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kteabug · 2 years

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you and I, printed in ink

Summary: CEO Bakugo Katsuki stumbles upon a series called My Hero by Deku by chance, but soon he is completely engulfed by the series though the events start hitting a bit too close to home. With the author soon retiring, having more questions than answers about the series, he finds himself at a book signing event. What he wasn't expecting was to find his ex-boyfriend Midoriya Izuku sitting behind the author's table.

Pairings: Bakugo x Midoriya (past tense) | Bakugo x Setsuna

Word Count: 2820

Warnings: Mentions of cheating, unplanned pregnancy, and angst

AN: Based on the Twitter prompt by @/subbbyprincesss ( Link )

To say Bakugo’s irritated would be an understatement. Ever since the announcement of his marriage and fiancee’s pregnancy, work seems to refuse to settle down, mostly due to Setsuna’s declaration that he had been in a relationship when they met. Several of the companies they have contracts with are talking about pulling out, citing his indiscretion doesn't match their image and goes against their policies.

On one hand he can understand where they’re coming from, but on the other hand he couldn’t especially since the prior relationship Setsuna referenced had never been publicly announced. For all they knew, he could’ve simply been seeing someone else casually, but bad press is bad press either way and he gets that.

** “See if we can move my 2 o’clock to a dinner meeting, maybe a few drinks will keep Yagi Enterprises from pulling their contract and call Setsuna’s agent to confirm the time for her next appointment. She wants me there and it’ll look good with the press.”

Bakugo waits several seconds before annoyingly looking up, curious as to why his secretary hasn’t responded to him. He’s a bit shocked to see the blonde woman engulfed in her phone, repeatedly swiping down on her screen, attention clearly far from her boss.

The blonde clears his throat, “I didn’t realize I was interrupting whatever is so important you didn’t hear me.”

The woman pales, words tripping over each other as she rushes to apologize, seemingly forgetting the need to breathe.

Bakugo holds up a hand, not wanting to deal with the clean up if his secretary passed out in his office. “Well, what were you doing?”

Camie awkwardly rubs the back of her neck, embarrassment creeping up her body. “Uhm, well – my favorite author announced his retirement and his final book will have a limited release. I didn’t wanna miss it.”

Bakugo leans back in his chair, unsure of how to feel about what he’s just learned. Part of him had honestly thought she’d say she was messaging a lover or something, not trying to get some special book. Though now thinking about it, when was the last time he had bothered to read something other than corporate jargon, contracts and business emails? Maybe he should check it out since it was good enough to have his usually completely obedient secretary distracted.

** Izuku’s retirement announcement causes his previously published book to quickly run out of stock and get posted on various sites for astronomically high prices. Neither deter the blonde from getting the entire series and fortunately calling in a favor from Yaoyorozu Publishing got him two copies of the final book. He’ll chalk it up as his secretary’s end of the year bonus.

He didn’t have any expectations going in, though Camie did fill him in on the basic premise. My Hero by Deku: a queer series following two boys who grew up childhood best friends turned lovers and the ups and down that came with life and relationships.

He glances down at his watch, he has an hour before his lunch with Setsuna, figuring he’ll read a few chapters and easily put it down in time to leave. He’s completely wrong. At first the dedication page captures his attention.

‘To my image of victory, K.’

Something about it catches him off-guard, though he can’t really explain why. Then as he reads the pages, watches as each character grows individually and then together, there’s just something so raw, so familiar about it all. It isn’t until a furious Setsuna marches into his office that he realizes he’s been reading for over two hours, almost finishing the first book entirely.

Begrudgingly he put the book down, taking an early day to help quell Setsuna’s rage as he promises to take her to her favorite jewelry store. Once she falls asleep, he slowly climbs out of bed and heads to his study where he had the book series dropped off by his secretary. He rereads the dedication, still unable to figure out what about it left his skin feeling prickly, before jumping into where he left off.

He picks up the second book as soon as he closes the first one and that continues through each volume of the series. He hasn’t been this taken by a series since the All-Might comics from his childhood, something he realizes he shared with the main characters of the series. Just like the first, each dedication page makes something inside of him churn and the more it happens, the more frustrated he gets.

‘I’m glad I finally caught up to you, K.’

‘For the love of my life, K.’

Who is ‘K’? Who had helped give birth to this emotional rollercoaster of a series? Then he remembers Camie told him the author is retiring and he can’t help but wonder if this mysterious ‘K’ is the reason behind that. He tries looking it up online, but the social media accounts he finds for Deku are only about his books. The most recent post announcing that he’s planning to have a farewell book signing in a few locations.

** His driver looks back at him, not that he noticed with his nose stuck in the last volume of the series. He has read it three times already, trying to put pieces together that he isn’t entirely sure are there to begin with. That damn dedication has once again got to him, this time however leaving a breath caught in his throat and his mind full of more questions than any of the others had.

‘I guess we reached the end of our journey, Kacchan. I thought I could write our ending as well as I wrote our beginning, but I should have known – the deepest heartbreak can’t be put into words. I’ll always love you, Kacchan.��

He tries to think his way out of the reality that’s starting to build around him. Tries to think of some other reason for why everything that was written feels so gripping, why each word and each event described felt so familiar. Surely somewhere there’s another ‘Kacchan’ because he couldn’t let himself believe it’s him, that he’s the ‘K’ that is so deeply entangled within the series.

Which is why he was heading to the Tokyo book signing event – to actually see that the author isn’t the freckled-faced man he knew. To allow himself to get off the hook for being the reason for such heartache because the thought makes him sick. But life is cruel, at least that’s what Bakugo thinks when he walks into the bookstore and sees those green curls that filled all of his childhood memories.

“Excuse me?” The voice from behind him is annoyed. “Are you in line?”

“Oh, uhm,” he doesn’t know what to do, “go ahead.”

So this had been what Izuku was typing away at on his laptop any chance he got. He remembers once finding him curled on the couch, frantically hitting each key as if his life depended on it and how Izuku had practically slammed it shut when Bakugo came up behind him.

The dedication once again crosses his mind – we reached the end of our journey – and for the first time he lets himself realize how shitty he treated Izuku the last time they spoke, roughly a year ago. ** They had just gotten back to their apartment, emerald eyes shone as he chatted away about their upcoming trip, making mental lists of everything they needed to pack. He only stopped when the blonde grabbed his wrist, pulling him backwards.

“Kacchan?”

“Setsuna’s pregnant.”

“Oh.” Izuku walked into the kitchen, putting away the groceries they had just bought. He turned to look at his partner, a soft and innocent smile on his face and that nearly gutted the blonde, “do you have a backup model for that shoot?”

Of course Izuku thought it was about work, he never had a reason to think anything else of the comment and Bakugo was about to destroy him. He’d been waiting for weeks to tell him the truth, to confess about his late night excursions, but he couldn’t. He couldn’t stand to imagine those emerald-colored eyes looking at him with anything other than love.

“Setsuna’s pregnant.” He watched bright eyes dull as a jaw clenched, “with my child.”

Loose green curls start to shake from side to side, bottom lip pulled between his teeth. “No, no, because that would mean…”

Glossy eyes searched ruby red ones for some sign that he jumped to an awful conclusion, that his active imagination took hold of his thoughts, but he didn't find one. He couldn’t because the blonde looked away almost as quickly as his eyes met his, a glimpse of red colored guilt.

“Was it worth it?”

“Izu–”

“Answer me. Was it worth throwing us away? Throwing away years of friendship, of love? Worth ending a five year relationship over?” He ran his hands across his face, mind racing faster than usual.

“I don’t…I don’t know.”

“When did it start? Cause though it’s possible, I doubt it was just one time.”

“Back in March. We met for drinks to discuss her contra–” Bakugo stopped when Izuku glared at him, holding up a hand to stop him.

“So while I was away taking care of my sick mother, you were balls deep in some…some…UGH!” He stormed out of the kitchen, roughly dragging his fingers through his hair as he marched into their bedroom.

He had done everything for Katsuki. His whole life had been about him. From his childhood memories painted with youthful excitement over All-Might and playing pretend to their teenage years as he could only stand there watching the distance between them grow and finally to adulthood where they finally fell into each other’s arms.

His world, for 26 years, revolved around ash blonde hair and a bad attitude. Putting Katsuki before himself on several occasions because having him in his life was better than being without him. Izuku had even agreed to keep their relationship a secret, away from the cameras and spotlight so it didn’t interfere with how people perceived the blonde and his ability to perform his CEO duties. But what did that even matter now?

Tears blurred his vision as he grabbed whatever clothes he could from the various drawers he pulled out before he yanked clothes from the closet, stuffing them in a suitcase. He could hear Katsuki saying something but the blood that was rushing in his ears muffled most of it. Izuku didn’t care, how could it? Everything he ever did, all the choices that he made, none of it meant anything anymore.

“Izuku.”

Nothing. The greenette ignored him, maneuvering around the blonde to the bathroom and then the living room, snatching things to shove into the bag. Katsuki followed him around, frantically trying to get him to just stop and listen, increasingly growing more angry with each ignored plea.

“Izuku, fuck, just sto–” His sentence was cut off when the heavy black bag was shoved into his chest, confusion coating his face.

“Get out.” Izuku finally broke the silence.

“No, we need to talk.”

Izuku pointed at the door. “Get. Out.”

“Would you just fucking listen!?!” Katsuki was trying to remain calm, but he wasn’t being allowed to talk, to explain and it was chipping away at his patience.

“Will talking change the fact you slept with her? Will it change the fact that she’s pregnant?” He doesn’t wait for Katsuki’s response, “no, it won’t. We have nothing to talk about. Leave now.”

“No, dammit, talk to me!”

Izuku started to push Katsuki toward the door, repeatedly saying “just leave”.

Something snapped in the blonde. He had been trying to get Izuku to just listen, to hear him out because regardless of the pregnancy, he wanted to be with him but the greenette refused to just stop and give him a moment to explain. He couldn’t take it anymore, shoving Izuku backwards, his temper taking full control.

“Fine, fuck!” All he could see was red, ignoring the way Izuku was starting to finally crumble. Katsuki turned to open the door,but then stopped, barely bothering to glance over his shoulder. “It’s not like we could ever be more than this anyways.”

He pulled the door shut harder than he needed to, knowing that his partner, well ex-partner now, was finally letting himself fall apart. But what could he do? What he said wasn’t a lie. The lie had been the two of them pretending they could ever be more than what they were. That they could ever openly claim their relationship, ever start a family, or ever look like more than roommates to their friends. In some twisted way, Bakugo allowed himself to see his infidelity as a saving grace, something that in the long run would save him and Izuku from more pain down the road.

** “The book signing will end in fifteen minutes. If you want to get in line, please do so now.” A man with two-toned hair announces before leaning down to whisper something to Deku.

Bakugo makes his way to the line, letting whoever gets behind him cut so that he can be the last in line. He really should’ve thought this plan out because now that he’s here, nothing he had planned on saying sounds good enough. For the first time in his life, he’s starting to second guess his decision on coming here.

He could slip out now, pretend that he had never stepped foot in the bookstore. He had been horrible to Izuku the last time they saw each other, even going as far as sending Kirishima to gather the rest of his things from their apartment. Izuku looks like he’s been doing fine, what right does he have to disturb that?

“Uhm, sir? Are you in line?”

He looks over and sees the same man who made the announcement looking at him with a curious expression. Bakugo now realizes that he’s just been standing there, roughly ten steps from the table and that he’s the only one left around them.

“Fuck, I mean, uh, yes I am.” He quickly closes the gap, sitting his copy of the final installment on the table in front of Izuku.

“Who do I make th…” Izuku freezes, finally looking up at the man on the other side of the table. He tries to swallow the panic that’s climbing up his throat but his mouth is too dry. Never in a million years would he have imagined this happening. How did he even know he had written the books? Why was he here? He had made his feelings clear months ago.

“I didn’t know you were the author until I walked into the bookstore and I’m here because…well I don’t know. I guess part of me figured it was vain to think these books were about us and wanted to prove myself wrong. And for the record, I was an ass months ago.”

Izuku curses his mumbling, picking the pen up as he opens to the title page of the book. “Would you like it addressed to Bakugo or Katsuki?”

“Are those my only options?”

Izuku bites the inside of his lip, trying to keep it from trembling. He just wants this interaction to end, to leave the bookstore and go back to his apartment. He hates this feeling that’s tightening in his chest as the blonde looks at him like a wounded animal. As if he had been the one that broke them apart. He starts to scribble a message, letting the words just flow from the tip of the pen.

“Thank you for purchasing my book. Have a lovely night.” There’s a forced smile on Izuku’s face as he recites the same line he told everyone after signing the book(s) they brought. For some reason it just sounds like nails on a chalkboard to Bakugo.

Without much thought, he reaches for Izuku’s wrist as he gets up to leave. Izuku quickly holds up a hand to the two-toned haired man who starts to intervene before emerald eyes look at him.

“Is there something else you wanted to say?”

There’s a lot he wants to say, but doubts any of it will hold the meaning he wants. He could say I’m sorry, but what’s that worth now? He could ask how he’s been, but he’s not privileged to that information anymore. He could even see if he’d want to get a coffee, but he doesn’t even know if he still drinks it.

“Deku, huh?” Bakugo lets go of his wrist, looking down at the cover of the book “you’re far from useless, Izuku.”

“It stands for ‘I can do it’. At first it meant I can write our story.” Green eyes lock onto red ones, a soft smile on his lips, “but now it’s for I can get over you.”

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#my hero academia #boko no hero academia #bakugou katsuki #midoriya izuku #bakudeku #bakugo x izuku #tw cheating #tw unplanned pregnancy #tw angst #bakudeku angst #bkdk #bkdk angst

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a-reader-and-a-writer · 2 months

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The Life I Didn't Know

Fandom: Top Gun, Top Gun: Maverick, Mickey "Fanboy" Garcia, f!reader Summary: Mickey Garcia thought returning to Top Gun was the most life-changing thing to ever happen to him. And that was before a ghost from his past confronted him on the tarmac. What you tell him next will change both how he views his past and his vision for his future. Word Count: 4591 TW: Lies, Secret Reveals, Hidden Child, Ghosting, Confessions; Unplanned Pregnancy; Reader is a Mom Note: Written for day 12 of @whumpthemusical's event for "Unplanned Pregnancy" from Waitress. Thank you to @musings-of-a-rose for your ask that inspired this fic 🥰 I'm just sorry it's taken almost 10 months to finish (but I guess it fits thematically 😂). And thank you to @topguncortez and @lorecraft for beta reading for me! 💕

Mickey Garcia always expected the greatest honor of his career would be when he was accepted into Top Gun. However, he never imagined he would be chosen to return as one of the best of the best a few years later. Yet he had done it! Selected along with his pilot and close friend, Payback, as one of the few to train for a top-secret mission. It was a dream come true.

He met most of the other aviators the night before at the Hard Deck, and with one possible exception, everyone seemed very nice and supportive. Then, after the debriefing this morning, he was excited—if a little nervous—about the next few weeks of training. He still can’t believe he was selected as a potential member of the mission. He doesn’t have high expectations for being chosen, but he is still going to try his very best.

After running back out to his car to grab some paperwork, he’s heading for the row of hangars so he can meet Payback to prep their plane for their first practice, a wide grin spread across his face. The fact he is about to fly in a training dogfight with Maverick—the Maverick—still feels like a dream to him. It feels like he’s being trained by Han Solo or Captain Kirk! He is a legend that other legends look up to and Mickey had never imagined he would get an opportunity like this. Could this day get any better?

Mickey should have known better than to send something like that into the universe.

As he reaches the tarmac, Mickey suddenly stumbles to a stop and his face drops as he catches sight of the ghost from his past standing in the way, almost as if waiting for him. But it’s impossible. He double-checked the roster ten times just to make sure there was no chance you were going to be here.

And yet here you are. Five—almost six—years older but still the most beautiful woman he has ever seen.

“Falcon…”

You worry your lip between your teeth just like you used to when you got nervous or were deep in thought, but your eyes shine brightly when your callsign slipped from his lips. “Hey there, Fanboy.”

Oh, God… that voice. Instantly, a thousand memories flash through Mickey’s mind: the first time he laid eyes on you at boot camp with your brilliant smile and Death Star tattoo; flying with you as his pilot, and how he instantly knew he never wanted to fly with anyone else; you dubbing him Fanboy after seeing him nearly burst into tears after running into William Shatner in a coffee shop and him naming you Falcon after the iconic Star Wars ship; all the stolen, secret moments and rendezvous as your friendship blossomed into something deeper despite the risk of Command finding out; the morning he found your letter left on his bunk saying you had transferred and had already left without a warning or a goodbye.

With a Herculean effort, Mickey pulls himself together enough to ask, “Wha…. What are you doing here?”

“I work here. I’ve been an instructor at Top Gun for the past two years.” Your leg is bouncing slightly and you keep clenching and unclenching your hands. “I guess you were in the class the year before I started, but I was so proud when I heard you made it. Of course, I always knew you could.”

Instructors. Mickey groans softly to himself. He had been so focused on what other aviators had been recruited for the mission it never crossed his mind to check who the instructors would be. But it’s too late to do anything about it now.

“So, does that mean you’ll be teaching me?” It’s hard enough seeing you standing before him. But if he has to see you on a daily basis, listen to your lessons, follow your orders…there is no way he’ll make it the next three weeks.

Luckily, you shake your head. “No, it’s all top secret and I don’t have the clearance. I’m not even sure what your mission is. All they’ve told us is that they need the best of the best in the hopes of completing it, so I wasn’t surprised to see your name on the list. I never flew better than with you in my backseat.”

Mickey silently sighs in relief before he jams his hands in his pockets and coldly asks, “If you don’t have anything to do with my mission, what do you want, Falcon? After you disappeared for almost six years, I don’t really have anything I want to say to you. I think it’s better if we keep things the way you wanted it and just pretend the other doesn’t exist.”

He starts to walk around you, but you step in front of him, holding up your hand to block his retreat. “Is that really what you think I did? Left and never gave you another thought? Because you’re wrong. I think about you every single day, Mickey. And I haven’t been able to get into a plane without you in my head. No matter who I’m flying with, your voice is in my headset giving me directions, or doing systems checks, or failing to stump me with random trivia about another movie or tv show just like it used to be.” You take a deep breath as you let your hand drop to your side. “But maybe if I didn’t care, it would make all of this easier. I–”

You are close to tears as your voice trembles with every word, but Mickey is having none of it. “No! Uh uh. You don’t get to do that. You don’t get to act like you’re the one who was hurt here,” he says, jamming his finger accusingly at you. “You’re the one who put in for a transfer without even talking to me about it first, so don’t act like you’re the victim. One day, I’m the happiest I’ve ever been, flying with the woman I love at the stick, and the next, I wake up to a note telling me you’d left to fly with another unit. No explanation. No nothing. I never even got to say goodbye! You just disappeared from my life and you took my heart with you. But you never gave a shit.”

“Yes, I did! I swear!” Tears now begin to flow freely down your cheeks. You try to close the distance between you, but when Mickey steps back, you stop. Clutching your arms across your chest, you beg, “Mickey, I loved you. If there had been another way, I would have moved Heaven and Earth to stay with you but I didn’t have a choice.”

“Really?” Mickey scoffs. “Why not?”

“Because they found out about us.”

Needing no further context to understand what you are referring to, a cold dread washes over him. “W-who did?”

“Command. They heard from a few different people that we were ‘fraternizing’ outside of our duties. That we had started sleeping together a few months earlier and that it had evolved into an actual relationship.”

Mickey shakes his head as, in a softer tone, he says, “I never told anyone. I swear.”

Smiling warmly at him, you say, “I never doubted that. And just so you know, I didn’t either. But someone must have found some sort of evidence and turned us in. I tried to find out who, but I never had any luck. All I know is I got called into the discipline office and they said they were starting an investigation into our alleged relationship and if it were true…”

You take a deep breath as your arms tighten around your chest. “I knew if they went looking, they’d find out about us so I did the only thing I could think of to save our careers. I told them it wasn’t true but if they were still concerned, I would voluntarily opt for a different WSO or even transfer to another unit if that would clear things up. And they took me up on my offer.”

Missing pieces of Mickey’s past suddenly start to click into place. While it was against regulation for pilots and their backseaters to “fraternize” with any kind of romantic or sexual relationship, the rule was hardly ever enforced. However, around the time you disappeared, a pilot in another unit almost botched a mission saving his injured WSO instead of carrying out his assignment. When it was discovered they were in a romantic relationship at the time, Command began taking the regulation very seriously. Mickey recalls the two of you even had a nervous conversation about it at one point but just agreed to be more discreet while on base.

However, it still left some gaping holes in your excuse.

“But why did you do it? Some anonymous jerk claims we were dating and that’s it? We could have fought it. If you had told me what was going on, we could have both denied everything and there was no way they could prove it.”

“Yes, they could.” Your voice quivers slightly even as you scoff humorlessly. “There was one piece of undeniable proof that would have had us both discharged if they had discovered it.”

“What?”

Tears slip from your eyes as you whisper, “I was pregnant.”

