#found family finds each other in every universe lol

[havealotonmymind]

Writing an outline for a Shadowzel AU fic rn (with minor Astarion/my Tav) and I'm COOKING with ideas holy shit

[crystalpallette]

Hello, deranged doppelquestioner here once again at 01:02 to ask the question:

How does Carbuncle have merch, let alone bootleg merch, if The Arles(collective) also have Carbuncle.

BETTER QUESTION UNLOCKED: Is Satan rich and famous and turned Carbuncle into merch(possibly puyoesque video games?) which has since been rippes off, and did The Arles take him anyways. Are The Arles down to do crime. Are The Arles down to do gay? To others because I just realized how that sounds im not that sleepy yet. They have a good role model in Ally.

Have a good day btw :3

Hi this just occured to me id have put it in the last post if I could have. Rarle and Blarle, That is all. -Dopplepondererer at approximately 01:12

rarle and blarle is hysterical thank you so much. to (finally) answer your question: the short answer is that it's "carbuncle" merch in the way that all "simple white rabbit" merch is miffy merch, if that makes sense?

the long answer is. well. i drew it.

the longer answer, because that technically doesn't answer the question very clearly either, is that this is word-of-god retconning to justify giving them something that realistically would not exist. it's "totally generic yellow rabbit" that totally isn't carbuncle. no see look the yellow rabbit doesn't have a rubelcrack. but it is... carbuncle. i swear. for the rest of the ask; i have no idea where satan is? maybe he's the ~enigmatic masked headmaster~ again. maybe he's a teacher. maybe he's... the arles's weird family friend? i'm imagining the arles live apart from their parents for [INSERT REASON HERE] and maybe satan is the dude that checks in on them sometimes on behalf of their parents. i'll figure out where he goes someday. the arles are also infinitely down to be gay do crime, though arle would need a bit more convincing than doppel. they do have a good role model in ally, tbh all of us should follow her example. love everyone and be gay about it

[tieronecrush]

secret santa

dbf!joel miller x f!reader

summary: your parents throw a christmas party every year, and this is your first time in the “adult” secret santa exchange. the last few times home, you’ve found joel, your dad’s friend, staring a bit too long, flicking away when he’s caught. for the game, of course, you get joel’s name. and you’re going to make sure it’s the best gift he’s ever received.

rating: E

wc: 5.6k

warnings: daddy kink, age gap (sorry folks but i did want to try my hand at dbf!joel lol i pictured him around 50, reader around mid-late 20s), alcohol consumption, mentions of food, distant relationship with parents, party, christmas, gift giving, secret santa game, bit of deception on reader's part just to get joel alone, lingerie, body worship, fingering, oral (f receiving), unprotected p in v, restraints (using clothes/undergarments), daddy!joel, soft!dom joel, praise, a few instances of degradation, dirty talk (as always)

a/n: (images in moodboard do not convey what reader looks like, only the vibe! no descriptions of reader) my first dbf!joel…milestone moment lol <3 hope y’all enjoy my take on the dbf trope! and tysm to my babies for beta-ing @northernbluess and @kiwisbell love you both 😚

dividers by @saradika

Twenty years. This same godforsaken party has been happening every December for the last twenty years of your life, full of overserved middle aged parents, and never has it been less enjoyable than since you’ve been an “adult”. An adult still treated as a child, chastised, fawned over, always told to follow the golden rule. No, not treat others as they wish to be treated. Your family’s golden rule was speak only when spoken to.

And your father was the enforcer. Always required you home for the party, even away, out of state for college, away for the semester studying abroad halfway across the world. You were flown home and called upon to do the heavy lifting — groceries, liquor runs, cleaning the house, decorating to make it all feel magically festive.

At times, it felt like Cinderella had nothing on you. At least she had a prince.

The only time that this party has ever been remotely improved was when Joel Miller moved into the neighborhood. He’d snuck in under your radar due to the fact that it happened the few months you were living abroad, but coming back for the party and Christmas break, you were quickly introduced to him by your father. His new “best friend”. One among many. Each serving a unique purpose to get your dad ahead.

Upon meeting Joel, you were drawn to him immediately. Skeptical over the fact he found company with your dad, but much to your surprise, he was different. Maybe lonely and looking for a friend; you’d found he was living alone, his adult daughter, Sarah, in her final years at the University of Chicago — a choice that was hers but Joel admittedly feared, you learned. He only encouraged her, regardless of the fact he was anxious about losing his kiddo.

Not the same sentiments your dad had when dropping you off to school in the farthest, cheapest corner of the country you could find. He was nearly jumping up and kicking his feet together in glee to get you out of the house.

Joel, though, Joel was kind hearted and patient. He was curious and caring, asking you about school, work, your life every time he saw you over the years. Warmth radiated from him despite his more shy demeanor. Comfortable. You felt so comfortable with him.

Which is what made the smallest of lingering glances or the slightest of smiles turned smirks that much more exhilarating.

Maybe you were being naive or projecting your burning desire for him onto every interaction, but as you stitched yourself tighter into Joel’s life over the years, you haven’t been able to help but notice him checking you out at times or slipping a subtle flirty comment into conversations between the two of you. You would give it right back, and that would usually pump the breaks, bringing things back to surface level.

There was one time this past summer, after a neighborhood barbecue that your parents left early from, that you and Joel really had a moment. It was loud, music drowning out the back and forth you were having to the point where you couldn’t quite make out every word, and Joel must have felt the same because he made sure you heard his next words clearly — “Do you want to go somewhere quieter?”

Agreeing immediately, he pressed his large hand into the midpoint of your back, guiding you out of the confines of the party and to the open air of the street. He led you to his place and around back, pulling two lounge chairs next to his pool closer to each other.

That night, thanks to the alcohol buzzing in your system, you confessed more about your home life and your feelings around it. Joel was surprised, given the picture-perfect image your father paints for everyone, but he was comforting as always. Even as far as offering you his spare room if you ever needed a break.

That’s when you knew you were done for. Never in your life had you wanted to just kiss someone that badly. Let alone all of the thoughts that came along with it.

Harboring this crush for your dad’s friend, fifty plus and a father himself, you attempted to keep things growing closer when you came back. Friendly, polite, reciprocating any amount of flirty banter he threw your way. Even initiating it yourself.

You were so incredibly into Joel Miller. And returning home this time, you decided it was high time you acted on those feelings.

The noise of the bustling party dies down enough for your dad to introduce the game, as if the attendees haven’t been participating for nearly as long as you’ve been alive. But your dad loves the attention on him, cracking jokes that make you roll your eyes while everyone else gives him a laugh. Always so focused on himself. How everyone else sees him. Image obsessed enough to forget to assign anyone as a Secret Santa to his own daughter but not forgetting to give her someone to gift to.

Granted, you weren’t that upset about who you’d drawn.

Watching from afar, you see Joel survey the empty space under the tree, only the deep cherry red skirt laid out on the hardwood. Nothing for him. Everyone opens their presents, laughter and excitement bubbling across the room as the point of the game begins. Partygoers start to guess their gifters, hoping to nail down their Secret Santa in one go. Conversations are struck up as people meet their pair, ‘thank you’s exchanged along with the gifts. Joel observes from his spot with a few of your neighbors, also friends with your dad, and the sight of him shifting his weight on his feet is enough to draw up the courage to approach him.

Crossing the room, flashes of him checking you out, lingering in conversations with you about work and your new apartment in the city, seeking you out each time you visit home flood your mind, reassuring your choices the closer you get to him. The closer you get to completely jumping into the deep end, the last few steps teetering you at the edge.

Slowing to a stop next to him, a finger of yours gingerly taps his strong shoulder a few times, pulling his attention away completely. Joel turns his body to face you, away from others to solely focus on you in front of him. The subtle sign of his attraction to you has your nerves tingling, clearing your throat when he speaks up in greeting.

“Hey there, sweetheart. Y’alright?” he asks, eyebrow raised. Always so goddamn sweet.

You sigh, a tinge dramatic but attempting to sell the dismay and toying with the flute glass in your hand. “Lame surprise, but I’m your Secret Santa and I stupidly left your gift upstairs. It’s a bit obnoxious to bring down so d’you mind coming up to open it and you can grab it at the end of the night?”

Joel agrees with a jolt of nervous excitement down his spine. Shuddering out the feeling subtly, he clears his throat and nods, awaiting your lead. He thinks he catches the slightest drag of your eyes up and down his body, lingering at the expanse of his shoulders and the sliver of his chest that is exposed from the two undone buttons of his red flannel.

When no one’s paying attention, you bring Joel upstairs into your old room that you’re staying in while you’re back in town for the holidays. He stands around a bit awkwardly, sticking out like a sore thumb with his broad shoulders stretching his red flannel, thick thighs straining deliciously against the perfectly worn material of his Levi’s. Stark against the frilly softness of your room, with its bright white furnishings, and feminine touches. He’s all man. Nothing like the guys your age who think they’re like him.

Joel glances about the room before he asks, “So, what was so difficult to get under the tree, sweetheart? You didn’t have to get me anything so major.”

“I wanted to. I mean, noticed you eyeing what I got you for a while so figured the least I could do was give it to you…” Joel’s face twists up in confusion, perplexed by the riddled clue before you’re standing in front of him, reaching to the side of your plaid skirt and dragging down the zipper. Joel stutters out nonsense at your actions, lifting his hands in surrender.

“Doll, I think—you don’t—” His mumblings die in his throat when you drop the material to your ankles, revealing red satin panties. When you turn around, a bow sits at the top of your ass, tying up the material to stay on your hips while elasticated bands run along the outline of your cheeks to connect to the crotch. Very little of your bum is covered, showing off the supple flesh to Joel. He’s rendered speechless, averting his gaze after a second too long of staring, the mumblings starting up again.

“S’not a good idea, shouldn’t be up here right now…” Joel looks around, looking over his shoulder toward the door. One of your hands reaches up to gingerly cup his chin, turning his flushed face to yours again. His pupils are blown wide, eyes darkened with desire. Your own gaze flicks down between the two of you, smirking at the bulge growing at the crotch of his jeans. So desperately trying to fight against what he really wants. Even when you’re serving it up in a pretty little package.

He makes no movement toward the door, which you take as a sign of letting go of at least some of his apprehension. Fingers grip the hem of your sweater, pulling it up and over your head, discarding it on your carpet along with your skirt.

