lettuce and pushed it around the place. He was too keyed up to eat.

Oleg leaned over. “Are you feeling alright?”

Ross nodded tightly. “I’ve just never been one for salads.”

Oleg laughed. “And you can save room for the meat in the next course. You have the right idea.”

Oleg positioned his silverware to indicate that he was finished and was ready for the next course.

Ross did the same. He saw many people were done with the first course and were waiting for the fish. Did Jackie mean right after the first course? Or did she mean while the second course was benign served?

It did not matter. Ross could not stand sitting there for a moment longer with tension zipping down his nerves. He pushed his chair back and left the table without excusing himself. He buttoned his jacket out of habit when he stood. He was several steps away from the table when Dmitri and Oleg exchanged a look and Oleg rose to follow Ross. “I’ll just be a moment,” he said, excusing himself.

It was torture not to run, but Ross’ heart was already beating like he had been running a marathon. He saw a waiter enter the main corridor from a side hall. Ross turned abruptly and jogged down that hall. He sped up when he reached the steps.

He was brought up short when he saw a man in a black suit standing near the base of the stairs. Ross slowed, he forced himself to take normal steps at a normal speed, a pace that felt abominably slow. He straightened his jacket. He felt stiff and conspicuous. Surely the man would notice his nerves.

“Toilet, Comrade?” the man asked.

Ross was entirely certain at that moment that the man was KGB there to keep all members of the Soviet delegation in check. Ross nodded.

The man gestured to his left.

Ross was past the man. He could see the kitchen doors. And he was silently praying to any god that might exist that the man was looking in another direction.

“Ross, wait for me!” Oleg called.

Ross looked over his shoulder to see Oleg bounding down the stairs.

Ross did not even think about it then.

He ran.

His dress shoes did not have the greatest traction. And he could hear two sets of footsteps behind him. Oleg and the KGB officer.

Ross launched himself through the kitchen’s swinging doors. The organized chaos was disrupted by the running men.

“Stop!”

“What are you doing?”

“What the fuck!”

Ross did not look at any of the staff. He shoved them out of his way. He yanked whatever looked easily throwable off the counters; bowls, vegetables, stacks of crockery. He even pulled one of the workers into Oleg’s path.

Exit? Where was the exit? Ross felt like his lungs were about to burst.

There.

He yanked a kitchen cart out. It spun and fell on its side. It took Oleg down.

Only the KGB man left.

Ross seized a pan from the stove as he ran past. He turned and swung the heavy skillet. He caught the KGB man across the face. He didn’t even take a second to hope that he had not killed the man.

And then he was through the door.

Outside.

Hands were grabbing him.

“Get off! Let me go!” he struggled with the man.

“Get in the car!”

Ross was shoved into the backseat of a waiting sedan. The door slammed shut. Tires screeched as the car took off.

Ross looked behind him. Whoever had shoved him into the car was already gone. Oleg and the KGB man, blood trickling down his face, were running after the car and shouting.

But the driver kept accelerating. The driver did not brake as he took the turn onto a main street from the alley. The back end swayed hard from side to side..

Ross’ chest heaved. Those lights he had been admiring earlier were too much now. They blinded him. They made him dizzy and sick.

“Take a deep breath.”

Only then did Ross notice that he was not alone in the back seat. Jackie in her blue dress and fur stole was seated by the other door.

“It’s over. You’re free.”

Ross looked at her.

Over.

Free.

His chest squeezed in apprehension.

“What happens now?”

“Tonight we’re taking you to a safe house that we have. You’ll stay there a few days. You’ll be debriefed and then we’ll start ironing out the rest of the details.”

Ross nodded and looked ahead at the streaming headlights and receding tail lights. He tried to calm his heart rate.

“And I believe a friend of yours will be waiting for you at the safe house.”

Ross snapped his head back to look at her. He did not dare ask who the friend might be.

—

The car drove for several hours. It looped back and took many detours to confuse and loose anyone who might be following them.

By the time the driver put the car in park and turned off the engine Ross was drained, but his body was still wired with tension.

“We’re here,” Jackie said.

Ross nodded and looked out the window.

They were in a suburban neighborhood. The streets were quiet, tree lined with neatly maintained sidewalks. The houses were set back from the roads. Many of them had neat white fences. “

It looked like a movie set.

“Do people really live here?” he asked in a daze.

“Of course?” Jackie said. “Come on. Let’s get you settled in.”

The house they were parked in front of was white with black shutters, a cheerful green front door, and a light to one side. Ross could only see this because of the warm glow of the streetlights and the porch light. He looked up and down the street, not a single light was out.

Jackie knocked on the front door.

It opened and they were greeted by an older man wearing a shoulder holster.

“Is it safe here?” Ross asked, looking pointedly at the man’s weapons.

“Of course,” Jackie assured him. “Rob is just here to make sure of that. He’ll switch out with Steven in a few hours, but there will always be someone here with you.”

Ross nodded. “Nice to meet you, Rob,” Ross extended a hand.

Ross looked around the foyer that opened onto a living room. It was sparsely furnished, but everything was neat and clean. It still felt surreal. He was sure that it would take a while for it to feel real.

Then Jackie spoke, “There you are, Jim. I was wondering where you had gotten to.”

Ross turned then to see Jim standing in the doorway.

Two years was a long time.

Two years felt like eternity.

“It’s been a while,” Jim said with a good-natured smile.

“It has,” Ross replied.

Yes. He was free. But in this they were still hiding, still being watched.

Ross offered a hand, Aching for Jim’s touch, but more than willing to settle for a slide of palms after two years of nothing. No contact at all.

“You look good.” Jim took Ross’ proffered hand, but pulled him into a rough hug. Friendly, but it lasted a heartbeat too long.

“You, too,” Ross said softly. He hoped that it was too quiet to be overheard, or could be dismissed as a reciprocal compliment. Then louder, and more light-hearted “I’m sure that’s not true.”

Jim clapped a hand on Ross’ shoulder. “Well, things seem to have improved for you. I didn’t know that you even knew how to put on a tux,” he teased.

“I’ll have you know that Oleg did the bowtie.”

Jim laughed.

Ross had missed that sound for so long. He was sure that he was going to wake up from this dream any moment and find himself back in his gray Moscow apartment with the cracks extending from the ceiling corners and the damp on the window ledges and nothing but his memories for company, if you did not count the family of 5 that he shared the a common room with, which he did not.

“It is late. Jim here will get you settled. I’m sure you have a lot to talk about,” Jackie interrupted Ross’ thoughts. “You should be debriefed in a few days.”

“How long will that take?” Ross asked.

“That depends on how much you have to tell us, Mr. Poldark.”

Jackie returned to the car to be driven to home, the office, wherever it was that she was going.

Jim led Ross to an upstairs bedroom that looked out over a spacious backyard. There was a patio with a grill, a porch swing hanging from a metal stand in the far corner. The house behind them could barely be seen for the trees and the distance in the dark.

Jim shut the door quietly behind them. “So this is where you’ll sleep. I’m across the hall and Rob insists on staying in the living room, first point of contact. Steven will do the same I expect.”

“Will you be staying here as long as I am here?”

“Only if you want me too.” Jim’s words were shy. He lingered by the door with his hands stuffed in his pants’ pockets.

“I would like that.” Ross sat down on the narrow bed. The only other bits of furniture were a bedside table, a chest, and a secretary desk with a chair. “I was not expecting you to be here.”

“I wanted to be the one to go to the UN dinner, but I was voted down. Something about possibly being recognized and not being able to keep it together under the pressure.”

Ross scooted over on the bed to make room for Jim.

“But I would have fought them to be here if they had said no. “I wanted to make sure that you were okay. You are okay, aren’t you?”

“I am,” Ross nodded, “It is likely best that you were not there. I may have been too distracted to do what I needed to do.” Ross smiled. He placed a hand on top of Jim’s and wound his fingers between Jim’s.

“I think they were more concerned with me shooting somebody if something went wrong.”

“What would have happened if things had gone wrong.”

Jim squeezed Ross’ fingers. “Since this never officially happened the Americans wouldn’t be able to extract you by force. You could have fought, but nobody from our side would have been able to assist.”

“I did hit someone with a frying pan,” Ross grinned.

“Did he deserve it?”

“Most certainly.”

“Then that is completely understandable and excusable,” Jim said confidently with a hint of amusement.

“KGB.”

“Completely excusable then,” the amusement was gone and Jim’s face had turned serious. “They’ll look for you, you know.”

“I know.”

“You’ll probably be given a new identity and set up somewhere in the Midwest as soon as they feel like they can move you.”

“Can’t I stay here?”

“Here? No,” Jim stood and started to pace. “This is just a temporary safe house, one of many that they have around the city.”

“That’s not what I… Can’t I stay with you?”

Jim stopped pacing to look at Ross.

“A new identity would be far safer.”

“I don’t want to be safe. I want to be with you.”

Jim sucked in a sharp breath. “Ross…”

“That’s why I’m doing this. I don’t like the Soviet government, but I would have never thought of spying and selling secrets if it weren’t for you. I would not have defected if it weren’t for you.”

“But you didn’t know if I’d even be here. I was stationed in Shanghai for 15 months after I left Moscow, and…”

“I would have waited. Insisted. Refused to tell them anything until I saw you.”

“That would have been a very dangerous game.”

“Yes. But one that was willing to play. But I don’t have to.” Ross stood. “You’re here.”

“I am,” Jim said quietly, eyes fixed on Ross.

Ross lifted a hand to cup Jim’s cheek. Jim leaned into the touch and Ross stroked Jim’s cheekbone with his thumb.

“Ross…”

Ross lowered his lips to Jim’s. Jim stretched to meet Ross. He made a soft noise. His hand automatically found Ross’ hip. Ross brought his other hand up to cup the other side of Jim’s face, pulling him closer and deepening the kiss. Ross traced Jim’s lower lip with his tongue. Jim gasped and then he was tasting the remnants of champagne on Ross’ tongue. Jim’s fingers tightened on Ross’ hip and he groaned.

Their breath was the only sound in the small room and it felt like it was as loud as a plan coming in for a landing.

Jim abruptly broke the kiss. His chest heaving, eyes wide, pupils dilated. “We can’t. There’s… We… I…”

“I know,” Ross said quietly. “I just… I’ve dreamed of doing that again. I never really thought I would get to.”

Jim licked his lips and it took all of Ross’ willpower not to push Jim against the wall and kiss him again. Damn Rob, Steven, whoever was on guard duty downstairs.

Jim looked at his feet. “I… I felt the same. Just, we can’t. Not here. It’s safer than—”

Ross lifted Jim’s face so that their eyes met, “But still not safe.”

Jim nodded.

“I know.”

Jim took a deep shuddering breath. He rose up to press a soft kiss to Ross’ lips. “Soon. I’ll see what I can do. It’ll take some doing, my job… This was all a bit last minute.”

“I wasn’t even supposed to be on the delegation, but George got sick.”

“Poor George.”

“Fuck him,” Ross said passionately.

Jim laughed. “Is that the same George—?”

“Yes.”

“Fuck him is right.”

Ross nodded firmly and pressed his forehead to Jim’s. “So what do I do here if I can’t have you?”

“There’s plenty of books. And I’m sure you could use some sleep after tonight. There’s some pajamas in the chest. I guessed at your size, so I hope they fit.”

“If they don’t then I’ll just sleep naked.”

“Are you trying to torture me?”

“Maybe.” Ross suppressed a yawn.

“You should sleep,” Jim stepped away from Ross. “I’ll see you in the morning?”

Ross nodded.

Neither of them had to say that they wished they could share the bed together, to draw comfort from each other.

Not now.

Soon.

Soon they’d be free.

#deanobingo2022 #deanobingo #bb writes #darkhawk #despite the winter winds #despite the winter winds au

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mimisempai · 2 years

Text

You were never a joke

Summary:

Loki, dazzled by Mobius in a tuxedo, no longer controls the words that come out of his mouth, to the great shock of both of them.

Notes:

Prompt : "I've been in love with you for as long as I can remember"

@ladyofthestayingpower

On AO3

Rating G - 703 words

"Loki, I'm ready! I'll just need you to adjust my bow tie." said Mobius as he entered their bedroom.

Silence answered him and Mobius looked up at Loki's face, surprised to see him stunned.

He waved his hand in front of him and called, "Loki?"

Loki shook his head and said, "Wow, Mobius... you... you look so gorgeous. What a shock ! I was thinking that if you were to wear this on our wedding day, I don't know if I could make it to the wedding night."

There was a great silence and it was Mobius' turn to be speechless.

Loki cursed his big mouth once more as Mobius murmured, hesitantly, "I- was that a proposal?"

"I-"

Loki didn't know what to say, though he had thought about it a million times, imagining himself officially bound for life to the man he loved more than anything.

But he didn't want to presume about Mobius.

Loki knew that Mobius loved him, he kept telling him so, but did it go that far?

However, as he watched Mobius' expression and the gleam in his eyes, he thought he saw a spark of hope. But wasn't that what he himself wanted to see?

He must have taken too long to answer, because Mobius' expression gradually changed as he spoke again, "Forget it, it was just a joke, I understand."

Loki could have played it safe and not taken any risks, but since when was he the type to act like that?

And above all he hated Mobius's expression as he tried to hide his sadness behind a smile.

Loki grabbed his chin to look him in the eye, "I may have said it without thinking, but that doesn't mean it was a joke. Do you think I don't love you enough to want to bind myself to you for life or even more so for eternity? Because if that's the only doubt you have about my love, then forget it, because I've been in love with you for as long as I can remember. I know it's you who often tells me this, because you loved me even before you met me, but as for me, my life actually started with you, so believe me, when I tell you that I too have been in love with you for as long as I can remember."

A small tear rolled down Mobius' cheek and Loki wiped it away with his thumb before it reached his chin.

"So, Mobius, owner of my heart, will you do me the honor of becoming my husband?"

Mobius swallowed, kissed Loki lightly, and with a small smile on his lips, he replied, "No."

Loki, shocked, moved a little back and exclaimed, "What?"

Mobius pulled him back to him and whispered against his lips, "Ask me again tomorrow morning when you wake up and see me in my natural state, no hairspray in my hair, no tuxedo, no pageantry, just me and my tired face, my morning breath, my nascent beard."

Loki shook his head and chuckled, "Idiot, I already know what you look like in the morning, it isn't that tuxedo that has blinded me."

Mobius said to him softly, his expression a little more serious, "Please do this for me."

At Loki's pouty face, he moved closer and murmured against his ear, "I promise you, I will say yes."

Loki looked him in the eye again and nodded.

He would do it because he knew Mobius needed that reassurance. He leaned over and whispered, "Anything you want." before kissing the one he loved more than anything in the world.

And the next morning, after opening his eyes to Mobius in all his glory, disheveled, unshaven, tired features, he opened his mouth to ask his question, "Mobius-"

"Yes. Of course it's a yes."

With a burst of laughter Loki rolled on top of Mobius and taking his head in his hands, he kissed him passionately, sealing their promise.

A few months later, exchanging rings, face to face in front of their friends, they smiled at each other with a knowing look, remembering that night and the next morning.

Mobius wore a tuxedo.