All the air is sucked from Mickey’s lungs. He feels like he’s doing barrel rolls in his jet as the world spins around him and an immense pressure weighs on his chest. “You… you were… what?”

You nod gently. “I had only found out a few days before and I was trying to figure out how to tell you. But then the investigation was brought up and it changed everything. All they had was the word of someone else we were dating, but if they knew I was pregnant with your baby, well, that’s pretty solid evidence. I didn’t know if you wanted kids. Hell, I didn’t even know if I wanted kids. So, I didn’t say anything and they transferred me two days later.”

“How could you not tell me?” Mickey whispers, trying to wrap his head around this life-changing revelation. “I would have been by your side for every minute. We could have figured it out together, we could have found a way to make it work. But even if we couldn’t, I loved you. I wanted to spend my life with you. And if that meant giving up everything else, I would have done it.”

“I know you would have. And that’s why I couldn’t say anything.” You take a few steps towards him. This time, Mickey doesn’t move back, but you still keep a little space between you so you don’t overwhelm him. “I knew if I told you, you wouldn’t let me leave and it would be the end of both our careers. We’d both worked so hard to get where we were, I couldn’t let you throw everything away for a kid I still didn’t know if I even wanted. And by the time I had decided, it was too late to change what I’d done. So, when I reported to Command I was pregnant a few months later, I said it was from a nameless one-night stand I met at a bar right after I transferred.”

Mickey’s head is still reeling from everything you have told him, yet he catches one important detail in what you just said. “Wait. You reported it. Does that mean…did you…do we…?”

“Yeah, Mickey,” you half sob as more tears flow steadily down your face. “We have a son.”

“A son…”

It is the final straw. Stumbling over to the nearby wall, Mickey slides down it until he is sitting on the ground and rests his head on his knees. He has a son. A four- or five-year-old son that he never knew about. Someone who was already walking, and talking, and going to school. Who was his own person with his own personality and likes and dislikes. Who Mickey knows absolutely nothing about.

The two of you had never talked about whether you wanted kids or a family. Until the moment you disappeared, Mickey had never doubted you both loved each other deeply but your relationship had been too complicated by rules and regulations to face what might happen in the future. So, the two of you had lived in the moment and tried to enjoy what time you had together instead of talking about the future. But that didn’t mean Mickey hadn’t thought about it. He had known from a young age he wanted to be a father. He helped take care of his younger siblings growing up and he couldn’t wait to have a family of his own.

So to find out now that he has a child is simultaneously exhilarating and devastating. He could have had everything he had always dreamed of, but you had taken all those early milestones, all those precious irreplaceable moments with his son, and Mickey doesn’t know how to accept that. What if his son never forgives him for not being there? Mickey might not have known he even existed until a few moments ago, but that doesn’t change the fact his son has had to grow up not knowing what it was like to have a father. To have a void in his life where others around him had a loving, supportive presence. Will his son even want him in his life at this point?

He hears you walking over to him and can see your feet stop a few inches from him out of the corner of his eye.

In a voice thick with tears, you whisper, “I’m sorry. I’m so, so incredibly sorry. I just…I didn’t…I didn’t know…” You can’t find the words to finish that sentence.

“Why are you telling me this now?” Mickey raises his head to glare up at you, all of his swirling emotions finding a much-needed target to explode at. “Even if I accept why you let them transfer you or that you didn’t tell me right then, why didn’t you tell me at any point during the last five years! Is it just because I’m here? If I hadn’t come back to Top Gun, would you ever have told me?”

You open your mouth to respond but then close it again as you try to find the best way to answer. “Those are all fair questions. I figured if I told you while I was still pregnant or right after I gave birth, we would still get in trouble. My superiors weren’t happy that I had just transferred to fly with one of their WSOs and this happened but they had to accept it. I flew for another month or two but then I was placed on desk duty until I got this job at Top Gun. I hated being grounded but at least I was someplace consistent where I could go home to my family every night.”

“‘Your family’? Do you mean you…?” Maybe his son has had a father-figure in his life after all.

You seem confused for a moment but as soon as you realize what he is asking, you quickly clarify, “Oh, no, no, no! Nothing like that. My mom moved in a month before I gave birth and stayed so she could watch the kiddo while I was at work.” You duck your head to stare at the ground as you mutter, “But no, there, uh, there hasn’t been anyone like that since you. I’ve got one little man who has my whole heart, and between him and work, I don’t have the time or the energy to spend on anyone else.”

Mickey hates the way his heart warmed slightly at that. He should hate you right now, not be happy that you aren’t with someone. Quickly changing the topic before he lets himself dwell on that for too long, he says, “You still haven’t answered my question. Why now? Why are you telling me about him now?”

“He asked about you.”

“What?”

“Well, not you specifically but he started asking about his dad. He doesn’t understand….” Your voice breaks as your lip begins to quiver. Mickey’s resolve wavers and he starts to reach for your hand but then he remembers the reason you are upset in the first place and lets his hand fall. Taking a deep breath, you continue, “He’s too young to understand and I’m too selfish to admit it’s my fault you’re not there, so I just told him his dad was a Naval aviator like me and he’s off protecting everyone from danger. I was hoping…I don’t know what I was hoping, but it didn’t satisfy him like I thought it would. Two weeks ago, he told me all he wants for his birthday next month is to meet his dad.”

“He…he wants to meet me?” Mickey asks.

You nod. “And I didn’t know what to do. I had no idea where in the world you were, if you had your own family by now, or if you would even want to meet him once you knew. But then a few days ago I saw you were coming here and…it seemed like fate. I knew telling you would be one of the hardest things I’ve ever done, but I couldn’t go home and look into our son’s eyes if I didn’t at least try. That’s why I’m telling you now.”

“So this is just a way for you to clear your conscience?” Mickey asks. “You finally tell me I have a son, and that’s supposed to absolve you of everything? You took nearly five years I could have had with him away from me! I missed out on so many firsts!” Mickey suddenly freezes, all the anger evaporating in an instant as a sober realization sets in. “I still don’t even know his name….”

“Miguel. His name’s Miguel.”

Tears spring to Mickey’s eyes as he whispers, “Miguel?”

You smile at the reverence on Mickey’s face. “It was the only name I ever considered.” Pulling out your phone and tapping the screen a few times, you offer it to him. “It turns out it was perfect. He’s the spitting image of his namesake.”

With shaking hands, Mickey takes the phone from you. Looking down, he sees a little boy staring back at him with a wide grin that’s too big for his face, a mess of dark curly hair, and rich brown eyes that make Mickey feel like he is looking into a mirror. You weren’t far off. Miguel looks almost exactly like the baby photos Mickey had seen of himself at that age. However, he can also see traces of you in the toddler’s face; in the shape of his lips and the cut of his jaw. There’s no way to deny it any longer. This was his kid. Yours and his together.

Watching the waves of emotions washing across his face, you murmur, “I swear, I never wanted to hurt you…either of you. I just didn’t know what to do and then, once I made a decision, I didn’t know how to tell you the truth. The longer I put it off, the more impossible it got to tell you. But you did nothing wrong and I just thought he should have another piece of you to carry with him, even if he doesn’t understand it yet.”

Mickey swipes his finger across the phone and the photo changes to one of you balancing Miguel on your hip as you point towards the camera. He looks younger here but the same joy is evident on his face as he clings to you with one arm and to a ratty-looking Spider-Man plush in the other. Another swipe shows Miguel blowing out a candle on a birthday cake shaped like a Stegosaurus. There is a big “4” balloon floating in the background next to a woman Mickey recognizes as your mother. He swipes again to see a picture of you fast asleep in a rocking chair with an infant Migual curled on your chest. He is so tiny that he could only have been a month or two old. You look disheveled and exhausted even in sleep, yet Mickey doesn’t think he can remember a time you were more breathtaking.

He is about to swipe again when something at the top of the picture stops him. Zooming in closer, he inhales sharply.

There is a small framed drawing hanging on the wall just above Miguel’s crib. It’s of two stick people looking at each other with little hearts above their heads. He doubts a single other person would have ever noticed it, but he would recognize it anywhere. He had doodled it on a note he slipped you right after his friendship with you had developed into a romance. And you had kept it all of these years then hung it so it would watch over your son.

Tears that have been threatening to fall finally crest over his eyes as Mickey chokes out, “Can I meet him?”

“You really want to?”

He nods before tearing his eyes from the phone to look up at you. “Yeah. More than anything.”

“Okay, then yeah, of course you can,” you say eagerly as your face lights up. But then it dims slightly as you add, “But, um, I think it’s better if we wait just a few days.” Mickey starts to protest but you hold up your hand. “I know I’ve already made you wait far too long for this, but we need to figure out some things first and I’m sure once you’ve had time to process everything, you’ll have a million questions. I just want you to be as prepared for this as possible so you both feel comfortable. It’s a big deal and Miguel is the sweetest kid you’ll ever meet, but he is pretty shy around new people and I don’t want to just spring this on him without talking to him first.”

Mickey can’t help smiling to himself. He was the exact same way when he was little. “Yeah, you’re probably right. I already have a thousand questions and I’m sure by tomorrow, I’ll have a thousand more. How ‘bout we say Friday after training? I could come over or meet you guys somewhere or whatever you think is best.”

You hesitate for a minute. “I have an appointment Friday afternoon and I’m not sure how long it’ll last. Why don’t we do Saturday morning? We could meet for pancakes. That’ll definitely get you on Miguel’s good side.”

“Pancakes it is.” Mickey climbs to his feet and holds out your phone to you. But just as you are about to take it, he pulls it back slightly. “Um…do you think…could you send me some photos of Miguel?”

Smiling softly, you say, “Of course, Mickey. As many as you want. And I have some videos too. Do you still have the same number?”

“You still have it saved?” Mickey asks in surprise.

You duck your head. “I couldn’t delete it. I stared at it countless nights with my finger hovering over the call button, but I always chickened out. However, I knew one day I’d find the strength to tell you everything, and when that happened, I’d need a way to contact you so I kept it. I’m still just so sorry it took me this long.”

Mickey sighs as he stares off across the open tarmac. “Part of me gets it, you know? It was a no-win situation given the circumstances.”

“Yeah…” you mutter, wrapping your arms around yourself once again. “I felt like I was in my own personal Kobayashi Maru except no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t figure out how to cheat the system.”

Oh God. The ease at which that perfect Star Trek metaphor slips from your lips once again has Mickey flashing back to all the little reasons he fell in love with you in the first place. However, after the secrets you revealed today, he can’t let himself fall back into what was.

“That might be true, but another part of me doesn’t know if I can ever forgive you for stealing these last five years I could have had with my son.” He scrubs his hand over his closely buzzed hair. “Right now, I just don’t know how to feel about you or what you did. However, I do know that I can be pleasant and get along when we’re around Miguel, though I’m not sure if I’ll ever be able to get back to a point where we’re friends again.”

You bob your head, tears dampening your eyes even as a small smile spreads across your face. “That’s fair. That’s more than fair. Honestly, I half expected you never to want to see me again after I told you, so I’ll take pleasant. Thank you, Mickey.”

He nods and holds out your phone. As you take it, your fingers brush against his and Mickey feels a jolt run up his arm as he touches you for the first time in almost six years. And based on the way your eyes widened, you felt it too. The two of you gaze at each other, your hands still both holding the phone between you. Mickey feels his heart start to race slightly in his chest, and he wonders if maybe he’s wrong and forgiving you won’t be as difficult as he thinks it is.

But then you pull the phone from his hand and slip it into your pocket. Taking a few steps back, you mutter, “I’ll send you those pictures. And please do text me any questions you have this week. Otherwise, I’ll call you Friday to figure out the details for breakfast Saturday.”

And with that, you pivot and hurry across the tarmac before disappearing into one of the hangars.

For several minutes, Mickey continues to stare at where you had been standing, still half wondering if anything that just happened was real or not. He always knew returning to Top Gun would be life-changing, but he had never expected this in a million years.

Still in a daze, he stumbles off towards the hangar where his plane is housed. As he approaches, he sees Payback already dressed in his flight suit and busy checking out the plane. He looks up when he hears Mickey approaching.

“Hey, there you are. I thought you were just gonna be a minute.” As he gets closer, Payback does a double-take when he notices Mickey’s face. “Oh, man, are you okay?”

Mickey is still wondering that himself, but he says, “Yeah… yeah, I’m good.”

As Mickey walks past him to put his stuff in his locker and pull out his flight suit, Payback follows him, concern etched across his face. “Dude, you’re a mess.”

“I’m not a mess.”

“Yeah, you are. You look like you’re about to pass out and I can tell you’ve been crying.”

“Yeah, guess I have.” Just then, Mickey’s phone vibrates and he pulls it out to see you have sent him a link to a folder filled with hundreds of pictures and videos of Miguel. Just a brief scan of them makes tears begin to well up in his eyes once more. But when he looks back up at Payback, the smile on his face is so wide it hurts. “But it’s all good. In fact… It’s never been better.”

I have a few ideas for other parts if anyone is interested (but no promises at this point)

Taglist: @green-socks, @lorecraft, @heart-0n-fire, @mayhem24-7forever, @the-untamed-soul, @inglourious-imagines, @airhogger, @piscesvancouverite, @straightforwardly, @bonnieelizabethparker, @srry-itshockeyszn, @flyinlove, @fandomhopped, @sweetheartlizzie07, @yjwnoot, @wanderdreamer, @pansexualwitchwhoneedstherapy, @callsign-phoenix, @shanimallina87, @forever-sleepy-sloth, @blue-aconite, @notroosterbradshaw, @dezthegeek, @blessupblessup, @cherrycola27, @phoenix1389, @nicangelinee, @smells-like-perfect-senses, @boringusername3, @petlaufeyson, @cycbaby, @topguncortez, @fantasticcopeaglepasta, @writercole, @onebigfangirlworld, @wkndwlff, @ravenmoore14, @roosterforme, @clancycucumber230, @mamachasesmayhem, @slightly-psycho-multifan, @kmc1989, @ohtobeleah, @deppresseddyslexic, @horneybeach1, @mandylove1000, @aczhang777

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awkward-tension-art · 2 months

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Little Parasite

Leon S. Kennedy x AFAB!reader (I tried to make pronouns gender neutral but I might have missed a few)

Warnings: Pregnancy, unplanned pregnancy, Leon needs a hug, mentions of plaga infection, mentions of sex, swearing, hating on the government, takes place after RE4 remake.

Pregnant.

Oh fuck you were pregnant.

You stared at the positive stick in your hands.

Positive. Positive.

This was impossible. You were on birth control! You and Leon were always safe when-

Spain.

When you were kidnapped, you hadn’t been able to take your pill. You went several days without taking it. That wouldn’t have been much of a problem if the parasites you had been infected with didn’t cause multiple episodes of an intense need to breed.

How many times had you and Leon fucked during your rescue? How many times did he cum inside of you during the plaga induced delirium?

Not to mention when you joined the mile high club on the plane ride back to the states.

If the fetus inside of you was conceived when you both were infected…

What was inside of you?

You put a hand to your stomach. It's been 3 months since you got back.3 months of nightmares, white house funded therapy and multiple visits to a government science lab. When you missed your period you didn’t think much of it. You went through a lot of stress. Plus, the moment you got back you resumed your birth control pills on schedule.

No. You were panicking for no reason. Pregnancy tests come back with false positives all the time.

Deep breath. It was probably a false positive.

Still, you ended up making a phone call to your OBGYN. The receptionist sounded somewhat concerned, your last appointment was only 6 months ago. You couldn’t come up with a proper answer as to why you desperately needed the doctor as soon as possible.

Once the call was over you put the phone down and breathed.

Leon was asleep in your shared bedroom. He had come back from a mission last night, and needed the rest.

You didn’t need to tell him, right? After all this was nothing. There wasn’t any need to wake him up and scare or worry him. After all, you haven’t had any morning sickness. No other symptoms were showing up.

It was nothing! Just a false positive.

Two days later, you were on your back with ultrasound gel on your stomach. Your eyes were trained on the screen.

That was not a false positive.

“Judging by the size, I'd say you're about 11 weeks.” your OBGYN confirmed, pointing on the screen, “Here's the head…”

The baby was conceived in Spain.

Her words were fading off into nothing. Your wide eyes were on the black and white screen. That little blob was an embryo. That would grow into a fetus. From there, a baby.

Baby.

“Oh my god.” You breathed, mind unable to cope, “Oh my god…”

How did this not come up on any of those tests the lab ran!?

A sudden thought came into your head. With horror, you realized that the lab most likely knew and deliberately didn’t tell you.

You were under no delusion you could trust the government. Your dad was the fucking president. You knew how cut throat and ruthless everything involved with the country's leadership was. After your kidnap, you were finally informed of the science that was being hidden from the public to avoid a panic.

Most likely you were being watched by undercover agents. You’ve been at this OBGYN for years, and you never saw that receptionist with the red hair. Chances are, both your father and the science lab knew about this appointment the moment you made it.

Your panicked eyes went to your doctor. What would she tell them? Would HIPAA come into play here? How good was the hippocratic oath when the national leader demanded answers?

Who could you trust?

“Is it-...” Your throat felt tight.

Was it normal? Any signs of developmental problems? Did it have a tail and claws? Was it actually a parasite?

“So far at 11 weeks I am seeing normal development.” She talked as if reading your mind, “It’s still too early to know the sex, but I’m seeing normal limbs and head growth. No signs of down syndrome or other chromosomal issues.”

“Blood test?” Your words sounded small, “I mean…Can I get a blood test to confirm? Just to check for anything?” Did a blood test for ancient Spanish parasites even exist? You scrambled for a reason, “Um…I had traveled to rural Spain 11 weeks ago…I drank some of the water there.”

It was a vague but good enough reason for your doctor.

You got your blood taken, the ultrasound photo was printed and you were sent on your way. Your eyes met the new receptionist when you made another appointment for next week.

Agent.

Your father knew.

If your dad knew that you were pregnant, then the government lab did as well.

As you drove, your head was filled with dangerous thoughts. What would they do to the fetus? What would they do to you ? Would they force you to terminate and use the cells for experiments? Would they make you carry to term and take the baby from you?

Unconsciously, one of your hands rested on your stomach. Right now, your brain went into overdrive. You’d fight tooth and nail to keep this life safe inside of you.

Maternal instinct.

Honestly, you thought it was a myth. It probably was, but then you couldn’t explain the sudden need to protect this baby in your belly.

…Baby

There was a baby growing inside of you. A life created between you and the man you loved. A child that you and Leon made together. An act of love and intimacy had formed a whole new existence.

You swallowed thickly.

This…this was hardly the time to have a kid. You had your job and career. Plus, Leon was gone on missions a lot. Dangerous missions that could end up with him dead. Your child might grow up without a father…nothing but a folded flag and a photo to tell them that their dad perished protecting the country.

“Stop it.” you forced yourself to speak, “Just stop it.” Your mind was spiraling. Forcing you to tackle some things you didn’t want to accept yet. No, you had to focus. You were driving, and frankly, panicking behind the wheel of a moving vehicle is a great way to get yourself killed.

You noticed a black car had been tailing you for the last several miles. Secret service. One of your dads agents.

Or kidnappers .

Honestly, with your life now, any of those three were options.

Well, at least you had a concealed carry this time.

You pulled into your driveway, hand resting on the pistol hidden at your hip as you opened the door to step out. The car drove past, most likely going to turn around and set up surveillance somewhere nearby.

Jesus, can’t you have a normal life?

You unlocked the door to your condo, stepping in to see Leon pacing. He was agitated, running his hands through his blonde hair. He perked up, looking at you as soon as you closed and locked the door.

“Leon?” You put your keys down, approaching him, “Is everything-?”

“Where…were you?” He swallowed. You could see his hands shaking ever so slightly.

“I..went to see my OB.” you answered him, holding his face in your hands, “What's going on?”

“The lab…they called…” your fiance put his hands over yours, “You need to go in for further testing. I don’t know why, they said they found something.”

Oh fuck you government!

You sighed, “Great…” You pulled away, “There's something I need to show you.” Your steps went to your bag that you put down by the door.

“Is everything ok?” He asked, following you.

“I..I think so.” You spoke truthfully, pulling out the ultrasound photos. Your own anxiety was spiking now. You knew Leon wanted a family of his own. You two have talked about it. But were you ready to be parents?

You held up the photos.

Leon’s eyes widened. He raised his hands slowly, as if afraid of breaking or ripping them. He rubbed his thumb over the surface. You watched his gaze roam over the pictures, as if committing every detail to memory.

Your fiance stepped back and leaned against the wall. His eyes remained on the photos, not looking up at anything else around him.

The result of your love. Half of you and half of him had created that little blob inside of you. That blob would grow into a baby. A child.

“Really?” The agent sounded quiet, voice almost a whisper.

You nodded, “Yea…really…And i know it's-”

He cut you off by immediately wrapping his strong arms around you. You could feel the tears when he buried his face into your shoulder.

“I love you,” Leon breathed, pulled back to pepper your face with kisses, “Oh my god, I love you. I love you.” One hand cupped your cheek, and the other was on your stomach with an open palm.

You giggled, “Happy?”