Matching red satin material, the bra you’re wearing has a similar structure to your panties. Held up with straps and the usual clasps at the back, the front is a large gift bow, pulled tight when you tied it earlier this evening to push up the flesh of your breasts. One tug at the tail end of both the ribbons, the one at your chest and at your ass, would fully expose you to Joel. Something you’re desperate to propose to him.

“Aren’t you gonna unwrap your present, Joel?” Picking up each of his hands in yours, you guide one to your lower back and one to your chest, coaxing his fingers to wrap around the ends of the bows. “Or do you not like your gift? I thought you wanted this…”

“No, no, no. I like it. I really fucking like it, sweetheart, I just…Everybody’s downstairs and—”

“I can be quiet. I’m a good girl, Joel.”

That flips a switch in him, hearing those words from you. His eyes darken further, pink tongue poking out to wet his lips. A burning stare combs over you, head to toe, alighting flames in your gut that lick against your insides. Heat crawls across the back of your neck, pooling in your collarbone, and craving oozes between your ribs and between each of your vertebrae. Joel’s right hand lifts from his side, skating up the length of your left arm and leaving goosebumps rising in its wake. Fingertips ghost over the strap of your bra, down to the center of your collarbone, and sitting there. That lasts only a second before his long, thick fingers wrap around the base of your throat, raising his loose grip to settle underneath your jaw.

The silence is heavy, airy breaths the only sounds passed between the two of you. His hand at your neck coaxes your head to tip back, staring up at him looking down at you. A flicker to your lips. A low, curious hum. Arousal pools in between your thighs as you wait with bated breath for something, anything to happen.

“You’re dangerous, doll.” His whisper is coated in lust, his gaze greedy as it drinks you in once again.

“I’m a gift,” you correct sweetly, feigning innocence as a smirk grows on your face at his dark chuckle.

“A gift that keeps on giving?” he questions. His hand twists to allow his thumb to find your bottom lip, dragging across its glossy, cherry surface.

“I guess you’ll have to find out…” Your mouth stays open after speaking, tongue slipping out to lick the tip of Joel’s thumb. He presses his finger further, pushing between your lips as you welcome it, sucking gently. Joel sighs, shoulders relaxing while his eyes flash with need.

“Christ…” he hisses under his breath, shaking his head subtly before clearing his throat. Speaking sternly, unwavering, he says, “Can I unwrap my present, babydoll?”

His thumb leaves your mouth with a quiet pop, hand finding its place again at the slack of the bow at your chest, other arm wrapping around to find the bow at your ass. A gentle tug moves the satiny smooth material a few centimeters, not enough to pull it fully undone.

“All yours, Joel. Picked out ‘specially for you.” Joel smirks at your candied reply, eager to give him exactly what he’s been wishing for. What you’ve caught him staring at the last few times you’ve come back home. What you have been wanting for just as long, if not longer.

“Such a sweet girl. Beautiful girl.”

The words send a tingle down your spine, stoking the flames inside of you. Your eyes stay trained on Joel’s face while his fingers draw the bow at your chest undone, the lengths of material hanging at your sides and exposing your breasts. He licks his lips at the sight of your pebbled nipples, rolling out a stifled groan from his chest.

“Fuck, baby…S’pretty.”

Joel’s hands fan across your lower back, holding your hips against his, pressing his bulge into your covered mound. His broad frame folds forward, draping you backwards in his arms as his mouth attaches to your chest. Humid, open-mouthed kisses are littered across your skin, nips taken at the tender flesh of your breasts. Closing his lips around one of your nipples, he sucks strongly, pulling a whimper from your throat.

“Thought you could be quiet, doll?” he rasps, raising an eyebrow as he looks up at you from your sternum.

Nodding furiously, you pout your lower lip out, whispering back, “I can be, I will be. I promise.”

“You promise? Don’t make promises you can’t keep, baby.” Joel stands up straight, pulling you with him to press against his torso. Catching your lips in a deep kiss, Joel breathes a sigh into your mouth, melting his tongue against yours and drinking in the taste of you.

Dripping with saccharine sugar. Coated with syrupy goodness, plump and succulent like a maraschino cherry. A toothache, or maybe even a heartache waiting to happen.

He’s fucking screwed, but damn if it doesn’t feel good as he nails himself to his own persecution from whoever may find out about this.

Handfuls of your undulating curves fill his palms as he kisses you, groaning into your mouth as he grabs at the swell of your ass. Silky satin brushes against his hand, reminding him of the other part of his present to unwrap. Pulling away from your mouth with one last lick of your candied taste, he has the mind to imagine what the rest of your flavors all across your body might be.

Joel turns you in his arms, back flush to his chest as he grinds his bulge against the lustrous fabric, smirking to himself as you whimper quietly, so hushed he can barely hear it over his heartbeat thudding in his ears. Lips coast over the shell of your ear, nibbling your lobe before pressing a kiss right below.

“Can I undo your other pretty bow, babygirl? Unwrap the rest of my present?” Joel nips again when you breathe out consent. He walks you closer to the bed, hitting your knees against the frame before he takes one step back, touch still lingering on your skin. From behind you, he sighs appreciatively as he drinks in your form, licking his lips as his eyes devour you.

Pinching the ribbon between his thick fingers, he flicks it against your skin, satisfied with the way you react with goosebumps raised. One gentle tug unravels it all, exposing your cheeks to him fully and with the drop of the material from between his fingertips, your panties fall to the floor. One hand wrapping around your thigh, Joel coaxes you to step out to the side with it, kicking the fabric from your ankle.

He kneels behind you, pressing his lips against the swell of your ass. Flooded with the scent of your skin, vanilla and cinnamon, the smell of Christmas. Nose smashed into the supple flesh, teeth sinking into the curve, a gentle bite stealing another taste of you. A curse is mumbled against you, a sweet kiss pressed on the tiny birthmark on your ass, tongue tracing into the fading bite mark.

“Joel…” you whine above him, hand reaching back and nimble fingers tangling into his messy, gray curls.

“I know, doll. Got lost there for a second. You’re so perfect…”

He sighs again, standing up with a quiet crack in his joints. A blatant reminder of the difference between you two. Young versus old. Sprightly versus verging on doddering. Even if he is eager, there’s no denying the difference.

There’s no doubt in your mind that Joel’s about to be more of a gift to you than you are to him. The way he’s touching you, delicate worship before he’s even gotten to what he truly wants, taking his time despite the pressure of the party downstairs. Serves as a reassurance that he wants this as much as you do, wants to take his sweet time if this is going to be his only chance.

You pray to god it isn’t. Even before you’ve even laid eyes on his cock, you just know. He’s going to fuck you senseless. Ruin every other man for you.

In a blur, he guides you to fall forward onto the mattress, hooking fingers to remove your panties from your other ankle while you scoot toward the center. He finds solace between your legs, propping your hips up into a kneeling position to give him easier leverage. 

“Think this might be my favorite present I’ve been given, doll. So fucking gorgeous. Looking delectable…Can I have a taste, darling? You as sweet as you seem?”

Your head is turned sideways, laying against the plush comforter, opening your mouth to whisper to him in the same moment he swipes his tongue through your folds, groaning into your inner thigh before he dives back in, working to devour you like a man starved, quenching his thirst on your arousal. Flicking his tongue against your pearl, coated in your translucence, suckling at it with pure need. Turning to press the front of your face into your bedding, it muffles your moans and whines, raising in pitch as he fucks your tight cunt with his strong tongue, lapping at you with the same fervor he’d lick the color from a candy cane.

“Fuck, Joel, fuck fuck fuck!” you shout in a scouring voice, scratching your vocal chords together with a strain. Curling your fingers into the softened, washed fabric, you gasp when one of his solid fingers slips into your walls. He groans, holding back his louder reaction to your gripping walls, hypnotized by the way you even stretch around his fingers when he adds another.

Head against your thigh, he studies the way you take his middle and ring fingers, the velvety slick of your pussy, and the spongy spot he finds, curling his digits to press into it and watch you squirm helplessly from the sensitive pleasure.

“Talkin’ all well mannered and pretty. So quiet and polite all the time. With your ‘yes’sir’s and ‘please’s and ‘thank you’s. You think about saying those to me while you’re under me like this?”

“Yes, yes’sir. All the fucking time. Every time I—I looked at you, felt myself…felt myself gettin’ so fucking wet. Was always dripping around you, waiting for something to happen. For you to take me so I can be a good girl for you, sir,” you confess, obedience and need sitting every word so prettily into his ears. “M’so—Fuck m’gonna come, Joel.”

He nods slowly, taking last looks at your cunt before he moves his fingers in and out quicker, dipping his chin down for his mouth to find your clit against, lapping at your dripping wetness and sucking hard. At the next press of his fingers against that spot inside of you, your vision grows blurred, white haze painting everything with a dreamlike filter. You bite into the linen fabric of your comforter, gagging yourself to keep quiet as you come, digging the balls of your feet to the mattress to push yourself away from Joel who continues to work you through it. He grabs at you, tugging you back to get his fill until you sob, overstimulation drawing tears up to the corners of your eyes.

“All kept and composed and ladylike. Been taught to behave, haven’t you? Bet you fucking love to be such a little slut. Anybody ever let you? Such a dirty girl, aren’t you, babydoll?” Joel’s voice sounds distanced at first, senses falling back into place in your body as you come down completely. His work-worn hands coast over your body, roughening against your soft skin like sandpaper moving with the grain. Little resistance but catching in places it favors.

“Just—Just for you, Daddy.” It slips out smoothly from your mouth, the weight of the title heavy against your tongue in the same way you imagine his cock would feel. Filling. Satisfying.

Joel rises slowly from where he’s bent behind you, letting one leg fall behind him as he stands, the other propped on the bed. His eyes narrow in on yours, lips parted and tongue darting out as he replays what you said.

Daddy.

First, you’re already on his mind and years younger, yet he couldn’t stop picturing you in this exact position. Next, you’re the one to make the first move, dragging him away from this Christmas party and presenting him with a Secret Santa gift that feels way out of the budget. You’re priceless. And now, you’re laid out for him, already nearly at the level of fucked out from him only using his mouth and fingers, and you’re fucking calling him Daddy.