Loki really couldn't hold out until the wedding night.

_________

Still not beta'd

Still not my native language

Still hoping you'll enjoy this story 🥰

Still thanking you for bearing with me 😝

Lokius masterlist : here

#lokius fics #lokius #loki series #loki #mobius m. mobius #moki #wowki #lokius rights #lokius forever #loki x mobius #fluff #mobius m mobius #tooth rotting fluff #established relationship

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sceptilemasterr · 2 years

Text

Endless Winter (ES Book 2) Act 2, Scene 5 - A New Year Dawns

Title: Endless Winter

Main Pairings: Estela x Ian (M!MC), Jake x Alyssa (F!MC)

Other Pairings: Craig x Zahra, Grace x Aleister, Michelle x Quinn, Diego x Varyyn

Genre: Full Rewrite

Rating: PG-13 for swearing, violence, alcohol, and sexuality

Summary: It's New Year's Eve on La Huerta, and the Catalysts are determined to make the most of it.

Previous Scene: Any Port in a Storm

Masterlist: Link

INT. ELYSIAN LODGE RESORT - LOBBY

Several hours later, the sun is just beginning to set outside the windows of the Elysian Lodge’s expansive lobby, which has been completely transformed into an ornate party room, complete with marked-out dance floor in the center of the area. A series of tables laden with food have been set up near the walls, with a haphazard arrangement of various candles scattered around. Craig, dressed in a tight-fitting dress shirt and tie, leads Furball around the room as the little fox freeze a series of impromptu “ice coolers” around the bottles of champagne and other drinks scattered about.

CRAIG: Nice job, little guy!

FURBALL (proudly): Mrrrrrffff!

Raj emerges from the kitchen, dressed in a suit and tie with an apron over it, bringing another food-laden tray out into the lobby. Quinn follows close behind with a tray of desserts, a similar apron to Raj covering her ornate blue dress.

QUINN: Where should I put these?

RAJ: Over here is good!

He indicates a table, and she sets her tray down. Raj looks down at one of the fruit trays and frowns.

RAJ: Hey… has someone been eating all the strawberries?

CRAIG: Don’t look at me… but I think I spotted Alyssa usin’ some strawberries to practice her Time Lord stuff.

RAJ: Aww… (brightens) Ah, never mind! Good for her. If I know anything, it’s that the Time Twins are gonna be the key to getting us out of this place. Besides, there’s still a bunch more fresh strawberries in the kitchen fridge!

FURBALL (excitedly): Ffrrrruuulll!

A few of the Vaanti trickle in, all wearing haphazard mismatches of formalwear. Varyyn, dressed impeccably in a suit and tie, accompanies them.

VARYYN: Hello, Centaurus. I am told today is your people’s New Year celebration. I thank you for inviting us.

Varyyn bows deeply. Raj blushes and laughs.

RAJ: No need to be so formal, Varyyn! You invited us to your festival the other day, the least we can do is return the favor!

Michelle and Ian enter the lobby, chatting animatedly about school. Michelle is wearing a sparkling golden dress, while Ian is dressed in a black tuxedo with matching bowtie.

MICHELLE: --so I think you’d only need one more bio elective if you already finished Genetics and Ecology. And the MCAT, of course, but I’m pretty sure you can take that anytime…

Michelle’s voice trails off as she sees the newly redecorated lobby. Behind her, Sean and Grace walk in, chatting excitedly to one another.

MICHELLE: Wow! Look at this place; Raj, you did all this?

Raj turns and grins broadly at her.

RAJ: Yep! With plenty of help, of course. Quinn here was--

He stops abruptly when he turns and sees Quinn is no longer in the lobby. He frowns, puzzled.

RAJ: …Uh, Quinn was right here a minute ago. Huh.

IAN: This place looks amazing! Perfect for a Raj party!

RAJ: Haha, thanks!

ALYSSA (O.S.): Alright, let’s get this thing started!

Alyssa strides confidently into the lobby, wearing a long white dress with a plunging neckline. Michelle looks her up and down approvingly.

MICHELLE: Wow. Looking good, Alyssa!

ALYSSA: Thanks, Michelle! You too!

Alyssa frowns as she looks around the room, evidently searching for something.

RAJ: Hey, Alyssa, everything okay?

ALYSSA: Yeah, I’m fine, just.. y’seen Top Gun anywhere?

It takes Raj a moment to realize who she is referring to.

RAJ: Oh, you mean Jake? Actually, I haven’t seen him since--

A sudden commotion from the top of the lobby stairs draws Raj’s (and everyone else’s) attention. Emerging from the second-floor hallway, Jake, Estela, Quinn, Diego, Aleister, and Zahra stand on the landing, all fully done-up and impeccably dressed. Alyssa, Ian, Michelle, Varyyn, Grace, and Craig all stare open-mouthed at the sight of their respective significant others, completely lost for words. Estela frowns.

ESTELA: What? What are you all looking at?

RAJ: Hey, there you all are! Come and join the party!

All of them descend the staircase, though Estela is blushing heavily as she does so. She doesn’t look entirely comfortable in her formal dress. When she reaches the bottom of the stairs, she beelines immediately for Ian.

IAN (stunned): I… uh. You. Wow.

ESTELA (shyly): I… I know Raj wanted us to dress up for New Year’s, but I never… really went to big parties or anything. Is this right?

Ian smiles warmly at her as he takes her hand in his.

IAN: More than right. Wow. Uh... I actually can’t even think of any other words right now.

In spite of herself, Estela giggles.

ESTELA: You… uh, you’re looking pretty good yourself.

Ian blushes heavily. Near the back of the room, Raj plugs his phone into the stereo system, but nothing happens. He frowns.

RAJ (frustrated): Damn, and here I thought this would work…

Craig and Zahra approach him.

CRAIG: Man, can’t believe it’s been a whole year already.

ZAHRA (frowning): …It hasn’t. We skipped six months, remember?

CRAIG: Oh. Right. Duh. I knew that!

ZAHRA: Raj, y’need some help?

RAJ: Yeah, I’m tryin’ to get the music working, but…

Zahra takes his phone in her hands and fiddles with it for a few moments. Before long, party music starts playing through the whole resort.

RAJ: Awesome! Thanks, my dudes!

CRAIG: Anytime!

ZAHRA: Craig, you didn’t do anything.

CRAIG: What? Naw, I… uh…

Any retort he may have had is cut short when he looks back at her in her formal dress. Craig can only stare open-mouthed.

ZAHRA: Huh. Guess there may be perks to dressin’ up like this after all…

Zahra playfully reaches out a finger and closes Craig’s mouth for him. Near one of the tables, Jake pours himself a glass of whiskey and raises it into the air.

JAKE: So! Who’s up for a toast?

ALYSSA: Personally, I can’t believe I’m still sober. Drink, please!

ESTELA: What are we having?

Jake grins and glances toward Ian.

JAKE: Why don’t we let Hero Boy pick?

IAN (surprised): I… what?!

ALYSSA (smirks): You heard him, “Hero Boy.”

Ian looks nervously at the assortment of drinks laid out on the table, feeling put on the spot.

IAN: I, uh…

Alyssa nudges him, glancing meaningfully toward the glass of whiskey in Jake’s hand.

IAN: Alright, how about this one?

He grabs a similar glass to Jake and pours himself some whiskey as well, then pours two more glasses for Alyssa and Estela. Estela takes a sniff of her glass and frowns.

ESTELA: What is this? It smells like sawdust.

JAKE: Trust me, there’s an art to whiskey. Now, the key to appreciating it is--

ESTELA: Getting it over with. Cheers.

She clinks her glass against Ian’s and throws back the whiskey. She winces.

ESTELA: It burns.

IAN: That bad, huh? Sorry, I--

ESTELA: Pour me another.

JAKE: Looks like Dragon Rage’s a fan, y’all.

Ian pours Estela another shot of whiskey as the four of them clink glasses and toast to the new year. In another area of the party, Varyyn and a few of his Vaanti warriors sip their own drinks as they chat with Diego, Lila, Raj, and Quinn.

VARYYN: It is interesting that your people count your years. You say this year is…?

DIEGO: Well, in a few more hours, it’s about to be 2018.

RAJ: Y’know what Varyyn here needs? One of those party sunglasses with the year on ‘em. Then he’ll never forget!

He, Quinn, Lila, and Diego burst into laughter. Diego claps Varyyn’s shoulder and pulls him into a hug.

DIEGO: Varyyn, I know you probably don’t get it right now, but we will take a picture next year while wearing those, okay?

VARYYN (warmly): I trust your judgement, my light.

Diego and Varyyn snuggle into one another as Quinn glances wistfully across the room. The camera follows her gaze to where Michelle stands chatting idly with a few of the others…

Some time later, the sun has set and most of the Catalysts are noticeably tipsier than they were previously. Several of the Vaanti warriors excitedly clink glasses of whiskey together with a triumphant cheer, then all down their drinks in one shot as Zahra looks on approvingly after downing her own glass.

ZAHRA: Doin’ great, guys! Now this is a New Year’s party!

Behind her, Aleister takes a seat at the grand piano as Michelle stands beside him. The others all crowd around. Aleister begins to play Auld Lang Syne.

MICHELLE (singing): Should auld acquaintance be forgot, and never come to mind…

Aleister accompanies her, infusing each note with a delicate, classical touch. A few people sniff back tears, including Quinn and Grace.

MICHELLE (singing): For auld lang syne, my dear, for auld lang syne…

Alyssa looks pensively up toward the ceiling while Jake wraps an arm around her. Estela and Ian look deep into one another’s eyes. Raj sniffs back a tear. As Michelle begins the final part of the song, Quinn stands up and joins her:

MICHELLE AND QUINN (singing): We’ll take a cup of kindness yet, For auld lang syne!

Everyone bursts into applause. Aleister stands and takes a formal bow. Quinn and Michelle look at one another; Michelle is the first to blush and look away. Jake walks up and claps Aleister on the back.

JAKE: Nice job, Schroeder. Didn’t think you had it in you.

ALEISTER: Ah. You are most welcome. I did enjoy that quite--

RAJ: Whoa! Everyone, hold up! I almost forgot; we still gotta sing “Happy Birthday!”

Everyone looks back at Raj. He grins broadly and gestures to the crowd.

RAJ: Dunno if I mentioned it to everyone yet, but with the skip forward in time, we missed a bunch of birthdays! Including Aleister, and the Time Twins here! …Not to mention myself, of course!

He steps between Alyssa and Ian, pulling them both into a group hug.

RAJ: Anybody else we missed? Who’s had a birthday between… uh…

GRACE: June 6th and December 26th!

Aleister, Michelle, Craig, Quinn, Estela, Zahra, Raj himself, and the Czasa twins all raise their hands.

RAJ: Alright, cool! Aleister, if you don’t mind?

He gestures to the piano. Aleister nods and takes his seat once again at the keys.

DIEGO: Are we even allowed to sing it? I heard it was copyrighted--

CRAIG: Who’s gonna stop us, bro? Unless… (completely seriously) Dude, does Rourke own the rights to Happy Birthday? That’d be his most evil plan yet!

Zahra shakes her head and sighs. Aleister begins to play, and everyone else starts singing along, with the Vaanti catching on after the first few bars…

EVERYONE (singing): Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you! Happy birthday dear…

A variety of names are all shouted out at once. Ian makes a point to sing Estela’s name rather than his own, and she likewise sings his name in return. They both smile warmly at one another.

RAJ (excitedly): Dudes, that was flawless! Best birthday song ever!

CRAIG: Ha! Take that, Rourke!

Everyone applauds and hugs one another after the song. Lila stands off to one side, glancing around at the others with a strange expression on her face. She glances around furtively for a moment, then quietly slips upstairs as the others continue celebrating.

SEAN (shouting): Hey! Don’t forget, it’s only a few minutes ‘til midnight!

Everyone startles at this pronouncement, glancing at various clocks… which all show completely different times. Sean shrugs.

SEAN: Well… as close as I can tell, anyway. Who knows on this island?

ALYSSA (laughing): Fair enough. Alright, let’s do this!

RAJ: Craig, you ready for our master surprise?

CRAIG: You know it!

Craig and Raj lead the others up onto the roof of the Elysian Lodge. A large crate full of red flares has been set against one edge of the roof; Craig rushes toward it excitedly with a lighter in his hand.

MICHELLE (worriedly): Uh… guys?

JAKE: Are those flares?

Craig stops and turns around, grinning broadly.

CRAIG: Yup! One of those commando dudes dropped ‘em! Me and Raj thought--

JAKE (fiercely): Don’t you dare light those--

RAJ: Aww, c’mon, don’t ruin our fun! I’d have thought you’d be all about this! What’s the harm in--

Estela crosses her arms and steps closer to Raj, glaring angrily.

ESTELA: So, right now, we’re hiding from a death squad of highly trained, well-armed mercenaries… and your plan is to shoot off a bunch of flares directly over our location.

She holds her death glare on the two of them. There is an awkward silence before Craig and Raj finally glance at each other, both clearly embarrassed.

CRAIG: Okay, when you put it like that…

RAJ: Sorry guys. No fireworks this year.

Raj looks down dejectedly and starts heading toward the stairs, when suddenly:

GRACE: Wait! Look!

Everyone follows her gaze off toward a distant mountain range, where the sky is lighting up in beautiful, otherworldly colors. Jake and Alyssa exchange a shocked glance: the colors are identical to those they had seen during their first day on La Huerta, back at the airstrip.

SEAN: What is that?!

VARYYN: Ah, the Lights of Vaanu. Among our people, they are believed to be a sign of good fortune to come.

JAKE: Dunno about y’all, but I’d say we could definitely use some good fortune right about now.

Raj shrugs.

RAJ: Well, it’s not fireworks, but it’s close enough for me! Fifteen seconds ‘til midnight!

Everyone starts looking around at one another, most of them pairing off: Alyssa with Jake, Aleister with Grace, Craig with Zahra, Diego with Varyyn, and two of the Vaanti with one another. Quinn looks as though she is about to approach Michelle, but shies away at the last minute. Ian nods toward Estela, who approaches him. Ian starts to turn away, when Alyssa not-so-subtly kicks him with her heel, pushing him back toward Estela.

IAN (annoyed): ‘Lyss!

He bumps into Estela, who awkwardly catches him in her arms.

ESTELA: Oh! …Hey.

IAN (awkwardly): …Hey.

Everyone else starts counting down from ten. Ian scratches the back of his neck and glances away from Estela. Alyssa shoots him an “are you kidding me?” glance, while Diego raises his eyebrows so far that they nearly vanish into his hairline. Ian sighs and nods in acknowledgement, then takes a deep breath.

EVERYONE: Five… four… three…

Estela steps close, the brilliant otherworldly lights reflecting in her deep brown eyes as she and Ian gaze at one another.

ESTELA: I…

EVERYONE: Two… one… HAPPY NEW YEAR!

The other couples all pull one another into New Year’s kisses as those who are single celebrate in their own ways. Ian starts to hesitate, then relents and pulls Estela into a deep kiss. When they part, Estela smiles up at him.

ESTELA (laughs): I almost thought I would have to do everything myself. Again.