“Happy? Happy doesn’t even cover it.” His voice was light and joyful. His fingers brushed over your middle, “I'm ecstatic. Excited. I…God, I love you.” Your fiance knelt burying his face into your stomach to start placing pecks all over and whisper loving words. You weren’t even showing yet and he was already beginning to coo and mumble baby talk.

You couldn’t help but laugh.

#reader insert #leon kennedy x reader #leon s kennedy #resident evil x reader #leon s kennedy x reader #leon kennedy #re 4 leon #tw: pregnancy #tw: unplanned pregnancy #my writing

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eclairfair98 · 2 months

Text

The swing doesn’t creak under his weight. It’s different from the little tyre Dad had strung up for him in the backyard when he was a kid. But in the ways that matter, it’s exactly the same.

Securing his grip on the chains, Pete takes a few steps back. And then, he lets go. Swings ahead, kicking the air. The white of his shoelaces almost glowing in the dark.

The height of the swing increases with every pump of his legs, a glorious breeze blowing against his damp brow. The rise in his body’s centre of mass making itself know in bubbly feeling floating in his belly.

It’s almost like one little swing is enough to turn-off something as big as gravity.

And maybe, gravity only exists as a manifestation of the loneliness of all the molecules and atoms and protons and neutrons and electrons that make up the Earth.

Of the loneliness experienced by all the living breathing people with burdens and disappointments and broken dreams that inhabit the planet.

“Pete… slow down. Please.”

The voice reaches out to him, but he can’t really hear it. Smooth syllables rounded out by the faint buzzing in his ears. ‘Cause somewhere in Pete’s head, all the sound has gone out.

And what is life? What does it even mean to be alive?

He closes his eyes against the cool wind buffeting his face, raises his legs as he reaches the topmost part of the arc of his swing. Takes in a breath that makes a gasping sound at the back of his throat.

Is it this?

The act of breathing in and breathing out.

Is inspiring oxygen and expiring carbon dioxide, pumping enough blood from his heart to his arteries and eventually, all of his visceral organs, enough to classify Pete as alive?

Maybe, it is.

If so, maybe he’s only as alive as an insentient tree, or a patch of symbiotic lichen growing on the bark of a tree. Or a non-flagellated bacteria that cannot move freely through its own immediate environment and lives out its brief, insignificant existence stuck in the same ultra-microscopic space that Nature deemed it appropriate to cage him in.

After all, what is he?

A universe of atoms. An atom in the universe.

There’s fresh wetness burning behind his eyelids, clumping his lashes, and Pete makes a valiant attempt to fight the stupid, overwhelming, all-encompassing need to cry, till he ends up crying a little, anyway. Staring up at a flock of stars scattered across the night sky. At the light that’s been traveling for hundreds and thousands of years to reach his tired eyes.

“Push me higher, Daddy, I want to fly!” he would implore. And his father’d always obliged. Instructing him to hold on tight, as the sky rushed up to welcome him with open arms.

The metal chains of the swing dig into his palms, but Pete doesn’t notice the discomfort, tightly closing his hands around the only thing tethering him to the ground.

Pumping his legs for the last time, Pete wonders whether he and his father are looking up at the same night sky, whether Dad sees the frozen lights twinkling against a backdrop of crushed, black velvet, and thinks about just how small he is in the grand scheme of things.

And in that sublime moment that seems to stretch on infinitely, Pete is flying.

After a while, he does slow down, spots Tom who’s now standing next to his swing, off to the side. His shoes skid against the sand as he comes to an abrupt stop. Little spots dancing in front of his eyes. Growing bigger and bigger. Taking on shapes and colors: starry-blues, fuchsia-pinks, firetruck-reds. Till his vision starts crumpling ‘round the edges.

Till strong hands grip his waist and his arm, deftly lower him into the swing, hold him securely till the colors fade away. Bleed into the night.

“I’ve got you,” Tom murmurs, warm hand moving up to cradle Pete’s tear-stained cheek. To caress his quivering chin with a calloused thumb.

This way they’re at eye level, and Pete can see his face clearly. Can smell his scent. Like a rain shower in the summertime after the grass has been cut.

“I really don’t know what this is, but I feel so scared, Tom… I feel so alone...”

Moonlight glances off Tom’s wedding ring, and Pete brushes his pinky against the cool metal. A minuscule movement that stills Tom’s hand. Turns it boneless in Pete’s grip.

“But you’re not alone, Pete. You don’t have to be scared, ‘cause I’m going to take care of you. You have me. You’ll always have me,” Tom whispers. And it feels as though he’s reciting a prayer, breathed into existence against the unsteady beat of Pete’s heart.

He runs his thumb along Tom’s knuckles, over the warmth seeping through his sun-kissed skin. Over the faint scars sloping over the smooth ridge.

Remembers how Tom got those scars. The bubblegum pink balloons that littered the varnished gym floor at prom. The fraying ends of the ribbon tying the corsage to his wrist. It’s rose petals picked away by his anxious fingers. The short-lived relief of getting away from the heat and the people and the noise. From all of the eyes on him, and all of the whispers. Of Annapolis admissions and impending engagements and the possibility of getting bonded before marriage. Of the fact that the Academy forbade Midshipmen from getting married. But didn’t stop them from bonding their omegas.

He remembers the sharp smell of unfamiliar alpha stinging his nose. The cold burn of calloused fingers on his neck. The yelp of distress punching it’s way out of his chest. The white-hot shock that flooded his insides when a senior he hardly recognized leaned in to deliberately scent him and remark: Kazansky’s got himself a sweet one, all right. But you don’t seem to like him very much, do you? Say, if you’re looking for someone better—

Remembers only being able to string together three weak words, nascent tears choking his voice: Let me go.

Remembers the blur of motion at the edges of his vision. Strangled sounds of a brief scuffle. Raw knuckles clenched into tight fists. A spot of blood staining the pressed-clean collar of Tom’s dress shirt. Quicksilver glinting in his steady blue eyes.

Unapologetic even in the face of detention and the threat of suspension.

The same eyes that are looking at him now: open and vulnerable and all the more steadier for it.

“Please, let me be there for you. Let me be good to you. Let me take care of you. Let me…”

Tom shuffles closer, touches the hem of his tee-shirt with shaky fingers. Smooths it down where it had ridden up, exposing a sliver of his pale abdomen.

“Okay,” he whispers.

Because Tom isn’t a liar. He would never lie. Not to Pete. Not to anyone.

Because Tom would never not be good to him.

Because Tom’s hands never shake, but they’re shaking now. As Pete cradles them in his own, brings them down to his still flat belly. Feels the press of them against his covered skin. The space between his breaths shortening, till he lets a little breath go.

Till he closes the distance between them, his mouth hot on Tom’s, the whole of him held between Tom’s shaky palms.

Because Tom feels like home.

Tom’s eyes widen, his next inhale coming in a little shorter, a little sharper. And Tom tugs him a little closer, curls his calloused fingers round the slope of his jaw, kisses Pete deeper. Something desperate in the hard press of his lips on Pete’s. Something heartbreakingly tender about it.

And Pete doesn’t know what to do with it. With the way his chest’s heaving like it’s being crushed under the weight of his ribs. With the way his lungs are bursting, ballooning up and taking his breath away.

And it feels so simple. So easy. Even though it really isn’t. The honesty of it. Of wanting to hold. Of wanting to be held. Of wanting to love and be loved.

But he leans into it. Fingers weaving softly in Tom’s thick hair, thumbs tracing the curve of his cheekbones.

Because, Tom is home.

#the unbearable lightness of being #omegaverse #icemav #tw: unplanned pregnancy / misogyny (in the context of omega verse) / mentions of assault (in the past)

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a-reader-and-a-writer-for-all · 2 months

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The Life I Didn't Know

Fandom: Top Gun, Top Gun: Maverick, Mickey "Fanboy" Garcia, f!reader Summary: Mickey Garcia thought returning to Top Gun was the most life-changing thing to ever happen to him. And that was before a ghost from his past confronted him on the tarmac. What you tell him next will change both how he views his past and his vision for his future. Word Count: 4591 TW: Lies, Secret Reveals, Hidden Child, Ghosting, Confessions Note: Thank you to @musings-of-a-rose for your ask that inspired this fic �� I'm just sorry it's taken almost 10 months to finish (but I guess it fits thematically 😂). And thank you to @topguncortez and @lorecraft for beta reading for me! 💕

Mickey should have known better than to send something like that into the universe.

And yet here you are. Five—almost six—years older but still the most beautiful woman he has ever seen.

“Falcon…”

With a Herculean effort, Mickey pulls himself together enough to ask, “Wha…. What are you doing here?”

“Really?” Mickey scoffs. “Why not?”

“Because they found out about us.”

Needing no further context to understand what you are referring to, a cold dread washes over him. “W-who did?”

Mickey shakes his head as, in a softer tone, he says, “I never told anyone. I swear.”

However, it still left some gaping holes in your excuse.

“Yes, they could.” Your voice quivers slightly even as you scoff humorlessly. “There was one piece of undeniable proof that would have had us both discharged if they had discovered it.”

“What?”

Tears slip from your eyes as you whisper, “I was pregnant.”

Mickey’s head is still reeling from everything you have told him, yet he catches one important detail in what you just said. “Wait. You reported it. Does that mean…did you…do we…?”

“Yeah, Mickey,” you half sob as more tears flow steadily down your face. “We have a son.”

“A son…”

He hears you walking over to him and can see your feet stop a few inches from him out of the corner of his eye.

In a voice thick with tears, you whisper, “I’m sorry. I’m so, so incredibly sorry. I just…I didn’t…I didn’t know…” You can’t find the words to finish that sentence.

“‘Your family’? Do you mean you…?” Maybe his son has had a father-figure in his life after all.

“He asked about you.”

“What?”

“He…he wants to meet me?” Mickey asks.

“Miguel. His name’s Miguel.”

Tears spring to Mickey’s eyes as he whispers, “Miguel?”

He is about to swipe again when something at the top of the picture stops him. Zooming in closer, he inhales sharply.

Tears that have been threatening to fall finally crest over his eyes as Mickey chokes out, “Can I meet him?”

“You really want to?”

He nods before tearing his eyes from the phone to look up at you. “Yeah. More than anything.”

Smiling softly, you say, “Of course, Mickey. As many as you want. And I have some videos too. Do you still have the same number?”

“You still have it saved?” Mickey asks in surprise.

Mickey sighs as he stares off across the open tarmac. “Part of me gets it, you know? It was a no-win situation given the circumstances.”

And with that, you pivot and hurry across the tarmac before disappearing into one of the hangars.

“Hey, there you are. I thought you were just gonna be a minute.” As he gets closer, Payback does a double-take when he notices Mickey’s face. “Oh, man, are you okay?”

Mickey is still wondering that himself, but he says, “Yeah… yeah, I’m good.”

As Mickey walks past him to put his stuff in his locker and pull out his flight suit, Payback follows him, concern etched across his face. “Dude, you’re a mess.”

“I’m not a mess.”

“Yeah, you are. You look like you’re about to pass out and I can tell you’ve been crying.”

I have a few ideas for other parts if anyone is interested (but no promises at this point)

Taglist: @valoraxxx-blog, @m3laniehearts, @autumnleaves1991-blog, @rule107, @vintageleather, @impossiblebagelcowboyfreak, @slutforadambanks, @americaarse, @reneki, @ynbutbetter, @sugarcoated-lame, @imagineadream, @sadpetalsstuff, @salty-thembo, @rachelizabethgraham, @duckandrobin, @queenbbarnes, @grincheveryday, @uselesslyromantic, @choochoo284, @littlebadariell, @thescarletknight2014, @dempy, @nik2blog, @dumb-fawkin-bitch, @shirley2996, @kkrenae, @zebralover, @startrekfangirl2233, @memeorydotcom

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theresawritesstuff · 8 months

Note

Prompt - Midge finds out she's pregnant after her night with Lenny in the blue room.

She'd had this feeling she couldn't shake for the better part of a week. Nothing monumental or show stopping or obvious, just…Something. An intuition.

One she hadn't been truly sure of until the moment she saw him standing in that empty hallway. Bound for California…

Still, they made small talk. She held her tongue.

They were already leaving things unsaid that were much more certain than this. He had enough on his plate…

"Okay…You take care."

He turned to go, bag in hand. Off to make a life for himself on the west coast for who knows how long. Maybe forever.

She should let him go. She should…

"I think I'm pregnant," she heard herself say.

He turned back, not sure he heard her right. "What?"

"It's early," she told him quickly, the words tumbling from her mouth or their own free will. "I-I haven't even been to the doctor yet to confirm anything but I just…" She let out a shaky breath. "Christ. And now you've got a plane to catch and a lease and–"

"Wait…" He strode back to meet her at her side, processing. "You're saying it's…"

"Yours," she confirmed. "Yeah…"

He nodded, looking a little pale as he covered his lip with his finger. "You're sure? That I'm…"

"There hasn't been anyone else in a long time so…"

"Wow…" He puffed out a breath, glancing at the terminal anxiously. "Um–"

"I'm sorry. I know it's terrible timing. I shouldn't have said anything but–"

"But we don't call?" he offered a little sadly, turning her own words back on her.

She deserved that.

She hadn't been expecting a call from him after the way things ended at Carnegie, after she'd screwed up so astronomically.

Doesn't mean she hadn't wanted him to…

"We probably could have made an exception," she replied, attempting for light-hearted and not quite succeeding.

Lenny nodded. "Probably. Still, a guy likes to hear this sort of news in person when he can."

A tinny voice announcing the start of boarding for his flight to Los Angeles echoed off the walls around them, intermingling with the quiet strains of their song on the radio…

Lenny exhaled a sigh. "Look just…wait here. Okay?"

"Lenny." She knew she couldn't ask him to stay. That it wasn't fair to spring this on him like this. It wasn't fair to either of them.

"Just…wait. Please," he begged.

She nodded quietly. "Okay."

She'd always had a hard time saying no to him when he said please.

He got a flight attendant to help him retrieve his checked suitcase from the luggage, a pink baggage tag hanging brightly against the handle.

"You didn't have to do that," she told him when he returned, even if she was grateful he had.

"I'll catch the next one," he replied.

"Is there anyone you need to call? Let them know you'll be late?" she wondered.

"I'll call my mother later," he promised. "But we should talk first."

"I suppose we should," she admitted.

"Bar? Not for you but–"

She held up a hand mercifully. "I get it. Bar is fine."

They made their way to a quiet corner of the airport lounge in hesitant silence.

He pulled out her barstool for her, treating her with kid gloves.

"Thanks," she gave him a smile, hoping to hide her nerves.

God this sort of thing had been so much easier to talk about when she had a ring on her finger and a ten year plan carefully laid out.

He took the barstool next to her, ordering a whiskey for himself and a club soda for her, tapping the bar nervously as they waited.

"So," he ventured. "Pregnant?"

"'fraid so," she murmured.

He took a moment, letting them both come to terms with it.

"Haven't you got a rocky history with that word on stage?" he teased finally.

She laughed despite everything. "Maybe they'll give me a few extra seconds if it's my own condition I'm talking about."

"Maybe," he conceded, downing a bit of his drink. "How are you feeling?"

"Good. Fine. Really good actually. No nausea or anything like that yet."

He nodded quietly. "Okay. Well that's something. Otherwise I'd feel like a real schmuck."

"I'm sorry for dropping this on you," she told him genuinely.

A smirk tugged at his lips. "Pretty sure I'm the one who asked to see your corset that night. We both had a hand in…well, you know."

"I do," she replied, smiling softly as she stirred her straw idly around her glass. "At least it was a memorable night."

"I aim to please."

He looked down at the bar.

"How um…how far along would you guess you are?"

"Not very. They actually start tracking from when your last cycle was instead of from the actual doing of the deed, so…about a month?" she guessed, belatedly realizing what she was admitting to. "Too much information?"

Lenny chuckled. "I think we're passed that point, Midge."

She shrugged. "Just wasn't sure how squeamish you were."

"I'm not," he assured her.

He took another fortifying swig from his glass.

"So…what do you want to do?" he wondered hesitantly.

Midge blew out a breath, giving it some thought. "We could try calling? I've heard a few positive remarks on the concept. And you could visit if you want or I could come out to California, at least while it's still okay to fly." She fiddled with the edge of her sleeve as she second guessed herself. "Or I could send pictures if you'd rather we just…"

She trailed off, noting the tender, bewildered look in his eyes.

"What?"

"Nothing," he shook his head. "I just assumed you wouldn't…You want to have this baby? My child? Our…"

He swallowed, struggling to find the words. "That's something you want?"

"Well the timing isn't ideal but…yes," she admitted.

"You're sure."

"Yes," she replied.

"There might be a little Lenny Jr running around making your apartment a mess, ruining your wallpaper in the not exactly distant future, and you're on board with that?" he asked again, a fond sort of smile creeping into his expression.

She shrugged. "There are worse things."

Lenny smiled, sipping his drink slowly. "Yeah I suppose there are. Timing isn't exactly ideal but…"

"But…" Midge agreed.

He turned towards her cautiously, considering his words carefully. "I don't mean to sound indelicate, but what about your career?"

"I've got two other kids at home, what's one more?" she quipped dismissively.

He gave her a look. "Midge."

"It's fine, Lenny. I'm not exactly new to juggling motherhood with stand up. I'll figure something out," she assured him. "I'm not gonna blow it. I promise."

He reached over, putting a hand over hers atop the bar.

"We'll figure something out," he corrected. "And I'm going to hold you to that promise."

She squeezed his hand gently. "I appreciate that, really. But I'm not trying to make you feel like your on the hook or that you're obligated to–"

"Miriam," he said, looking at her fully. "As the mother of my future child, please give me a little bit more credit."

She felt a flush creep across her skin at the sound of her full name on his lips.

"Okay," she agreed quietly.

He nodded, removing his hand from hers. "Good."

She sipped her drink, averting her eyes towards the bar.

"I don't think you've ever called me Miriam before," she informed him.

"No?" he asked curiously.

"No." She shook her head, glancing up at him. "...It was kind of hot."

He put a hand over his mouth to hide a very bad smile.

"Something to keep that in mind for next time, I suppose," he replied.

She arched a questioning brow at his confidence in a next time, laughing to herself.

"What?" he chuckled. "I can't exactly knock you up any more than I already have now, can I? Wouldn't hurt to make the best of it."

Midge smirked, stirring the ice in her drink.

"That depends. Do twins run in your family?"

"Not that I'm aware of," he replied. "You?"

"No." She smiled, feeling more at ease with their old patter back.

After a moment she admitted, "You know. If this sort of thing had to happen, I'm glad it was with you."

"Yeah? Why's that?" he wondered.

She swallowed, wetting her lips.

"Because no one else has ever made me feel like you did that night. Made me feel cared for in that way."

"You mean when I hooked your leg over my–"

"Not that." She swatted at his shoulder lightly as they received a sidelong glance from the bartender.

Lenny smirked, looking rather pleased with himself as he arched a contradictory brow in her direction.

"Okay yes, also that," she conceded, keeping her voice hushed. "But I meant after. When you held me just to hold me. It was…it was really nice."

"I concur," he murmured. "At least until the slow runners called."

"And I found that bag in your bathroom."

He nodded, growing somber.

"Right. That."

"Is all really well?" she asked gently. "I know I didn't handle bringing it up well last time but I need to know, given that you knocked me up and all…Are you okay?"

She reached out to retake his hand in hers.

He turned his palm over, lacing their fingers.

"I'm working on it," he replied eventually.

"Well if there's anything I can do to–"

"There isn't really," he informed her softly. "But I appreciate the sentiment."

She nodded quietly. "We can talk about it another time. Now what about that pack of lawyers of yours? What are we dealing with there?"

"Midge, this wasn't supposed to be a talk about my problems," he reminded her.

"Too bad," she replied, hopping off the barstool to dig one of his files out of the bag at her feet.

"Miriam," he admonished, lowering the timber of his voice as he slid around her to get the file.

"Nice try," she smirked, flipping it open on the bar, glancing over what appeared to be a billing statement of some sort.

"Jesus Christ Lenny, are you really paying these guys that much?"

He shrugged, slumping back into his bar stool in defeat. "It's either that or face some options I'd care for even less."

Midge shook her head. "You're getting ripped off."

"You know your way around a courtroom better than I do?" he wondered incredulously.

"I know a guy. Mike Kessler. He'll charge you way less than these vultures and he's good. Better than good. You should call him. I might have his number in my purse actually."

"Midge, I've got a lot more charges against me than just saying a few naughty things to a crowd in the Village," he reminded her.

"And flashing my tits. Allegedly," she corrected with a smirk.

He blinked at the image. "I think I missed that."

"You were waiting for me out front. We just didn't know it yet," she replied, pulling the card in question from her purse.

She placed it against his chest, holding her hand over his heart. "Call him. I'll put in a good word," she insisted.

He shook his head, lifting her chin with the crook of his index finger to kiss her.

She was more than happy to oblige, letting herself get pulled in by his embrace, her eyes drifting shut.

"Thank you," he replied when their lips parted, holding the business card between his fingers, pocketing it pointedly. "Now back to why we're really here."