Best Christmas of his goddamn life.

“Now, darlin’, were you saving that to be the cherry on top of the cake? ‘Cause that’s just about the sweetest thing. My pretty lil’ babydoll saying she’s Daddy’s dirty girl,” he scoffs in disbelief, shaking his head while his fingers work his button open on his jeans, dragging the zipper down against his throbbing bulge. “Gonna have to be quiet, yeah? Gotta keep your sweet mouth closed while Daddy fucks you, doll.”

“I’ll be quiet, promise. Please, Daddy.” Your pleas widen Joel’s smirk, his tongue flicking out to wet his lips once again. He pushes his denim down with his cotton boxers in their wake, sighing softly when his hard cock is fully freed. His tip is aching and red, leaking precum and leaving a wet spot on his underwear. With one hand, he starts to slowly stroke himself, holding in a moan enough that it leaves his lips as a soft exhale.

“Good girl…” he mumbles, studying your form. “Move back toward me, babygirl. Hands behind your back.”

Complying with his direction, you inch back until Joel places a hand on your lower back. At that, you lay forward again, the side of your face pressing against the duvet as Joel steps back from the bed and searches the floor. A dribble of drool drips from the corner of your lips as you watch him, one large hand around his cock, spreading his precum along his length. Part of you has the mind to beg for him in your mouth, to completely disregard the need pulsating your cunt at the moment, and to feel his warm spend coating your throat as he finishes fucking it.

But you’re fucking selfish. This is also a gift for you, so win-win.

Pressing your wrists together at your lower back, you observe as Joel locates what he is looking for, standing up with a devilish smirk. Your panties.

He towers over you again when he steps back to you, one hand coasting over the curve of your ass, a gentle smack delivered that makes a quiet yelp escape from your lips. The same hand skims back up your skin, easily grabbing both of your wrists in his long fingers and holding them closer while he slips the silky material behind. In a quick motion, he has your arms tied together with a bow, a content smile on his face as he makes eye contact with you.

“Wrapped all up again, babydoll. Such a pretty gift for me.”

“Well you’ve got a pretty package, Daddy,” you reply with a mischievous giggle, earning a breathy chuckle from Joel behind you. He grips the knot of your makeshift restraint, tugging taut to arch your back and pull your hips closer. His other hand wraps around the base of himself, dragging the head of him through your drenched folds, circling your clit, and chuckling again at the jump of your thighs.

“Please, Daddy, I need—” you start pleading, muffled into linen before you’re cut off by the stretch of Joel’s cock filling your tight hole, a gasp escaping your lungs with a punch. Your mouth is stuffed with the duvet from your bite down, nursing your tongue against the material as he slowly presses into you, inch by inch. There’s an ever-so-slight pain candy-coating the pleasure, melting away to get to the gooey, oozing center that spreads over your entire body.

Pausing when he reaches the hilt of himself, Joel sighs, rolling his head back as he internally thanks whatever Christmas magic must be out there for this moment.

“So fucking tight, baby.” 

Your dampened whine shoots a wave of intense need throughout him, growling low as he holds your restraint tighter, dragging his hips back before he starts a punishing pace. Control escapes him, desire taking over his actions as he starts to properly fuck you. His cock teaching you how to take every single inch of it.

Messes of his name and your moans are stifled and stuttered into the comforter gagging you, chest hovering over the mattress as Joel holds tight to the knot in your panties.

“Can’t hold back any longer, baby, jus’—fuck—jus’ gonna take Daddy’s cock like a good girl, aren’t ya?” The only precision remains in the soft cracks of skin on skin, not loud enough to draw any attention from the party downstairs. Poppy carols play faintly in the background, the only other soundtrack being the vulgar mumbles slipping from Joel’s lips.

Drawing you closer and closer, the edge is tasted on your tongue, so close but barely in reach as the man behind you rocks his hips, the tip of his hard cock brushing that same spongy spot inside of you that he managed to reach with his fingers, bruising into your cervix with each snap.

At the next drag-out, Joel pulls away from you completely. When you whine with protest, he’s tugging you to stand up on your knees, whispering in your ear amid his quick movements, “Need to see your face when I make you come all over my cock…”

Before you can be left with any thoughts to a response, he’s flipping you onto your back, hands tied still, and tugging you near again. He steals a pillow from the top of your bed, shoving it under your hips to lift your pelvis, gifting himself the perfect angle to thrust into you again from the height he stands at.

The new angle punches out moans from your chest, Joel’s name littering the empty room as you try so hard to remain quiet.

“Shh, I know, doll, I know. Feels so fucking good, doesn’t it? Y’love bein’ Daddy’s little slut.” Nodding furiously, another louder moan leaves your mouth, brows knit together with worry as you hurtle closer and closer to the edge.

A large palm moves to cover your mouth, shaking his head slowly to remind you of your promise to be his good girl, his quiet girl. 

“Pleasepleaseplease, Daddy…” He feels the vibrations of your voice against his hand, the words muddled into slight nonsense from pleasure clouding your brain. Joel holds onto one of your legs, pulling it up to hook onto his shoulder and press forward to get deeper inside of you. The switch has you screaming into his palm, eyes squeezing shut as you squirm under him.

“Eyes on me, babygirl. Keep your eyes on Daddy.”

Joel’s hips pound into you, chasing his own climax. Your eyes snap open at his instruction, mouthing at his hand and moaning loudly behind it, nodding your head furiously. Your tight walls squeeze around his hard cock, his grunts held back to keep quiet despite the noise of the party downstairs growing in volume.

“Come on, doll. Come on my cock…Fuck, you gonna let Daddy fill up your pretty little cunt?” The quick, speechless nods answers his question, both of you toeing the edge.

There’s a moment when both of you seize up, muscles tense and eyes burning into each other’s. It only lasts a split second before it explodes with a pop, at the same second a champagne bottle pops downstairs. Joel breathes out your name, over and over, mingling with your whimpers of his name and Daddy switching back and forth in your mind. Interchangeable to you.

Pleasure fizzes over your bodies like bubbles in the flutes being filled, the bubbling aerations trickling up up up to your head, making you feel lighter than air as pure bliss overwhelms you. Tingles aftershock across your nerves, a shiver sent down your spine as Joel pulls out.

Quietly, he groans as he watches his excess spend drip out of you, mixing with your come and glistening against your folds. One thick finger swipes at the spot, pushing the swirl of you back inside of your walls.

A soft whimper slips from your lips and Joel’s eyes meet yours in a flash, a gentle smile stretching across your face. He coaxes you to sit up and unties your hands behind your back, slowly massaging your wrists with his thumbs and kissing where the skin rubbed against the fabric. The tender touches accompany the soothing, comfortable silence.

Redressing you, Joel attempts to tie the bows of your bra and panties, huffing softly in frustration. You giggle when he’s working on your bra, taking his chin gingerly between your fingers and turning his head to look at you. Leaning in, his lips catch yours in a sweet, sugary gumdrop kiss. 

It’s another moment before both of you are fully dressed again. You study yourself in the mirror above your dresser, smoothing your hair down. Joel steps up behind you, wrapping his strong arms around your waist and kissing your shoulder through the knit sweater. He turns you around to face him again, grinning shyly as his eyes comb over your face.

The two of you share another kiss, his calloused hand cradling your cheek when he pulls away.

“You gonna be under my tree again on Christmas day, doll?”

“Depends…Were you naughty or nice this year?” you counter, earning a quiet laugh from Joel as he shakes his head.

“Think what just happened has put me on the naughty list for a long time, babygirl. And you, too.” He shoots you a cheeky wink and you laugh, shaking your head as you lock your fingers together in front of you.

“I did actually get you something though…” you admit shyly, rocking back and forth on the heels of your feet.

Joel grins, eyes flicking down to your anxious hands. His thumb brushes against the skin of your cheek, eyes meeting yours again as he replies, “You have another gift for me? Didn’t need to do that, doll.”

“I mean…Kinda needed a backup plan if this whole thing didn’t work out.” A chuckle is shared between both of you before you continue, “Sorry for spoiling the whole guessing game of Secret Santa.”

“Darlin’, you could spoil any games for me if it ends up with this kinda surprise.” Joel smirks before stealing another quick kiss, pulling away when you step back to fish out the small, meticulously wrapped giftbox from the top right drawer of your dresser.

Handing over the square package, Joel’s eyes glitter with boyish excitement. The corner of his mouth pulls up to one side while his thick fingers slip under the creases of the paper to rip the tape, undoing the festive wrapping to reveal the lidded giftbox that he opens quickly. Inside, Joel studies the contents. Small triangles with rounded corners made from thin nylon plastic. A deep emerald green, all sitting like precious gemstones. His initials are branded into one side with gold paint, the flip side emblemed with the silhouette of an owl.

“Sweetheart…Thank you. These are real nice…” he speaks softly while he picks one up between his index and thumb, turning it between the tips of his fingers. “They’re perfect. Gonna be sad if I end up losing one of these like all my other picks.”

You smile sweetly, stepping closer again and resting your hands on his biceps, “Guess you’ll have to take good care of ‘em.”

As he looks at you, he mirrors your smile, sharing one more gentle kiss before whispering against your lips, “Can think of another something I have to take good care of.”

taglist: @atinylittlepain @swiftispunk @joelsversion @mrsmando @ilovepedro @lovers-liability @deathwife @undrthelights @atticrissfinch @casa-boiardi @wannab-urs @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin @fishingforpike @msjarvis @walkintotheriveranddisappear @sugadolly @yazsos @peppesgirl @pastawench @addictedtotlou @brittmb115 @anoverwhelmingdin @spishsstuff @wolfbook87 @mswarriorbabe80 @harriedandharassed @decemberdolly @laiisleitte @fierce-bab @vickie5446 @pertinentpostmortem @livingdeadmaria @sullyosully @bitchwitch1981 @its-nebuleuse @marini03 @piercethevic03 @joeandpedrosimp @planet-marz1 @txtattoostark @jrosie25 @thereaperisabitch @tbniarq @vee-bees-blog @spidermanfrog @belliezz @joelsflannel @cartoon-garbage04 @bianqueee04 @nostalxgic @xyzstar @cumberpegg @b00klvrs @burningnerdchild

[lazydoodlesandfanfic]

There For Me (Harley Quinn X Batsis!Reader)

Characters: Harley Quinn X Batsis!Reader, Batfam X Batsis!Reader

Universe: DC, Batman

Warnings: Unhealthy family relationships (Parentification) Mild mention of a past abusive relationship (Harley & Joker) Mention of stalking, mention of death

Request: A bruce wayne and daughter, she is an adult. Mainly responsible for her siblings. She is sick of being the responible one. She is really good friends with harley and ivy and they take her in. She is secrectly dating harley. Batman comes too take her back but she tells him she is very happy and harley protects her girlfriend. Bruce accepts and lets them be.