IAN (laughs): Guess I just thought… I was worried you might not want--

He is interrupted by Estela pulling him back in for another kiss. Elsewhere, near the rooftop jacuzzi, Diego and Varyyn sit side-by-side, just breaking apart from their own midnight kiss.

VARYYN: This tradition of yours. Kissing at midnight.

DIEGO (awkwardly): Well, it’s not exactly my tradition--

VARYYN (warmly): I enjoy it quite a lot. Does it apply only to midnight?

DIEGO: Well, uh, if you’re asking if we can kiss again… I won’t say no.

VARYYN (ecstatic): Wonderful! Then, may I…?

Diego nods, and he and Varyyn kiss once more. In the background, Raj can be seen nodding at the two of them, and Craig groans and hands over some cash. Elsewhere, Jake and Alyssa stand hand-in-hand, gazing off at the multicolored lights.

JAKE: Looks familiar, huh?

ALYSSA: How could I forget? That was kind of a big day for me. Y’know.

JAKE: Why, ‘cuz you met me?

ALYSSA (teasingly): Don’t get too excited, Top Gun. A lot more happened than just that.

JAKE: Alright, answer this: were you really looking at those lights the whole time?

ALYSSA: I--

She laughs and rolls her eyes in tacit admission that her attention had indeed been elsewhere at the time. Jake wraps his arms around her and pulls her in close.

ALYSSA: What do you say we take this somewhere else?

JAKE: What were you thinkin’, Princess?

ALYSSA: Somewhere with a bed, if you know what I mean…?

JAKE: I am never gonna say no to that. Lead on.

Alyssa takes him by the hand and leads him back downstairs. As the night continues on, several other couples do the same. Diego and Varyyn are on their way toward the stairs when Diego stops for a moment near where Ian and Estela are sitting.

DIEGO: Go ahead, Varyyn, I’ll catch up. I’ve just gotta check on something first.

Varyyn nods and continues down the stairs. Diego approaches Ian and Estela, resting a hand on the former’s shoulder.

IAN: What’s up?

DIEGO: Can I talk to you for a sec?

IAN: Uh… sure?

Ian gives Estela an apologetic look, and she nods in response. Diego leads him over to a secluded area of the rooftop and lowers his voice.

DIEGO: You know the night’s not over yet, right?

IAN (genuinely confused): What?

DIEGO: Ian! Seriously! Surely you noticed the other couples heading off, right? Me included?

IAN: Yes… and?

Diego seems to be fighting the urge to facepalm.

DIEGO: You. Estela. Do I need to say anything more?

IAN (nervously): Okay, I get what you’re saying, but… where would we even go? It’s not like the lobby is exactly private, and--

DIEGO: This is a hotel, Ian! Are you kidding right now? All the bedrooms you could possibly want! Just go find one!

IAN (laughs): Alright, alright. I’ll ask her. You know, she might say ‘no’--

DIEGO: With how she’s been looking at you all this time? If she says ‘no,’ I’ll literally eat my shoe. Not even kidding. (sighs) Just ask her, would you?

IAN: Will do, Diego. And thanks for the push.

DIEGO (shrugs): What can I say? It’s kinda my job.

He nods at Ian, then turns to rejoin Varyyn and head back downstairs. Ian steels himself, then heads back toward Estela.

ESTELA: What was that all about?

IAN (awkwardly): Diego. He, uh, not-so-subtly hinted that… we should… y’know, ‘find a bedroom.’

ESTELA (coyly): Oh? And what did you think about that?

Ian scratches the back of his neck awkwardly.

IAN: Well, uh… if you said ‘no,’ I’d definitely understand--

ESTELA (genuinely confused): …Why would I say ‘no?’

IAN: Dunno, guess I just thought--

She holds a finger up to his lips and smiles.

ESTELA: You think too much.

With a wink, she takes him by the hand and leads him downstairs…

_______________________

Note: If anyone was wondering, Ian was born at 11:59 PM December 31st, 1995, and Alyssa was born at 12:01 AM January 1st, 1996.

Next: The Fourteenth Vaalta (Coming soon!)

CIU Tag List: @brightpinkpeppercorn @endlesshero1122 @bbaba-yagaa @acidsugar0 @shaylan211 @griselda1121 @acanthisorbis @marmolady @choicesbabie @mauvecatfic

Endless Summer Tag List: @mysteli @edgydepressedchoicesthot @endlessly-searching-for-you @lovelywrites

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oh-my-gosh-its-j0sh · 2 years

Text

i headcanon bert from mary poppins as autistic, and yes i ship bert with mary poppins!! because mary poppins may or may not be a new hyperfixation of mine ahshdhf- tw for possible angst or uncomfy content

❤️ first meeting:

bert was a homeless person who struggled to make ends meet. ever since he was left in the streets at a tender age, he resorted to a variety of odd jobs to not only provide himself with a little bit of money, but also keep himself occupied most of the time.

throughout the majority of his life, bert lived in the inner slums of london -- a worn-down place where many became sick and succumbed to illnesses. seeking what little application were available for occupations, he became a chimney sweep, which he depended on for the majority of his work hours. though he didn't seem to like the dirt at first, he had gotten used to it as time had passed.

bert was sitting down, huddled against a street corner while watching people as they passed by. he counted the many shoes that he saw and listened to the patterns of passing footsteps, and of course, to him, this was repetitive. day after day, he would sit at the very same street corner -- that was, until mary poppins came along.

with the donation of a few tuppence she had, she spoke with him -- spend time with him and even helped him get him up onto his feet. while giving him a bite to eat, along with new clothes bert couldn't be any more thankful.

as time gradually passed, he couldn't help but think about the woman, and even on the rainiest and coldest of days, he would still maintain a slight sense of warmth in his heart, which would eventually lead to determination and grit that would help him along his way.

the two had crossed paths once again -- though this time, bert wasn't necessarily at the same location as he was at several times before, yet, along the nearby sidewalk, where the man was drawing with sidewalk chalk.

masterpieces colored the streets as people -- mainly little children -- were astounded by his work. landscapes, buildings, animals, you name it. one particular interest he would draw i would be birds -- penguins, most primarily.

while eating some warm chestnuts and taking a morning stroll, mary had noticed bert -- primarily through that same hat that he wore, along with his homely smile. she stopped and looked at him, having taken a second look to double check and see is this really was the bert she had previously encountered.

surprisingly enough, it was! and with that, the two had talked for a good while, going out once again. with the woman's company, bert had finally gained a person who he could trust -- someone that he could potentially open up to. and with the passage of time eventually came the bravery to ask if he could stay with mary, to which she happily obliged.

❤️ general headcanons

• bert is generally very shy and doesn't have that many people be could open up with. aside from. mary, he isn't very expressive unless he chooses to do so.

• he loves to draw and his favorite medium to use is sidewalk chalk! paint would be something that he considers a close second.

• bert has trouble expressing his feelings and emotions, often taking expressions -- such as sarcasm or figurative language -- very literally. along with what is mentioned above, bert is a very visual person and relies very heavily on imagery, diagrams, pictures, sketches, etc.

• bert is very choosy about what he likes to wear and what textures he abides by. though, his favorite outfit that he is most fond of would be the one that he wore in the chalk drawing scene (see gif above)

• bert can be very fidgety at times, mostly stimming by vocalizations or humming -- a good example being "chim chimmer-ee" -- or by adjusting his bow tie whenever distracted.

• in addition to chalk drawings, bert also has a fond interest in penguins -- mostly because they look as though they wear little tuxedos.

• as a welcoming gift, mary had made bert a little penguin stuffie that he often keeps in his pocket and sleeps with. he thinks of said dressed-up penguin -- complete with a. tuxedo and a top hat of his own -- as a little comfort item which be named alfred.

• bert adores mary and would do anything in his heart to protect her -- and mary would easily try and reciprocate said feelings. when opening up about bert, mary would only do so whenever explicitly asked or whenever given a valid reason to. she doesn't want to see her lover potentially hurt.

• taking part of bert being neurodivergent, mary would often describe him as unique, thoughtful, and gifted. "touched" would also be something that she would use -- and that being said, she would happily advocate for bert and ask him questions whenever needed.

#comfort characters #comfort character headcanons #mary poppins would definitely make for a great therapist or councelor #the idea that bert is autistic and mary would know #and bert would be super nervous to tell her until she pulls up tons and tons of research supporting the autistic community #bert and his little stuffed penguin ahshdb #its gonna take way more than a single spoonful of sugar to rid of my anxiety and social issues because hoo boy-#this entire situation lives rent free in the back of my mind lmao

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fantoccia · 2 years

Text

A video is posted! This time it starts with Angie’s doll form seen fussing with the camera, setting it up before grinning as she steps back a bit. With her out of the entire frame, the camera also gets a good view of who’s with her- Donna! Little 10-year-old Donna is absolutely familiar to anyone who knows her- pouty lips, her face still half-covered, big dark eye gazing curiously to the camera. Her black hair stops at her chin in a typical young girl’s bob, the only thing really too terribly different about her.

“Okay guys, here’s Donna!” Angie bops a little, the little girl simply looking puzzled. “And she’s found my plushes so I thought it might be cute to see what she thinks of them...” Angie continues with a playful gleam in her eyes. “Ready? Alright!”

“We’ll start easy... So Donna, what do you think of this guy?” Angie grabs a doll from out of frame and holds it up for the camera to catch a glimpse of. It’s the large, plush form of the Duke himself, smiling bright. Donna’s eye lights up upon seeing it, smiling wide and immediately grabbing it up from Angie’s hands. Angie giggles as the girl hugs it tight for a moment before curiously peeking over it. “Yeah, looks just like him, huh? Hee hee! Cute, right?” Angie hums, smiling warmly when Donna again simply hugs it close against her.

“Okay okay... Now here. What do you think about this guy?” Angie now pulls out a blue doll- the strangely cute stuffed form of Victor Fries, her bestie as she’d say. Donna looks puzzled as she peers over the doll before freeing one hand to take it up. She actually admits a soft ‘ah!’ and peeks at Angie, who giggles again. “Yeah, he’s cold! Neat, right? He’s a big icy guy!” Donna actually carefully props Duke next to her to take Victor up in her hands now, curiously looking over the various little sewn-on details. She notices something else that has her turn to Angie again with a concerned expression and Angie nods. “Yes yes, he doesn’t like to smile a lot. But don’t worry, he’s happy! He just doesn’t show it real well...” The little girl nods sagely at that, peering over the doll one more time before giving him a big hug as well and gently setting him to her other side.

“Alright... Now here’s another friend! What do you think?” A smaller doll, a little raggedy-looking with a pointy hat. Scarecrow looks worse for wear, but he seems to be sewn that way, he doesn’t pull apart when Donna takes him up and examines him. She gently touches the mask on his face, seeing if it would move much. “Yeah, spooky isn’t he? Just in time for Halloween at least!” Angie hums, watching as the girl again looks over the little details on the skinny doll before her brow furrows as she gently sets him down as well.

“Aww, too spooky? Well here... Just a couple more!” Angie has to lean to grab up the next one. A smaller tuxedoed doll... Psycho. Why Angie even still had this one was up for debate but might as well see what Donna thinks. The girl turns him over in her hands curiously, smiling lightly as she reaches down to straighten his little bow-tie. She then runs her hand over the wild hair and smiles a little wider. “Oh, like his hair? I guess the doll version does have kinda soft fuzz...” Angie giggles before giving a little gasp when Donna’s hands both go into the doll’s hair and she gives his head a little squeeze. “Oh! Donna! Don’t go busting his head now!” She laughs though when Donna of course just makes a face at her and does it again, typical childlike behavior. Still, she’d then carefully pat the doll’s head back to its original shape, smoothing his hair down a little before placing him off to the side.

“Aaand finally... Last one! What do you think of this guy?” Angie grins when she hands over the last doll. The little hat, the little coat... Donna may not recognize him now, but it’s a tiny Heisenberg plush. She’s curious about his little coat, running her hand over it before she touches over what looks like a stained spot and she wrinkles her nose. She even lets out a tiny ‘tuh!’ noise upon noticing his little beard and equally stained shirt. Poor Heisenberg isn’t examined much further, Donna simply setting him aside as well and wiping her hands on the front of her skirt. Angie had been holding it in for most of the time, but now can’t help but cackle at that reaction, shaking her head when the girl gives her a puzzled look.

“HAHAHAHA!! Oh... Oh gosh, I’m sorry Donna! I swear he came that way, I wasn’t the one to stain him... Hee hee!” Angie titters, trying to reign in her laughter now as she moves to sit beside her once again.

“Ah... O-okay! So! which is your favorite then?” Donna takes a peek about the dolls and of course picks up the big plush Duke to hug once more. Angie smiles warmly before chuckling. “Okay, obvious. How about second favorite?” That one takes a bit more thought. After peering about the other dolls, Donna tentatively picks up the little blue Victor, hugging him in so her eye was now barely peeking out from above the two dolls.

“Okay! So... Which was your least favorite?” Angie grins, busting out into cackles once more when Donna’s eye simply drifts back in the direction she set the Heisenberg doll, nose wrinkling again. Angie regains herself and leans to give Donna a playful kiss on the temple before turning back to the camera with a wave.

“Well there you have it! Little Donna’s ranking of my friend dolls! Isn’t she just precious?” She grins back at Donna now, who sinks further down to hide her face behind the dolls. Angie giggles one last time before giving a wave to the camera and reaching in to turn it off.

#drabble #m!a: little

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wardenparker · 2 months

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Hummingbird Has Landed, ch 6

Marcus Pike x female reader Co-written with @absurdthirst

Rating: Mature, but this blog is always 18+ Word Count: 16.9k Warnings: *Blanket warnings for this series: occasional mention of American politics, pregnant character, food/alcohol consumption, mentions of clothing/regulated dressing for occasions, mentions of therapy because we believe in self care here, reader is in a previous relationship, love triangle, reader is mentioned as turning 30 during the course of the story* It's break up time, kiddos! Patrick Jane can fuck right the hell off. Jammed up wedding plans, mention of a fire. Two nerds flirting naked. Summary: In the aftermath of the State dinner, there are decisions and plans to make. But nothing else is quite as big as the favor Marcus needs to ask of you. Notes: Sometimes grand gestures are the friends we made along the way...or something like that. 🧡

Ch1 ~ Ch 2 ~ Ch 3 ~ Ch 4 ~ Ch 5

The buzzer rings past midnight, cutting through the quiet music playing in the bedroom with an angry hiss. It makes the clink of a wine glass on a coaster and the slap of a paperback novel on wood seem very definitive, along with the footsteps that pad out into the living room to hit the buzzer. "Yes?" It's the polite way of asking who the hell is at the door this time of night.

“Hey.” Marcus leans against the intercom, bow tie undone and his jacket discarded. He had been dropped off at his house and immediately grabbed his keys to leave once more. Needing to talk to her. “I know it’s late, I’m sorry.” He apologizes. “Can I come up?”

"Marcus!" Vanessa's surprise is obvious, but she still hits the button on the speaker panel to let him up without hesitation. "Sure, of course. Come on up."

The door clicks and Marcus opens it, pausing for just a second before he enters the building and makes sure that it closes behind him. Knowing that he is doing the right thing. That it is what’s best.

