Just a little one shot. Sorry, not edited.

The sun beat down on my pale gown, the smell of sea salt lingered by my nostrils and his hands stuck firmly to my waist, tanned fingers curling around the white netting and drawing soft, affectionate patterns on my hips.

"Stop it, Eight, before I lose my self-control."

The man before me only smiled. He had cleaned up for the wedding, pampering himself with multiple hair products and dressing in a sleek black, tux. Tied around his neck was a silk bow-tie and wrapped around his finger lay a gold chain, the numbers 7 and 8 engraved on the inside. He looked stunning today-he was always stunning, but today he looked radiant, his green eyes glowed with happiness and a permanent mischievous smile had settled on his lips.

"I can't help it Marina," he spoke into my ear, almost bouncing with excitement, "Today's the day I can actually call you wife, you're mine Marina, and I'm yours."

Something in the way he said my name spoke to the primitive side of me and I felt my knees melt under his loving gaze. Six ran up to us, elbows locked with Sam.

"Congratulations." she beamed, before letting go of Sam and dragging me away with her, "So," she spoke cheekily, "when am I going to see a bunch of little toddlers running around John Hancock centre?" She teased.

A blush crawled up my neck and tinted my ears pink, "I don't really know, Six. Go ask Eight."

"Already have."

I groaned weakly, "I'll tell you when I'm actually considering it."

Six pales.

"Is there something wrong?"

The blonde nods slowly, "Now that you've promised to tell me, I feel like I should tell you something."

I wait patiently for her to continue.

"I'm pregnant, Marina."

A smile spreads across my face and I find myself jumping up and down happily, "That's great!"

Six shrugs, "I haven't told Sam yet."

"Why?"

"I think he'll leave"

"What..."

"I think he'll leave me, Marina. I don't think he wants a baby now." Six grits her teeth and turns away from me and I know immediately that she's crying.

"Six," I whisper softly, "You never know until you tell him. You have to tell him, it's his child too. Wait-it is his right?"

She laughs slowly, "of course, it's his, silly."

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The wedding is short and informal and when the few quests we've invited have left, the beach is clear. The photographer is gone, and it's just me and Eight. The thought of being alone with him now, after everything we've been through-including the wedding sends a hot shiver down my spine.

Eight sighs loudly behind me and I turn to look at him. He's stretched out on the sand, arms tucked behind his head, his pants are rolled up to his knees and his collared shirt is removed, sitting on the ground with his socks, blazer and bow-tie.

"What are you doing, Eight?" I ask him, acutely aware of the ways his eyes linger on me when he thinks I'm not looking.

"Waiting."

"For?"

"My wife." I giggle at him before laying down beside me.

"And why are you waiting for your wife?"

"So we can go swim."

Laughing at his immaturity, I sit back up and remove my sandals, suddenly thankful that I had decided not to wear make up.

"Your pants are going to get all wet," I tell him.

He smiles, still with his eyes closed, "Well, if you want me to take them off that bad, all you have to do is ask."

My jaw slackens but I wave off his joke with a laugh, "No, but seriously, Eight. What am I supposed to stare at in thirty years, a pair of sun bleached pants and a torn dress that smells of sea weed. Call me a moron, but I need to store these memories. What are we going to wear?"

"You'd never be a moron."

His words hit a nerve and I find myself smiling, happiness seeping all the way down to my centre-my heart.

"Answer the question, Eight."

Eight sits up briefly and looks around, "This is a beach, there's got to be a shop somewhere."

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Thirty minutes later the pair of us are sitting on a large, flat rock staring at the sun drip off the horizon. Shaking water from my hair, I wrap a towel around my black one-piece and squat down.

"Today was beautiful, thankyou."

Eight slides his hand into mine and entwines our fingers, "You don't have to thank me."

"But I want to." I say, resting my head on his shoulder.

"Today isn't over yet," he smiles as I blush at the statement, turning gaze back to the dark purple sky, "Your beautiful and that's all that matters, okay?"

I smile at him and he slips his mouth over mine, wrapping his arms around my torso and embracing me wholly and completely, with all his love.

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The stars peak out behind the curtains, as if daring one another to glance into the hotel room. The night is warm and cloudless and the moon hangs low, an embarrassed sliver of light. Eight presses his lips once more against mine and all rational thought leaves me. Our shadows dance, they curl around one another, whispering tender, short sentences and planting kisses of gratitude and unity everywhere. Everywhere.

"Marina?" Eight asks.

I open my eyes and look at his dark green ones.

"Are you sure about this?"

Reaching up, I wrap my hands around his neck and pull his head down so that my lips are right beside his ear. His heavy breaths caress my cheeks and I can't help but smile as I comb my fingers though his lush locks.

"I've been yours since the day I set eyes on you. You've been able to control me since then-one smile, that's all it took to make my toes curl. Your mine, Eight. And I'm yours so just hurry up and take me."