Notes: Kind of strayed from the request near the end, I kind of got carried away with this lol

Ever since you were a child, you were well aware that your relationship and role within your family was different to a lot of other families. It wasn’t the norm by any sense, even for Gotham. Your mom was never in the picture, leaving you in the hospital you were born in with a note about where to find your dad, and after a test to confirm it, you were sent to live with your dad, who at the time was the opposite of responsible, and was a mess still, if the whole getting a woman pregnant who then left you without a second thought wasn’t something to go by. It was no surprise that Alfred ended up being your actual primary caregiver for your early years. That, and the whole secret life as Batman he actually had the foresight to know it was best you didn’t know about. 

You found out when you were 10, coming down in the middle of the night for something to drink after a nightmare, finding your dad badly beaten and barely conscious in the kitchen, also looking for something to drink. You stared at each other for a moment in horror, but after a moment, you swallowed, grabbing a cup, getting some cold water, and went back to bed without a word. Bruce told Alfred what happened, and Alfred explained everything after school the next day. That day changed a lot for you. You realised partly why your dad was almost always absent, that Alfred was helping him keep your city safe, and that anytime you needed help with something was basically time taken away from Alfred that he could be spending making sure your dad wasn’t bleeding out somewhere or in need of help. As soon as you got home that day, you immediately began the process of becoming as independent as possible. 

By the time your dad brought Dick home, you were entirely independent, but also very emotionally cut off from your dad and Alfred. You didn’t interact with Dick for a few days until he was up in the middle of the night due to a nightmare, and you came down as well, fixing a snack to share and then going back up to his room to keep him occupied till he was ready to go back to bed. It was after that point that Dick started to open up a bit more, especially with you. After Dick had grown into an adult and you two spent a night off drinking and catching up, he admitted to you that when he first joined the family, he wasn’t sure on what your role was in it, thinking maybe you were a recent adoptee as well and just weren’t adjusting well, and it took over a month for him to realise you were Bruce’s biological kid. 

When Jason arrived, you already had a rough idea of what to do as your role as a big sister to dysfunctional traumatised little brothers, though Jason’s anger issues did make it a bit more difficult to bond with him. However, you quickly found that if you challenged his own anger with your silent resentment and frustration with your dad for not actually doing what a dad is supposed to, you two would actually bond over your frustrations, cause a bit of havoc together to blow of some steam. 

Jason exposed you to two things. One, he showed you that you had every right to be more angry with Bruce about the fact that you had to raise yourself and now the kids he was bringing into the manor than you are. Two, it was because of you two causing a bit of mischief that you met Harley Quinn.

You had been doing some art outside to release some of your emotions in a healthy way, or as Bruce would call it, Vandalism in the form of graffiti, when you heard police sirens, and you both scattered to get away from the scene, getting separated and you ended up on the bad side of town, and was just trying to find a safe route home without having to call anyone, especially Bruce or Alfred, for help, and hoping that Jason was okay. Unfortunately, you ended up crossing paths with a group of business students, who decided to catcall, harass, and after you ignored them completely, decided to start following you. Fortunately, it was then that you took a sharp turn to try and lose them and bumped right into Harley, who was with her own posse of goons. You two stared at each other for no longer than a second, and in that second, you two had entire conversation purely through your eyes. Then she heard the men behind you, far enough away to not see who you had bumped into to realise they should run, but close enough for Harley to hear them laugh and tell the men surrounding her to grab you for them. He face contorted to anger for a moment.

“They bothering you?” She asked shortly, and you nodded, honestly scared to mutter a word. She took your arm, pulling you behind her. “Boys, time to teach these men some manners!” She ordered, and in a matter of seconds, Harley’s goons were chasing the men down the street and out of sight. You couldn’t help the small laugh that left your mouth at the sight. “You alright? Did they grab ya?” 

“No- no, they were just being creeps. Thanks.” You told her as she turned back to you, the streetlamp now lighting up your face better, and she was able to see your face clearer, and also now actually identify you, and you saw her eyes widen and realised she knew who you were. 

“Aren’t you Wayne’s daughter? What you doing out here? I’m sure daddy wouldn’t approve of you being out here.” She stated, hands on her hips, almost motherly, which was funny considering that you weren’t even a teenager anymore, now a young woman in your early twenties, only about 5-6 years younger than Harley. 

“I was supposed to be supervising my little brother while he released some stress in some street art.” You told her. She arched an eyebrow. 

“You and the younger Wayne were doing vandalism?” She clarified, and she saw the twinge of a smirk on your face before you tucked it back, and she grinned. “I like you, little trouble maker! Where’s your brother now?” 

“I don’t know, honestly. We heard sirens nearby and scattered. He’s a lot more street smart than me though- obviously.” You said, gesturing down the street to the incident Harley just prevented. 

“Why not call your dad?” She asked, and you couldn’t help the loud and quick laugh that left you, which told her a lot. “You two… not close?” 

“No… never were, honestly… I uh, I’ve always looked after myself, and these days I’m looking after my adoptive siblings. Bruce isn’t good with the whole kids having emotions things, so I’m trying to help Jason get his anger out in ways that don’t involve needing first aid kits constantly stocked up.” You explained to her, hands in your pockets, rocking back and forth, finding it hard to stand still. You had no clue why you were admitting all this to Harley, especially since she was literally an enemy of your dad, but the way she had immediately defended you, and was taking the time to listen to you made you feel safe with her. 

“That sucks, toots… you must be pretty lonely… say, if you ever find yourself back out here or just want a call or something and rant, call this number, okay? I might not answer right away, this is kind of a private cell, so don’t tell anyone, but I’ll get back to you, okay?” She said, plucking a gel pen from a pocket of her loud chequered jacket, grabbing your arm to pull your hand out your pocket and noting down a number on your palm. When she was done, she tucked it back into her pocket. “Come on, I’ll walk you to the edge of the nicer part of town, okay?” She said, wrapping her arm in yours and pulling you along with her. She did as she said, walking you to a safer part of town, reminding you to call her if needed (also if you couldn’t find Jason so she could look for him for you) and you parted ways.

She was the one you ended up calling when Jason was killed.

You didn’t talk to anyone for over a month after his death, other than the odd text to Dick to respond to him or to just make sure he was alright, but one night when things were really bad for you- your dad basically nearly killing himself every night, Alfred locked up in the cave trying to prevent him from actually dying, Dick away doing his own thing after arguing with Bruce, you were entirely alone in your mourning, completely lost in what you’re supposed to do next. You had no little brother to keep your mind busy with worrying and caring for, no one to make you feel needed. No one to make you feel wanted. You were completely alone.

You had called her as a last ditch effort, seeing no harm in at least trying, remembering she was once a psychiatrist. And sure, she was once affiliated with the Joker, but she had distanced herself from him, clearly a victim herself, and had been keeping a low profile ever since. You weren’t even sure she would pick up, probably changing her number, but she did pick up. “Hello?” 

“Harley?” You asked in a whisper. “This is… um, it’s Y/N. Wayne… you um, helped me out a while ago with some creeps, gave me this number…” You recollected to her. 

“I remember… heard about your brother… Not gonna say sorry, I’m pretty sure you’ve heard it a billion times and I’m probably a person you don’t wanna hear it from… you doing okay?” 

“Not really…” You admitted, sniffling. “I’m not doing good… I know you said to call if I needed help with something… I just… I’m alone and I don’t want to be. Is there somewhere we can just meet even if it’s just for an hour?” You asked. 

“Yeah of course!” You weren’t honestly expecting her immediate agreement. “We can have a girl’s night, me, you, and Ivy- I’ve been staying with her for a while now, I’m sure she won’t mind! Where do you want to meet?” 

You met her a few blocks away, and she walked with you to a small one bedroom apartment where Ivy was waiting already, lounged on the cramped couch. She didn’t ask questions as Harley introduced you as Bruce Wayne’s daughter, who was in need of some TLC after everything that happened with Jason, in fact the only questions she asked was “Do you want to get wasted or hold onto the pillow of emotions and tell us all about it?” 

“The pillow of emotions?” You asked, and she held up the pillow right next to her- a blanket, that even in the dim lighting you could tell was as soft as a childhood teddy, the perfect size and shape to squeeze tightly as you cried your eyes out. You pointed to it, and she handed it over, and it wasn’t long till you were on the couch next to Ivy, Harley sat on the floor, both women listening and nodding along as you hugged the pillow, sobbing and ranting about everything. From you basically being raised by Alfred, to you being more like a mother than a sister to Dick and Jason despite not even being that much older than Dick, and how because of that, you felt like a failure when Jason died, like you failed at being his protector, and how now you were all alone- Dick doing his own thing, your dad acting like Jason never even existed, and Alfred being too busy making sure your dad was actually caring for himself to notice you might even need help. 

Honestly, a part of you expected these women, who themselves had been through hell and way worse than you, to roll their eyes, point out how you had daddy’s money to buy a therapist and figure it out yourself, but they didn’t. In fact in the end, when you finally got it all off your chest, both wrapped you in their arms, promising you that they were there, that they cared, and that this apartment always had space for you if you ever wanted to get away. You found yourself there at least once a week. When Bruce brought Tim home, you fluctuated between spending almost every day there or being at home keeping an eye and trying to care for the new brother, until Tim expressed his independence and you went back to spending more time with the girls. 

5 years after Jason’s death, a lot of things changed. 

One, your friendship with Harley became more than a friendship, and you three mutually agreed that it was time for an upgrade in apartment, and you officially moved out, creating much more distance between yourself and your dad, though with Tim around and Bruce now getting more of a grip on his self-destructive behaviours, you were able to call and come visit Alfred, Tim and Dick who had moved back in on occasion, though you now mostly interacted with Dick and Tim (who had warmed up to you a lot more) outside of the manor. 