As usual, it takes four minutes for someone in the lobby to get upstairs to her apartment. Vanessa is in the small kitchen beside the living room when the knock comes on the door, and she steps over to the door to pull it open. "Look at you all dressed up," she hums, seeing that he's still wearing his tuxedo. He looks exhausted, but handsome. "Come on in. How was the dinner?"

“It was good.” He doesn’t want to tell her that it was life changing, but it was. Even as hurt as he was when finding out that you were aware of the connection between you, he had realized one key thing. He is not a man who would be able to continue a relationship with Vanessa in good conscience. It wasn’t fair, but it also wasn’t fair to be stringing her along when he was pining for you.

"Just good?" That seems a little too simple, especially for someone as usually verbose as Marcus, but she doesn't push. Her own night was...complicated, and it's good that he came over. "Do you want a drink or anything?" Vanessa offers, motioning toward the kitchen. He's only been here once, but he knows she keeps the apartment well stocked. "Wine? Coffee?"

“Coffee, if you don’t mind.” Marcus shrugs slightly and follows her into the small kitchen. “It was long.” He admits. “The names and faces have kind of blurred together, if I’m honest.”

"State dinners are hundreds of people. I would be surprised if they didn't." Coffee for two seems like a good idea, and she pulls two Nespresso pods out of the cannister by her machine and takes two mugs off the rack under the cupboards.

“The food was good, open bar – though no one got sloppy, and more security than I’ve ever seen in my life.” Marcus chuckles, moving to the small dinette table and pulling out a chair.

"Do any of the faces still stand out at all?" She has something she wants to talk to him about but she's going to hold off until the coffee is ready and they can sit down and talk like reasonable people.

“Spanish royalty?” Marcus snorts. “An award-winning chef.”

"Did you actually get to meet the royals?" Never having been to a State dinner herself, she hadn't been sure if that would happen. So when she brings two cups of coffee and the container of creamer from her fridge over to the table, she's actually interested.

“Actually.” Marcus huffs out a disbelieving laugh. “I was in the receiving line with the family and the President, like I was supposed to be there and not just some friendly favor.” There’s not a tone to his voice beyond amusement, he’s working hard to make sure of that. Because in a sense, he did belong there. Feeling guilty because of him technically dating Vanessa right now. Which is why he’s come over.

“I’m glad you enjoyed yourself.” Vanessa takes a sip of her coffee, steadying herself from everything that has happened tonight. She had planned on calling Marcus in the morning, but…well, he’s here now. “And actually, I’m glad you’re here,” she says, trying not to sound foreboding.

“Me too.” Marcus busies himself with making his coffee, trying to gather the right words now that he’s in front of her. It had been so clear in his mind when he was at home, on the drive over. Even when he was knocking on her door, but now he feels like an asshole for wanting to break up just because he knows who his soulmate is.

Not one to draw out the process, or to make it overly flowery, or even to embellish it unnecessarily, Vanessa sits with her legs crossed at the small table in her kitchen and straightens her back and shoulders for the clarity of mind it gives her. “I think we should see other people,” she pronounces clearly, letting there be no mistake or hesitancy in her tone.

Marcus pauses, his eyes shooting up from the spoon as it swirls around the cup and he drops it. “I…see.”

“Not because of anything that went wrong,” she clarifies right away. Just because she’s dumping him doesn’t mean she wants to hurt him — Marcus is a sweet guy. He’s just not her guy. “I’m sorry. I didn’t plan on doing this tonight.”

“No, um, that’s okay.” He’s also quick to reassure her. “I think that we both knew that it wasn’t permanent.”

"I think it could have been," Vanessa admits. She clutches her coffee cup in both hands, holding onto the warmth for reassurance of her own. "But I...found my soulmate."

“That’s…” Almost amazingly coincidental but he doesn’t say that. “Amazing.” He hums, almost reaching out to take her hand, but he doesn’t. Feeling a little relieved but also picked last again if he’s honest. Never quite good enough, not even for you. “That’s amazing. I’m happy for you. Do you want to tell me about it?” He knows that sometimes soulmates like to keep their discovery a secret and he wouldn’t pry if she didn’t want to talk about it.

“It was kind of an accident,” she admits, complexion reddening with a pleased blush. “And I haven’t even said anything to him yet. But now that I know who it is, I can’t imagine spending my life with anyone else.”

“I get it.” Marcus smiles and reaches out this time, touching the back of her hand in a friendly gesture. “I hope that you have that dream life you want.” Just because he wasn’t her soulmate, doesn’t mean that they hadn’t discussed dreams, hopes for the future. “I wish you the best, truly.”

"I hope you find the best girl in the whole world who will give you everything." Squeezing his fingers back gently, Vanessa offers him the most heartfelt wishes she possibly can. Marcus deserves the world. He's a good guy and a good partner and she probably wouldn't be doing this at all if she hadn't found her future tonight. "You deserve to be happy, and I hope you find that soon."

“Thanks.” He smiles, knowing that it’s what he’s supposed to do right now and glances at the clock in her kitchen. “I better go.” He decides, not even having taken one sip of his coffee. “It’s late and…” he trails off, the silent continuation of his comment fading between them. He’s not her soulmate and now he’s not even dating her, so he has no reason to be at her apartment so late.

"I'm glad you came by." Breaking up with him over the phone had felt a little cowardly, and she's glad to be able to have seen him face to face one more time. If nothing else, it feels more respectful.

“Yeah.” Marcus stands and picks up his coffee cup to move over to the sink. It wasn’t quite how he pictured this conversation going, but he isn’t going to protest when she is clearly on the same page he is.

There is something of a stalemate at the door, and if Vanessa were more of the hugging kind of friend, she might have offered one. She might also have expressed that they could stay friends, but that seems futile. It is entirely likely she’ll never see Marcus Pike again despite them living in the same city. But she does wish him well one more time and say a polite good night. After all, she knows she did the right thing.

“Goodnight.” Marcus flashes her a grin and steps back, waiting until the door closes and he hears the security locks being latched before he walks towards the staircase.

Sunday is rarely a work day for you, and thankfully today is a very usual Sunday. Agent Sisson is still here when you get up, not having slept very much after the State dinner from all of the thoughts whirling around in your head. Aside from your little outburst, you had a fantastic time. Marcus is the perfect date and had even charmed the rest of your family. The brooch that he gave you is sitting securely in your jewelry box to be worn at the next possible opportunity. Everything is good.

Except you have about a hundred messages on your phone when you finally pick it up after getting out of the shower to get dressed for the day. A dozen different people have texted you, your social media accounts are going haywire, and you even have a missed call and voicemail waiting for you.

The knock on your door is quick, opening just as quick as Sydney pokes her head through the door. “I’ve brought Danish.” She calls out.

“Come in! I’m getting dressed!” A favourite blouse and comfortable jeans will do for today. Nothing over the top, just a day to relax with your best friend and get a few things done. Syd is always fun to do your weekly grocery shopping with. Deciding to check your phone afterward — it’s probably just people wanting to know how the dinner went — you quickly get dressed and shove your phone in your pocket to come out into the kitchen. “Good morning sunshine.”

Danish isn’t the only thing that she’s brought, although Agent Sisson has already snagged a blueberry lemon muffin and a chocolate bacon croissant and refresh the coffee in his cup before retreating back to the couch. “Good morning to you, princess.” Sydney throws you a grin. “That’s your new nickname. The Times called you ‘First Royalty’.”

“Oh god.” The groan she gets from you is immediate, and you huff as you reach for the iced soy hazelnut white chocolate mocha that Sydney brought you. “The Times wrote about me? Really? That seems…I mean there was actual royalty there.”

“Apparently you and Marcus made a splash.” She snickers, showing you the copy of the newspaper she had made Juan run out and get copies of. She actually made him get all the papers, just to see the pictures of you.

“Ohhhhh no…” It’s above the fold of The Washington Times. The Post has it in a collage of photos just below the fold, since they had the decency to put the President, King, and Queen above the fold. The Washington City Paper has it front and center with no regard for the important guests of the night whatsoever. In every single paper, you’re right there in Marcus’s arms: being dipped low with beaming smiles and dreamy expressions on both of your faces. First Princess and Mystery Man Sweep State Dinner: What Will the Congressman Say? asks the City Paper and you drop into the nearest chair with a groan. “Oh, this is so bad…”

She winces and shrugs slightly. “In your defense, it’s just a dance.” She huffs. “If he’s so upset about a dance, that’s just unreasonable. It’s not like you were making out with him.”

“But I wanted to.” You slump over with your coffee clutched in two hands and huff loudly, knowing you sound ridiculous as you groan again. “Syd…he has my appendicitis scar…it’s not just theoretical anymore.”

“You saw your scar?” Her brows wing up as she tries to figure out how you had seen his stomach in some innocuous way.

“No, no, god no. Can you imagine? That is what would have ended up in the papers.” The papers. Ugh. “He mentioned having scars from his soulmate and his childhood all mixed together, and when I asked him about it a little later in the night he pointed to the exact place where my scar is and made a little jagged swishy motion with his finger exactly like my scar.”

“So he’s your soulmate.” She nods, having been more convinced of it than you had. “What did he say when you told him?”

“I didn’t.” A fact which makes you cringe completely. Mostly in shame. “I convinced myself on the spot that I shouldn’t tell him until I’ve broken up with Sam. Plus, ya know, he’s still dating Vanessa. So there’s that. If they’re happy then I don’t want to fuck things up for him at all. He doesn’t deserve that.”

She blows out a disappointed raspberry and rolls her eyes. “God, really?” She snorts. “I – are you scared?” She asks seriously. “I’ve never seen you hesitate this badly in your life. Not even when Bobby Brasino dared you to jump off the bridge when we were in ninth grade.”

It isn’t the first time you’ve been grateful that she can pretty much read your mind, but you flop backward in the chair and have a sip of your coffee with a deep sigh. “I’m terrified,” you admit finally, but point one stern finger at her. “And that was a very small bridge. Plus, Bobby Brasino was a dick and he deserved to be embarrassed in front of the whole football team. I stand by that.”

“You had bigger balls than Bobby Brasino.” She laughs. “I would say that you still do, but babe…” She reaches out and takes your hand. “How upset would you be if the roles were reversed?” She asks. “If he suspected for over a month that you might be his soulmate and never said a word. Wouldn’t you be hurt? Upset?”

“I would want to know why.” You can readily admit that. Wanting an explanation isn’t too much to ask. “But as long as he had a good reason I wouldn’t be too upset. And I spent the last month agonizing over wanting to be with him or talk to him every single second, so I think that should earn me back at least one or two points that I will inevitably be losing for being a fraidy cat.” Reaching for the pastry box in the middle of the table, you pull out a peaches and cream Danish and flick your eyes back to Sydney. “And…I think I came up with a plan last night. Or at least half a plan.”

“Tell me your plan.” The fact that you plan on doing something is a good thing and she picks up the blueberry Danish she had been craving.

“I’m gonna need Juan for this one, but I think it’s going to work.” Even though the breakfast she brought is absolutely perfect, it’s less important right now than telling her what you’ve been thinking. “I’m going to go over to Sam’s today and end things. No more scaredy cat procrastination. And then I’m going to mine Juan’s knowledge for all of Marcus’s favorite things and put together an actual, big grand gesture. He talks so much about meet cutes, and true love, and romantic gestures…I think he deserves to be on the receiving end for once.”

Syd hums, impressed with the idea and she is happy that you are willing to woo the agent. The man that Juan thinks is perfect for you, because he is. “I think that’s perfectly plausible.” She agrees. “Have you talked to Sam?”

"Not yet. I woke up, took a shower, and then you got here." The coffee she got you is amazing and it's already half gone, giving you a little caffeine and sugar buzz to go with your determination. "But it needs to be today. I don't want to have to fight with him about these newspaper headlines for no reason."

“I don’t think he will fight with you.” She hopes he doesn’t fight, not when you have no control over the media’s headlines. Of course they sensationalized a moment to sell papers, he should know that. It’s just heartwarming instead of scandal, which the world needed more of in her opinion.

"I'll get called a few names, probably. But at this point I might deserve it, I don't know." You shrug slightly and chew a large bite of pastry before sitting forward at the table again. "Everything he said last night...all the things that line up so well between us...I just...I want to make sure that Marcus knows he's worth having a fuss made over him. I mean, he told me how he got his ex-wife to go on a date with him and that man seems like he is all about the grand gesture."

“How did he get her to go on a date with him?” She’s curious and takes a sip of her decaf tea, wishing it was the coffee that you hold in your hand. Eager to hear some juicy details as she picks up a croissant and nibbles on it.

"According to her, playing guitar and bass wasn't enough to make him a real musician." The heavy way you roll your eyes shows how much you disagree with that, but it's clear that this particular woman had strong opinions. "So he learned violin, taught himself Bach’s Violin Concerto in E Major, and played it for her. Then she agreed to go on a date with him."

“Holy shit.” She whistles, having heard about how difficult violin concertos are, and she wasn’t even that close to someone who plays.

"See what I mean?" Your eyes light up as it seems to click in her head as well. "Grand gesture. It's the way to go."

“It seems like it might be the best thing.” She nods, taking another bite of the pastry and humming. “Juan thinks so highly of him.” She admits. “When he finds out that he’s your soulmate? He’s going to be over the moon.”

"He's having dinner with us, right?" Sydney's husband was going to spend the afternoon running their own errands and seeing some friends before the three of you sat down to dinner together, and now it seems all the more important. "My Mom called Marcus handsome, by the way. Right off the bat. I could have burst into flames in embarrassment."

“Well, babe, he is handsome.” She points out to you, like you aren’t aware of that fact. “Not has handsome as my husband, but I might be a little biased.” She snorts. “Although they look like separated at birth twins.”

"They really could be brothers," you snort, amused at the thought. "Can you imagine? If they were separated at birth or something?"

“That would be amusing.” She grins. “If they are, I vote that Marcus’s parents are my real in-laws.” She jokes, having a tumultuous relationship with the widowed Mrs. Badillo.

"Are you sure?" That has you raising an eyebrow at her over your coffee. "His mother is a psychiatrist."

“Has to be better than Juanita.” She snorts, still amused after all this time that Juan’s name was chosen after his own mother’s.

You huff, but still smile and shrug a little as the last sip of your coffee disappears up the straw. "If I ever meet her, I'll let you know."

“You don’t believe that All-American Marcus Pike isn’t the type to bring his soulmate home to mother?” She teases, pegging Marcus for exactly that.

"Just because we're soulmates doesn't mean this no longer ridiculous and now totally justified crush I have on him is actually requited." Do you hope it is? Of fucking course. But you would never expect it. You still believe in the right to make your own choice, and that goes for Marcus, too.

“Are you kidding me?” Sydney jumps up and grabs the newspaper again. “Do you see this?” She demands, shaking it in front of your face. “This is Disney Princess shit, man!”

“I don’t want to expect anything of him.” It’s a clarification, though, and you still take the paper from her and cradle it in your hands like something precious. “I swear I almost kissed him after that dip,” you tell her with the dreamiest, softest sigh. “I don’t know how I controlled myself, honestly.”