"You've still got the lease and the daughter out in California," she reminded him.

"Kitty," he informed her.

She smiled. "Kitty. That's a sweet name."

"Thanks. She's a sweet kid. Yours are…"

"Ethan and Esther," she answered.

"Right," Lenny nodded. "Are they in school?"

"Ethan just started kindergarten this year."

"So did Kitty."

Midge couldn't help but notice the proud little spark in his eyes at that.

"How long's the lease?" she wondered.

"Six months. At least to start had been the plan."

She nodded to herself. "We can work with that."

"Maybe Kitty and I could come visit over Hanukkah," he ventured.

"I'd like that," Midge beamed.

"Me too."

Lenny smirked to himself, finishing the last of his drink, setting it aside.

"God, I feel like I should be offering to buy you a ring. Getting down on one knee to make an honest woman of you or some shit," he admitted, pulling some money for their drinks from his wallet.

Midge let out a laugh. "Well how could a girl say no when you put it like that?"

His eyes searched hers, looking for an answer to the question he hadn't quite asked.

"I don't need you to propose, Lenny," she replied gently. "Not right now. I…"

She let out a breath. "I don't want you to marry me just because you think it's the right thing to do."

"I can think of a few other reasons," he drawled, placing the money on the bar.

She shook her head. "I need to know that if you propose it's because you love me. First and foremost."

He nodded, getting to his feet slowly.

His hand came to cradle her cheek as he looked into her eyes, taking her hand in his other and bringing it to his lips tenderly.

"First and foremost," he promised.

He exhaled a sigh as the clock on the wall caught his eye.

"You need to go," she guessed.

He nodded, his thumb tracing circles across her hand, reluctant to let go.

"Promised Kitty I'd be home for her birthday. Should probably try to make good on that."

"Lucky girl."

He smiled softly, gathering his things.

"I'll call you when I get settled. Promise."

"Okay," she agreed, getting to her feet. "I guess I'll keep you posted on what my OB has to say."

"Please do."

"Not exactly how you expected your afternoon to go, hm?" she teased.

"One could say that."

She took him in in that moment, memorizing the lines in his face, the light in his eyes.

She'd never expected Lenny. Her whole life she'd made careful plans for herself but she'd never once expected him. Never thought to imagine that someone like him would drop into her life, become one of her dearest friends and steadfast supporters. Never expected him to slowly steal her heart along the way.

Was it any wonder that an unexpected pregnancy after a night spent in his arms felt strangely right, even now with the cards stacked against them?

"We'll figure it out," she promised.

He nodded, gathering his things in hand, a little bit of hope in his eyes that hadn't been there at the start of this.

"See you at Hanukkah?"

"Can't wait."

She watched him walk away, still bound for the west coast. But this time it wasn't a goodbye.

It was the start of something much better.

#Midgelenny #midge x lenny #Tmmm ficlet #Prompt fill #tw pregnancy #cw pregnancy #unplanned pregnancy #canon divergence #A bit of a stretch of the original prompt. Hope that's okay #Rewriting the airport scene felt like the way to go

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universitypenguin · 2 years

Text

Part VI

Summary: Lloyd is asked to help with a dangerous problem and the reader is drawn into a family dispute.

Word Count: 7,568

Warnings: Suggestive content, inappropriate for minors, no out right smut. Only appropriate for 18+ readers. Foul language. Internal angst from the reader. Discussion of family problems and unplanned pregnancy. Hints of potential parental neglect. Depiction of stalking. Chapter content includes: an accusation of domestic violence (no specific details), several missing persons cases, a detailed analysis of a murder, and discussion about a serial killer.

Author's Note: I know this post is a bit late. My professor didn’t show up at her office hours, so I ended up spending five hours watching YouTube tutorials to figure out my question. She emailed me an apology and explained that she forgot to announce her office hours had changed. Begrudgingly, I’ve decided to forgive her.

Masterlist

The Princess and the Lawyer - Part VI

Clayton Bishop’s eye twitched when Lloyd propped his feet on the desk.

Lloyd smothered a grin and crossed his ankles. He smoothed out a crease in his trousers and waited.

“Do you have to do that?” Clayton asked, staring at Lloyd’s cognac wingtips.

“It’s my office. I like to be comfortable.”

“There’s such a thing as being too comfortable.”

“Not to me. Come on, Bishop. Why are we meeting at the crack of dawn?”

The text had come in last night, with only sparse details. Lloyd hadn’t been able to extract any more information out of him. Reticence was unusual for his former professor, and current boss, which meant Lloyd was brimming with curiosity.

“Are you familiar with the case of Shun Nguyen?”

Lloyd searched through his memory.

“Yes. He was convicted of murdering his girlfriend twenty years ago. There was a lot of media attention and the Singaporean government protested his treatment in prison.”

“Correct. It was my case.”

Lloyd knew that, but hadn’t wanted to bring it up. Nguyen’s conviction was controversial. Many believed him innocent. Twice as many thought he was guilty of more than just his girlfriend’s murder.

“Rumors that Nguyen was a serial killer abounded, but there was no proof. We didn’t find any more bodies but the one we had was enough to try him on. So, we focused on doing what we could with what we had.”

“Why are we discussing this? Nguyen’s serving a life sentence.”

“No, he isn’t. His case was overturned by the Virginia Supreme Court.”

Lloyd’s eyebrows arched. “I didn’t hear about it.”

“Presidential election year - headline space was limited. They voided his conviction and he left for Singapore, where he still holds dual citizenship.”

“I’m even more confused now. You know a murder case can’t be tried twice.”

Bishop reached into his briefcase and passed Lloyd a file.

“That’s not going to be a problem.”

Lloyd opened the cover. Empty eye sockets stared up at him from the glossy eight by twelve. It was a human skull, partially engulfed in concrete.

“Is this from the original case?”

He picked up the photo. The exact details of the case escaped him, but he remembered Dr. Nguyen’s girlfriend had been disposed of in a slab of concrete.

“Sort of.”

Lloyd glanced up at Bishop, surprised by the cryptic answer. He frowned at the level of detail captured in the photo. Cameras hadn’t been this good twenty years ago.

“When was this taken?”

“July 2nd.”

Lloyd raised an eyebrow. “Of this year?”

“Yes.”

“That’s two weeks ago. Who is this?”

“Several of Dr. Nguyen’s alleged victims still have open case files in Fairfax county. None of them were found. The cold case unit assigned the file to a new detective three weeks ago. He went to see where we found the first victim. On his way to the site, he found this.”

Lloyd groaned. “Fuck.”

“I used a lot of colorful phrases to describe my feelings when I got the call. But that was the sentiment I landed on, too.”

“Can I run this by you, as I understand it?”

Bishop nodded. “Sure.”

“Twenty years ago, you convicted Shun Nguyen of murdering his girlfriend.”

“Eighteen years ago. Setting the trial date took awhile.”

“Whatever. A conviction was won. Three years ago, the state Supreme Court overturned it. Then - just a few weeks ago - a new detective picks up the case, goes to the site where the first body was dumped, and finds… this.”

Lloyd took the photograph and turned it around, displaying the skull.

Bishop looked like he’d taken a bite of a lemon.

“Did I miss anything?” Lloyd asked.

“The concrete slab was dated to be approximately twenty-two to twenty-five years old.”

“So while you guys were working on the original case…?”

“This slab was about four hundred feet behind us the entire time.”

“And no one noticed it?!”

“The woods are thick. I’m just as horrified as you. More so, even. If we’d had these remains our case would have been far more compelling. Lloyd, this might be our second chance at putting Shun Nguyen away for life.”

“Nobody searched the woods? This victim just hung out in a concrete slab for an extra twenty years, while the other one was found a little more than a football field away?”

“We searched, but the perimeter was set at three hundred feet. We only found this body because of Detective Roth, and received its authentication report on Friday.”

“Holy shit, Bishop. Holy shit.”

Bishop folded his hands and regarded Lloyd somberly.

“You know why I’m telling you this, right?”

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

You were ten minutes late to work. In your left hand, you balanced a Starbucks carrier as you struggled against the fierce wind to latch the door. Finally, it clicked shut.

Jen’s office was your first stop. She made grabby hands at the drink carrier.

“My precious!”

You snorted and handed over her vanilla latte.

Jen sniffed at the aroma. “I love you.”

You took a step back. “That’s so sweet… but listen. I think we should see other people. My personal time is important to me - ”

“Screw off. I was talking to the coffee.”

You leaned against the door jam to her office.

“How’s summer vacation?”

“Once I pack these little monsters off to school, I’ll cry tears of joy.”

“Have they killed your garden yet?”

“Not yet. I’ve resorted to barbaric threats to get them to weed it.”

You grinned. “Let me know if you need any bamboo shoots. Or iron fetters.”

“Do you know how much easier it would be to just do it myself?” Jen asked.

“Hang in there. Gardening builds character.”

“Yesterday, Jason claimed my habanero plant was a weed and uprooted it.”

You cocked your head. “Are you sure it was an accident? The tomatoes are ready, you use habaneros in salsa, he doesn’t like spicy food…”

Jen’s eyes narrowed. “Unbelievable!”

“I think he’s a genius.”

Jen looked up, suddenly laser focused. “Speaking of hot stuff. Guess who had a bounce in his step this morning?”

“Andy?”

“Lloyd. I actually saw him smile.”

“Lloyd smiles all the time.”

“No, he doesn’t. I did a double take to make sure it was really him. There’s only one thing that puts an expression like that on a man’s face. He got laid.”

“Uh… okay.”

“Who do you think it was? He has no life, so the suspect list can’t be that long.”

You gripped the coffee tray. Lloyd had more of a life than Jen suspected.

“I wouldn’t know… we don’t really discuss our personal lives. Listen, I’ve got to run, early meeting.”

“You’re fifteen minutes late. If the meeting was early, you missed it.”

“Bye, Jen!”

You bolted down the hall.

In the elevator you slumped against the wall to catch your breath. Your heart was pounding. The level of adrenaline you were feeling would’ve been more appropriate for a life threatening situation than escaping an awkward conversation. Could you handle an intra-office affair? What if your lies were so obvious that everyone found out?

D.C was a very small town, with even smaller legal circles. You could ruin your fledgling career in a nanosecond. These alarming thoughts should have taken first position in your mind, but they quickly fell away.

A smile spread over your face.

Lloyd was in a good mood. You smoothed your hair, preening a little. The elevator stopped at the fourth floor and as you walked to Lloyd’s office, there was a bounce in your step.

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

You were taken aback by the sight of Lloyd sprawled on the sofa. One arm was draped over his stomach and the other behind his head. Bishop occupied the armchair cater-corner to the sofa. His left ankle was propped on his right knee. Both of them had rolled up their shirt sleeves and loosened their ties. It was a very serious look for eight a.m.

“I brought coffee?”

Lloyd scowled. “Throw Bishop’s in the trash. He doesn’t deserve it.”

You noted his irritation and switched modes. It was never openly acknowledged that moderating Lloyd’s hostility was one of your key duties. The tacit agreement was an odd twist in the office structure, but it kept the peace. Or rather, you kept the peace.

“I’m sure that isn’t true.”

You crossed to Bishop and handed him the coffee, then put Lloyd’s beside him on the end table. He adjusted his position so you could sit down.

When you were seated beside him, your eyes turned to the whiteboard behind his desk. It was reserved for analyzing major cases, and usually stayed in the closet. Today, it was plastered with pictures, papers, and color coded comments in black and blue marker. In the center, there was a photo of a human skull, halfway buried in concrete. Empty eye sockets peered creepily out of the 8x12, as if lifted from a de Gheyn painting. Rather than the artistic brushstrokes of de Gheyn, this picture was digital. Whoever had taken it had placed all focus on the skull. Without any framing or layers to add interest, the picture was rather stark.

“What do you think?”

Bishop’s question was a surprise. You realized he was watching your reaction.

“I guess someone pissed off the mob.”

Lloyd sipped his coffee. “That’s an angle we haven’t explored.”

Bishop raised an eyebrow.

“We don’t need angles. Nguyen did this.”

“That’s absurd. We have a responsibility to perform due diligence on all the possibilities. This case has to be approached with an open mind.”

Bishop ignored him.

“I’ve been working to get Nguyen to agree to an interview. You can take your time sorting through the new evidence, but trust me. All roads lead to Rome.”

“Don’t make assumptions,” Lloyd said.

“He’s the only person who would know the precise location of the prior dump site.”

You were tired of trying to follow their conversation without context.

“Who’s Nguyen?”

Bishop answered. “Shun Nguyen is a serial killer.”

“Objection, hearsay.”

You glanced at Lloyd. He’d folded himself into the corner of the sofa, and looked like a boxer squaring off with his opponent between rounds.

Bishop sent Lloyd an irate look and leaned forward, bracing his elbows on his knees, then explained.

“In the spring of 2002 a body was found near Cub Run trail. It’s a remote hiking path on the outskirts of Fairfax county in Stream Valley Park. After the body was found, I was asked to serve as prosecutor. The victim was a woman named Julia Xiarong. Her boyfriend, Shun Nguyen, was a resident physician at Forest View - that’s the community hospital in Harmony.”

“I’ve been to that park. My little brother’s baseball team plays tournaments there.”

“Have you been to Harmony?” Bishop asked.

“I’ve driven through it a few times. It’s a cute town.”

“In the early 2000’s they had a rash of missing persons cases. All the victims were young women and none of them have been found.”

“Wow.”

Lloyd jumped in.

“Because there were so many missing women, the locals theorized Nguyen was a serial killer. The police went along with it, and Bishop ramped up the circumstantial evidence to get a conviction. Somehow, even without a shred of solid evidence, he won. Three years ago, the Virginia Supreme Court overturned the ruling and Shun Nguyen returned to Singapore.”

Your eyes darted to Bishop, expecting a defense. He held up his hands.

“I admit it. I won the case on my ability to argue and not the facts. But what doesn’t hold water is that this body shows up twenty years later. In the same place! He’s the only person who would know where to put it!”

“Wait. What? These aren't Julia’s crime scene photos?”

“No,” Lloyd said, his tone a little bit too sarcastic for your liking. “Bishop. Please, elaborate on how these pictures came to be.”

The older man sighed. He recounted how the cold case investigator looking into the missing persons cases had found the new slab. It was discovered only four hundred feet from the original crime scene. This newly discovered victim appeared to pre-date Julia.

You reeled, struggling to absorb the idea that a second body could be found, years later, so close to an active crime scene. This woman’s body had gone undiscovered for decades, while another victim had gotten justice… Well, it was probably a stretch to call Nguyen’s overturned conviction justice. It was insane. You could understand Bishop’s position. It was definitely possible this was one of the missing women.

“I guess Detective Roth is very good at his job,” you said finally.

“And we were very bad at ours. A point Lloyd has spent the morning emphasizing at every turn.”

You looked down at the coffee table, littered with papers from the original case. One page was marked with the letterhead of the Virginia Supreme Court and it caught your eye.

“Why go over the past? It would take a new case to get Nguyen back in court.”

“My point exactly,” Lloyd said. “I’ll agree there’s reason to suspect Nguyen of being a serial killer. But accusing him in court is ridiculous. I can’t believe his defense let you play that card.”

“His attorney was expensive, but not very sharp. The case was high profile and it attracted the opportunists. Nguyen hired a suit from New York who was there for the publicity. I’ve never been so confident in a verdict.”

“Everything was built on circumstantial evidence. You don’t have anything placing him in the woods. You don’t even know exactly when Julia went missing. There are massive holes in the case and the timeline.”

Bishop shrugged. “I’m aware. If you’d been his lawyer, he would have walked.”

“How many criminal cases would you say are built on circumstantial evidence?” You directed the question to Bishop.

Lloyd’s jaw flexed. You knew circumstantial evidence was a large part of most cases. Lloyd had debated this with you in the past. The question was for Lloyd’s benefit - a gentle reminder that Bishop’s case wasn’t as bad as he was making it out to be.

Bishop lingered another hour, discussing the details as you took notes. Lloyd paced, rearranged the whiteboard, and then arranged it back to its original state. He twirled his pen and responded to questions with grunts. Maybe Jen had imagined the bounce in his step this morning. He was certainly in a dark mood now. At ten, Bishop left for an unrelated meeting at the department of justice.

You sorted the papers into stacks according to chronological order. The first pile was the original crime, the next Nguyen’s appeals, and the last was from the recently discovered body. You looked at the two thick stacks of information, and the slim third one.

“Do you think Detective Roth would share the cold case files?”

“Bishop sent a courier for it.”

You reviewed your notes, trying to ignore Lloyd burning a hole in the carpet. Watching him pace was making you nervous.

“Let’s start at the beginning, shall we? On April 19th of 2002, hikers reported seeing a skeletonized hand poking out of a concrete slab. When the police arrived, they identified the fingers as belonging to a human skeleton. Then, based on the reports, every single agency in Fairfax County showed up.”

“Why?” Lloyd asked.

“The missing women. They suspected this was one of them.”

“Tell me about the victim.”

“Julia Xiarong. She was identified through cutting edge DNA analysis. There wasn’t much left to examine, apparently.”

Lloyd paused his pacing and turned.

“What do you mean, cutting edge analysis? They had bones. Just take a bone marrow sample or examine the teeth.”

“Her teeth were destroyed. The coroner’s report attributed it to a post-mortem gunshot wound to the mouth. And the body was soaked in some kind of basic solution. Trace amounts of sodium hydroxide were trapped under the concrete. The forensic analyst said the bones were delicate, almost powdery, and ‘crumbled like shortbread,’ when touched.”

“Is that what led them to Shun?”

“No. His scientific knowledge did make him a great suspect, though. They initially questioned him because Julia was his live-in girlfriend.”

Lloyd crossed to the coffee table and picked up a file. Clipped to the front was a glamor photo of an Asian woman with a delicate, heart shaped face.

His eyebrows went up.

“I’ve never seen her photo before. From what I recall, Ngueyn wasn’t anywhere near attractive enough to be with this woman.”

“Wounded gazelle syndrome.”

“What?”

“Lions go after wounded gazelles, not healthy ones. Julia was pretty, but she had issues. The defense attorney’s research uncovered a string of jobs she couldn’t hold down, four psychiatric hospitalizations and several run-ins with the police for manic episodes.”

“That wasn’t on the news,” Lloyd said.

“The media focused more on Shun. They painted a caricature of him as a psychotic surgeon, even though he was on an internal medicine track.”

“What turned the police’s attention to Shun?”

“The same thing that allowed Bishop to convict him on such thin evidence. He was the only person with a motive. Once the DNA report confirmed it was her-”

“Wait. How did they manage to confirm her identity so quickly?”

“She was in the CODIS database.”

Lloyd cocked his head. “What kind of run-ins with the law did she have to end up in CODIS?”

“The DNA collection wasn’t related to her mental problems. She was never charged with a felony. After her manic episodes, they’d let her dry out in jail and then send her to a mental facility. After a few visits Julia underwent electro-shock therapy. It looks like it worked. In the three years between the treatments and her death, she didn’t have a single run-in with the law.”

“Then why the CODIS file?”

“Because Julia was an illegal immigrant. She’d been caught the previous summer with an expired visa and ordered to return to China. They took her finger prints and a DNA sample, which was standard procedure for immigration at the time. She was released and disappeared. The police think she was living with Shun because of her documentation problem. There’s no need to put your name on the lease if you’re not the principal tenant.”

“She needed him for more than just financial support.”

“Yeah.”

“Was he charged with harboring an illegal immigrant?”

��No. They had him on murder, it would’ve been irrelivant.”

Lloyd shrugged. “This is Bishop. He tends to throw everything but the kitchen sink at a problem.”

“Well, U.S. Customs and Border Patrol registered her DNA in the CODIS database after she was detained. They followed up and learned from the roommate that she’d moved out without notice. When they were unable to confirm that she’d left the country, they filed a report and moved on to more pressing issues.”

Lloyd nodded. “What else?”

“For obvious reasons, Julia didn’t work after she moved in with Shun. Prior to their relationship her immigration report shows jobs at various nail salons, a sewing factory, as a cigar roller, and then a bartender.”

“Isn’t that how she met Nguyen? She moved positions from cigar roller to bartending in their lounge.”

“Correct.”

“He didn’t report her missing, right?” Lloyd asked.

“Right. She was estimated to have been killed two weeks earlier. The detectives were suspicious when Shun said he wasn’t concerned by her disappearance. He played up her mental health issues and admitted they’d had relationship problems.”

“What happened when they ran down his tip?”

“Julia was popular in the neighborhood. Her friends painted a different picture. According to them, she saw a psychiatrist monthly and never missed a dose of her medication. They accused Shun of being emotionally and financially abusive, and said he’d been ‘physical with her’ before. She wanted to leave him, but couldn’t because of her immigration status. One of her friends had helped arrange a legal consultation to try and resolve her problem.”

“What did Shun say?”

“That he was sick of Julia and wanted to break it off, but she was clingy.”

Lloyd snorted. “You’re kidding me.”

“Nope. That was his story. My girlfriend is a lazy gold-digging nut job. They countered with what her friends said and he flipped out. Apparently, she wanted him to get rid of his Singaporean citizenship and marry her.”