Two, Jason came back. It was shocking for everyone involved, especially since he was full to the brim of rage and fury, especially against Bruce. He worked with Scarecrow to poison the entire city, and the second you heard it was him through Dick, you tried to leave the safety of the apartment that you had promised your girlfriend you wouldn’t leave to try and find him, only for Ivy to find you quickly, seeing you in a panic and trying to run into the city without anyway to protect yourself, and in fear that you’d been affected by the fear toxin, she sedated you herself until it was all over and hopefully the toxin had left your body. When she woke you up with Harley there, your immediate question was if Jason was okay. Harley thought you were having issues with your memory due to the sedation and the toxin, but after talking with you for longer, explaining the call you had gotten from Dick, and also letting slip that your family was also the bat family, and that Jason was the Robin that had been killed, the girls gave you the rundown of what they knew. Bruce was alive. Dick and Tim were alive, and the Arkham Knight, who was apparently Jason, had disappeared, not confirmed alive or dead. Harley escorted you back to the manor to get answers on what happened, and to try and get in contact with Jason. You got confirmation that he was alive, but was still pissed off at Bruce and was not contacting the family for the time being. 

That didn’t sit right with you. So you went out into the city to one of the places you two would hang around, mess around, graffiti, where you’d complain about Bruce together, and had the best time of your lives. And you waited. And waited. You ignored all your phone calls and texts, simply dropping a text to Harley promising you’d be home soon and you were alright before turning your phone off, and waited more. When the air started to become too nippy for you as you continued to pace in the small snicket, head low, arms crossed and noticing you could see your breath now, you finally thought about leaving. Giving up for now, trying another day or another technique. It was then you felt something heavy drop on your shoulders, and someone pat you on the back. You looked up, startled at the tall man beside you, but even more so at his features that you could recognize instantly. “Jason?” You asked, getting a faint smile from him. That was all you needed, pulling the man into a tight hug, his heavy leather jacket nearly falling off your shoulders. 

You caught up with Jason. You told him how you’d moved out of the manor, how no one in the family actually knew where you lived, and you let the cat out the bag about your roommates being Ivy and Harley, who was actually your girlfriend, and how you met Harley that night where you two got separated in the city, and how she was the one you came to when he died. In classic Jason style, he was far more angry over the fact that Bruce totally left you alone to mourn him and you had to turn to another victim of Joker’s for comfort than you living with two criminals and dating one. In fact, he warmed up pretty quickly to it, knowing they at least can protect you ‘unlike Bruce’. He walked you home, promising to be in touch. You went inside, seeing Harley beside herself with worry, and after her throwing herself at you to hold you close and make sure you were alright, you told her everything, and after Jason and you got a form of communication, Harley and Ivy gave Jason the thumbs up to be allowed into the girl cave, the only real rule being to not tell Bruce or the others about the living arrangement in any way, which was easy enough. 

For a while, things were tense but working in the Wayne family. Jason was still limited to no contact with Bruce, only talking to Dick on occasion when they ran into each other, but almost all contact between them was through you, which resulted in you having more contact with Bruce, though things were still incredibly tense between you two, so often Dick and Tim became a filter for you both, which you despised. Still, the boys would always called you when they needed you, and so it was them who called you to let you know that Bruce had another child- this one biologically his. Your half brother. Damian. 

You let yourself into the manor, quickly rushing down into the cave to hear everyone bickering, Dick and your now youngest brother in the midst of a fight, though when Bruce spotted you and called your name, they stopped and looked at you. Damian stepped towards you, and Dick immediately held one of his Escrima sticks in front of him to stop him, and Tim stepped forward to be in front of you slightly, telling you that those two didn’t trust him to not hurt you. You patted Tim on the shoulder to tell him it was alright before stepping around him, and then you looked at Dick. “Put it away.” You told him. He did as told, though hesitantly. Damian remained still, though he glared at you. You showed him the palms of your hands casually. “No weapons on me, other than a taser, but that’s for creeps in the street.” You told him. 

“Who are you?” He demanded. “Another stray my father picked up off the streets?” Ah. Volatile, lashing out, not caring about hurting feelings. Reminded you of a certain someone…

“In a way, I guess. I’m your sister. Your half sister. Biologically related.” You explained, nodding your head in your father’s direction, who was stood off to the side. His eyes widened, before his eyebrows knitted together and his frown deepended. 

“I wasn’t aware father had an older child.” 

“Yeah, he had me pretty young, and I’ve mostly been out of the spotlight- I like keeping a low profile.” You explained to him, stepping forward casually. “I always joked that father dearest never wanted a girl and always wanted to only have boys- why he had Dick, Tim and Jason, so hopefully now you’re here, I don’t have to worry about raising anymore boys on his behalf.” You joked, offering a hand to him. You felt Dick and Tim tense at your action and proximity. Damian stared at your hand, then back at you, before taking your hand and you shaked it with a smile. “Welcome to the family, Damian. I’m Y/N, the eldest Wayne sibling, and your big sister. If you need anything, anything at all, you call for me, okay? I’ll be there.” 

You kept that promise to him, like you had the boys. He didn’t call you or contact you for a good few months. He only really interacted with you when either Bruce, Alfred or one of the other boys called for you and you went to the manor to negotiate, or to meet one of them on patrol to talk, and he was tagging along with them because Bruce didn’t trust him alone, but he witnessed his ‘brothers’ call you the second they had a problem, especially at home with Bruce, and every time you picked up, arranged to meet them, and came over. At first he hated how you got into fights with Bruce, especially when advocating for Jason, but when he realised that you were doing it on the boys behalf, especially when you got into a fight with Bruce for him regarding his grades and getting calls from teachers, he finally asked Dick for your phone number, and he asked to speak with you while he was on patrol. You agreed, arranging to meet him nearby. 

“You okay Damian?” You asked as soon as you saw him in the snicket. He nodded, not saying anything at first. “You haven’t ever called me before, so something big must have happened.” 

“Why do you fight for me and the others on our behalf to father?” He asked bluntly. You stared surprised for a moment, before walking closer to him. 

“I don’t have a good relationship with…father. Never have, and I’ve accepted I’ll probably never will. A long time ago, I just kept my mouth shut, let him ignore my existence despite living in the same building, and I was mostly alone. The Dick came along, and he was far more present for him than he ever was for me, but still, he wasn’t… there, there. He was still lacking, mostly emotionally, and I found myself just… filling the gap. Making up where he missed the mark. I looked after Dick when he was going through mourning of his parents, I was the one who helped Jason get some of his anger out, I was the only one who accepted Tim into the family from the get-go… I’m the one the boys call when they need help. Not Bruce… My girlfriend- don’t tell dad about her- is a psychiatrist, and she calls it parentification. It’s when a child, often the oldest, takes on a role similar to that of a parent, caring for younger siblings, and at times, the parents themselves. It complicates relationships between the younger ones and the eldest as well- like you boys turning to me rather than Bruce when you have issues. It usually damages the relationships in the family later on.” You explained to him. 

“Do you resent father for doing that?” He asked. You knew you couldn’t lie to Damian- he wasn’t naive by any sense, and you guessed he’d tell you were lying. 

“Honestly? Yes. Absolutely. I didn’t have a childhood, and I had to grow up quickly to care for the boys he chose to have.”

“Do you resent Dick, Jason and Tim? Do you resent me? You said yourself you think he only wanted boys, and while I’m biologically his like you, he’s present for me like he was Dick.” He inquired. You stepped even closer till you were both straining your necks to meet eye contact. You reached out, holding his face with your hands, warming his cheeks with your calms. 

“Never… Those few years before Dick came home… were some of the worst years of my life. I was… so alone. When you boys showed up, I wasn’t alone anymore. I had purpose, something to keep me busy. Whenever I get a text from Jason complaining about Bruce, or Dick asking me to stop by, or simply Tim asking to get him coffee… I don’t mind, because they need me, and they trust me, and they love me, and I love them. They’re my brothers. Your my youngest brother, and I love you unconditionally, okay?” You promised him, and he nodded, before stepping back, turning on his heel, and going to leave the alley, before he paused, turning and looking over his shoulder at you. 

“I won’t tell father about your girlfriend… Does anyone else know?” 

“Only Jason. I don’t trust the others to not freak out about her, especially Bruce.” You told him. He nodded, and carried on his way. He started to text you from time to time like Jason did. Short and blunt. He never told you straight out he loved you- Dick said it all the time when saying goodbye, Jason said it on occasion, usually concealing it with sentences, Tim said it usually in the middle of the compliment, but never Damian. Instead he would simply text you ‘hope you’re safe’ at the end of the beginning of a conversation. When you realised that was him saying he loved you, you realised he said it the most out of the boys. 

More time passed, things were going good in your family if you ignored Bruce, and things were going extremely well with you and Harley. You were both now looking for a new place to live away from Ivy- her idea, she was planning to move in with Selina. However, the move was postponed when signs of Joker being near your current apartment started to show up, and Harley became anxious, and with very good reason. You hurriedly moved Harley and Ivy into Selina’s apartment and you temporarily moved back into the manor. Just in time it seemed- your old apartment complex was the victim of arson, the substances used to light the fire making it burn green. It was obvious who set it. 

Jason heard first, rushing to the manor, ignoring Bruce’s calls to come and find you, holding you tightly, relieved that you were safe, before he explained what had happened, and that it was an attack by Joker. He said that, in front of not only Bruce, but all your other brothers. They all, including Bruce, freaked out.

“Joker targetted you?!” Dick freaked out.

“No he-” 

“You’re staying at a safehouse for now, alright? We’ll fit it up and make it homely.” Tim decided.

“No, that’s not needed-”

“Y/N, you’re in danger, you can’t leave our sight.” Bruce ordered. 

“He wasn’t targeting me!” You snapped, making them all stop. “He wasn’t targeting me. He was targeting my roommate… my girlfriend.” 

“Your girlfriend?” Bruce asked. 

“Why?” Damian asked. You glanced at Jason anxiously, the only person who knew all the details. He instantly wrapped an arm around your shoulder, ready to put himself between you and everyone else if they tried anything, and get you out of there in a timely fashion if necessary. 

“My girlfriend is Harley. Quinn. We’ve been dating for a few years.” You admitted. Everyone stood stiff for a moment. 