“Juan would have been dragged into a coat closet.” Sydney agrees, grinning wickedly.

“If we were both single?” You throw one hand up in a sort of resigned dismay. “You would’ve found him here when you brought breakfast this morning.”

“Too bad you weren’t single.” Sydney pouts. “It would have been cute to see Marcus blush when I ask him how does it feel seeing that tattoo on someone else for a change.”

“You’re awful.” The burning is in your cheeks, not Marcus’s, and you swat at your best friend futilely even as both of you erupt into giggles. “Maybe one day. But not yet. That’s just…I really don’t expect him to just fall into my arms or anything. I just want to make sure that he knows he has a choice.”

“That man wants his soulmate.” She groans, shaking her head at how absurd you are at times. “He wants to love and be loved. His soulmate? He will think your fart rainbows.”

“I do fart rainbows,” you tell her solemnly, adopting as sage a fine as you possibly can. “I’m adorable and medically concerning that way.”

Sydney snorts and rolls her eyes as she tosses a napkin at you. “Yes, you are a modern miracle.”

“My Mommy says I’m a national treasure,” you snort, erupting into giggles all over again.

“Oh God.” Syd cackles and throws her head back. “Nic Cage is gonna want to steal you now.”

The two of you are cackling uncontrollably at the table when your phone starts to ring. It takes a few seconds to dig out of your pocket, but the image of Sam’s face taking up your phone screen is fairly sobering. With the gut instinct that this can’t possibly be a happy phone call, you reach over to squeeze Syd’s arm and wait until she stops laughing to answer. “Hello?”

“Good morning.” His voice is rough, raspy with the obvious rawness that illness brings. “I need to apologize. I only realized what day it is today.”

“No, you’ve been sick. There’s no need to apologize.” He sounds strained and still ill, but not angry. So that’s a bonus. “How are you feeling?”

“Like I could go back to bed and sleep.” He admits with a small laugh that turns into a cough.

“Then that’s probably what you should do.” It feels like a special kind of asshole move to just dismiss him, and that’s not actually what you intended to do but it’s what it sounds like. “Do you have food in the house? Medicine? All of that?”

“I actually do.” Sam sounds a little confused by your question. “Didn’t you drop off some medicine and soup?” He asks.

“I did, yeah. And I asked Vanessa to keep an eye on you, but I wasn’t sure how fast you would go through what I brought over.” It was a week ago, after all. You glance over at Sydney and chew your lip, wondering if doing this on the phone would be cowardly.

“Thank you.” He pauses for a moment and coughs again. “It looks like the dinner was a success.” He starts tactfully. “I’m glad that being sick didn’t leave you without an escort.”

There it is. You bite your lip just a touch harder, steeling yourself for the conversation, and shift at the table to sit forward. “It was better to bring a friend than to spend all night with a staffer I’ve never met before. I’m sorry you had to miss it, but it’s good that you’ve been able to rest.”

“I would have been horrible company.” Sam can acknowledge that, even if he’s not too pleased with how the picture on the front page looks. “I slept most of this week when I was thrown out of my office.”

“You were highly contagious and needed rest.” This is exactly the kind of conversation you anticipated having with him — the insistence that going easy on himself is essential to the healing process and that his staff was right to send him home. “Nobody wants an international incident because the King of Spain caught pneumonia on his visit to America.”

“That wouldn’t be a good thing.” Sam admits, although he would have been a little more settled if that picture wasn’t splashed over the front page. The headline was inflammatory, but he knows you and your feelings on cheaters.

“It’s…” Reaching for Sydney’s hand to steady yourself, you squeeze her fingers and swallow your nerves. It’s already past time to do this. “It’s good that you called, actually.”

“I know I need to apologize to you.” Sam murmurs softly. “I was out of line on Valentine’s Day. Would you let me make it up to you? Dinner tomorrow night?”

“Sam…” squeezing Syd’s fingers a hair tighter, even your eyes squeeze shut this time. “I was going to talk to you about this last week, but that turned out to not be an option. I think…” Come on, breathe. You can do this. “I think it’s fairly clear that we have different visions of our futures. It’s…I think this isn’t going to work out.”

The seconds tick by and Sam is silent as he absorbs your words and processes them. “I….see.” He’s hurt, slightly upset that you have chosen to end things without a real conversation and over the phone, but he doesn’t say that. “Well then, I guess dinner is out of the question.” He attempts to be lighthearted but the words come out hurt. There’s a flash of an incoming call and he pulls the phone away to see who is calling. “I’m sorry, I have another call coming in. I—I should let you go. Take care? I’ll call you later?”

“Of course. I still want us to be friends even if we’re not together. And I have a few things of yours to return to you.” It isn’t much. A lent book, a sweater, a scarf of his that he said brought out your eyes. “And—I am sorry, Sam. This isn’t how I wanted this to go.”

“Of course.” Sam clears his throat. “Goodbye, Birdie.” He clicks off the line quickly.

All you can do at that point is put down your phone and groan quietly. You let go of Sydney’s hand and rub your face with both hands, shaking your head the entire time. “I shouldn’t have done that on the phone,” you sigh after a second. “I just got so anxious when he apologized and asked me to dinner — I almost said yes.”

“I’m sure it will be alright.” She comforts. “I didn’t hear any yelling, so it doesn’t seem like he was angry.”

“Worse than that,” you sigh and let your forehead hit the table with a soft thunk. “He got quiet and cold. Which means he’s very upset.”

“Of course he’s upset.” Sydney will always be on your side, and boost you up. “You’re amazing, for one. Two, he loves you. Thirdly, he probably knows him being a dickhead on Valentine’s Day caused this. And fourth…” she doesn’t have a fourth point so she just shrugs. “Did I mention you’re amazing and a hottie?”

“I love you, too, Syd.” Turning your head to the side on the table, you huff at yourself for a moment before straightening up. “I guess we can cross driving to Maryland off the list for today. Do you still want to go food shopping with me? I think there’s going to be extra sweets in this trip.” Even though you’re the one who did the breaking, breaking up still sucks. And it’s going to require chocolate.

“Of course!” She grins at you. “I’ve already told Juan; I’m craving macaroons now.”

“We’ve moved on to a fancy craving! You must be ecstatic.” It’s just a little tease, but you can feel a little of the tension slip away almost immediately. “Agent Bailey should be here for the shift change in a few minutes. I’ll throw on some shoes and we can go to the market when she gets here?”

“That works.” She smiles and wonders if you are planning on calling Marcus today, just to keep in touch while you plan your grand gesture.

You stand from the table but pause to look at the papers again, smiling with a touch of relief as you look over the photos of you and Marcus dancing together. “I have to admit…we do look good together.”

“‘Atta girl.” She belts out a laugh and takes her last sip of tea. “You go get ready and I’ll poke through your cabinets to see what you need.”

“I have a list, but check my spice cupboard and make sure I’m not out of anything you consider mandatory.” Quickly arranging the papers on your table, you snap a photo and send the text off to Marcus.

To Marcus: In case you haven’t seen the papers today, we seem to have made a splash.

Marcus is sitting in a moderately comfortable chair, drinking subpar coffee to try and keep himself awake so he doesn’t miss the announcement. When his phone digs, he looks down at it and hates the way his heart flutters when he sees that it’s from you. Smiling slightly as he replies: It seems as if the press corps was enjoying themselves. I’ve seen that video running through the news cycle…First Princess.

I’m not sure I’ll get used to that moniker anytime soon, but it’s all thanks to you. I hope you had as wonderful a time as I did last night. You hit send but continue to stare at your phone, chewing the idea over and over while you shove your feet into your favourite pair of boots by the door. Any chance you’re free next weekend? I still owe you that rescheduled dinner.

Marcus winces, sighing softly as he types back: Depends on if I’m back by then. I’m sitting in the airport waiting for my flight to London to board. Interpol called me at 4:30 this morning.

The thud you make when you lean against the doorway with a pout is very audible, making both Syd and the newly arrived Agent Bailey peek around the corner to make sure you’re okay. When they find you still face down in your cellphone, they stop worrying.

Did you manage to get any sleep or can you maybe rest on the flight? We’ll go for Indian whenever you get back. Frowning at the message, you added one more thought to the end before hitting send. And stay safe out there. I know you can take care of yourself, but still. Stay safe.

It’s a little gratifying that you think of his safety at all, making Marcus soften slightly. Thanks. I’m planning on sleeping on the flight. I had a great time at the dinner, hopefully you aren’t getting too much shit for the photos.

Sydney thinks they’re the greatest thing since sliced bread. I think she might be right. Thank you for an amazing night. Sleep well and I’ll talk to you soon? It’s a relief to be able to be honest. With yourself as much as with him. If you could tell him his much you’ll miss him — how you already miss him — without coming in too strong? You would do it without hesitation.

Marcus stares at the message for a moment, wondering what you mean by that, and he pops up when he hears his section being called. Shoving his phone into his pocket, he stands up, wishing that he could have seen you again before he left.

It's hours later, after errands are done and you have had a chance to let a little of the guilt roll off your shoulders about the break up, that you and Sydney and Juan are sitting down in their dining room with an overflowing bag of Indian take-out and a copy of every single paper or tabloid you could find with your face on it.

It's surreal to see them all – because there are so many of them – and even more surreal that you've decided you don't really mind very much. Because it's Marcus on that page with you. You're so happy in these photos and it's a kind of radiating joy that you wouldn't have ever expected from yourself.

“I have to say, I never expected this reaction.” Juan admits as he gestures to all the papers and magazines. When you and Sam Chase were first spotted together, you hadn’t wanted to see the photos or articles until your mother’s PR team wanted to chat.

"I guess it's different this time?" Admitting it feels silly, and your cheeks are burning all over again, but the smile on your face is undeniable. "I'm less nervous with him."

“I can tell.” He grins, having already been informed of the soulmate status, and leans back. “He’s a good man, Birdie.” He promises you. “The best. I don’t know if I’ve ever known a man as good as him.”

"He's so sweet, and such a good dancer..." You cringe slightly, but end up giggling. "And so hot. I really...I'm not even holding back anymore."

He laughs at your almost defiant expression and holds up his hands. “Don’t look at me. I’m not saying a word. But it sounds like you’ve fallen head over heels at the idea of your soulmate?”

"Does it make me a hypocrite?" You ask honestly, a little worried about that fact as you unpack the take out bag and start spreading various containers of curry, rice, samosas, and onion bhaji around the table. Syd grabs the gulab jamun container to bring into the kitchen so she doesn't forget to get the ice cream to go with it and gets some plates in the process, but you're busy pairing serving spoons with all the various containers while you talk to Juan. "That's the only thing I'm really getting stuck on now. After spending a year talking loudly about freedom of affection, to then go and find myself feeling like this for my soulmate? It's...a lot."

“I don’t think that it makes you a hypocrite.” Juan shakes his head. “You’ve never bashed soulmates or said that you would never be with your soulmate, and you and Sam were in a real relationship.” He shrugs slightly and his arm curls around his own soulmate’s shoulder when she drops back down onto the seat next to him. “What would be the difference between the spark fizzling out or you finding you’re incompatible without knowing about Marcus?” He poses. “Just because you didn’t see the flaws in your relationship with Sam doesn’t mean they weren’t there.”

“It’s very adult, right?” You hope it is, at least, as the three of you dig into various take out containers with aplomb. “To be able to step away from a relationship with grace?”

“It is.” He can admit that, groaning at the first bite. “I swear this is the best fucking take out ever.”

“Isn’t it?” You’ve been thinking of this butter chicken for weeks, and even if it’s a Basic Bitch kind of choice for Indian take out, you don’t care. It’s amazing. “Best samosas in DC. Hands down.”

“Oh that’s perfectly accurate.” Sydney moans as she takes another one after already eating the one she had.

“Think it’s too late to tell my mother I want Indian food for my birthday?” Even asking the question makes you snort. With barely more than two weeks left until your birthday, you’re sure every single plan is set in stone. “She won’t even tell me what pub we’re going to. I assume you guys got your invitations already?”

“Of course we have.” Sydney grins. “I could hint to your mother that you want to have some Indian appetizers?”

“If the invitations are out then the menu is already set,” you shrug, knowing that it will be good no matter what it is. If you didn’t know your parents were fully capable of throwing a fantastic party, you would’ve insisted on having more input. “Frankly I’m more worried about the fact that Mom was just going to ‘tell Sam where to bring’ me.”

“Are you not planning on telling them soon?” She asks, forking up some of the rice and butter chicken sauce with peas.

“I am patently terrified to tell them.” It’s childish, you know that, but your parents love Sam. They approve of him in every way they can, largely because you never tell them about your disagreements. There is no reason to get them involved in your love life beyond having them meet the guy you’re seeing and sometimes share a meal or an event. “Dad had practically started planning the wedding.”

“Well…you don’t have to tell them right now.” She reminds you. “Just give it some time and then it will seem like you just grew apart.”

"You're right. It doesn't have to be a dramatic announcement or anything." After all, the break up itself had been fairly anticlimactic as well. It simply is what it is, and sometimes life throws you curveballs. "I have more important things to think about right now." You flash Juan a grin. "Like how to tell my soulmate that he is, in fact, my soulmate."

“Yeah.” He hums in agreement and ticks his left eyebrow up. “How are you planning on doing that?” He asks. “Get a new tattoo?”

“I was sort of hoping for some help brainstorming,” you admit sheepishly. “I’ve never done anything like this before. It’s…just a little more important than asking Garrett Hawkings to prom.”

“No, that was a big deal.” Your best friend smirks as she remembers how you almost puked when you asked him. “But this has more of a lasting meaning.” She admits with a shrug.

Juan tilts his head. “What do you have in mind so far?”

“Right now I’m thinking something music oriented, or maybe art?” That’s much too basic, and you slump in your seat a little. “I really only have one idea, but I don’t know if it will actually be fun or if he’ll just end up hating it.”

“You don’t want to announce it on the Jumbotron at a Nationals game?” Juan asks, chuckling at the idea. Even if it’s corny, it’s also cute.

“I want to tell him, not the whole world.” Even if the thought did cross your mind, you’ve already ruled it out. Marcus deserves something special. Something unique. Plus, the first game of the season is too far away. You really don’t want to wait that long.

“What do you have in mind? He might love it.” He takes a sip of his tea and then hands another samosa to his wife, the last one from his own plate.

“There’s this place in Old Town that just opened up a few months ago. It’s an art gallery, but once a week they have what they call ‘Wine and Watercolors’. They open their bar, bring in a live band, and you can pay a little materials fee for a canvas and watercolors to use for the night.” It sounded amazing and romantic to you, but Sam had had no interest. Which, in hindsight, doesn’t surprise you.

“I don’t know if Marcus likes to paint, but it’s romantic.” Juan admits. “He loves things that he can spend time doing with his significant other.”

“That’s kind of my roadblock.” There is a bite of chicken on your fork and you sigh at it like it’s personally responsible for your dilemma. “He said he’s not a very good artist, and I don’t know if that means he doesn’t like making art at all.”

“Nahhh.” Juan shakes his head. “Marcus is an experience kind of guy. He can’t cook for shit but he used to go on those ‘couples cooking’ dates with Lara. Enjoyed it because it was new and he was spending time with her.”