“Is that why he decided to kill her?”

“Maybe. He stills claims he had nothing to do with her death, so who knows?”

“What was the evidence against him?” Lloyd asked.

“As far as physical evidence placing Shun at the scene, there’s nothing. A shell casing from a .22 was found in the woods behind his house. Further into the woods police located a patch of dead grass that had been doused with bleach. Cigarette butts were recovered from a grove of trees in the side yard, but didn’t yield any DNA.”

“Did Shun smoke?”

“No. The defense argued the cigarette butts proved someone else was involved. Bishop countered that a gang of local teens had been on a crime spree in the neighborhood, and the cigarette butts probably came from them. The so-called ‘crime spree’ was more like mischief than actual crimes. They vandalized garage doors, tipped over a play-house, and my personal favorite… dyed a swimming pool pink.”

“Cute. Were the teenagers questioned? Were they smokers?”

“No, they never got caught. Kudos to them.”

Lloyd tilted his head. “Have you ever dyed someone’s swimming pool?”

“I wish I’d thought of it, but no. My high school had an Olympic size pool. It would’ve been a great senior prank.”

“You know, I’ve seen your high school records. Thirty-seven detentions, but you graduated at the top of your class. How did you find the time?”

You glanced at your notes.

“Actually, that’s a good question for Shun. He was in residency when Julia disappeared and records show he was working double shifts. How could he have killed her, put her in concrete, set the concrete, and moved her into the woods?”

“That question has hung over the case for years.”

“The Virginia Supreme Court found it compelling enough to overturn his conviction,” you said.

“What about the jailhouse witness who claimed Shun confessed to him?”

“Dead in 2015.”

“And who was the co-worker who testified?”

“He works in Baltimore now. On the stand, he said Shun acted weird that week. He took several long lunch hours and was late twice. Bishop spun the testimony into a riveting story. During deliberation, the jury asked to see the transcript of his statement.”

Lloyd sighed. “That’s as terrifying as it is amazing. Bishop is a wizard.”

You closed your notebook and slipped off your heels, tucking your legs underneath you in a more relaxed position.

“I don’t think we should work this case,” Lloyd said.

“Why not? We’ve worked murder cases before.”

“A few, but those cases were mostly solved before we took them on. This is different; Nguyen has been killing for a long time. He’s a clear, present danger.”

“I thought you didn’t believe he was a serial.”

“Based on evidence, I don’t. Based on gut instinct, I do.”

“You’re saying the case is too dangerous.”

Lloyd nodded.

“For me? Or for you?”

His eyes flashed and you knew you’d hit at the heart of the matter.

“Both.”

“Bullshit.”

You kept your tone mild. Lloyd’s lip curled, flashing his teeth.

“Look, you fit his victim type. You’re young, pretty, and working in a professional job. Bishop thinks our combined interview skills can crack Nguyen. Or at least get something from him that will point in the right direction.”

“I might throw him off balance. That’s an excellent reason for me to go.”

Lloyd pinched the bridge of his nose and took a deep breath.

“Or a fabulous reason not to. Damn it, Princess, have you ever watched Dateline? This man is a serial killer. He’s not a run-of-the-mill, heat-of-the-moment murderer. Nguyen is dangerous.”

“He lives on the other side of the world. How much of a threat can he be?”

Lloyd flexed his jaw. “I don’t want you involved.“

“But you don’t have a specific issue that merits it.”

“Can’t you be reasonable?”

“I’m the epitome of reasonableness. You’re the one foaming at the mouth.”

He snarled. It was an intimidating expression, one that would have made even a seasoned junkyard dog back down. You didn’t so much as blink. When Lloyd’s face smoothed out, you smiled.

“If I can handle you, I can handle him. And if I’m wrong, you’ll be there. If that happens, I promise to let you rub it in.”

Lloyd grunted. He stood up and paced in front of his desk as he considered it. Finally, he sighed.

“Fine. We’ll take this cluster fuck of a case. Afterall, it’s a favor to Bishop.”

You bounced up from the sofa, throwing your arms around his neck with a squeal.

“We’re hunting a serial killer! How is this my real job?”

Lloyd clasped your waist, drawing you against him.

“Could you try showing a glimmer of self-preservation, if only to make me feel better?”

“Bishop made a good decision. You’re the perfect person for a case like this.”

Lloyd rubbed the small of your back. “Why?”

“You’re rude, you enjoy ruffling feathers, you don’t care about small town politics or media attention, and we make an awesome interrogation team.”

He lowered his forehead until it pressed against yours. You stood on your tiptoes, unable to resist stealing a quick kiss. Lloyd’s lips brushed yours gently, once, twice, and then cinched his arm tight around your waist. He stepped forward, unbalancing you. To avoid falling backward you had to hang onto his shoulders and trust his supporting arm. As his mouth turned dominant and his tongue plundered your mouth, your knees went weak. You whimpered at the possessive exploration.

You were vaguely aware of Lloyd walking you backwards. When your calves pressed against the cool leather of the sofa, you gasped. Without pausing the kiss, he pushed you down and lodged his thigh between your legs. You moaned at the pressure of his weight. When he ended the kiss, you were pulsing with lust, eyes glazed, and breathless.

“That’s how I wanted to begin this morning.”

“Wow…” your heart fluttered like a hummingbird’s wings.

The frantic beating in your throat drew his attention and he bent to lick your pulse point. You shuddered, and he laughed.

“We should agree on what the boundaries are at work. I know you want to maintain a professional image, but I want to touch you.”

You squirmed, the question clearing the mental haze. He moved back so you could sit up.

“Can we pretend nothing has changed from nine to five?” you asked. “I don’t want to deal with everyone’s questions.”

“Your restraint is better than mine. I want to get you all hot and bothered in your sexy work outfits. No one will think anything of me closing my office door. I propose that you have to let me kiss you five times per day.”

“Three. I need to keep at least a few of my brain cells.”

“Four,” Lloyd countered.

“Three, and you can have one back rub per day.”

“Is the back rub deliverable upon request, or do I have to schedule it?”

“If you set up a back rub appointment on our Google Calendar, I’ll break your nose.”

“I’m not that stupid. How about this: if the office door is shut, touching is allowed?”

“Deal.”

“What are your thoughts on oral sex at the office?” Lloyd asked.

“No!”

“How about bending over my desk? A lunchtime quickie on the couch?”

“Ew! Clients sit on this couch!”

Lloyd smirked. “Am I hearing a ‘maybe’ to the desk proposal?”

“We can negotiate it later,” you said.

“I like where this is going.”

“Do you still want a full blown affair? I was worried you’d have second thoughts.”

His expression sharpened. “Why?”

“Are you sure you want to be with someone as inexperienced as me? If this isn’t going to be fulfilling for you…”

Lloyd relaxed. “No. Now, we can get started on the fun stuff… Namely, exploring all the needs you’ve spent years repressing. It will be fulfilling for both of us, I promise.”

Your breath caught in your throat. Lloyd brushed his thumb over your swollen lower lip.

“Consider me your sexual playground, Princess. And I always aim to exceed expectations.”

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

By the time Friday rolled around, you were exhausted, and not for fun reasons. Despite the heated kiss and Monday’s agreement, the case demanded your full attention. Lloyd dove headfirst into the mire. He acted as if driving himself to exhaustion would solve the case before it turned dangerous. Even after studying the old interrogation tapes of Nguyen, you didn’t feel the level of threat he seemed to. But the complexities of the case were consuming and made the work day fly by. You’d barely remembered that tonight was your nephew’s birthday party.

A text from your sister, asking if you could pick up a cooler of ice, was the only reason you hadn’t flaked. You pulled alongside what looked like your parents’ sedan in the parking lot of the picnic areas and looked around. Vivian’s invitation hadn’t given the specific location of the party. Combined with the errand to pick up the ice, you were running late and didn’t have time to run home and change. Your sister was such a space cadet.

You shaded your eyes and squinted against the sun, trying to spot a familiar figure. Was this even the right picnic area?

The air was thick with humidity. You wondered who could forget to bring ice to an outdoor birthday party in late July. Wasn’t the insufferable heat a constant reminder? Finally, you saw your Dad at the picnic structure by the lake.

Wasn’t that just fantastic? Right next to the lake.

If Vivian had wanted a more humid spot, she couldn’t have chosen better. The evaporation from the cold water was going to blow straight onto the guests. Virginia’s humidity was already astronomical during late July. You grabbed the cooler, and took a deep breath.

It was fine. You were here to have a good time. This was a celebration of Sam, your only nephew. Who cared about the humidity when there was Sam’s first birthday party to think of? Your hair was going to care a lot about the humidity in a few minutes. You tried to brush off your sour mood and frame the situation in a more pleasant light. Your hair didn’t stand a chance in this heat, even without the lake. Neither did anyone elses’ for that matter.

You weren’t normally this short tempered; work stress must be frying your brain. Maybe you would see if Lloyd wanted to help you relax…

Your mom saw you and called out.

“You found us! I was wondering if you were lost.”

Vivian obviously hadn’t explained that it was her forgetfulness that made you late. Mom noticed you struggling to drag the cooler over the clumpy grass and shouted across the field.

“Caleb! Help your sister.”

You stopped to wait for your youngest brother to sprint over.

“Grab the other handle. It’s impossible to roll it over the grass.”

“Nice shoes,” he laughed, noticing your flip flops.

He took the other handle and with two people, the cooler’s weight was easily managed.

“I came straight from work. It was the shower shoes from my gym bag, or heels.”

“You’re kidding, I thought hot pink flip flops and pencil skirts were on trend. Don’t you read fashion magazines, Y/N?”

“Read them? Please. Vogue is waiting for my input on the September issue.”

“Vivian, where do you want this?” your mom asked.

Your sister turned, baby Sam on her hip, and Alissa a step behind.

Your two year old niece sometimes reminded you of a Velcro dog. She was always on Vivian’s heels, so close that she could’ve been labeled a tripping hazard.

“Put it on the end of that table.”

Caleb made a half offer to help, which wasn’t authentic in the least, but it was more than most fourteen year olds would have done. You let him off the hook and he sprinted off to rejoin the family soccer game. Vivian tried to help, but Alissa kept getting in her way. The mechanical task of arranging the ice bucket and stocking the cooler helped settle your nerves. Vivian sat down and Alissa crawled onto her lap, bumping Sam. You watched from the corner of your eye, mildly impressed at how Vivian managed to balance both of them in her lap.

When you’d finished, you sat down with her to watch the soccer game. Your three brothers were pitted against your cousins and the match had turned ugly. They were lucky none of the real adults had stopped the game. Caleb tripped your cousin Noah as he stole the ball, then raced towards the goal without glancing back. You shook your head. Someone was going to end up in the ER if they didn’t settle down.

“I’m sorry about the ice,” Vivian said.

“That’s okay. You had a lot on your mind.”

“Yeah. The pregnancy brain is already kicking in.”

You froze. “What?!”

Vivian glanced around and lowered her voice.

“Shhh. Not so loud.”

“You’re pregnant?”

“I haven’t told anyone else. Six weeks, I think.”

“Does Juan know?”

You’d seen your brother-in-law, but hadn’t spoken to him yet.

Vivian grimaced. “Yeah. We’re not on the same page about it.”

“Sam isn’t even a year old!”

“He is today.”

You glanced at Alissa, who was peeking at you from behind her mom. She ducked under Vivian’s arm when your eyes connected.

“How will you take care of a newborn, manage Sam’s crawling, and get Alissa ready for pre-school?”

“Lower your voice!”

Your jaw clenched, but you shut up, waiting for a reply. Vivian looked sheepish.

“It just sort of…happened,” she said.

The silence buzzed.

It just happened.

Just like all of you had ‘happened’ for your parents. There was never any consideration given to what the child needed. In your family, children just showed up, as if their parents didn’t understand how one event caused the other.

“Don’t be so judgmental,” Vivian complained when you didn’t say anything.

You inhaled sharply and turned away, watching the soccer game, but not seeing it.

“I don’t know what to say.”

It was a lie. You knew exactly what you wanted to say. But you could feel the sizzle of temper that meant you needed to calm down before you spoke.

“Can’t you just be happy for me?”

What about the expenses? What about college funds, diapers, and medical bills? What about the amount of time it took to meet the needs of a newborn? Plus managing two toddlers? Vivian was only one person. Juan would’ve helped, but he worked two jobs so his wife could stay home. It didn’t help that said wife spent money like it grew on trees. You felt a spike of anger towards him. Juan was supposed to be the responsible person in the relationship!

“Don’t be such a bitch,” Vivian said.

Your temper exploded. “Bitch? Really?!”

“You’re being mean. I’m happy. Can’t you be happy with me?”

“How are you going to pay for this baby?”

You held up a hand when she started to speak.

“Actually, I don’t want to hear it. You’re doing exactly what Mom and Dad did, having kids without regard for your ability to care for them. There’s plenty of birth control options that would have prevented this, but you don’t care! Another baby is just a bundle of joy, isn’t it? Having three kids at twenty-two is irresponsible, Vivian. You can’t afford it.”

“Shut the fuck up! I take care of my kids and pay for everything!”

“No, you don’t. Mom and Dad have been paying your rent for the last two months.”

You shouldn’t have let that slip out. Dad would kill you if he knew you’d brought it up with her. Vivian steamrolled past the comment to attack your criticism of her parenting.

“My kids are well cared for! I’m a great Mom - you’ve said so yourself.”

“I know you have good intentions. But tell me, has Alissa talked yet? To anyone other than you? She’s not ready for preschool. When the baby comes, you won’t have time to prepare her. Do you remember how hard it was for her when Sam came home? She’s going to have separation anxiety when preschool starts, which will coincide perfectly to the baby teething. What happens then? How will you help her manage the stress? Or are you just going to let her feel totally displaced and abandoned?”

Vivian’s nostrils flared. “I think you should leave.”

“Before you kick me out, let’s go talk to Mom about this. She might have some ideas.”

Her chin jerked up and fear flashed in her eyes. You realized why she was delaying the announcement. As much as your Mom loved her grandchildren, she had three teenage boys at home who were rather expensive. Vivian and Juan relied on your parents to stay afloat. Lately it was a major source of tension. Your Dad wanted to keep helping them out, and your Mom wanted to tighten the purse strings.

The pregnancy announcement was going to rock the boat, and right now, you weren't helping matters. You stood up.

“I’m going for a walk.”

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

There was a trail around the park and you wanted to stalk the paved loop at full speed, but your flip-flops slowed you down. The asphalt was too hot for bare feet, which meant you had to move at a pace that was inadequate to express your frustration.

Your heart ached for Alissa. She obviously needed more attention than she was getting. She was such a quiet thing and Vivian was so scatterbrained she sometimes seemed to forget about her oldest child. You’d wondered before if Alissa’s clinginess was born from a fear she’d be forgotten if she didn’t stick close. Kids her age were known to have irrational fears - that was why you’d never said anything. Maybe you’d set aside your concerns too quickly.

With the addition of another child, Alissa became the oldest daughter. She moved another inch closer to turning out like you. Thinking of your shy, sensitive niece having that kind of responsibility put on her shoulders made your chest ache. You knew what the role entailed, how the stress never ended. Someone was always counting on you.

And who else would tie their shoelaces, check their homework, and prepare their lunch boxes? You were the one who signed the permission slips Mom always forgot. You made sure they were home by curfew. You made them hold hands when they crossed the street and participated in the library’s summer reading program.

You were the one they called when ice needed to be picked up. Tears stung your eyes and you had to stop to compose yourself. A few deep breaths helped you ride out the surge of emotion. Wiping your eyes, you sat down on a bench and checked your messages.

The first text was from Jen. She’d tripped in the garden and sprained her ankle, so the spin class you’d planned to try with her on Saturday was canceled. You sent her a get well message and emailed to notify the fitness studio you’d be absent. The other text was from Jake, who’d forgotten the passcode for the office’s side door. You sent him a voice memo with the numbers.

A twig snapped, and your head whipped around.

Your eyes darted up and down the trail, but no one came around the bend. There weren’t any footsteps approaching and hadn’t been for awhile. The snap of the twig hadn’t come from any particular direction, so you weren’t sure where to look. Before the noise the trail was silent. You’d been sure you were alone. Now, your skin crawled with the sensation that someone was watching. When your intuition raised the alarm, you didn’t question it, but you couldn’t tell what had set it off.

Something moved in the shadows and you whirled.

“Whoa!”

The man stepped back, hands raised in surrender.

“It’s just me, honey.”

“Sorry, Dad. You startled me.”

“I saw you and Vivian had an argument,” he said.

“Yeah.”

“Well, the food’s done. Let’s walk back and get you a plate.”

You nodded, and glanced around one more time, suddenly very glad he’d come to get you. Within a few steps you’d fallen into step beside him. His silence created an urge to explain and even knowing that wasn’t his intention, you talked.

“I didn’t mean to storm off. Vivian upset me, and I just… exploded.”

“Sisters will be sisters.”

“I got emotional. I think I said too much.”

He laughed. “If you lost your temper, you definitely said too much.”

You made a face.

“Y/N, let it go. Vivian has the memory of a goldfish. In two days, she won’t even remember what you said.”

You had a bad feeling that this time, that wouldn’t be the case.

For the rest of the evening Vivian ignored you. Since she had a right to be angry, you gave her plenty of space. As justified as your concerns might be, you’d crossed a line. Alissa’s developmental delay in talking was a touchy subject.

After the party Dad recruited you for a soccer game against your brothers. With your uncle as the third member your team was severely handicaped by a lack of fitness and age. Caleb, the youngest of your siblings, could run circles around everyone. Hector was only two years older and he’d set a state record in discus as a sophomore. Diego, the oldest of the boys, played competitive soccer. Both of your teammates ordered from the senior menu. You had no chance.

The score was twenty-five to zero when you finally got the ball away from Diego. As you ran towards the goal, you saw Caleb approaching on the left.

He’d been tripping your cousins all evening, and his intention was obvious. Caleb was only a foot away when you feigned going right. Dropping your shoulder to sell the fake, you distracted him enough to swivel your foot and push the ball left. Caleb stuck his leg out at the same time you changed direction. He stretched as far as he could, trying to catch your ankle, but fell face first in the grass.

You caught up to the ball, pivoted and scored.

“No fair!” Caleb yelled.

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

Your mood was brighter after the game, having given Caleb what he deserved. It reminded you that not everything about being the oldest was a burden. After packing the empty cooler into the trunk, you sat behind the wheel, watching the last of your family cleaning up.

Should you apologize to Vivian?

Probably, but you weren’t done being mad. Her recklessness would have consequences and you couldn’t pretend to approve of her decision. You resolved to call her tomorrow if you were cool tempered enough for the conversation. Just as you put your finger on the engine start, your phone rang.

The caller’s ID was blocked, which wasn’t unusual. Everyone on Zach Hightower’s payroll used unlisted numbers, so you were expecting Landon or Jake.

“Hello?”

No answer. In the background, you could hear the crackling of wind.

“Hello?”

You double checked that the call had connected.

“Who’s there?”

Heavy breathing came through the speaker, then a mechanically distorted voice.

“You should never say ‘who’s there?’ Don’t you watch scary movies? It’s a death wish.”

Reeling, you stared at the phone. Had he just quoted a line from Scream?

You looked around, wondering if the caller was watching for your reaction. It didn’t take long to find the most likely source.

Caleb walked towards the parking lot, swinging a trash bag and smirking at his phone. He was the only one tech savvy enough to use a voice changer and a blocked number, and his motivation didn’t take much guess work. Your hand went to your seat belt, ready to give him a piece of your mind.

The phone rang.

Caleb was out of sight now, behind the wall of the dumpsters. You hit “answer” without looking at the screen.

“Do you know what happens when you mess with your big sister, Caleb? I’ll tell you what happens. I’m going to go home, find your precious Xbox, and set it in the middle of the cul-de-sac. Then I’ll have Diego pin you down and force you to watch me run it over. Multiple times. When I’m done, I’ll send you a piece of it every year at Christmas so you never forget what happens when you pull my chain. Are we clear?”

“Excuse me?”

Lloyd’s voice was tinged with amusement.

“Shit! I’m sorry. I thought you were Caleb.”

“I’m glad I’m not. What’d he do?”

“Prank called me.”

Caleb emerged from the dumpster enclosure, saw you and smiled.

You flipped him off.

He stopped, lifting his hands in a gesture that said, ‘what did I do?’

“I have some work news. Is now a good time?” Lloyd said.

“Yeah. What’s up?”

“Find your passport and pack a bag. You and I are going to Singapore. Nguyen agreed to sit for an interview.”