“What?!” Bruce finally snapped, moving forward. Jason immediately held his arm out, pulling you behind him. 

“You stay the fuck away from my sister, Bruce.” He glared. 

“You knew?” Tim asked at Jason. 

“I did too.” Damian spoke up, trying to show solidarity with you and Jason, jumping to be beside you as well. “I didn’t know it was Harley, but from what she’s told me, she treats her well and loves Y/N.” Damian defended. 

“I’ve met her. Harley loves Y/N. She was there for Y/N when I died, unlike you. She looks after Y/N.” Jason defended. Bruce stared at you. 

“Where’s Harley?” 

“I’m not telling you. Her life's in danger, she’s in hiding… we’re going to meet up soon and… we’re leaving Gotham. Temporarily. Just until Joker forgets she exists, then we’re getting a new apartment, maybe somewhere closer to Jason.” You explained. 

“You can’t leave Gotham with her!” Bruce snapped. 

“Why not?” Tim asked. Bruce’s head snapped around to him. “If Joker gets an inkling that Harley has a girlfriend, especially if it’s Y/N Wayne, he’ll go after her. It’s better safe than sorry.” 

“Anything we can do from here? We can get you two a safehouse in another city till things calm down.” Dick offered. You smiled at him and nodded, and he smiled sadly. “We should cause a scene to keep him occupied so he doesn’t have time to realise Harley’s gone off the grid. One of us should also escort you both just in case. 

“I’ll do that.” Jason decided. “Atleast you know if worst comes to worse and Joker tries to stop you leaving, I’ll fucking kill him.” 

“Do none of you care about what I think?” Bruce asked. 

“No. We don’t. This has nothing to do with you. This is to do about the safety of Y/N and her girlfriend from her girlfriend’s abusive ex. This is about what is best for them, and what we can do to make things easier for them. You’ve never cared about her. You’ve never put her first and done what’s best for her. Leave us to deal with this, and stay out of it.” Jason snapped at him. Bruce looked around, seeing to see if anyone- even you- would tell Jason off. No one did. Without another word, Jason pushed you to go with Damian and Tim to go pack some things while he went to get a car from the garage for you and Harley and your things, and Dick got his phone out to start making calls for somewhere safe for you to stay. Bruce stared at Dick, the only one left in the room. He saw that Bruce was waiting for him to talk to him, say anything to him. 

“Y/N has always been there for us, no matter what. This is the only time she’s ever said she’s needed our help. We’re taking it.” He told him simply, before putting his phone to his ear and leaving the room, leaving Bruce alone, unsure on what to do or what to say. 

Hope you like it! If you have any questions, please send them in!

*Not my gif

TAGS:  @freyathehuntress  @courtneychicken​  @graysonmalfoy​ @bellero​ @originalpottervengerlock @supernatural-pan​ @esoltis280​ @lady-of-lies​ @lenaswritingandstuff @macbetheliza @mandywholock1980​ @cdwmtjb8​ @caswinchester2000 @determinedpines​ @huntheimpossible @automaticbakeryfreakshoe 

[r4vn]

—SNAKE'S TONGUE

farleıgh x reader 【1/2】

w.c: 4,148

disclaimers: nsfw, cursing, heavy sexual tension, teasing, versfem!reader, vers!farleigh, heavy kissing/making out, enemies to lovers, porn w plot, impatient farleigh, fighting for dominance, slight ignorance? (lol you'll see), sexual frustration, arguing

—synopsis: your friend venetia invites you to stay with her for easter weekend. while you do, you bump heads with a sharp tongued male, who is around every corner you turn and you eventually go up against his words.

a/n: this will have a second part!!!..im soo sorry the intro is long. the places mentioned are also real places i couldnt make up anything lol kdjddkks. im rlly excited for you guys to read..i just love tension ahh...enjoy! stay tuned for the second part !

— part ²: here

「divider by @/ cafekitsune」

you had been friends with venetia since secondary school. she was a year older, you were 15 and she was 16. were you two the bestest of best friends? maybe not. but were you two were one of the only friends to each other since then. sure you had a couple of above surface friends, but venetia knew things personal of you. venetia was labled "the black sheep" in her family. one of the very few family members that didn't paint the world full of luxurious, narrow-minded bliss, yet had to play along on her exterior.

how you two became friends wasnt a rather complex story. you were sitting outside at breaktime during secondary school, fumbling with the hem of your school jacket on a bench. you watched as other cliques happily chatted about going to a cafe after school or grabbing dinner. it wasn't really your strongsuit on making friends, because it was always a hassle. venetia had suddenly appeared next to you, and her hand held out a couple of cigarettes. you were appalled she was just holding out a cigarette on school grounds so carelessly.

"no one's going to tell, just take it." you stared at the two cylindrical-shaped tobacco stick's between her fingers before briskly grabbing it to take it out of open view. she shoots you a half smile before lighting hers. you darted your head around to see the teachers occupied by other students or teachers, forcing yourself to relax your shoulders. you held up the cigarette toward the blonde, silently asking for a light.

"venetia, you?" you answered with your name before inhaling smoke into your lungs slowly. she nodded in response. the two of you sat in a mildly comfortable silence and watched others interact. it wasn't long till teachers signaled it was time to head inside again, you and venetia putting out the cigarettes and grinding them into the ground with the heel of your shoes. throughout junior high, you and venetia would sneak off for a smoke and get to know each other. you learned her last name; catton. she had a younger brother who was your age named felix, and lived in a grand home with acres that touched the horizon of the trees. from the words venetia described, she was well off coming from an even more well off family with a mini mansion.

you didn't find it weird that you never stepped foot in or at her home. you were completely fine with being surface level friends that oddly share every bit about your social and home life. although it makes sense considering you moved away the first year of college. from northamptonshire to bristol, england. luckily you and venetia had kept in touch up to university. you had gotten accepted to oxford university, excited to finally have the freedom of a university student. you had just finished your first term and had an amazing jumpstart. you were staying on top of your studies and found a couple of surface friends to go out with occasionally. now it was summer break and you were ready to get out of the university itself.

before oxford, you lived with your mother in a nice victorian styled home in bristol. your mother was a successful attorney. though she was present in your life, that doesn't mean she spent time with you. she was either always held up in her office for days or not home all hours of the sunlight. your father, that bastard, was not present due to a divorce that happened when you were about 9, leaving you and your mom with half his values for being unfaithful. he had an affair with a coworker of his. it didn't hurt as much as it should have, though you know at the thought of him, you resent him. you didn't have to get a job, as your household was financially stable. you had the things you wanted, nice house, your own car, and you never went hungry. you weren't poor but you weren't as wealthy as venetia either.

in your text conversations whenever you two talked about her home, she would send pictures of only her room, the common area and the gardens. you never pressed for more than what you were sent. but you were curious to see this home you'd conversed about for years now, and you were going to.

this school break, venetia had spontaneously invited you to stay at her home so you wouldn't have to be driving nearly 2 hours back home. she had never invited you over before. you were curious and excited.

"oh its so lovely to see you after all these years!" venetia exclaimed as she hugged you at the door. you smile and return the tight hug. venetia lets go of you after a handful of seconds and grabs your luggage for you, gesturing for you to come in.

"how was the drive? better than driving home 2 hours right?" she joked, smiling back at you.

"yeah," you responded in awe as you looked all around you. the home was beautiful. none of the photos venetia sent did it justice. the carved wooden frames and panels, color assorted rooms, vintage furniture, and even chandeliers in every room. it was breathtaking. "way better than driving back to a nearly empty home."

you hear venetia chuckle. she was clearly amused by your awe of her home. you quickly switched to a poker face as you continued to follow her and silently admired. she gave you a quick tour of the house, showing you the common room you two walked through first, several lounge rooms, the dining room, library, the tv room and finally her room. it looked better in person to you.

"this, is your room, the room next to me so knock if you ever need anything. and, if you go into this door here," you follow her as she opens a dark wooden door to a red wallpapered lounge room, walking across it. she then opened another door and revealed a bathroom suite.

"and here is your personal washroom." the walls were made of dark green tiles that contrasted the white tile floor. in the middle of the bathroom sat a white tub. you look to the left of the tub to see the sink with 3 mirrors, bordered by a gold encasing. the house was truly beautiful.

"now, i will let you get unpacked and freshened up, dinner is in an hour and a half. i will be in the tv room but if im not there, meet me and the rest of us in the dining room. oh! and wear something nice. we dress up for dinner, remember?" you nodded and waved her off as she exited. it was good she reminded you to bring a few formal pieces of clothing for dinner. or else you would've felt like a bum in front of her family. you took a breath, finally taking it all in. you felt so small in such a grand house. for once it felt nice to feel like the lower class. to experience such awe of a luxury in person felt like a reward of some sort.

regarding the amount of time before dinner you had, you began to unpack, fold and hang up your clothes in the old aged wardrobe. you grabbed your toiletries and placed them in the bathroom before looking at your reflection.

"i should shower, i feel kind of gross." you mumbled to yourself. you started the water, letting it run to fill the bathtub as you undressed yourself. when full, you slowly stepped in, your muscles immediately relaxing at the contact of warm water. it felt nice to finally relax after studying for hours. you dunk yourself underwater with a big breath of oxygen. the muffled silence of the water calmed you. it felt like a warm blanket was wrapped around you. you didn't stay in the tub long, knowing you were in a slight time crunch. exiting your calm thought bubble, you unplugged the drain and stepped out the tub.

you quickly dried yourself off before wringing out the excess water in your hair. heading into your room, you grabbed your off the shoulder black dress and slipped it on over your body. it was too late to blowdry your hair so you made a last minute decision to wear it slicked back, content with how it accentuated your features. you wore light smokey eye makeup and simply rubbed clear gloss on your lips. nothing too flashy. you finally finished getting ready and slipped on some low heels before exiting your room.

you have never dressed for dinner before. you did feel a bit overdressed yes, but you knew you looked good. you wandered around for a bit before finding the tv room, slowly opening it to reveal only one person. he didn't look familiar. he also wasn't in formal clothing. you began to feel really overdressed now.

"can i help you?" he asked in a bored tone. by his accent, and his choice of style, he was american. it threw you for a slight loop, because you didn't know venetia had an american sibling. you ran a hand through your damp hair before clearing your throat.