"Besides." After eating the offending piece of chicken, you point your fork tines at Juan. "If we're drinking while we're painting, then no one in the room is aiming for museum quality."

“I can’t argue with that logic.” He laughs. “Besides, if it’s abstract art, it’s supposed to look like shit.”

"But..." Cutting your eyes between Juan and Sydney, you can feel the heat creep up your cheeks. "If I just so happened to paint my tattoo...that would be a bit of dramatic reveal in a good way. Right?"

“Can you paint it?” Juan asks curiously. He’s never seen you paint so he has no gauge on your abilities. “To make it recognizable?”

"I'm not exactly going to be forging an Audubon anytime soon, but I'm not a terrible artist." This little plan that has been cooking in your head all day does rely on it, after all. So you need to be able to pull it off. "I'm going to have to practice a little, but I think I can do it."

“Then I would start practicing.” Juan snorts. “When are you setting up this date?” It might seem quick to some, but to most soulmates, the fact that you have suspected for a month is forever.

"Whenever he gets back from London." That little fact had certainly put a damper in your plans, but there's nothing to be done about it. You would certainly never be upset with a significant other for having to work, let alone a friend.

“Oh?” He seems surprised that Marcus is out of town so quickly and you know about that. “Did he leave right after the dinner? He didn’t say anything the other day.”

"He got the call early this morning." That creeping heat in your face is all the way down your neck though, which how very pleased you look about your little bit of insider information. Even Sydney snickers at how much like that cat that got the cream you are right now. "I texted him this morning and we chatted a little."

"I see." Juan glances over at Sydney and smirks when he glances back at you.

"What?" If it's totally innocent, then there's no reason for smirking or glancing, right? "Friends text. That's not unheard of."

"Friends is not what I see in those papers." He reminds you. "And if you texted him this morning, you were obviously dreaming about him the night before." It's a general teasing tone, winking at you playfully. "Prince Charming in your dreams."

"I'm not going to deny that." Not anymore. Not now that you're unattached and free to give affection to whomever you see fit. The part of you that rises up into your throat whenever you look at those printed pages is definitely in control of your mind right now. "I just don't want to get ahead of anything. Just because I feel whatever this is...it doesn't mean he does, too."

Juan chuckles and rolls his eyes. "That man – he said that he didn't care about soulmates, but he does. He was so sappy every time one of our fellow agents talked about finding their soulmate. He loves love, but I think that he always hoped to find you."

"I don't see any world in which Marcus isn't ecstatic to be with his soulmate," Syd agrees, although she's only known him the month or so since he first arrived at the restaurant. But already, she and Juan have spent much more time with him since then than you have.

"I just don't want to assume that kind of reaction and be disappointed," you rationalize. "It would only be my own fault."

"Caution is good." He doesn't think that it's needed, but rationally it's never a bad idea to be levelheaded about the matter. It's rare to have a soulmate interaction with clarity of thought.

"That's all it is. Just caution." Even though you're nodding your head, there is still a dreamy sort of expression on your face that you can't shake and you're not even sure you would want to if you could. "Will you tease me forever if I ask you for stories from when you guys were at the Academy?"

"Of course." He snorts, as if it's ridiculous for you to even ask that question. "I will lovingly tease you forever while still thinking that it's adorable to witness you fall for Marcus even more through stories."

"I am not falling for anyone." The biggest lie you have ever told in your life and everyone here knows it. "I just have a teeny, tiny, ever-growing crush. That's all."

“Teeny, tiny my baby-growing ass.” Sydney snorts. “I think if you had been single last night, Marcus Pike would have been having breakfast with us.”

"Maybe." It's not even worth disputing, if you're honest. You would have brought Marcus home with you last night in a heartbeat except for a few very important factors. "But there's still the whole Vanessa thing. For all I know they're madly in love."

“I doubt that.” Sydney scoffs. “That woman – I’m sorry – she was, is, in love with Sam.”

"That probably should have been something you pointed out to be while I was dating him," you roll your eyes at her while the takeout containers are getting passed around for everyone to have seconds.

“There was no reason to spike jealousy when you know that Sam never would have risked a scandal.” She reminds you. “He always talks about those who do have infidelity scandals need to resign.”

"To be honest?" Another piece of honey ginger naan hits your plate and you suck a drip of honey off your thumb after putting the container down. "I could never tell if it's cheating he hates or just being sloppy about it."

“I would hope it’s the cheating.” Juan huffs, knowing that he and the congressman would have gotten sideways if he had cheated on you. Being Sydney’s best friend puts you firmly in little sister territory for him.

“I would hope so, too.” You just shrug though, knowing it’s a moot point. “It doesn’t matter now.”

“No, it doesn’t.” Juan agrees. “Are you planning to talk to Marcus while he’s gone? Where did he go?”

“He said he was going to London and he wasn’t sure for how long.” The sticky sweet naan on your plate is early dessert and you dab at the spicy ginger honey happily. “I said we should talk later but I haven’t heard from him since. They probably had him working the second he touched down, though.”

“Probably.” Juan agrees. “Marcus, the few cases we worked on together, was always one to hit the ground running.”

“A man of action,” Sydney teases, grinning at the way your expression turns even dreamier.

“Marcus was always popular among the female agents.” Juan warns you. “But the man I know would rather take a bullet than cheat.”

“Good.” Though you had a feeling that he trended that way, it’s nice to have confirmation. “It would be nice to not have to think about that at all.”

“No, you don’t have to worry about that.” Even though it’s been a number of years since he’s spent a lot of time with Marcus, some values are just true to their base layer and that’s one of them for the other man. “But—” he holds up a finger. “You could consider his job his mistress. The Bureau can be a demanding one at times. Stealing him away during dinner when that damn phone goes off. So…beware.”

“I love that he’s dedicated to his job. And that it’s a job that actually helps people. I’d rather have that than a partner who comes home miserable after work every day.” Spouses busy with work is something you’ve seen. Something you’ve lived through. Something that you were directly in the middle of as a kid, before your dad decided to stay home with you and your siblings.

“I know you can handle it.” He assures you. “I don’t know if Lara understood for some time though.” He admits with a sigh. “He was stretched thin for a bit when she was upset about all the training. That man will pull himself apart at the seams to making someone he loves happy.”

Looking up at Juan, you sit forward in your chair a little and frown, almost shaking your head. “When was the last time he actually had someone put him first? It…sounds like he’s always the one making accommodations or bending to his job or his partner. Do they ever do the same?”

“From what I’ve heard….not really.” Juan admits. “With Lara, he was already married when we were at the academy together, but he told me about Teresa.” He shrugs. “They were both agents, but it seems like she had an interest in a consultant she worked with and used Marcus to either make him jealous or try to get over the other guy.” He sighs. “They got engaged and she was supposed to move out here with him to DC in the position he pulled strings to get her.” His frown is very judgmental. “She called him from the plane and then the other guy did the grand gesture of boarding the flight to ‘win her’ and she never showed up.”

There is an intense moment of silence at the table, followed by you very firmly putting your glass down with your jaw on the floor. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

“Wish I was.” He sighs again, thinking back to the conversation he had with Marcus. Feeling slightly guilty about sharing it when it should be his story to tell, but hopefully it will give you some good insight into the man the universe linked you with. “He stopped dating for nearly a year, enrolled in therapy and worked on himself after that.”

“How could a man that sweet just never have been anyone’s priority?” It’s enough to make you actually mad, which is something you hadn’t expected, but you’re deeply upset on his behalf. And with the realization that you had done it too — contributing to the problem when you cancelled dinner on him a few weeks ago. No wonder he was upset with you. At that point you were just one more person in a pattern. “Well,” you decide firmly. “It stops now.”

“Uh oh.” Juan snorts, recognizing the determined tone of voice. He hasn’t been married to Sydney and not spent enough time with you to see the stubborn streak ten miles wide inside you. “Are you planning on love bombing him?”

“I would definitely not call it love bombing,” you insist, since the term has some fairly extreme negative connotations. “But I am going to make sure he knows that he’s valued and appreciated.”

“Poor guy won’t know what to think.” He hums sadly.

With the idea that you’re going to take Marcus to Wine and Watercolors when he comes home from London, you find yourself doodling on a pad of paper in your office the next morning while you review the bookings for the coming week. There are a few repeat customers on the books and you want to make sure you anticipate anything they might need, and you’ve also had a few room cancellations over the weekend that you need to clear out of the system so they can be snatched back up by new guests.

The time difference is vast and he's happy that it's later in London. Having just got off the phone with a nearly hysterical Cameron, Marcus hopes you aren't too busy and can help. He dials your number, figuring this would be best to talk about in person than text.

"Hey, have you seen this?" Sydney opens the door to your office and waves a paper around. "Derby Farms burned to the ground yesterday." She huffs, walking over to your desk and depositing the newspaper down so you can read the article and see the photographs of the burnt rubble. "The entire venue is gone."

“What the hell happened! I loved that place.” But just as soon as you pick up the paper to begin to read, your cell phone goes off on the desk on your other side. Marcus’s name is splashed across the screen with one of the media photos from the State dinner that you had put with his contact info. Flashing a grin at Sydney, you scoop up your phone and answer it quickly. “Good morning, sunshine,” you greet easily. “And good afternoon, too, since it’s…almost tea time there?”

"Hey." It's a much warmer reception than he had anticipated, but he reminds himself that you are friendly, not to read too much into it. "I hate to call and start off with 'I need a favor'." He huffs. "But...I need a favor."

“Of course.” It wasn’t so long ago, after all, that you were talking to Sydney and Juan about people not making Marcus a priority so you’re going to stop that trend in its tracks. With a little humor, of course. “Are we talking treason, because that does get sticky. Agent Bailey is very good at her job.”

He laughs, slightly relieved that you are willing to hear him out. "So I have an agent on my team. Lovely woman. She was set to be married in two weeks at Derby Farms but apparently that entire venue burned down yesterday." He explains. "She took off work today and when I called to check on her – because she never calls off – she was nearly catatonic with grief. She's already paid for everything."

"In two weeks?" Your eyes blow wide and you glance up at Sydney before opening the inn's operations calendar on your computer. "Do you know the exact wedding date? Sydney just brought me the article about the Farm to read, I loved that place."

Marcus gives you the day and sighs. “I know it’s a lot to ask. Is there any way you could help her out?” He asks. “Even if you aren’t available, do you know someone who is? She’s lost all of her wedding plans. Up in smoke – literally.”

The second he says the date, you know you don't have anything booked. There is a reason that you don't have anything booked. Juan had asked for the weekend off almost a year ago so he could go on a ride with his friends, who were all planning on taking their bikes out along Route 66 for a few days for the nostalgia factor. Without your wedding planner on premises, you hadn't booked in a wedding.

It's not that you can't do a wedding yourself. You used to do them before, when you managed the inn under the previous owners. And this is Marcus asking. Marcus who you fully intend to support and make feel valued. "Absolutely," you tell him, changing the date in the inn's calendar to a saved booking. You can absolutely handle this, and the poor bride doesn't deserve to have her day ruined through no fault of her own. "We don't have a booking that weekend, so she can have it here if she wants to. Do you want to give me her number so I can contact her, or is it easier for her if you just pass her my number?"

“I can give you her number. Cameron is really sweet and right now, I know she’s overwhelmed. Her and her fiancé are debating postponing, although they don’t want to.”

"That won't be necessary," you promise him, already mentally clearing your schedule of absolutely everything else to make this happen. "I'll give her a call as soon as we hang up. Everything will be fine." The small smile that graces your lips can only be seen by Sydney beside you, but he can probably hear it over the phone line. "You're a good man, Marcus. Helping her with this is a huge deal, and I hope she knows she's lucky to have you in her corner."

“I feel bad for her.” He waves off your praise, even though it’s a lovely little warm spot inside him and his cheeks heat up. “It’s not her fault the place burned down and I doubt the owners can help her right now.”

"I'm sure they have plenty of their own problems to deal with right now." The nightmare of losing the place had kept you up at night for months after you bought your own inn, you can only imagine how the owners of the farm are feeling right about now. "But we'll make sure Cameron's wedding is still beautiful. Cross my heart."

“Thank you.” He murmurs softly. “I will owe you any favor you want.” He promises with a small laugh. “Are you ready for her number?”

"I'll remember that," you tease, just keeping the thought light and having no intention whatsoever of cashing it in. This is for him. "Go ahead. I have a pen."

Marcus gives you Cameron’s number and sighs softly in relief when you repeat it back to him. “Thank you….seriously. I hate when I can’t help someone and I can’t do anything over here.”

"You've done something enormous." He really does put everyone else first, and you would just shake your head at him if he were in the room with you. "Don't worry about a thing, Marcus. I'll take care of this. Your agent is in good hands."

“Thanks again.” Marcus hums. “Well, I hate to ask for a favor and running, but I have to meet Interpol in about twenty minutes. Talk later?”

"Absolutely." That has you grinning like a mad woman, and you don't care to apologize for it. "Call me when you stop moving for the night. I'll let you know what's been worked out and you can vent about whatever you need to. Deal?"

“That works.” He agrees, smiling through the phone at the care you are showing. “Bye.” He waits for you to acknowledge and then hangs up, staring at his phone and wishing that he could say something to you about the fact you have shared tattoos.

"I apologize in advance for keeping you very busy coming up, but we are going to do Marcus a favor." Even if you bite your lip when you put your phone down, you're serious by the time you look over at Sydney who is now sitting on the edge of your desk. "One of the agents in his department had their wedding scheduled at Derby Farms in two weeks. I'm going to call her and offer her the date here. But it's the weekend Juan is going to be away, so it'll be just you and me running the show."

“Holy shit….poor girl.” Sydney huffs, motioning to the paper. “They reported that the Derby doesn’t have fucking insurance.” She groans. “They let it lapse.”

"Of all the stupid ass things to do." You shake your head and groan. "If I ever say something as dumb as that to you, please wave this article in my face and slap me with it." Picking up your office phone, you glance down at Cameron's number and nod to no one in particular. "Alright, I'm going to make this call and then I'll come and let you know what's up?"

“Sure, let me know. I can throw a tasting box together quickly.” She promises, walking towards the door as she starts to think of what cakes to make samples of for the unhappy couple to hopefully cheer them up.

"You're the best!" You call after her, already dialing the number you wrote down as the door to your office clicks shut again. It rings three times and you start mentally preparing a message to leave before the call connects on the other end and a sniffling voice answers.

"Hi, Agent Cameron?" You introduce yourself by name, careful not to talk too fast and overwhelm the upset bride. "I'm the owner of The Inn at Jones Point in Alexandria. I got a call from Special Agent Pike just a few minutes ago and he let me know about your situation with Derby Farms. With your wedding day coming up so quickly and the situation being so unusual, I'm calling to see if you would like to relocate your big day."

“I— what?” She is completely confused and on the brink of tears again when she registers what you are saying. “He— he called you? To see if you had availability?” Wiping away tears on her cheeks, she hates how nasally she sounds right now. Crying always makes her sound like she has a head cold. “I— I don’t— it’s all been such a mess. I’ve heard of the Inn but I don’t— I’ve never been there.”