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

Next - Part VII

Masterlist

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

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wardenparker · 2 years

Text

Starting Over - Chapter 8

Marcus Pike x female reader Co-written with @absurdthirst

Recently arrived in Texas and only slightly removed from his divorce, Marcus finds himself smitten with the women at the housewares store that is helping him furnish his new Austin condo. It becomes a more complicated situation than he could have expected, but Marcus has never been one to shy away from a challenge when love is on the line. ✨This fic takes place *before* the events of The Mentalist.✨

Rating: E for Explicit! Word Count: 13.9k Warnings: *Blanket warnings for this fic will include divorce, past abusive relationships, deceased mothers, father issues/family trauma, unplanned pregnancy.* Cursing and food mentions, unplanned pregnancy, pregnant reader, threats of violence, discussions of dom/sub dynamics, pregnancy symptoms, somnophilia, oral sex (f and m receiving), general fluff and being very much in love. Summary: It’s time to take that eagerly awaited trip to Washington DC! Notes: As things start to heat up, there is clearly more tension and trouble on the horizon. The trip is a much needed break from the day-to-day rigors of life - especially when one of those rigors of life is Amanada.

Ch 1 ~ Ch 2 ~ Ch 3 ~ Ch 4 ~ Ch 5 ~ Ch 6 ~ Ch 7

Clock watching while you wait for Marcus to get home from the office is one of the things that makes you the most antsy these days. It used to just be impatience - excitement to see him mixed with those nerves that come with the beginning of any new relationship. Now it’s like a torturous countdown waiting for mercy to walk through the door. Every day from the second Marcus leaves the house until the second he returns; Amanda has done nothing but aimlessly snack on the ever-growing list of foods that the Pike-ette is causing you to be repulsed by. Everything is magically hidden the second he walks in the door and it’s only the security cameras planted around the house that allow him to see how she’s hiding everything. But as soon as he throws it all out, she goes and buys it up again. It’s a war of stubbornness that never ends and your pregnancy symptoms are right in the middle.

The last three weeks have been non-stop at work on top of it all, and it has had you looking forward to a long weekend in DC for even more reasons than knowing you are going to be proposed to. Two of your salesgirls have quit in the last two weeks and this morning the very first thing that happened after your district manager showed up to inspect the store (the only reason you even did a half day at work today at all) was that they wrote up one of the Sales Leads for poor customer service. Upon discovering that it was the Lead’s third write up, the young man was immediately fired. The whole thing put your management team in an uproar, but your manager promised you could still take your long weekend away.

Amanda huffs, annoyed that there is a trip being taken than she has no clue where it is. Marcus has changed his passwords to his travel sites. “I hope you aren’t going to the beach.” She calls out, fishing for information. “There are supposed to storms along the Gulf Coast.”

“Interesting!” You call back, coming out of the bedroom you share with Marcus with your small suitcase packed and ready. Marcus would march you back upstairs to repack if you had tried to use one of your weekender bags for this trip. He rarely even lets you lift groceries anymore and you’re barely at the end of your first trimester.

Scowling, she tosses the shrimp flavored chip back in the bag, pissed off that you didn’t take her bait. You had gotten smarter since she had dumped you and it irritates her. Unfolding her limbs from the sofa, she gets up and moves over to the staircase. “I’m surprised you’re willing to leave me here alone for the weekend.” She smirks.

“You’ve been alone in the house before,” you point out, though you have to admit that you’re surprised she hasn’t found any of the cameras in all that time.

Her smile is ugly, calculating as she starts up the stairs to the second floor. She hates you. If it weren’t for you and that thing in your belly, Marcus would have taken her back already. “You know, it would be a shame if you…fell down these stairs.” Sugar coats her words, but there is nothing that can hide the venom underneath.

You know the way your eyes dart up to meet hers betrays your surprise at the comment, but as far as Amanda has ever gone with psychological and emotional warfare, you really didn’t think she would be capable of physical violence. “That would be extraordinarily bad for everyone involved.” You tell her flatly, knowing that if she ever even tried, there is a camera pointed directly at the stairs that would capture the assault.

“Oh sure.” Amanda brushes off your comment, knowing you don’t have any teeth in you. “It would such a tragic thing.” She pouts. “Marcus’s little mistress snapping her neck on the stairs, and he would just be heartbroken.” She sighs. “I, of course, would console him.”

“Do you think he’s dumb or something?” Shaking your head at her, you stand your ground at the top of the stairs and don’t go near them while she’s still standing there. “If anything happened to me, he would suspect you instantly.”

“Please.” She rolls her eyes and shakes her head in disappointment. “He knows I would never.” Glancing down at her nails halfway up, she smirks up at you. “But accidents happen.”

“I promise you; he would know.” You can’t help the way your hand goes protectively to your belly though. The idea of anything happening to you isn’t half as terrifying as something happening to your baby.

“Whatever you want to tell yourself.” Amanda raises her brows. “Weren’t you coming downstairs?”

Like the angel with perfect timing that he is, Marcus walks through the front door in the same second that you open your mouth to attempt some kind of clever reply, and your frozen feet on the landing are suddenly free again. Whatever she might try when you’re alone, she would never try anything with Marcus in the house.

“Christ, I’m sorry.” Marcus huffs, shaking his head. “I got caught up in traffic. But we will make it to the airport.” He promises, looking up to see the two of you on the stairs. His brow wings up and he asks you a silent question.

“It’s okay, my workday was shit, too.” You barely shake your head just once to tell him you’re okay, and you breeze past Amanda on the stairs with your suitcase now that Marcus is home to bear witness to everything in person. “Greg got himself fired. It was a nightmare.” The conversational tone of your voice will hopefully annoy Amanda, like you’ve already forgotten that she was literally just threatening to kill you.

“I’m sorry, baby.” Marcus might have his briefcase in his hand, but the other arm immediately comes around you and he gives you a kiss right in front of Amanda. “Soon we will be on our way to a relaxing weekend. Just let me go put my gun in the safe and change.”

“No problem.” One more kiss before you let him go, and you sit down on the living room sofa to take a load off while he hustles up to your bedroom.

Amanda waits for Marcus to disappear upstairs before she walks back over to you, staring down the way that your hands are over your stomach. “He will come back to me.” She predicts. “When you’re fat and frumpy, he’s going to be sick of you. You two aren’t having sex. I know.”

“What he chooses to do is up to him.” These daily assaults of hers are getting worse, and your now-raging hormones aren’t making it easy for you to keep a straight face very well anymore. The only thing you can really count on for a constant is Marcus. That his love has never wavered even once and you know in your heart it never will. “But I truly think that you’re sentencing yourself to a life of disappointment if you’re simply going to wait around for Marcus to come back to you. Because he never will.”

“Marcus doesn’t like to be alone.” She reminds you. “He will come back. He loves me.”

“No.” Standing up when you see him reappear at the top of the stairs, you just shake your head at Amanda solemnly. “He doesn’t. And I’m sorry you’re having trouble accepting that.”

Amanda’s frown turns into a smile as Marcus hauls his own suitcase downstairs. “Baby, don’t you think I should know where you are in case something happens?” She pouts, stepping closer to him. “You always tell me where you’re going.”

“We’ve told someone.” You don’t say who, figuring she might try to ask around, but it is Marcus’s trusted coworker who has never had any contact with Amanda before in her life that has your flight and hotel info in case of incident. You’ve never even said this particular agent’s name in the house, just in case. To Marcus, you offer a smile and your hand. “Ready to go?”

Marcus nods, smiling back at you and lacing your fingers together. He turns towards Amanda. “Our bedroom is locked, and the house better be exactly as we left it when we get back.” He warns, his voice slightly stern in that ‘I will be obeyed’ federal agent tone.

“Goodbye.” Are the only words you say before Marcus shuts the door behind you, and you breathe a heavy sigh of relief to be outside away from the smell of shrimp chips and mustard. “I promise I’ll act surprised whenever you do it this weekend, but you did pick up the ring this morning, right?” The voicemail from the jeweler on his phone two days ago had made both of you a little giddy, and Marcus had chosen to celebrate with a rare night of eating you out before you both passed out in each other’s arms completely satiated.

“Yes, I did.” Marcus grins and pats his jacket pocket where it is safely nestled. “I’ve triple checked it’s there four times since I put this jacket on.” He jokes. He wants this weekend to be perfect for you, he’s not blind to the bullshit Amanda is pulling.

“I would do that same thing if I were you.” You load your small suitcases into Marcus’s car and he holds your door open for you until you’re comfortable, then closes it and hustles around the hood to get in beside you. “Sometimes I just keep my hands on my belly for ages just for a hint of the baby moving. I know it’s too early for him to kick, but they say sometimes you can feel flutters before that.”

“I can’t wait to feel the baby kick.” Marcus can’t help but reach over and rub your stomach before he starts the car. “Everything okay today?”

“Work sucked, she’s accumulated more snacks that smell like death somehow, and I’m just really glad to get away this weekend.” The airport isn’t far, which is good because you’re a little short on time, and Marcus is on the road a second later. “Now we’re not only down two sales associates, but a sales team lead as well. I’m gonna be pulling a lot of doubles when we get back.”

“Anytime you feel like it’s too much….” He doesn’t finish the sentence, knowing that you are going to say no, but he wouldn’t mind if you quit and stayed home while you are pregnant. Although he knows you won’t simply because of Amanda being home.

“We’ll be okay again once we fill the positions.” You promise him, one hand resting gently over his on your knee as he drives. “And once I’m at the point where I should be off my feet more, my boss is going to transition me to more desk work. Customer service. It’s arguably more stressful, but it’s less physical work. Don’t worry baby.”

“It’s my job to worry.” Marcus shakes his head. “You grow the baby and I worry.” His hand squeezes hers gently.

“Not this weekend.” You shake your head and pick his hand up to press a kiss to his skin. “This weekend we’re going to relax and walk around beautiful museums and eat fantastic food and enjoy ourselves. We’re not going to worry this weekend.”

“God yes.” Marcus practically groans. “No Amanda and her bullshit, just me and you and the little peanut.” He smiles over at you. “I’m going to spoil you.”

“Champagne and rose petals waiting in our room?” The soft smile on your face grows imagining all the silly little things that could theoretically happen in some romantic fantasy world. “Candlelit dinners? Dancing?”

“I’m going to hold off on the champagne until the peanut is born.” He hums. “But the others? Absolutely. Whatever my fiancée wants, she will have.”

“I love dancing with you.” The couple of times you’ve gone it’s always been supper clubs and the kind of place with crooners behind pianos or a vintage-style band. Twirling around in each other’s arms like the dreamiest part of an old movie flashback. “And I want to hear all the random factoids you know about all your favorite art in the museums.”

“And I want to explore the inn we are staying in with you.” Marcus can’t help but dream a little with you, wondering if something like that would fit you better than the stress of retail. “Go to the Outpost and dream about how we should have met.”

“It was a mansion before it was turned into an inn in the 1920s, so maybe we’ll find a trick bookcase or secret stairwell.” You squeeze his hand in yours and offer him a dreamy smile when he glances over at you. “I’m glad we already had this weekend on the books. You’ve been working really hard and deserve a break.”

“You deserve one too.” He knows how badly Amanda has been treating you. He’s seen and heard it and it’s frankly disgusted him. However, he knows that the best thing to do is to continue piling up evidence in the instance of having to fight her for the divorce. She’s hanging herself every day.

“I’m just going to enjoy a few days with the love of my life in my favorite city, that’s all.” The traffic has mercifully lightened, and at this point getting to the airport should be a breeze. It will be late when you get to DC, but the inn already knows to expect a late-night check in. “I love you, baby. So much.”

“I love you too.” Marcus assures you. “But I’m nervous.” He shoots you a grin. “I’m proposing to this amazing woman I want to spend the rest of my life with and I’m not sure if she’s going to accept. She might not like the ring. Or want a family with me.”

“Hmmm.” The little game makes you giggle, and you move his hand gently from your knee to your belly as he drives. “We better ask the Miniature Oracle what they think.” You take a long pause, humming and pretending to be reading the vibrations in your belly before you giggle again. “Nah, the Oracle says you’re good. Just make sure it’s reeeeeeeally romantic and cheesy. She likes cheesy.”

Snickering, his hand caresses your belly gently. “She, huh?” He lifts a brow and sighs. “Are we talking about this woman? Or are you giving me a clue about who you think the Oracle is?”

“We’re talking about the woman.” Though it’s too early to be able to tell on an ultrasound or any other kind of way, you’ve been having dreams about your baby for a week now that have you convinced of the sex. “I started calling them the Miniature Oracle when I started having dreams about them,” you admit. For the last couple of nights you really haven’t said anything, not wanting him to either get his hopes up or get self-conscious about your intuition.

“You’ve been dreaming about them?” His voice is soft, hopelessly in love with the idea. His dreams have been less than ideal, so he loves the idea of having wonderful little dreams about the baby nestled under your heart. “Hopefully nothing but bliss.”

“Well, when I dream about labour I never feel it, so it could be a lot worse.” You tell him off-handedly, making both of you laugh. “Honestly, sweetheart? I’ve been dreaming for a week straight about having a little boy. I don’t know if it’s wishful thinking or if the baby is just making himself known - that probably sounds insane - but either way…that’s what I’ve been dreaming about.”

“It might be.” He caresses your stomach once more and then reaches for your hand so he can pull it up to kiss the back of it. “Honestly? I just want a healthy baby and momma.” He promises you. “I don’t care about having a boy first or at all. We could have four little girls and I’ll be over the moon.”

“I know, love.” He lets go of your hand to turn off the highway exit for the airport and you cradle your barely-changed belly in both hands again out of instinct. “Maybe I’ll have a week of dreams about having a little girl now, I don’t know. But I may have added a few more boy’s names to the notebook this week out of an abundance of inspiration.”

“We can spend all weekend dreaming up more names for our notebook.” Marcus follows the signs and pulls up to the ticket machine for the parking. “I am so glad that we are doing this.” He admits with a grin. “And I might have found a place for a couples massage.”

“Oh yeah?” The eyebrow you raise at him comes with a smirk. “That’s very sexy of you.”

“I thought you would like that.” He teases as he pulls into the parking garage and winds through the layers until he finds a parking spot.

“Let’s do this! Come on, baby.” To both the Pike and the Pike-ette with one word makes you giggle and grin broadly at Marcus. “Both of you.”

Marcus unloads the trunk and insists that he will handle both pieces, sending you a small frown. “You have your purse.”

“Which is in no way equivalent to rolling a suitcase, but okay.” It’s useless to give him sass about it and you know that. The man hasn’t let you carry anything since you finished moving in, and even that was a struggle.

“I like taking care of you however I can.” He reminds you with a grin, winking at you playfully.

******

The flight is easy. You chat with the new mom and her surprisingly well-behaved baby across the aisle for the first hour or so before people start turning off their lights to nap, and then Marcus pulls out his earbuds so you can listen to a book on tape together that he found. “Ghost Radio” is about halfway through when the flight attendants come around to let everyone know that the descent into Washington is about to begin, and you flash Marcus a giant smile. “I only got nauseous once. I think we can count that as a huge victory considering we’re going to have to fly up to see my Dad soon.”

“I can’t wait to meet him.” Marcus is nervous but hopeful that the man will give him a fair chance. “I’m thinking that we plan another weekend next month? Give us another escape to look forward to?”

“Perfect.” Your Dad knows you’ve been seeing someone and that it’s serious, so the phone call asking to come visit so he can meet your boyfriend won’t come as a surprise at all. Except that by the time you get there, you’ll be showing and wearing an engagement ring. Those will be the surprises. “He’s going to love you, honey. And he’s going to be so excited to be a grandpa. I predict stoic grunts of joy in public and a few tears in private.”

“Stoic grunts of joy.” Marcus snickers and shakes his head. “You don’t have to worry about that.” He tells you. “I’ll cry whenever something amazing happens.”

“Dad’s never been an overly emotional guy.” You tell him honestly as the plane begins to descend. “Maybe that’s why I like that you cry at every happy thing.”

“Good.” He leans over and kisses you softly. “Because it’s gonna happen.”

******

The first floor of the inn is buzzing when your cab pulls up, and you pay the driver while Marcus pulls the bags out of the trunk and then offers you his hand. “Looks like a party,” you grin, watching people duck in and out of the lounge and ballroom of the grand hotel, with its Art Deco decor gleaming under sultry lighting. A stylized sign in the lobby advertises the big band that will be performing all weekend and it looks like some people have even dressed up on theme.

“It looks like.” Marcus grins and takes in the atmosphere, instantly knowing that this weekend is going to be exactly what the two of you need. “How about we check in and then join the party?” It gives you an option of saying no if you just want to relax.

“I think the Pike-ette is hungry,” you turn your biggest eyes on Marcus as the two of you head for the check-in desk. “Do you think we could order some room service and turn on TCM? Maybe party tomorrow night instead? The sign says the band is playing all weekend.”

“We absolutely can.” Marcus grins at you. “There’s also a soaker tube in our room. If you’re good, I’ll see if I can’t make sure you can soak in a bath and watch tv.”

“I’m always good.” Those pleading eyes turn mischievous in a second and you both laugh as you walk up to the concierge desk.

Marcus sends the woman behind the desk a friendly smile. “Reservation for Pike?” He offers, pulling out his wallet and sliding his ID and credit card across the antique wood veneer.

The woman chats amiably while she checks you in, obviously overdoing it in good manners so you suspect there’s something in your reservation notes where Marcus let them know it was an important weekend. “If you need anything at all, please don’t hesitate to ring the desk. And room service is available until 2am. Your Presidential Suite reservation includes a reserved table in the hotel restaurant for any lunch or dinner, so please let us know when you’ll be joining us.”

“Absolutely.” Marcus beams, happy that everything is going well and turns to hand you the large brass key, a charming throwback to the history of the inn. “I think you might be in love with this place.”

“Is that so wrong?” The dreamy sigh you give him tells him that he’s completely correct, and you walk along beside him to the rather grand elevator. “Presidential Suite, huh? You must think this weekend is very special.”

“Well it was this or the luxurious accommodations at the Motel 6.” He smirks slightly. “They leave the light on for you, don’t you know?”

Rolling with the joke as the elevator dings brightly and opens up in front of you, you just snicker and follow him into the car. “Ah yes, I believe their restaurant has been Michelin starred.”

“A quality assortment of snacks from the vending machine by the ice machine.” He turns and lets go of the bags so he can tug you close for a kiss once the doors are closed. “We’re here.” He murmurs against your lips.

“Our own little paradise.” You hum back, slinging both of your arms around his neck to deepen the kiss.

Marcus groans, feeling his entire body respond to your kiss. It’s been so fucking hard not to take things farther. He’s gotten over the guilt of touching you. Fingering you until you cum or eating you out. Sometimes he will let you go down on him, but it isn’t often and now - here - his body is on fire.

“Sorry…” You really do try not to get him too riled up, always keeping in mind to be respectful of his boundaries. Stepping back with a slightly guilty expression, you can’t help the underlying flustered smile. Even after almost three months together, kissing him still makes you giddy and eager like the first time.

“It’s not your fault you’re gorgeous and sexy and the woman I want to spend the rest of my life with.” He takes a deep breath and smiles at you. “Just— eager for this weekend.”

“I can wear my bathing suit in the tub if you need me to,” you tell him, stepping away again to a respectful distance. There will be time for intimacy for the rest of your lives. But that won’t mean a damn thing if you don’t have the foundation of respect that you’re building right now in the midst of all the chaos.

“No.” Marcus isn’t a schoolboy who will die if he doesn’t get laid. “I’ve had plans for getting you in that tub.” He admits softly. “Making you cum on my fingers while you whine my name as loud as you want to.”

“The doctor says second trimester is usually the most active for expectant mothers,” you remind him, waggling your eyebrows at him and giggling at how silly it must look.

“God.” Marcus groans and reaches down to adjust himself so his hard on isn’t obvious to everyone. “You’re killing me, baby.”

“Sorry.” Mercifully, the elevator opens on the third floor a moment later and you’re off to find the door that matches your beautiful bronze key.

He’s been thinking hard about the boundaries that he’s set in place. It’s practically all he’s thought about. Amazing how accepting you have been over the sex-less relationship and how it’s crushing him. Because you are gorgeous and there is a slight caveman affect that happens every time he thinks about you pregnant with his child. “Hopefully the room is as good as it sounded.” Marcus trails after you with the bags, smiling slightly at the way you are craning your neck to take everything in and sneaking glances of the way your ass sways.

“This place is amazing.” Trailing your fingers along the molding on the walls as you go, there are those small signs of wear and tear always present in an old property, but for the most part the place is sparkling. The large double doors that presumably once opened into the master suite of the grand manor house are now marked with a brass plate that reads Presidential Suite and the ornate doorknob matches the key in your hand perfectly. “I’m excited,” you glance over your shoulder to grin at Marcus and find his eyes glued to your ass, which only makes you laugh and smile wider. Instead of any other remark, you bend over dramatically to put the key in the suite’s lock while you wiggle your ass at him for fun.

“Fuck.” Marcus hisses, unable to resist reaching out and smacking your ass playfully.

“Babe…” As soon as you open the door, the smell of roses is the first thing to hit you. Nearly every single surface has a vase of long-stemmed red roses on it and there are candles burning - and you wonder now if he wasn’t sending a text to the front desk when he was fiddling with his phone on the cab on the way over. A gold wrapped box with a chocolatery logo sits on a tray on the coffee table in the main room along with two beautiful champagne glasses…and a bottle of ginger ale sits chilling in the ice bucket alongside them. The thoughtfulness, beauty, and a fair few hormones have your eyes brimming with tears as you throw your arms around Marcus’s neck and bury your face in his neck after you kiss him. “It’s perfect. You’re perfect.”