"i was looking for venetia, im a friend of hers. do you know where to find her?" you asked, noticing his eyes looking you up and down. he suddenly stood and walked slowly towards you till he was about a foot apart.

you held his gaze, but he decided to analyze you. from your hair to your make up to your outfit. you didnt mind, considering you knew you looked good. the two of you shared a long silence before he sighed audibly with a faux smile.

"well if i didn't know any better, i'd say you were dressed for dinner. so, did you try the dinning room?" he queried, sarcasm lacing his voice. all you did was roll your eyes and turn your heel to exit the tv room. you made your way to the dining room now, the american lingering in your mind.

what an ass. who even is he?

you were nearing the dining room now, anxiety filling your chest. you exhaled deeply and looked at the butler standing near the door.

"erm—..am i presentable enough, sir?" you asked the butler, in hopes of getting some words of encouragment. the bulter turned to you and scanned your dress, briefly nodding. it made you smile. it wasn't much but a little goes a long way. the 2 butlers simultaneously opened the door for you, revealing a moderately dimly lit room, and about 5 people at the table.

"oh [y/n] we were just talking about you!" mrs.catton exclaimed with the brightest smile. you returned the smile before sitting next to venetia, greeting her.

"its so nice to meet you mr. and mrs.catton." you proclaimed. mrs.catton scoffs with a laugh and a wave of her hand.

"please, elspeth is perfectly fine. this is my husband, sir james, my son felix and his friend oliver. he is also staying for break." you greeted everyone, making sure to remember their names to their faces. you didn't feel as tense anymore to know that you weren't the only guest in the home.

"so, do tell me about yourself [y/n]. as much as i've heard from venetia i would like to hear it from you! you're from bristol, yes?" elspeth rested her chin on the back of her intertwined hands to give you her full attention. you glance at venetia, who subtly mumbled a 'sorry', most likely for talking about you. there were no hard feelings though. you remembered how venetia said her mother had absolutely no filter.

"yes, i am from bristol. i used to live here, which is how venetia and i met, back in secondary school. but i moved before i started my college education." elspeth hummed in an interested tone, taking a moment to eat a bite of her food.

"and you moved because of your mothers work, yes? an attorney?" you nodded at her words, briefly thanking the bulter who brought you your plate.

"yes, my mum moved to bristol for her job. and well, i followed suit considering she provides for me." you chuckled out, getting a soft laugh from elspeth and sir james. as soon as elspeth opened her mouth again, the doors opened again to reveal the american from earlier. this time, he was in a black suit and looked more cleaned up than prior to meeting him.

"farleiiigh, you're laaate." felix mumbled in a singy-songy tone with his glass to his mouth.

"sue me, golden boy." farleigh waved him off and sat down with a sigh. as the curly brunette sat down, his eyes landed on you, who was sitting right across from him. he let out another gentle sigh before signaling the butler.

"as i was saying," elspeth started, clearing her throat. "an attorney ..wow, what a brilliant profession your mother went into. and its just you and her, yes? venetia said your father is out of the picture. is that unfortunate?" the blonde women questioned. you were prepared for her unfiltered questions but it seems venetia deeply disliked it, taking a big swig of her wine filled cup. you only laughed again, nodding.

"unfortunate isn't the word i'd use but rather ..well, fortunate really. i mean who would want to keep a bastard whore in their home?" your words seemed to of caught some of the table off guard, hearing brief chokes from felix, elspeth and venetia. though elspeth was the only one to laugh.

"oh yes! i like her, venetia! very open with her thoughts, yes." elspeth giggled as she sipped her glass.

"oh yes, very entertaining really. im curious though," you turned to farleigh, listening to his words. "do you think you're going to follow your mom's ..or your dad's footsteps?" he asked, a faint smug expression occupying his face. you rose a brow, keeping your facial expressions to a minimum. you force a laugh, taking a bite into the piece of meat dressed on your plate.

"well i would hope to follow in my mother's footsteps. what about you, farleigh? do you think you'll follow in, well, either of your parents footsteps?" you questoned sweetly. farleigh didnt answer. you could see his eye twitch, proably from irritation. you didnt know much about him, but from a general standpoint, and simply knowing he was american, you could say it was written on his sleeve. it interested you though. to know his history, and who he was.

"oh don't mind him [y/n]. farleigh is a cousin of ours. sir james' sister is his mother.” elspeth dramatically placed her hand up to her mouth to block it away from farleigh, loudly whispering. "she left to the states and had farleigh. so yes, we are stuck with him. but dont worry! we treat him like one of our own, because he is!" you glanced to farleigh, who simply rolled his eyes as he ate silently. you, too, began to eat quietly quietly as small conversations occupied the room.

°°°

finally being able to breathe a little lighter, you lay back on your bed starting up at the decorated ceiling. every single inch of this place was dazzling to you. before you got too tired, you quickly stood up and slipped off your dress to put on black flowy pajama pants and a thin-strapped black silk top. as it got warmer throughout the month, you noted to pack light flowy clothes for both the day and night.

you headed into the bathroom to wash off your makeup and brush your teeth for the evening. you then took the time to brush your now fully dry hair, swooping it over your shoulder, looking at yourself with content in the mirror.

its still early evening, maybe venetia is still awake?

you opened your door to head over to the door down from you, knocking gently.

"venetia? are you up?" you whispered, hearing nothing in return. you try the door, the knob turning open for you to reveal the room. it was gorgeous, yes, but it didn't look the same like in the photos she sent. there were a few luxury brand posters on the wall and the bed that was in front of the window looked as if someone got up. the burnt orange duvet decorated with a paisley pattern matched the sheets and pillow case. there was a chair occupied with clothes that were clearly from luxury brands and a half-open wardrobe which sat to the left of the bed, sharing the same wall as the window.

you had a feeling this was not venetia's room, but it was so stylish you couldn't help but look. the room faintly smelled of fresh green lush, amber and sandalwood, like a fresh walk through the forest. you looked around, daintily touching the duvet and grazing the cashmere cardigan woven with intricate design. you never owned any cashmere. then again, you weren't a complex girl.

out of the corner of your eye you noticed movement outside the window, walking up to the glass slowly. you were careful not to touch the bed but leaned against the bed frame. there were two figures out in the grass. one was sitting and the other kneeled down in front of them. you squint to focus your eyes before covering your mouth.

venetia.

you kept your mouth covered, watching in shock as felix's friend, oliver, touched and messily kissed your friend before going down south on her. she had crimson stains that trailed from her mouth down to her neck. you couldn't even comprehend what you were watching.

"find what you were looking for?" you immediately whipped around to the voice only to be met with farleigh. he was wearing a silk, light blue pajama set, the buttons of his shirt unbuttoned halfway down. he leaned back against the door frame, seemingly being present for several seconds prior to speaking.

"i– i was just–" you faltered, pointing and darting your head back to the window before looking at the brunette in front of you again. technically, he was right. you did find what– no, who you were looking for, just not in the way you'd have preferred.

"right. may i ask what youre doing in my room?" you didn't know how to answer, because there was no right answer for his question. you could say you were looking for venetia but he wouldn't accept that because she clearly wasn't present in the room. you swallowed thickly, taking a small step back.

"hello? snake got your tongue? or maybe you're stalking me? is that it?" you scoffed and shook your head, still only saying vowels instead of words. farleigh stood up and walked slowly towards you now, arms crossed.

"oh, i know, you wanna run a background check on the american because i'm the only one with skin pigment here, right?" your back hit the wardrobe, making you quickly realize there was nowhere to go. you furrowed your brows at his words, frustration beginning to bubble up inside you.

"oh is that the kind of game you want to play? the race game? ugh i swear that's all you americans think about." you bit back, noticing subtle shock in farleighs face. "frankly, i don't care if you're american or if you're english. its easy enough not to be a fucking stuck up cunt to anyone who doesn't own luxurious clothing or lives in a mini mansion. prick..." you mumbled the last word loud enough for him to hear. the tall brunette stared down at you silently, biting down on his lip.

"what .." you muttered out. "snake got your tongue?" your words earned a low chuckle from farleigh, his fingers caressing a strand of your [h/c] hair.

"remember whose house you're in sweetheart." he stated in a soft but poised voice. he gently grabbed your jaw, causing your stomach to do a flip before he slowly guided you back to the window by your face, forcing you to look.

"you see, they've been at it for about 10 minutes," he started, not looking away from you. "i think, oliver sees how damaged she is. and he can easily puppeteer poor sweet little ol' venetia into whatever he wants because he sees her. her damaged goods in this grand blessed home, like a fucking antithesis," he stands behind you as he speaks, he other hand leaning on the wall next to the two of you. you wish you had a mirror just to see what the position of you and him looked like. "the worst things are found with the best things. like a beggar on the street outside a luxury store."

you clenched your jaw at his words. farleigh felt it at his fingers, chuckling next to your ear. "if you get my gist, im saying you don't belong here." having enough, you abruptly turned around to face the tall brunette.

"i belong here just as much as you do, if anything, more than you." you assured. immediately you felt slight regret in your words as farleigh stepped closers forcing you to fall back on the bed. as you leaned back on your elbows while he leaned forward with the palms of his hands pushing into the mattress. he tilted his head to the side, wearing a mischievous grin.

"you don't know me then if you think you, a working class girl, belongs here, over me." your heart twitched, looking at the new position you two were in. the moonlight lit up his face. his long eyelashes caught your attention first, then his nicely shaped brows. your eyes quickly made the tour around his features, briefly thinking how pretty his teeth were. white and perfectly aligned.

"i know enough. i have seen enough social butterfly pretty boy pricks to spot one out." you challenged, not budging for dominance.

"oh so you think im pretty?" farleigh suddenly asked, eyebrows raising out of curiosity. you suddenly flushed a warm pink and he taking notice of this. he began to lean down slowly, making you hold your breath. your eyes fluttered closed, opening again quickly as he kissed your flushed cheek, doing the same on the other side of your face.

"if i didn't know any better, i'd say you like to argue with me, sweetheart." he theorized. the tone of his voice dropped and your core felt warm, yet you didn't know if it was from aggravation or arousal. you looked away from him, fingers beginning to fidget with the fabric of the duvet.