"I know you're very busy with everything that has happened, but I'm confident that my chef and I can help you straighten things out and get them back on track." Trying to sound as confident as possible on the phone might come across as arrogant to some people, but when you're in the middle of a mess sometimes confidence can be a buoy. "If you would like, and if you're able to, why don't you and your fiancé come out to the Inn today so we can talk through everything? Our in-house restaurant caters all the weddings that we do here and our chef will have some fantastic samples for you to try out."

“Really?” The first threads of hope rush through her only to be deflated a minute later. “We— I don’t know if we can. We had already paid for everything, and now— I don’t know if I’m getting my money back.”

"I understand things are up in the air right now. And weddings are a very costly day. Why don't you bring your vendor contracts and assorted paperwork with you when you come, and we can go through things together?" It's going far above and beyond what you would normally do for a couple that has had scheduling mishaps, but again – this is for Marcus. "We'll find a way to make it work."

“I— do you know Marcus?” She asks curiously, sure that this isn’t something that would be done for everyone, although she’s about to start crying in gratitude.

"Yes, I do." Clearly his agent hasn't been reading the papers lately but that is neither here nor there for you, you just smile into the phone. "He's a very good friend, so I'm going to do everything I can to help."

“I don’t know what to say. Thank you.” She gushes. “I— my fiancé and I can be there in an hour? Is that too soon?”

"That's just fine. I'll take you on a tour of the property when you get here so you can make sure you like the place before we sit down and start working through the details." You give her the address and the phone number to call back if she has any questions, and assure her once again that you'll make sure things are taken care of before hanging up the phone and heading straight to the kitchen where Sydney is working with some cake batters already. "I hate to tear you away from brunch, but our couple is going to be here in an hour. Thank you so much for jumping on board with this."

“I can’t imagine how stressed she is right now.” Sydney sympathizes. “Two weeks before the wedding. Just contacting everyone on her guest list to tell them a change of venue will be a massive undertaking.”

"I'm going to take them on a tour first thing, and set up the table on the back porch to talk through things with them. Are you thinking standard tasting samples?" There are certain things that brides gravitate towards from Sydney's catering menu that you know she can put together quickly, and right now that's a bit of a boon.

“I am, but if there’s any curveballs in their original menu, let me know and I’ll adjust.” She promises. “I’ve already got six different mini cakes baking.” She had dry ingredients mixed together all the time for the most common cakes so all she had to do was measure and mix in the wet.

"You're an angel, I love you, and I owe you a spa day." Blowing her a kiss, you gather up a tray of glasses and tasting plates to set on the table on the back porch with a reserved sign. That can be set up immediately, to sit and wait while you do a perimeter walk of the property and think through everything that will need to be arranged.

Two minutes before the hour is up, a sedan pulls up into the gravel parking lot. A couple gets out and the man immediately walks around the car to wrap his arm around the woman, pretty and petite, although it’s clear from her puffy eyes that she’s been crying.

"Agent Cameron?" Having stopped to check your clipboard at the front desk just a moment ago, you step out onto the front steps of the inn with your best reassuring smile when the couple get out of their car. "I'm so glad you could make it on such short notice."

“Soon to be Agent Wiley.” The man who is protectively holding her extends his right hand to shake yours. “Michael Wiley. We are so very grateful for your time.”

Cameron nods, almost ready to cry. “I’m sorry— I’ve been so emotional about all this.” She explains, fanning her face to try to keep the tears away.

"There's no need to apologize. You've been through the wringer today but hopefully we're going to bring that to a halt for you." You shake both of their hands and nod to the path that takes visitors around the grounds behind the inn. "Let's just start with a walk. I'll show you the facilities here and you can tell me what things you had picked out at Derby Farms so we can try to bring the two things together."

“It’s a lovely place….but—” she bites her lip and looks up at Michael who nods slightly. “We have already spent so much. My— um— we aren’t soulmates, and my family won’t pay for the wedding.” She admits, aware that some wedding venues will not marry non-soulmate couples. “Now that we might not get anything back…”

"We don't discriminate here. My staff is made up of all kinds of people in all kinds of relationships from all kinds of backgrounds. So don't worry about that at all." It's part of what you talked about when you would talk about freedom of affection on the campaign trail, so you're sure as hell not going to let it stand in your own business. "Did you bring the vendor paperwork that I mentioned when we spoke on the phone?"

“Yes!” Almost forgetting it, she breaks away from her fiancé she dives back into the car to pull out a thick binder. “I’ve got all the contracts and, well, everything for the wedding here.” She promises you, hesitating a moment before holding it out to you.

"Sometimes there are clauses in these contracts that have contingencies, and wording can be tricky," you explain, accepting the thick file and setting it on top of your clipboard. "Something terrible happened outside of the realm of your control, but we're not going to let it ruin your wedding. We'll find a way to make the money work." In that, at least, you can make a real promise to this couple. "I own the place. No middle managers in this conversation."

“Oh!” She takes the first really good look at you and tilts her head in surprise. You had told her your name, but it hadn’t clicked. “Oh God, you’re the President’s daughter, right? I’m so sorry,” she apologizes. “I didn’t make the connection. I’ve been so frazzled.”

"Honestly, it wouldn't even have phased me if you didn't make the connection at all." The only thing that comes close to bothering you is those people who go out of their way to tell you that they did not vote for your mother, but even then you just smile politely and remind them that the beauty of democracy is that they get that choice. "Besides, this day is all about the two of you. I just want to make sure you're able to enjoy your wedding."

She’s wary, but she nods with a smile. “I appreciate this so much; I know that it’s so last minute.”

The tour goes reasonably well for the overwhelmed and emotional couple, and you show them the manicured gardens for pictures, the main grounds for their ceremony, and the old carriage house which will easily transform into a full reception space in the event of rain. It mirrors the tone of the barn at Derby Farms that they had originally planned on using and allows them to breathe away a little bit of worry. By the time you make it back to the porch for cold water and a tasting, they are looking just a little less harried and you take that as a good sign. "How are you feeling about the space?" You ask them once they're sitting again, and you smile at the pitcher of ice water that Syd has put out before pouring out three glasses.

“It’s gorgeous.” She admits with a shy smile. “This is an incredible place and I’m so surprised you are not booked up.”

"We are, most of the time," you admit. "The reason your weekend is still open is that my event planner is away. So I would be coordinating your wedding personally."

“Oh.” She shoots you a guilty look. “That’s— you are okay with that? If it’s too much— I, we, understand.”

"I'm perfectly okay with that. In fact, from what you've told me about your original plans for the day, it sounds like it will be beautiful." The file of their contracts still sits next to you, and you already know you aren't going to charge these folks a dime. "But it's also why I'm prepared to offer the space to you. I'm the only one taking on extra work beyond a normal wedding weekend, and I'm happy to do that. I will work through your contracts and contact Derby Farms regarding their lack of insurance to take that off your plate. You already have your photographer and florist, correct? Did the Farms' in house catering include your wedding cake?"

“It did.” Her mouth drops open in a small sigh. “Another detail to work through.”

Michael squeezes her hand. “We will figure it out, baby. Even if we are serving cupcakes.” He promises softly bringing their joined hands up to kiss hers.

"Oh, I wouldn't worry about that." Sydney emerges from the back door of the inn with her tasting plate and a smile, the ever-growing bump under her chef's coat on display as she comes to the table. "I prepared a tasting of our most popular cake options for you to try out today, and while you do that I'm going to go ahead and make us all some lunch. Can you tell me about what you planned on serving originally?" You had discreetly texted her during your tour, letting her know the relatively small size of the guest list and the good impression you had of the couple. It sounds like an intimate wedding that will be beautiful, and she wants to make sure it's perfect.

"Sydney Badillo is our chef at Il Corvo," you introduce with a smile. "She's going to be your caterer."

“Oh my god!” Cameron’s eyes light up when she sees the plates with the mini decorated cakes. “I— okay, we had gone with the most popular choice according to Derby.” She explains. “Sliced roasted beef or baked chicken with a vegetable medley and whipped garlic mashed potatoes.”

"Sounds like a very nice, popular option." Sydney isn't going to pan the options that the other venue gave them considering the disaster they got stuck in, but she knows she can do better. "Did you need a vegetarian or pasta option? Our restaurant's menu is Italian so we have a little bit of room to play in."

“I— um,” she looks to Michael, who nods.

“Tanya is vegetarian, babe.” He shrugs and looks back at the two of you. “Perhaps a few plates?”

"We can definitely do that," Sydney assures them. "I'm going to go make us some lunch and you have your dessert first." She scoots back into the building quickly, gone in the blink of an eye.

“I love Italian, what do you think?” Cameron asks her fiancé before looking at the cakes closely.

"At this point, I'm ecstatic to not have to reschedule and to not lose all of our invested money," he admits with something akin to a grateful laugh. He finally feels like he can breathe for the first time since they got the news. "We had just gone for a simple white cake with raspberry at the Farms," he tells you honestly. "Nothing was revolutionary but it was all good quality. We just want to have a nice night with our friends and our family."

"If you want to stick with that, we can definitely do it." You take the raspberry cake off the tasting plate and cut it half, setting both pieces on plates with forks for them to try. "This is our vanilla cake with raspberry jam."

Cameron forks up a bite and her eyes flutter closed on a moan. Michael chuckles but he is also groaning when his own bite hits his tongue. “Oh, this is so good.”

"The other three mini cakes are our house chocolate, which we do with a strawberry layer and ganache, a lemon cake with fresh blueberries, and an almond cake with fresh plums and buttercream." It's good to see them smile a little, and enjoy themselves in the face of so much adversity.

“That sounds amazing.” She gushes. “All of them.” There is a small idea that is forming, but it might be way too much to ask with the short time left before the wedding.

“Give them a try, and if none of these quite hit the mark, we can talk about other options.” You’re going to make this work come hell or high water. It’s far more than Marcus asked of you, and maybe it’s not awesome that you have an ulterior motive in helping these very sweet people, but the fact is that they’re going to get a great wedding out of the fact that you want Marcus to think of you as someone he can rely on.

The couple digs into the cakes with gusto, enjoying themselves and unwinding as they cheerfully debate the best one, grinning and laughing as they feed each other small bites.

“What do you think?” When they’ve tried everything and managed to pause before filling up on cake alone, you fill up water glasses and take out your pad of paper to start taking note of any ideas or questions they might have.

"They are all so amazing." Cameron admits, looking longingly at the pieces of cake left. "If I had booked with you to start with, I would say do miniatures of all of them, but...." She glances at Michael to confirm and grins as she looks back at you. "We want the lemon cake with blueberries."

“Well when it comes time to do your anniversary party, we’ll have a big batch of miniatures.” Jotting down the cake choice, you nod and sit up again with ease. “Obviously with just a few weeks to go we’re not looking at a terribly elaborate cake, but it will be beautiful and delicious.”

"No," She shakes her head and leans forward. "We were— are planning to have the florist bring flowers to decorate." She explains. "I guess I need to call them and tell them that they will be bringing the flowers here?"

“That would probably be best.” At least they’re smiling again, which is an enormous boon as far as you’re concerned. “Flowers in the cake will be gorgeous.”

“Oo, did we pick?” When Sydney comes out the door again, she has a heavy tray of three family-sized plates and a stack of lunch plates alongside it.

"We did." Cameron informs her with an awe inspired gaze. "Your lemon blueberry cake is amazing. I've never had one that isn't too sweet."

“It’s all about balance,” Sydney smiles proudly. “That’s what we had at my wedding, too. It’s honestly one of the most popular choices.” The tray beside her starts to be unloaded, and there are more happy groans all around. “These are our versions of beef, chicken, and pasta for a wedding day. Veal Marsala with roasted garlic mashed potatoes, chicken piccata with roasted delicata squash and parmesan polenta, and a mushroom and ricotta rigatoni al forno.”

Michael's eyes are wide, unsure of where to begin and Cameron just moans again as the smells tingle and tease her nostrils. "You are amazing." She huffs. "It smells so good."

“If you don’t like the side, we can switch things up,” Sydney promises. She also brought plates for the two of you, and grins as all four of you start to eat together.

"If you don't mind me asking, how do you know Agent Pike?" Cameron asks curiously. "He never said a word and then when he showed up on the front page of the papers, he conveniently had to fly out of the country."

"He is an old friend of Sydney's husband, actually." Deflecting a little from the newspaper story, you will give your friend all the credit here for providing the connection for you to meet your soulmate – though that detail will remain quiet. "They were at the Academy together. One day last month he came by to see Juan and to check out the restaurant, and we made fast friends."

"Wow. It's a small world." She hums. "He's a fantastic friend so I can see why it was so easy. He's a real sweetheart."

"He's fantastic." The side eye Sydney gives you when you say it is subtle, and you ignore it so you don't say anything gushing and give yourself away. "We haven't known each other long but I'd call him a good friend already."

"Obviously." Cameron agrees. "He never asks anyone for favors and he asked you for a big one."

"He knows how important this day is to you." The warmth that spreads through your chest at the recognition that Marcus might think a little highly of you in any way is elated and giggly in a way that you have to work very hard to contain. "And I'm glad to do anything I can to help you – and him – out."

"I don't know how we are going to pay you, but we are eternally grateful to you." Michael tells you. "You have changed our lives. We had thought we were going to have to cancel."

"I'm going to comb through these contracts of yours to see what sort of money I can recoup for you, and that will be plenty enough payment." You got a glance at it earlier and saw a few clauses about fault for cancellation that will probably bring in enough money to cover expenses for the night. Beyond that, you and Sydney already agreed to forgo taking payment for yourselves for the wedding to make sure that your staffs don't have to worry about pay cuts. It's going above and beyond, but hopefully you'll come out of this with a few room reservations in the future from the wedding party and guests, and plenty of business for the restaurant. It wouldn't be the first time you accomplished a hell of a lot on a shoestring budget. "Focus on enjoying your wedding, that's what matters."

There's a moment where he stares at you before he nods. Reaching for Cameron's hand again. "Thank you. You don't know how much this means to us."

"Is there anything else you'd like us to know about your day?" Sydney prompts, noting that the couple have dug into the plates she prepared with enthusiasm. They seem to love her food, so her part in this should be fairly easygoing. At least as far as weddings go.

"We— we've invited our families, but we don't know if they will show." The bride admits, looking down at her plate and sighing softly. "I would love to say that we won't need security, but I'm just not sure."

"Do you have reason to think that any of your family members might try to interfere with your day?" Scribbling quickly on your notepad makes the bride and groom flinch in front of you, but you stop immediately to reassure them. "We have had events that need security plenty of time before. We can manage it. I just want to make sure that you're safe."

“I don’t think so.” Michael clarifies. “We just aren’t sure. Most of our family acts like we’ve not ever said anything about getting engaged.”

"Alright." You nod at that, knowing that the trend of families being particularly hard on children who choose partners other than their soulmates can...particularly fierce. "Try not to worry over it if you can help it. We have plenty of practice at handling that sort of thing here and I promise you that we can handle it. Just focus on making sure your guests go to the right place and your vendors know about your change of venue. We'll handle everything else."