“I want this weekend to be everything you ever dreamed of.” Marcus gushes emotionally. You are the one he is meant to be with, and he wants to erase the negative you had with your former fiancé just like you erase all the bad with Amanda. “I love you, baby.”

“I love you too, baby. So much.” Even if tonight was all the entire weekend was, it would be beautiful. Perfect. Just like him.

“Let’s get settled in and decide what we want from the room service menu.” Marcus kisses you again and reluctantly lets you go. He knows you will explore every nook of this room by the time you leave in two days.

It's only a few days so it takes no time at all to get unpacked, and less then ten minutes after walking in Marcus is perusing the room service menu while you inspect the variety of bath salts and bubbles available for the tub. "How does rose and sandalwood sound?" You ask, holding up a bath bomb shaped like a rose in swirling pink and tan.

“Whatever you want.” He means that, smiling at you and motioning you over to look at the menu. “Pick out what you and peanut are craving.”

"I don't know about the peanut, but mama is looking at the orecchiette with lamb and cannellini bean ragu." Pasta sound gorgeous and filling right now, like a warm hug.

“That sounds good baby.” Marcus grins, watching you drool over the menu. “Do you want to order desserts or eat some of the chocolates?”

"What do you think?" You pass the menu back to him and snuggle into his side, connected to his energy like the most powerful magnet in the world. "As long as they're chocolate, I don't care how it's prepared."

He chuckles, having notices your preference for chocolatey things lately. “How about we split a piece of their triple chocolate three-layer cake?” He asks with a grin.

“Perfect.” Popping up from their seats, you away over to wear the ginger ale is chilling and pluck out the bottle to pour two glasses. “We’ll run the bath when we’re finished eating. It’ll be the perfect way to unwind before bed.”

“I’m sorry it can’t be champagne.” Marcus isn’t but he will make the appropriate noises for your sake. He’s stopped drinking a beer when he gets home in solidarity of your pregnancy, not wanting to tempt you with things you can’t have.

“I have the best reason in the world not to drink,” you remind him, handing over a glass flute full of soda before pouring your own. “I don’t mind anymore. The Pike-ette needs to be as healthy as possible.”

“So do you.” Marcus fusses over you sometimes, especially with as sick as Amanda is making you with her snacks. “You are doing amazing, you know that?”

“I’m doing my best.” It isn’t easy, considering the impossible situation that the two of you are in, but the light at the end of the tunnel is your happy, healthy family without a single trace of Amanda anywhere in sight. “I’m just glad that my best seems to be working.”

“It is working.” Marcus reaches up and rubs your shoulder with one hand and touches his flute to yours. “To you staying healthy and happy this entire pregnancy.”

“This weekend is about both of us, love.” Of course Marcus would put the sole focus on you, but you know he struggles far more mentally and emotionally with everything that’s going on than he wants you to know. “To us.” You murmur, tapping his flute again with yours. “And our happy future.”

Smiling softly, he leans in, pressing his lips against yours gently. “You are perfect.” He praises before he pulls back to take a sip of the soda. “You sit down and I will order our dinner.”

“I’ll find us a movie.” There isn’t any use debating with Marcus about who’s more perfect, so you just sit back with your drink and relax. This weekend is going to be just what you both have been needing.

Picking up the phone, Marcus orders the food that you wanted, plus his own dinner. There had been so many good options, but he wanted the honey citrus seared salmon with micro greens in a balsamic glaze. He had zero doubt that you might want to steal a bite or two, but he was happy to share. Once done, he sighs, the anxious ball of worry he’s had in the pit of his stomach since you told him you were pregnant is finally unwinding. He loves that you are carrying his child, it’s only the issues with his ex that put a damper on things and makes him worry.

“Cuddles while we wait?” You hold your arms open to him on the sofa in the suite’s sitting room. Uninterrupted snuggle time with Marcus and no Amanda around to loudly eat snacks that make you want to be sick? Yes please. “There’s a Hitchcock marathon on this weekend, apparently.”

“And how are we feeling about that?” He doesn’t want you to worry about pregnancy nightmares, knowing you have plenty to worry about as it is.

“To Catch a Thief is a classic.” As he settles down next to you, you nuzzle into his side immediately. “Trusts me, if Psycho or The Birds comes on next, I’ll be changing the channel.”

His arm comes around you automatically and he hums contentedly. “Good. I don’t want you having some dream of me wielding a knife and throwing birds at you.” He jokes.

“No one warns you that pregnancy will give you weird nightmares.” When you had brought it up to your doctor with concern, she had assured you that odd dreams and nightmares were perfectly normal pregnancy symptoms, which just seemed unfair to you at the time. At least they abated in favour of lovely dreams about your little boy. “So what do you want to do tomorrow? Which museums are on the docket?”

“I was thinking the Museum of Natural History and maybe the Freer Art Gallery?” He asks. “Walk around the Mall and just anything that catches our eye?”

“Sounds like a nice place to start.” You hum in agreement, placing a kiss on the corner of his mouth. “Maybe Air and Space in the afternoon?”

“I love the idea of the Air and Space.” He flashes you a grin. “I wanted to be an astronaut when I was younger.”

“I idolized Amelia Earhart.” The small similarities between you still make you grin whenever you discover them, even though you seem to discover them quite a lot. “They have her Lockheed Vega in the museum.”

“Plus the moon rock you can touch.” Marcus is honestly a little giddy to explore this with you. Amanda had never cared for anything that was free and open to the public. Something he hadn’t realized until he was looking back.

“I’m adding Amelia to the baby name list!” You announce with glee, reaching for your purse a few feet away on the ground, and honestly wondering why you hadn’t before. “Amelia Pike is a cool ass name and she’d be named after a bad ass.”

“I love that.” He really does, grinning as you flip the book open and scrawl the name the list and circles it happily. “I would say that’s my favorite one so far.”

“Really?” Any name Marcus notes as a favourite gets a little star next to it, but you put two next to where you’ve written Amelia and smile at it for a moment longer. “Mine too, I think. Maybe we’ll have our memories jogged over some favourite historical figures or painters whose names we can add this weekend.”

“Absolutely.” He gives a happy little chuckle and presses a kiss to your head. “I’m sure you will be writing names like crazy.” He predicts with a smile, loving how enthusiastic you are about it.

“I don’t know what I’m gonna do with this list after all the kids are born.” There are already several pages of ideas noted down, and it’s only been three weeks since you bought the thing. “I’ll have to start writing stories or something.”

He snickers. “Well, each kid should have a pet...” he offers, smirking at you, imagining all sorts of critters with the names you had chosen.

“Four kids with four pets?” Rolling your eyes at him only makes him laugh harder, and you end up laughing with him as you toss the notebook aside. “You better be planning on taking whatever promotion you’re up for next if I’m going to be staying at home with the Pike-ettes and their fluffy buddies. Because I don’t think I could do that to a babysitter.”

“We will make sure our babysitter is very responsible.” He promises. “Because having a turtle is tough.”

“A turtle, huh?” The look you give him is dubious - like a librarian peering over her spectacles. “Which kid is getting a turtle?”

“Whichever one wants a turtle. Or a bunny or a gerbil.” Marcus would never expect to pick out his kid’s pets. But he could always encourage animals that weren’t high maintenance.

“No bunnies.” On that you are adamant. “They’re cute and sweet outdoors, but if you try to keep them caged indoors they stink and get angry. And bite.” Your head tilts a lot and after a second, you shrug. “Then again, if I were in a cage, I would probably shit everywhere and bite people, too.”

“No cage play - got it.” Marcus grins, shooting you a disappointed pout. “I’m a little disappointed.”

“What if I asked you to collar me?” You raise an eyebrow at him in challenge, wondering if he’s just teasing you or if he does have some possessive or dominating proclivities.

Marcus had been joking, but when you say that, he can’t help but give a small grunt of interest. His cock twitches and he bites his lip.

“Oh really?” Both eyebrows raise now, and you sit up a little his arms. “Did I accidentally hit on something?”

“No.” He knows he sounds slightly defensive, but it’s something that could be controversial to some and he doesn’t want to cause issues. It’s not been something he’s really thought about much. Not like Amanda was interested.

“Hey, don’t do that.” Taking his chin between your thumb and forefinger, you make him look at you. “Talk to me. If there’s things you want to try, I want to hear about them. Even if it’s only talking right now and not trying them yet.”

“I’ve not given it a lot of thought.” He admits quietly. “You know….” He doesn’t have to say it, since you know what he means. “I just don’t want you upset.”

“I’m not going to get upset.” You promise him, knowing that talking about Amanda isn’t nearly as bad as living with her. “Healthy communication, baby. And healthy experimentation, too, if we decide to.”

“It sounds like it might be fun.” He admits after a long moment searching your face. “Nothing too heavy, though. I would never want anything extreme.” He snorts, shaking his head. “Could you see me trying to be some hardass dom?”

“No.” You wrinkle your nose a little, not out of distaste but because you definitely couldn’t see Marcus ever being domineering. “But I have to admit that the fact that you don’t let me pay for anything, cater to everything I need, and would completely love me being at home waiting for you every day makes me think that all those sugar babies out in the world definitely have the right idea.” The wink you send him is exaggerated and comes with a kiss to his cheek. “I think you like the idea of being a caretaker, baby. And sometimes that can translate into softdom territory. But only if you want it to.”

“Maybe we could research it together?” He asks, slightly hopeful since you seem to get him. It’s not that he wants you to be his maid or his keeper, more that he wants to provide for you. Let you do whatever you want.

“Do you want to look things up while we eat?” There are times you truly do think that the thing that would make Marcus happiest in the world would be to come home to his fully-provided for wife and small army of children, and even you - who would have railed against it in the beginning - see why. It’s not to do with subservience, it’s about him providing not only finances for his family, but love and care as well. The love and care that he feels he never got as a kid. He wants to give every inch of himself to loving his family, and that is something you fully admire about him.

“Only if you want to.” Marcus is insistent on that. “Besides, this entire thing revolves around you being comfortable.”

“So let’s look it up.” Both of your phones are in your pockets, and you offer him a soft smile of encouragement. “If we don’t like what we read, we don’t have to try it. It’s as simple as that.”

“Okay.” He still makes no move to reach for his phone. Enjoying holding you way too much right now.

“You wanna read over my shoulder?” His arms are tight around you but you slip your phone out of your jeans easily and waggle it at him. “If I’m pushing, you can tell me, honey. I’m only asking because you reacted to it.”

“No, you would never push.” You are positively the last person to push him, so he knows that’s not the case. “Maybe you are interested too?”

“I’m interested.” That much can be made perfectly clear, and you bite your lip to keep from smirking. “I know you say good girl every now and then without thinking, but you could say it literally anytime you wanted, and I would just magically lose my panties.”

“Really?” Now it’s his turn to smirk and he does so immediately. “You like when I call you a good girl?” He doesn’t even try to hide the fact that he wants a reaction out of you, dropping his voice down slightly.

The pout on your face might seem like a dramatic change from how you were just laughing, but that tone in Marcus’s voice is fucking delicious. “Fuck — Yes.” You nod, straightening up a little more.

“My good girl?” He asks, smirking even more when you let out a small whimper. He loves how you want him. It’s a soothing balm on his previously lonely and hurt heart.

“Yes sir.” You try out the little extra sign of authority, wondering if Marcus will like it as much as you - surprisingly - do.

“Fuck.” His breath comes out in a rush, punched from his lungs in a harsh exhale. “That’s something I can say I like.” He admits quietly, his hand that had been on your stomach sliding to your core and cupping you over your clothes.

The physicality of his reaction - that instant possessiveness - makes you whimper again slightly and you can practically feel your pupils dilate. “You like being called sir?” You ask with a raised eyebrow, interested to see how he reacts to you saying it again.

Marcus Pike has never slapped a pussy in his life, honestly kind of shaking his head at the idea when it came up on a porno and writing it off as some macho fantasy that the girl performing just goes with. But right now? It sounds sexy. His hand draws back and he swats his hand down on your clit, just to see your reaction.

The sensation is sharp - and surprising - and the little half-yelp, half-moan you let out when the quick flick of his wrist snaps the seam of your soft pants directly against your clit is amazing. “Was that a punishment or a reward?” You ask, voice breathless as you try to figure out how to get more of this out of him.

“Depends on how you feel about it.” Marcus hums in your ear, knowing you had to enjoy it from the way you moaned. “Do you want me to do it again?” He teases, rubbing your clit gently through the leggings.

“Mmhmm.” Actually you can barely believe how much you want him to do it again, but you’re nearly squirming in his lap as you chase the staccato sensation. “Please.”

His chuckle is dirty, and he wants to do it again. Nuzzling against your neck, he lets his teeth scrape over your skin. Hearing you inhale sharply, he pulls his hand back to smack your clit again - only to have a knock on the door stop him before he can bring his hand down. He groans quietly into your ear. “The food.”

“Nooooo!” Your frustrated groan at the bad timing is mirrored in how deeply you pout at Marcus as he lifts you off his lap.

“Don’t be a bad girl.” He teases, although he’s just as disappointed as you. “At least the interruption is food.”

“Which is literally the only reason I’m not begging you to ignore it and touch me again.” You don’t want to say slap my pussy again too loudly, just in case the door is thin or something. Although you’re sure the walls of a luxury hotel have heard far weirder things.

Marcus smirks, leaning down and kissing you before he straightens up and adjusts his hard cock. “Later.”

You manage not to protest how badly you want him now, because it’s slightly useless all things considered. You’ve wanted him endlessly since about two seconds after he walked into your store and it has only gotten more intense with falling in love with him and being pregnant with his child. But the physical end of your relationship has to be secondary to the emotional, and you accepted that.

Marcus opens the door, greeting the server who has been sent with the cart with a friendliness that is covering his sexual frustrations. “Thanks, just anywhere is good.” He offers as he digs in his pocket to tip the man.

The man is there and gone in a flash, and you don’t miss the way he tries to be subtle about sneaking a peak at your hand. Marcus must have told them the reason for your stay when he requested the roses and ginger ale.

“Food is here.” Marcus states the obvious but winks at you. “Come eat baby, I know you are hungry.”

“Yes, sir.” You’re going to keep the game up as long as it’s still fun for both of you. And it is definitely fun.

“God, keep it up and I’ll eat you.” He growls playfully.

“How exactly is that supposed to deter me?” The smirk on your face as you move to the bistro table in the corner to sit and eat with him is pure playfulness.

“Maybe it’s not.” He challenges with a smirk of his own. “Maybe I want to see how the food tastes cold.” He’s joking, because he heard your stomach growling.

“I’m afraid your son isn’t going to allow that.” One hand goes to your belly as you sit down, traveling up to your rumbling stomach a second later. “Pretzels on the plane was definitely not enough.”

“We should have eaten before the flight,” he admits, slightly annoyed with himself. “But I wasn’t sure how the flight would mess with your stomach, and I didn’t want you airsick the entire time.”

“I was nervous about it, too. Don’t worry, love.” You throw him a wink from behind your glass. “You can have me for extra dessert.”

“Fuck yes.” He loves every opportunity he has to explore your changing body, even if it hasn’t changed much so far. “Eat.” He tells you with just a touch of sternness as he points to your plate.

“I’m liking the little bit of sternness,” you admit, picking up your fork with a grin. “If I weren’t literally about to have your baby, I might have asked to call you daddy.”

He groans, shaking his head. “Maybe before the first one starts using that term.” He tells you with a grin.

“We’re in the mood to discover tonight, I see.” Teasing is good - it’s light and fun and something you don’t get enough of at home - but the first bite you take off your pasta has you moaning with almost as much enthusiasm as when he goes down on you. “Holy shit this is amazing,” you groan, eyes drifting shut while you savor.

He stops with his own fork halfway to his mouth, watching in appreciation as you savor your food. Licking his lips unconsciously as you swipe at a little sauce that you missed. “Good?” He asks hoarsely, even though you just said it was amazing.

“Fucking amazing.” Picking up another mouthful of your dinner, you hold it out to him with a devious smile. “Wanna try?”

“I always want to try…” Marcus grins and wraps his lips around the fork and winks at you as he pulls his mouth back. “Hmmmmmm.”

"I'd try just about anything with you." He digs into his own dinner with another grin and you go after your own with enthusiasm. Eating for two is a very real thing.

“So, did you pack the most comfortable shoes you have?” Marcus asks. “There’s a lot of walking on the menu.”

"I brought my sneakers." Taking the cue that he would rather not flirt during dinner, you nod in between bites. "Dresses, leggings, and sneakers all weekend."

“Perfect.” He sends you a little wink. “Even though this is a special weekend, I want you comfortable.”

"I have a feeling it's going to be plenty of snack stops and resting here and there while we go through the museums." Even though the physical changes are minimal, your appetite has definitely increased and the back and ankle pan is something that is starting in small amounts. "I want to do as many as we can, though. And join the party tomorrow night. We deserve to enjoy this weekend."

“We do, just tell me when you want to stop and we will sit down, have something to eat, relax.” He promises, knowing that this weekend is supposed to be easy and relaxing rather than pushing yourselves to see everything.

"Whatever we don't see this time, we'll just have to come back and see it on an anniversary trip." The idea of coming back here one day with your kids makes you smile, loving the idea of showing them so much art and history and science all in such a beautiful place that means so much to you.

“I like the way you think.” Marcus forks up another bite of his food. “The future Mrs. Pike is a smart cookie.”

"So here's a question." Your dinner is absolutely delicious, and you feel like you're absolutely inhaling it but can't bring yourself to care. "If you ever got transferred back here. What part of the city would you want to live in?" With promotions in the FBI, all roads lead to DC, and you have to admit that you're curious as to what he would choose.

Marcus hums, reaching for his napkin and wiping his mouth. “Honestly? Probably Georgetown or Capitol Hill.” He admits. “The amenities are nice, and the neighborhood is safe.”

"I don't know if I agree with Capitol Hill being safe, necessarily, but I like the idea of Georgetown." The area of it that you're in right now - where the inn is - has always been one you've found beautiful. "The Palisades has great schools, too."

“It sounds like you would be okay with a transfer.” Marcus raises a brow and grins at you.

"I miss DC." And you don't mind admitting that. "I mean, don't get me wrong. Austin has some amazing schools, too. And the condo is so well furnished," you laugh, shaking your head at your own joke. "I am proud of you and everything you do. But I'm also in a weird phase where I'm looking up public and private elementary schools in every city I can think of that you could be transferred to just to know."

“I promise you that I will let you know if and when we have to transfer.” Marcus reaches out and takes your hand. “I want you to be happy. And since you miss D.C? I’ll see if I can’t find a spot here as my number one option.”

“I want you to take the job that makes you happiest, no matter where it is.” This is a cycle the two of you get into, each always wanting to put the other first, and you recognize it with a breathy little laugh. “We’ll think about transfers when the time comes. For now, let’s just agree that we’ll make the best of it when it does.”

“I would say that sounds like a plan.” He flashes you a grin, noticing that your dinner is nearly finished. “Are you ready for dessert? I’m sure the Pike-ette is craving that cake for their momma.”

“I was going to be polite and wait for you to finish,” you admit, albeit with a sheepish smile. That just makes Marcus’s grin grow wider and you reach for the slice of chocolate cake without another second’s hesitation. “Is the food here actually amazing or am I just a ravenous pregnant lady?”

“A little bit of both.” Marcus chuckles and gives a small shrug. “The food is great, but you were moaning over a peanut butter and jelly sandwich two days ago.” He teases, remember how you had just cooed over him bringing you a sandwich upstairs so you didn’t have to risk running into Amanda.

“You used my favourite jelly. It matters.” The expression on your face is dead serious - peanut butter and jelly sandwiches are a staple of your diet right now. “Plus you sacrificed yourself to an encounter with the Wicked Witch to make it for me. You’re my hero.”

He grins and leans in to kiss you. “Anything for my fair maiden.” He promises with a wink. “Besides, she doesn’t try too much shit when it’s me. You’re the one getting the brunt of the nastiness.”

“Well sure.” That makes you roll your eyes, but only out of exasperation, as you pat your belly with one hand. “Because I’ve got the golden ticket.”

“You do have the golden ticket.” He smirks happily, never not happy about his child. “I don’t mind that at all, but you tell me when she gets worse.”

“It’s nothing I can’t handle.” There’s no way in the world you’re going to tell him that Amanda threatened you right before leaving for your mini vacation. There’s no need to bring the mood down at all.

There’s something in your tone that makes him suspicious, but he doesn’t press. He’ll check the camera feeds later on. Instead he nods and snatches up the fork for the cake and gathers the first bite to offer you. “Tell me how it is?”

Giggling at yourself when your response to the first bite is to moan again, you nudge the plate toward Marcus. “Sharing is caring,” you remind him, knowing that literally anyone else would get their hand slapped if they tried to eat your chocolate cake right now.

Marcus hums and takes a smaller bite for himself, groaning in appreciation of the moist, chocolaty cake. “That’s great.”