There's a release of tension from both of them that seems to just make them sag with exhaustion. They hadn't slept, couldn't, after learning of the fire and the worry had been so palpable. Now that it's nearly fixed, they lean against each other happily. "God, I'm going to sleep for twelve hours tonight." The female agent groans.

"I hope it's fantastically restful sleep." With everyone set the way it is now, you hope these two lovely people get all the rest they could possibly need. They've had a hell of a day. "If either Sydney or I have anything we need cleared up, I will give you a call. And of course you can call me about anything you need."

“I think I should get her home.” Michael apologizes. “We didn’t sleep last night and…”

"Of course." You stand to shake their hands, glad to see reassurance and relief on their faces. "I'm very glad to meet you both."

“Thank you.” Their gratitude cannot be expressed enough and their protests about paying for the tastings go unheard as you usher them to their car, the dwindling energy apparent when the first yawn breaks.

"Well." When you turn back to Sydney after they've left to help her load up the tray, you heave a sigh of relief. "They're absolutely sweet, and I'm glad they won't have to postpone their wedding."

“I can see why Marcus called you to help.” She agrees. “They are wonderful.”

"They really are." Offering Sydney a smile, you blow out a steady breath. But before it's even done, you're laughing at yourself. "Ready to throw an entire wedding for people I've never met at the drop of a hat just because he asked. Maybe it's a tiny shade more than just a crush."

“You think?” She snorts playfully, hip checking you. “I think we’ve crossed over into at least head over heels territory.”

Huffing at your best friend, you heft the tray up in your arms and stick your tongue out at her in what is clearly a very mature gesture. "Shut up," you grumble, following her back into the inn as she laughs all the way.

It’s been agonizing to watch the clock and wonder what is happening. Marcus checks his phone and sighs. It’s getting late and he’s already back in his room, meal eaten and the beer he had ordered still in the bucket.

By the time you're back in your apartment with the dinner dishes washed and your shoes kicked into a corner, you look up at the clock and calculate the time difference. It's late in London, and you should have called earlier, but there was an issue with a guest's room that you had to deal with to free Malachi up to be able to take care of the regular check-ins. Selecting Marcus's entry in your phonebook, you tap the call button and tuck your phone between your shoulder and chin, pouring yourself a glass of cheap, sweet wine to relax with.

“Hello?” Marcus isn’t asleep, the time charge has messed with him and he is not even tired. Sitting in his surprisingly spacious bathtub with a beer in his hand.

“Hey.” You can hear yourself smile down the line, even sounding perpetually dreamy now. “It’s Birdie. How was your day?”

“Hey.” There’s a softness to your voice that has Marcus longing to believe that it’s directed towards him. “It was good. Did you and Cameron talk?”

“We did. She brought her fiancé in for a meeting and we got everything squared away.” Leaning against your kitchen counter, drinking wine, and on the phone with Marcus…the combination of things sends a shiver of rightness down your spine. “They’re so sweet, and I hate that such a bad thing happened to them. You’re an angel for reaching out to help them.”

“They are fantastic. Cameron has asked if I can give her away if her father doesn’t show up.” He admits, shuffling slightly and the water splashes.

“You must be a hell of a boss if—” The sound cuts your thought off at the root, leaving you confused but amused on your end of the phone. “Are you in the hotel pool or something?” Don’t think about Marcus in a bathing suit…Don’t think about Marcus in a bathing suit…

“I-” Marcus coughs slightly, hoping you won’t be offended. “Sometimes when I can’t sleep, a beer in the bathtub helps.” He admits sheepishly. “Needed to get my second beer.”

“That…” You look down at the glass of wine in your hand, imagining sitting in a screaming hot bubble bath with beautifully scented bubbles all around you and letting the stress melt away. “Sounds incredibly comfy.” Almost as soon as you’ve decided you like the sound of it, you’re grabbing you wine bottle and heading for the bathroom.

“Yeah? You aren’t offended?” He asks, almost jokingly. “Technically I answered the phone in the bathroom, which is completely frowned upon.”

“Offended?” The psshh sound of disagreement you make is an immediate dismissal of that idea. “It’s not like you picked up the phone and ripped a massive fart or anything. Although honestly? I probably would have laughed. I’m actually thinking I might join you,” you admit, rummaging through your bottles of bubble bath that have stood untouched for ages.

He pulls the phone away from his ear and calculates the time difference. “You should.” He agrees. “Done with work for the day and needing to relax. Hot baths and alcohol are some of the best ways, especially if you can’t have a massage.”

“Can’t have a massage for the next four years.” You remind him, laughing at the ridiculousness of it. “Or eight. Depending.”

“Why is that?” He frowns, not understanding.

“President Mom’s rules of deportment.” Selecting a bottle of foaming bath salts from the shelf, you plug up the tub and dump the appropriate amount in. The hot running water will start dissolving them in no time. “It wouldn’t be appropriate for the First Kids to have intimate contact with strangers. Even professionals who sign NDAs.”

“Oh I wasn’t- talking about a professional massage or anything.” He admits, figuring that you would ask Sam for a back rub sometimes. He shrugs even though you can’t see that. “I didn’t think about the rules of deportment honestly. That sucks.”

“It’s mostly things for safety. Like having a P.O. Box for my mail so it’s hard for paparazzi or people who disagree with my mother’s politics to figure out where I live.” The bathtub in your apartment fills up slowly, and you sit on the edge to pull off your socks and sweater while you talk. “My parents would prefer me to being living in the White House but I can’t see doing that at almost thirty years old.”

“No, you can’t do that.” Marcus agrees. “Plus you run a business, you can’t just leave it in someone else hands, that would drive you insane. Plus you enjoy your work.”

“I do enjoy my work!” It’s almost exasperating that Marcus sees that so clearly when Sam needed to have it rammed through his thick skull. “The only way I’m ever moving out of this apartment is when I’m ready to live with my partner and get married, and then this goes back to being the caretaker’s apartment. Hang on.” Huffing at yourself, you put Marcus on speaker and set down your phone so you can get undressed. “The bath is ready.”

Marcus swallows and looks up at the ceiling as he tries to not imagine you undressing. It’s not technically wrong, he’s single, but you are seeing someone and he’s never been the type to cause issues.

It takes a minute or two, but the sound of water plopping comes next, and you pick up the phone again with a sigh. “So what was for dinner?” Just as conversationally as if you were in the same room, you set your phone on speaker on a shelf in the small, open cabinet beside your head and just talk.

“I thought it was a requirement to have bangers and mash when in London?” Marcus asks as a joke. “Or is it fish and chips? Anyway, I had the bangers and mash in this tiny little hole in the wall. It was amazing, but I’ve learned something about myself.” He tells you. “I hate mashed peas.”

“No!” Your animated gasp of shock is genuine, as silly as that seems, and you laugh to yourself as you pick up your wine glass. “Were they mint mushy peas? Because if not, that’s the reason they sucked. I don’t know why but the mint saves them.”

"I don't exactly know?" He admits, laughing quietly as he picks up his beer bottle and settle back into the bath. "I just know that I reverted back to my early childhood where my mother force-fed me mushed peas and sweet potatoes and I almost lost my entire lunch on the bar."

“That will definitely do it.” The two of you laughing together is musical even if it’s soft, the sounds mingling together with the splashes of water and sipping of drinks. “Go for curry tomorrow. Stay far, far away from the mushy peas so you won’t have flashbacks.”

"Either that or the fish and chips." He hums. "You know they pour malt vinegar on them?" He asks. "It's pretty good." It's easy to talk to you and he doesn't want to stop, even if it is late for him. Taking another swallow of the beer, he waits to hear your voice again.

“I did a semester abroad in London when I was an undergrad.” You tell him with a hum. Whatever the hell this wine is that Malachi recommended, it’s amazing and sweet and fruity. “I went to London and Syd went to Rome, and the plan was to visit each other back and forth whenever we could but she never made it to London often. That’s when she fell in love with food.”

"It's hard not to fall in love with food." Marcus agrees. "It's fucking delicious."

“True. I will give you that.” Sitting back in our own tub with a relaxed sigh, you turn to look at the phone like he was sitting right next to you — though no amount of wishing will make it so. “Where’s your favourite place you’ve ever gone?”

"Is it terribly cliché if I say Paris?" Marcus asks, huffing out a small laugh at himself. "I loved Paris almost a ridiculous amount. Although I wished it hadn't been for work and for pleasure."

“It’s not cliché if it’s honest.” It’s easy to picture him there, running through sunny streets or ducking into cafes to avoid the rain. Sightseeing and lingering over dinners and walking along the Seine. It’s dreamy. Fuck it. He is dreamy and you’re not afraid to think so anymore. “I’ve always wanted to go. It sounds…perfect. But I know that’s just because I’ve seen Amélie too many times.”

"Sabrina for me." Marcus hums, acknowledging that he has a romantic streak. As if you didn't know that. "I still wish the Concord was still flying. Going to Paris for a weekend would be so much easier."

“God, I love Sabrina, too. Charade and An American in Paris.” You snort, listening to yourself list off names. “I think I might have an addiction. Or just a dream. Maybe both.” Another sip of wine is a gentle burn down your throat and with whole Booze Bath thing might be your new favorite way to unwind. Especially if he’s on the other end of the phone while you’re at it. “And I’ve always wanted to go to Harry’s New York Bar and try to sit in every seat, just so I can make sure I sat in the same place as F. Scott Fitzgerald.”

“Are we drinking Old Fashioned or Negroni’s?” He’s asks, inviting himself along on the adventure that sounds like an amazing time. “Because I think that to sit in his seat, you need to have one of his cocktails in your hand.”

“Fitzgerald’s favorite cocktail was a Gin Rickey,” you tease down the phone, enjoying the ease of having so many small things in common. It’s never felt so genuinely comfortable talking to someone new and yet so very exciting. Marcus makes you feel like you could fall asleep in his arms with your heart blazing on fire. “So I will definitely be drinking a Gin Rickey.”

“I could have sworn I read somewhere he liked those drinks too.” Marcus pouts slightly, not really caring for Gin, but if that’s the drink, that’s the drink.

“I think Hemingway was a Negroni guy along with his daiquiris.” He sounds like he’s pouting on the other end and the overwhelming urge to reach through the phone and kiss it away is stunning. “Either way, we need to sit in every seat at Harry’s. Wherever Fitzgerald’s ass was, Hemingway’s was sure to follow. And vice versa.”

“Fuck, I’m thinking of The Great Gatsby.” He groans, hanging his head at his own mistake. This is what happens when you don’t reread the classics.

“I’m always thinking of The Great Gatsby,” you admit with another laugh. “When I was a preteen I begged my parents to take me to Long Island to see his house. I refused to believe he was made up.”

“I don’t blame you.” He hums. “It would be amazing if it were real.”

“Amazing and sad. But still amazing.” Returning the sound without thinking of it consciously, you hum back to him and close your eyes in the hot bath. “What’s the book you wish you could step into? Just crack the binding and fall down into it like Alice down the rabbit hole?”

“How many nerd points and I going to accumulate if I tell you that it’s The Fellowship of the Ring?” He asks with a snort, tilting his bottle back to drain the second beer.

“That’s such a good one though!” Immediately sitting up again, the slosh and splash of water is audible but you don’t care. “Whether you’re taking the place of someone in the fellowship or just going to live your best hobbit-y life in the Shire, that is a fantastic choice. Ten thousand points and a fancy ring you should never wear for Marcus.”

He laughs, easily and freely with you. “Maybe an extra companion on the journey.” He hums. “Another Merry or Pip.”

“Oh sure.” The sound of his laugh is magical, and you know without hesitation that you’ll continue to do whatever you can to hear it. “Because that’s what they need. More trouble. You just want second breakfast and Elevensies.”

“Absolutely.” Marcus insists. “Luncheon, and supper, and tea too.”

“Why do you think I was so excited when my best friend decided she wanted to be a chef?” You pose, hoping he’ll laugh again. “It’s purely for the food benefits. I’m just a hobbit girl at heart.”

“Are you hobbity enough to have a movie marathon where you have complete meals that are inspired by the Hobbits?” Marcus asks teasingly.

The sound you make is best described as an indignant harrumph, and this time it’s your turn to pout. “I would be if I had anybody to watch them with. Syd won’t watch them with me anymore. Apparently I outplayed that hand college.”

“The only way to watch them is the director’s extended cuts.” Marcus tells you. “At least every three years or so. Because it does take an entire weekend.”

“One hundred percent. I could not agree more.” All these small, nerdy parts of you that just line up are such a deep breath of fresh air to be able to share. “And mead is proof that there is magic left in the world.”

“You know….I’ve never actually had mead.” He admits, leaning back in the tub and looking up at the ceiling again. “Do I lose points for that?”

“Hmmm…maybe?” Pretending to think about it, you shrug your shoulders like he could somehow see you. “We’ll just have to get you some mead to try when you get back. While we plan our trip to Paris and Middle Earth.”

“Can we visit Middle Earth first?” Marcus asks, indulging in a dream situation where he would be able to travel with you for real. “Never been there before.”

“Absolutely.” In fact, you might agree to just about anything he asked of you in that lazy, sleepy voice. A voice that makes you glance up at the clock and sigh. “But honey…how long have you been awake? You must be exhausted.”

He pauses when he hears you call him honey, but he figures it is a friendly term. “Uh…” he pulls the phone away from his ear and glances at the clock again. “Thirty-six and half hours?” He answers. “Give or take?”

“And how are you supposed to be the Sherlock Holmes of Fine Art if you’re sleep deprived?” It’s not that you want to stop talking to him. Quite the opposite, in fact. But you know what it’s like to be sleep deprived with something important to do. You make silly mistakes that can sometimes cost.

“Jet lagged.” Marcus hums sleepily. He’s relaxed now that he’s talked to you, or maybe because of you. “Couldn’t sleep.”

“How about now?” If you could sneak your way into that hotel room and wrap him up in a soft bathrobe and snuggle him right into bed, you would do it in a heartbeat. The following morning would probably be very dirty, but still the sentiment remains. “Are you feeling a little more relaxed?”

“I could probably catch a few hours of sleep.” He admits, eyes slipping closed. He leans back even more and yawns. “Your voice is soothing.” He mumbles.

“Yours is, too.” So much so that you’re feeling boneless in your bath. Though after you hang up the phone you might keep thinking about him…for other reasons. There’s an undeniable ache building that will eventually need relief.

“Should probably let you go.” He huffs, the slight pout to his tone one of sleepy regret. “You sound tired.”

“You wanna call me tomorrow?” After crossing this comfortable threshold into not just friends, but friends who dance and chat on the phone? You’re not inclined to give this up.

"I can try." Marcus promises. "I don't know what the day might bring, but around this same time? If I'm not sleeping?"

"Sounds good." Though you won't voice it, you know you'll be waiting by the phone hoping that he's able to call. "I'm glad you got there safe and that you're going to get some sleep tonight."

“G’night, sweetheart.” Marcus has to drag himself out of the bath, but between the bath, the beer and talking to you, he’s ready to slip off into dreamworld.

"Good night, honey." The first time you hadn't even realized you had said it, but the second is as full of warmth as a hot toddy on a snowy day. And as the call disconnects you sit back in your bath with nothing but beaming giddiness on your face.

______

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