“Right? Second only to my Mom’s chocolate cake. Like a close second.” Your bites are distinctly less dainty than his, but Marcus only smiles when you have the good manners to apologize for being a bit greedy.

“You are enjoying it baby.” He loves that, watching you inhale the cake. “Next time we’ll get a glass of milk too.”

“If my appetite keeps growing like crazy I’m gonna have the doctor check that there’s not already four in there,” you joke, offering him another bite before you totally demolish the thing.

“Oh god.” His eyes widen dramatically, even if it’s playfully. “Can you imagine quadruplets? You would kill me.”

“On the other hand?” Shrugging slightly, both of your hands cradle your very full belly for effect as you sit back in your chair. “It would be a very good thing that we bought all their first stuffed animals at once.”

“Yes it would be.” The stuffed animals had a place of honor on the chair next to the window in your shared bedroom and Marcus grins at them every time he sees them.

Stretching a little in your seat, you give a small groan as a few joints pop and glance over at the clock. The time difference between Austin and DC may be small, but it's enough that you pout at the clock. "It's later than I thought it was. Do you still want to take a bath before bed, baby?"

“You sound tired.” Marcus immediately looks over at you and gives a small frown. “Do you want to go to bed?”

"I don't want to ruin the fun." You throw him a pout but end up yawning, immediately clamping both hands over your mouth to stifle it. "I guess that's a yes," you admit begrudgingly.

“Then let’s save the soak in the tub for tomorrow morning before we take on the day.” Plans are always easily changed in his opinion.

"You don't mind?" He never does. Marcus Pike is probably the most accommodating man on the planet, which might have a little to do with why his not-quite-ex-wife is still in his house. Either way, though, you haul yourself out of your chair and reach your hand out to him. "We can cuddle until we pass out. It'll be nice not to have to hear her clanging around downstairs or in her room while we try to fall asleep."

“Yes it will be.” You don’t know how many conversations he’s had with his lawyers about getting Amanda out of the house. How many arguments he’s had with them. He’s tired of the way you seem to be taking the brunt of this, he’s even wondered if he made the right decision in moving you in.

"Come on, handsome." With his hand in yours, you lead him back to the suite's bedroom and flip on the light, enjoying the casual intimacy of nighttime rituals as you grab your toiletries bag from your suitcase. "Fair warning, the only things I brought to sleep in barely qualify as coverings."

“I have zero problem with that.” You are tired, so even if he wanted to touch you, he wouldn’t. “I can’t wait to snuggle into this large bed with you.” It might test his patience, but he will survive. The most important thing is that he has you in bed beside him.

Crawling under the covers beside him a few minutes later, you burrow into Marcus’s side and sigh happily when his arms come around you immediately. “I already know this weekend is going to be perfect.” You stifle another yawn and grin guiltily, stretching up to press a kiss to the sharp line of his jaw. “I love you more than anything, baby. Sweet dreams.”

******

The next morning begins perfectly in Marcus’s opinion. You are curled against him, your ass pressed against his cock and your soft murmured snores telling him that you are sleeping peacefully. Something you’ve been missing out on since moving in. He smirks and unwinds his arm from around your stomach, shifting under the covers and moving lower, wanting to wake you up right on the day he is going to propose to you.

The dream you’re still deep inside of is perfect - a sunny, sandy beach with Marcus on your honeymoon. Gorgeous crystal-clear water and blue skies like a picturesque magazine spread. The kind of trip everybody always dreams of taking, but without the cocktails since even in the dream you’re still pregnant. The air is thick with the smell of sweet flowers and spicy food, and there is nothing to do but relax. It’s paradise inside your mind, and you sigh happily in your sleep.

Marcus smirks when your grunt is soft in protest when he slowly rolls you onto your back. He doesn’t know what you are dreaming, but you wants to stay there.

Waking each other up like this - the intimacy of it and care - is something you had talked about long before you ever shared it with each other. It’s something Erik had never found the appeal in and farm work demanded early rising without leisure, so the first time Marcus woke you up with pleasure you had spoiled and pampered him for the next two days in thanks.

For Marcus, there is something delicious about a woman’s taste when she’s been asleep for hours. It’s rich and earthy, potent and tangy on his tongue. Hot and musky in his nose as he slowly probes your folds with the gentle pass of his tongue, not ready to have you wake up just yet. You squirm slightly under him, unconscious movements that mimic the way you’re settling into your beach chair with a sigh in your dream as the pleasurable sensations start to register on the edges of your mind. Nothing ever feels as good as Marcus does in real life, and you hum softly from inside the dream.

He keeps his touch light, the gentle way he presses your legs a little wider under the covers, the soft morning sun filtering in through the white sheets the perfect amount of visibility to look at the way your hips roll up. You still haven't woken up, and that's good. Making him kiss your clit softly and circling it in a slow pattern.

Soft sighs come slightly more often as you start to build toward your peak, and your dream has turned distinctly dirtier. Marcus has you laid out on the beach with your bathing suit ripped away, feasting on you like he hasn’t had a crumb to eat in weeks. His name is a distinct sigh in that hotel bed as you cry it out in your dream.

He feels the way you come apart for him, it's soft and fluttery, but still intense as you sleep through it. Marveling at how you can still be asleep as you cum, soaking his chin in your juices while he continues to softly work you through it. He's never had you stay locked in your dreams, and he wonders what you will say about them when you wake up.

It takes another moment before your eyelids start to flutter, a soft moan parting your lips as the morning light permeates everything. “Morning…” You stretch to reach for him beside you, but Marcus isn’t there. “Baby?”

Marcus chuckles, finding it adorable that you are awake enough to know he's not where he is supposed to be but still asleep enough that you haven't figured out where he is. "Morning." He murmurs before he kisses your clit one last time and reaches up to pull the covers down over his head. "Sweet dreams?" He can't help but grin and wink when you look down at him.

“Mmm…” The soft hun of realization on your lips morphs into a dirty, throaty laugh when you stretch again and beckon him up beside you. “So that’s why my dream turned sexy.”

“I figured you were cumming in your sleep.” He kisses up your body with light kisses until he drops one on your lips. “I love that you slept through it.”

“You were eating me out on a beach on our honeymoon.” Chasing another kiss, you pull him back to you before you let him settle down at your side.

“Yeah?” He grins against your cheek and hums into your skin. “You envision a beach honeymoon, huh?”

“Maybe…” You would go anywhere with him, and you’ve imagined a hundred different trips in your mind. “A Caribbean beach, or Paris for the art, or Southeast Asia for the amazing cuisine and completely different culture. Anywhere you want to go.”

“No…” he shakes his head. “I like the idea of a small island, maybe one of those that you can rent the entire thing. Making that dream of yours cum true.” He throws you another wink with his pun.

“Dirty.” You giggle softly, rolling over to be closer to him, enjoying the gentle softness of the morning and how that translates into deep, lazy kisses.

Marcus sighs into your mouth, relaxed for the first time since the one night you had truly spent together. Even if he was still turned on, just knowing that today is the day he is going to propose, makes a tingle run up his spine.

“Baby…” Marcus hasn’t been this pliant or eager in weeks - maybe months - and the twitch of his hardness against your leg as he kisses you has you moaning. “Can I— is it okay today?” You don’t want to ask too much, but you’re really hoping that he’ll be okay with a little more intimacy on this trip.

There is a space in time, his heartbeat stops and his stomach twists in the most divine combination of pleasure and pain. Despite everything, you have never pushed him for more than he can give, and he shoves away the gnawing ache of guilt. “Whatever you want.” He tells you softly. Meaningfully. He means it. You are going to be his wife. He doesn’t want to deny you, or himself, anything today.

That is not the answer you expected. You pull back from him, searching his face for any trace of anything that goes against the words coming out of his mouth, but all you find is soft determination. “Tonight, baby.” You offer, wrapping your arm around his waist. “Tonight we’ll dance and make love and fall asleep tangled together. How does that sound?”

“That sounds perfect.” He has to admit he’s a little disappointed now that he said anything goes. Halfway expecting you to jump him, but you might need to process that change in your relationship and he can’t blame you for that.

“Doesn’t mean I’m going to neglect you now.” It’s your turn to kiss him - earnest and deep - before trailing your lips down his body. It would be unfair to spoil the moment by admitting that you’re actually a little nervous about having sex with him again - you’ve built it up in your mind so much since that one night that you need to give yourself a little time to come down out of those proverbial clouds. This morning, though? This morning you’re going to suck his soul out through his cock so he doesn’t have the brain power left to overthink his decision.

He hasn’t let you make him cum often. A combination of guilt and honestly not wanting to do anything to activate your gag reflex. It’s been bad enough with the morning sickness and the shit his ex is pulling, he doesn’t want you sick because of sucking him off. However, this morning, he’s moaning when you scrape your teeth over his nipple and his cock twitches again. “Fuck.” He murmurs, looking down so he can give you the obligatory ‘you don’t have to’.

“Don’t even say it.” You order, practically wagging a finger at him as your face hovers maybe a whole three inches from his achingly hard, leaking cock. “You never let me suck you off and for once I’m not feeling nauseous first thing.”

“I have.” His protest is weak, because he last time he let you suck him off was the day he found out you were pregnant. You had jerked him off a couple of times, but he had always tried to focus on your pleasure more.

“Once.” And you remember every perfect second of it like it was yesterday. “You did say whatever I want.”

“I did.” He reaches down and cups your cheek, giving you a soft look. “And I meant it. Although…please don’t stick a finger in my ass?” He jokes.

“Dammit!” You huff dramatically, playing along with the joke for a second to make you both laugh. “Fiiiiiiine. I guess just a regular blow job will have to do.”

It’s fun to joke about this with you, needed, really. He grunts, even with a grin on his face. One that quickly changes to pure bliss when your duck your head down and lick a long line up the underside of his cock. “Shiiiiit.”

“That’s it, baby.” You coo, looking up at him as you kitten lick the head of his cock and use the hand that isn’t bracing your weight to cup his balls the way you know he likes. “Let me hear you.”

“Jesus.” Marcus pants out the word, loving the sultry look in your eyes and the way you touch him. He doesn’t bite his lip, instead letting out another soft moan, just loud enough for you. Since it was early and there are other guests.

Humming approvingly, you sink down on him just about halfway at first, just to make sure that he really is okay with this and that you don't accidentally make yourself gag. This is bliss for you. Not just because you like giving head - although you definitely do - but also because there isn't a trace of worry or guilt or stress left in Marcus's whole body. He is relaxed and focused only on pleasure, something that he has actively denied himself for a long time. The way he moans when you start to bob up and down on his length is genuine and indulgent, and you honestly can't wait to be able to hear this sound every single day.

“Fuck baby.” His groan is filthy, matching the way that his body reacts to the feeling of your wet, hot mouth around him. Watching your lips stretch around his shaft. “Good girl.” He praises breathlessly, stroking your cheek while you press him just a half inch deeper.

Those words, and thinking about last night at all, have you moaning around his cock. It makes you want to just shove his cock all the way down your throat but you don't dare, for now just bobbing a little bit more on the next pass and wrapping your hand around the base of his shaft that your mouth can't reach.

He can barely keep the soft whine from slipping through, loving the firm grip you have on the base of his cock. Even if you haven’t sucked him off often, you have been quick to learn exactly how he likes to be touched. “Love you.” He moans quietly.

Your soft hum has to be enough reply for now, as you steadily work him up with your hand and mouth, tongue swirling around his head to greedily pick up every bit of his musky taste. You can shower him in affirmations all day, and always do, but the chance for the physical - the lustful - expression of what he means to you is rare.

“God.” His whimper is punctuated by your name. “You love this, don’t you baby?” His fingers curl around your jaw and your hum makes his stomach clench.

“Mmhmm.” You won’t deny that for a second, and you look up at him with mischief in your eyes since you can’t exactly smirk with your lips stretched around his cock.

There’s something about how you love him that just makes Marcus melt. The way you want to please him. His heart stutters every time, even if he doesn’t let you do this often. “Gonna cum baby.” He gasps a warning, letting you know. He doesn’t want you to swallow if you don’t want to.

Marcus is always attractive - without fail, even on his worst days - but he is gorgeous when he falls apart. He’s uninhibited and completely himself, far away in a world of pure pleasure. It’s a blissful sight. One that you love as much as he loves watching you drink down every drop of cum he has for you.

Every time he cums with you, it’s such a fucking struggle to keep his eyes open. Wanting to see you when he reaches that peak and feels nothing but pleasure rushing through him and making him cry out your name again.

“You are an absolute vision when you cum.” You murmur, leaving a kiss on his hipbone before shifting back up the bed to lay down beside him and offer him a place in your arms. “I love you, baby.”

“I love you.” Marcus promises, knowing that the two of you could get into a playful back and forth on who loves the other more, but he just wants to relax with you. “I think this might be my favorite morning so far.” He murmurs softly, covering your stomach with his hand.

“With a lifetime to go.” Giving him a bright smile, you put your hand over his on your belt and sigh happily. “How do you want to start the day? Quick bite and off to the Smithsonian? Or leisurely breakfast and a stroll through the city?”

"However you want to." On that Marcus is adamant, he wants today to be exactly what you want. "What do you and our little Pike-ette want?" He hums with a smile as he caresses your stomach.

The already large smile on your face widens unapologetically, and you lean over to kiss him before popping out of the bed. “I don’t want to wait around for the morning sickness to kick in. Let’s grab a bite and hit the museums.”

"That sounds perfect." He grins and watches you, leering slightly was you walk over to the antique bureau that you had put your clothes in. "Although I'm liking my view."

“Look all you want.” You wiggle your hips to shake your ass at him as you grab clean panties and a bra from the dresser. Your dresses are in the closet, all neat and pretty because you wanted to look your best this weekend. “I’m all yours, love.”

“You will be.” He murmurs softly, smiling as you put on your bra and move over to the closet to pick out a dress. “Wear your favorite.” He suggests, wanting today to be perfect. “And I’ll wear your favorite outfit for me.”

You have an overwhelming instinct to call him out, but you don’t. Whatever he has planned you have no desire to spoil it so instead you just pull out the dress you wore on your first date and pull it over your head easily. From his hanging shirts you grab a rusty red coloured linen shirt to go with his jeans and his favourite black shoes that he was wearing yesterday. “How’s this?”

"That looks great." He knows that you have some kind of inkling that something is happening today, but he hopes you enjoy the suspense. "I will wear whatever you want."

“I’m not going to ask you to weather your leather jacket in a heat wave.” You tease, having always been fully upfront with him about how much you love that particular piece on him. “But I like this shirt on you. It brings out the gold in your eyes.”

There is a slight way that his chest puffs out slightly at your praise. He loves that you are attracted to him and you seek to let him know that. Men need compliments just as much as women do and he didn't realize how starved he was for that until you started showering him with affection and little phrases of esteem building praise.

“Breakfast downstairs?” Keeping things light and fun is the order of the morning, and you pause to kiss Marcus quickly as you pass by him to go into the bathroom to wash your face, brush your teeth, and all those good parts of your morning routine.

"Yeah." Going downstairs was a big part of today. He had to make sure that they had put together his little request to take with you when you leave for the day. "I'm sure that they will have some tea for you."

“My one doctor-approved dose of caffeine a day.” That leads you to a chuckle from the bathroom while pining and prodding at your hair. When your doctor had said you could still have small amounts of caffeine during your pregnancy you had almost jumped for joy, but the baby vetoed coffee consumption about two weeks ago. Now you’re on a single cup of tea per day instead of your single six-ounce cup of coffee.

"As soon as you have the baby, I will make sure you have a coffee in your hand every morning." He promises, rubbing your belly before he picks up his electric razor to shave quickly.

In a few minutes you’re both ready, hand in hand as you head downstairs to the inn’s restaurant for their apparently much-lauded breakfast buffet. Marcus’s need to book the biggest and fanciest room in the place means that the price of the morning meal is built right in, so you don’t hesitate. Especially not when you smell fresh bacon and crepes from the doorway.

Marcus smiles when you are eagerly hunched over the buffet, allowing him to turn to the woman who was carefully watching to make sure anything needed to be replenished. “Hi.” He greets her with a grin. “Marcus Pike.”

“Oh! Mr. Pike, of course!” The young woman nods eagerly, her eyes following his as she tries to figure which woman he is with - she didn’t see him walk in. “Everything for your basket is ready. I’ll go and get it for you while you’re having breakfast.” She grins but tries to smother it when she figures out who he keeps looking at down the buffet table. “The chef had quite a bit of fun putting it together.”

“Thank you so much.” He can’t help but lean in to give her a quick hug. “Today is going to be amazing.” He promises. “And she will be teary eyed over the idea of a picnic lunch from the inn. She’s been talking about this place since she decided she wanted to stay here.”

“Peanut butter, cilantro, and chocolate are pretty good as far as cravings go, she’s lucky.” She has seen the request in the system just like everyone else and a few of the women on staff were running bets on where exactly the proposal would happen. “May I ask how long you’ve been together?”

“Three months.” Marcus isn’t ashamed of that, even if he knows others with raise their eyebrows. “But she’s been a trooper the entire time.” He won’t go into details, those are more private, but he can’t help the sappy smile with his heart in his eyes as he watches you pile up the bacon.

“Well, we’re all very excited to hear how it turns out.” The staff have been pretty excited about it, actually, her included. “My name is Alana, I’m the front of house manager on duty today, so if you need anything please don’t hesitate to call the desk and ask for me.”

“Thank you.” Marcus gives her another smile and tilts his head back towards you. “I better make sure she eats something other than bacon.” He jokes. “Although do you have some tea?” He asks. “She’s needing a little caffeine but not too much.”

“I’ll bring out a selection for your table.” Alana nods and returns his smile before disappearing behind the pristine chestnut stained door that leads to the kitchen. She’s about to put together the best tea tray of her career, because that man is very in love.

Marcus finds you, his hand on your waist. “I asked for some tea, sweetheart.” He murmurs, pressing his lips to your cheek. “But I’m going to get you some orange juice now so you can take your vitamins.”

“Thank you.” With your hands full of two plates, you hadn’t even reached the drinks yet. You turn your head to catch him in a kiss before he’s too far away and smile softly. “You take such good care of us.”

“It’s my pleasure.” He won’t call it his job or responsibility, even though it is. It’s his pleasure to take care of you and his baby. He quickly brings two orange juices over and sets them down before he goes to fix himself a plate.

“And I appreciate the fact that you think of it like that.” You tell him honestly. “I’m the luckiest girl in the world.”

Marcus is coming back to the table when the lovely woman, Alana, approaches you with a tray of tea options.

“You have no idea how much I appreciate this.” He hears you saying to the woman as she sets the little silver service tray with hot water, and teacup, and a selection of teabags down in front of you. There’s even a little pitcher of cold milk and a bowl of sugar cubes despite both being available a few get away on the drinks section of the buffet. “Everyone’s been so nice since we got in last night and the food here is incredible.”

“We like to make a fuss.” Alana smiles at you, noting how your eyes immediately find your soon to be fiancé when he comes back to the table. “Especially for lovely couples like yourself.”

“Well, thank you.” Nothing could possibly beat the sunny sight of Marcus returning to your side, and you grin back at the woman - Alana - before he sits down. “I told him he’d like this place. That’s my proof. He loves to make a fuss.”

"A man in love always loves to fuss." Alana can't help but send you a small wink before she moves away from the table, wanting to go check on the cooler the chef prepared for the two of you one last time. It needed to be perfect since the two of you were obviously perfect for each other. She could tell these kinds of things.

“I think you have a fan,” you tease, shooting Marcus a grin as you drop a sachet of floral-smelling black tea into the China teacup on the tray and add water. “Does the whole place know why we’re here or something?” Not that you would mind, honestly. It would be very over the top. Very Marcus.

Blushing slightly, Marcus picks up his orange juice and takes a sip. "I might have mentioned why we were spending the weekend here." He admits with a small, pleased grin. "They have made us a picnic lunch for today while we are out."

“A picnic?” That has you practically squealing, and you reach over in your chair to plant a wet kiss on his cheek. “I haven’t been on a picnic in years. This is so sweet of you baby, thank you.”

He's giggling slightly, in relief, at your happiness. He had wondered if it was a little too boring for you, but he wanted to just make sure you were well fed and watered, relaxed and happy spread out on the lawn of the Mall when he proposes. "Good." He murmurs. "I'm glad you are excited."

“According to this handy map I snagged from our suite before we came downstairs.” You flap the folded map of the National Mall at him playfully before you open it up. “The National Museum of Natural History is right across the Mall from the Freer Gallery. Shall we start there and go for Air & Space after our picnic?”

“That sounds perfect.” Marcus will agree to whatever you wanted to do. “We can work up an appetite moving around from exhibit to exhibit.”

Breakfast doesn’t last long but it’s delicious and filling, and as you’re wiping your mouth from a particularly juicy strawberry when Alana reappears from the kitchen with a small cooler case bearing the hotel’s insignia.

“Everything you requested is in here.” She tells Marcus with a smile, offering him the cooler. “The ice packs will keep everything chilled until at least two o’clock in case you aren’t hungry right away.”

“Thank you,” you hum, eyeing the cooler with an air of excited anticipation. “We’re looking forward to a really memorable day.”

______

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