"you're annoying to even be in the same room with, farleigh " you muttered, half lying to yourself. if anything, it was rather suffocating to be near him. the air was thick between the two of you and you couldn't handle it

"oh? i thought my name was prick." farleigh's smile became more prominent. he slowly interlaced your legs with his, sliding his knee right in between your thighs. you sucked in a slow breath between your teeth. you didn't know what to do with yourself.

fuck this.

you grabbed his jaw and pulled his face into yours, stopping just so his lips could brush against yours.

"no farleigh," a smile of arousal appeared on farleighs lips now, tilting his head forward to capture your lips. but you back up just out of his reach, and continued to tease him as he tried to kiss you again every few seconds. "i will call you whatever i want, sweetheart. and you will come when called." you whispered right up against his lips. a breathy laugh escaped past his lips and the faint smell of cigarettes occupied your nose.

you finally allow him to smash his lips against yours. your stomach filled with butterflies as he groaned softly into your mouth. his hand snaked under your silk top, his fingers roughly caressing the skin of your lower back and waist. you gasped into his mouth at his touch, arching off the bed for his arm to fully wrap around you.

the two of you mutually pull away, panting lightly. farleigh slowly licked across his bottom lip as he grabbed your chin, taking his hand away from your waist to tilt your head up to his. he leaned in again, planting another kiss on tour cheek before whispering in your ear.

"get out."

you chuckled gently in response to his command. you knew he didn't want to end. but alas, you complied and slowly pushed him off of you. you two both stood in close vicinity, staring at each other.

"with pleasure." you responded, before grazing his chest as you walked away, exiting his room.

a/n: stay tuned for more ! ty ♡ .

© r4vn ²⁰²⁴ , do not repost my work.

[beenbaanbuun]

hi bunny! nice to meet you! ive started to follow you recently and im in love w all your works, but specially w the opposites attract universe! ive been an addams family enthusiast since childhood and mixing it with ateez has made it even better for me :)

ive grown curious about how san would get used to the household daily life and to darling's antics. and how much time would it take for him to grow fond of her, ofc lol :D

san tries his hardest to let everything that happens in that household wash over him like water off a duck’s back, but every single day he’s faced with a new challenge.

first of all there’s the sex. san thanks the stars that he isn’t a prude, because he wouldn’t last a day in that house if he was. his first 5 minutes in that god-forsaken house were soundtracked by the sound of a bed squeaking, and then when he finally met his boss, all he could smell was the scent of sex which clung to him like cologne. he finds pretty quickly that it’s not just hongjoong that smells that way, but it’s actually just imbedded in the walls of the house. he’s walked in on enough sex to know the reason why the scent of pleasure hangs over the house like a thick fog, and he tries his hardest to not be surprised each time he steps through a door to see someone’s dick stretching out the resident ball of energy. it’s still a little difficult…

and then there’s the ball of energy itself. there’s something about her that’s rather endearing, even from the very first moment he meets her. when she stumbled down the stairs looking every bit the princess that he’s come to realise she is, he was immediately intrigued. even more so when seonghwa and hongjoong began to dote on her slender fingers immediately moving to straighten her outfit—after all, san was still a stranger at that point and it’s only proper to look your best when greeting a new acquaintance. then the grumpy werewolf descended on her, tail wrapping around her thigh as if to claim her as his own and san found himself so curious it almost hurt.

but getting to know darling was a lot easier said than done. despite her following him everywhere for the first couple of days, a certain werewolf also decided to tag along everywhere. whilst she was rambling in one ear, the mutt would be growling in the other. san got the message pretty easily; don’t get too close unless he wants to lose his life. he tried to counter it by shooing her away so he can ‘do his job’, but the hurt look that would settle over her face only made the werewolf even more upset. san was lost for what to do, and the two of them seemed hellbent on making his life infinitesimally more difficult than it needed to be.

it was around three days in when yeosang got bored of following san around, and so the mutt kidnapped her and held her hostage in the living room with him. he didn’t trust the stranger with his pup just yet, and if he had to keep her pinned to the floor with his own body to keep her safe, then that’s what he’d do! he was a guard dog after all… it had absolutely nothing to do with jealousy and hongjoong was a liar for ever claiming it did!

after that, it was harder to get to know darling, but san didn’t mind. he still got to hear her ramble about anything and everything every time he stepped foot into the living room, and he still got to see her every time she snuck away when yeosang’s attention was on something else for two seconds. for those brief couple of minutes, san found himself enjoying her presence immensely!

and then yeosang would storm in and snatch her away for himself again…

[littleadaline]

The Original Version of Us [P.G6]

[Childhood best friends to lovers trope]

Warnings: light swearing methinks, slight sexual content

Word Count: 2.1k

A/N: I got this idea after watching a TikTok slideshow about Barça boys’ romance book tropes. So I had the idea to turn them into prompts. Hope it lives up to y’all’s expectations lol.

—————————————————————————————

It all started at the age of 5. Your mom had taken you to the playground of your hometown. You hadn’t been there for long, your family having moved a year prior. You were a shy child, often found hiding behind your mom’s back. You remember it as if it was yesterday. The blistering Spanish heat, the suffocating air, yet, you felt at ease. Your mom sat on the bench as you ventured deeper into the playground. It wasn’t uncommon for the children of the neighborhood to spend their entire days there. As you walked into the sea of children, you lost sight of of your mom. Confused by the swarm of people, you started panicking. On the other side of the swings, a young Pablo Páez Gavira was staring down at you. He had never seen you there, nor had he seen your face in the neighborhood.

“Are you lost?” He asked you, his voice trembling from shyness. He was dressed up in a football jersey, his hair ruffled up from the sweat on his forehead.

“Yeah. I can’t find my mom.” Gavi took your hand.

“I’ll help you look. C’mon. My name is Pablo by the way. What’s yours?”

Together you walked the lengths of the playground, ultimately passing by the bench where you had last seen your mom. Unbeknownst to you, your mom was engaged in a deep conversation with Gavi’s mom, panic spread on her face. When her eyes caught the sight of you and Gavi, her eyes lit up with a mixture of relief and joy. She ran to you, dropping to her knees as she engulfed you in a sudden hug. You remember her quiet sobs as she looked up to the sky, thanking the universe you were unharmed.

“Pablo, where have you been?”

“Perdón mamá, but Y/N couldn’t find her mom, so I stayed with her. She’s very nice. Can we invite her to play?”

“Um, Gavi that’s very nice of you, but it’s ultimately up to Y/N’s mom.” His mom calmly explained, looking back at yours.

“I’m sure we can arrange something.” Your mom said cheekily. While the adults exchange their phone numbers, you and Gavi sat down on the bench, feet hanging in the air.

“Are you new here?” Gavi broke the silence.

“Yeah, we moved here last year. You?” You pushed a strand of hair out of your face.

“Born here. Do you like football?” You saw him shift in his seat.

Before you could answer, you had to say your goodbyes, sadly waiving to your newly made friend.

“I’ll see you again, right?” You yelled from the car, window down.

“Yeah!” Gavi answered back.

A few days had passed, your encounter with Gavi still etched in your mind. For some reason, you refused to let the memory of him go, clinging onto the hope of seeing him again. It was a Saturday morning, you were barely awake when the doorbell rang. You heard your mom rush to the door, before greeting whoever was at the front door. A woman’s voice and a boy’s voice could be heard… as well as a girl’s voice. Curious, you peaked your head towards the front door, catching sight of a small brunette head. Looking up, you recognized Gavi’s mom. Before your mom could call you, you emerged from your hiding spot.

“Pablo! You’re here!” You embraced your newly made friend.

“Yeah! Your mom invited us for breakfast. Oh, and that’s my sister, Aurora.” He pointed at the girl hidden behind his mom.

“Hi! Do you like dolls?” Aurora nodded before you grabbed her by the hand and led her to the living room where your toys were sprawled out.

After that day, the three of you became inseparable. Every weekend, you spent it at each others’ house. You had grown to be used to Pablo and Aurora’s presence. With the passing years, your personal schedules grew to become more and more busy, but you always made the efforts to see each other. Until Pablo left for Barcelona, and soon, the weekly visits stopped. You stayed in touch through your parents, or Aurora’s daily updates, but even those became less frequent. For a few years, you would only catch up with the Páez Gavira’s at Christmas and Easter time. That was, until you each fell into the rabbit hole that was technology and social media. You and Aurora’s bond strengthened. When came the time to go to university, you decided to move to Barcelona, with the plan to bunk with Aurora until you find your own space.

TODAY:

“That was the last box.” You huffed, sitting down on your newly built couch.

“I can’t believe we pulled it off. 14 years of friendship later, and we’ve moved into an apartment together.” Aurora handed you a glass of sparkling water. You thanked her, leaning back into the couch.

“You sure you don’t mind me drilling a few holes into the wall for the picture frames?” You asked her.

“Yeah, it’s entirely fine. By the way, Pablo is staying the night. His neighbours have apparently turned into sex beasts and he doesn’t want to stay at Pedri’s because his family is visiting.”

“Pablo… Pablo’s visiting?” You shot straight up, gently choking on your drink. “Um, when, I mean, what time? I look horrendous, my lord.” You hand brushed through your hair.

“Yeah, why do you look like you just saw a ghost-” You ran to your bathroom. Locking the door behind you, you took a quick glance at your reflection. Your cheeks were flushed at the mention of Pablo. Aurora’s knocks on the door brought you back to reality.

“Y/N! Why did your cheeks turn red when I mentioned-” Aurora’s voice fell silent on the other side of the door. “Omg… You have a crush on Pablo. I knew it! I knew it!” She cheered on the other side of the door.

Aurora left you to collect your thoughts. Giggling to yourself, you took care of yourself, wiping away any sign of stress and sweat from loading boxes on and off the truck all day long. You were finally done when the doorbell rang, Aurora having left the premises long ago. You smoothed down your sweater and glanced in the mirror one last time before opening the door. Gavi was dressed in a simple white t-shirt, some light wash baggy jeans and a pair of Air Forces, his bag slung over his shoulder.

“Hey.” You softly greeted him. Gavi looked you up and down before going in for a hug. Surprised, you almost pulled back, but melted right into his embrace. It had been some time since you last saw each other face to face, yet he looked as good as ever.

“Hey. Congratulations on the move.” He said, taking off his shoes and putting them on the shoe rack.

“Thank you!” You chuckled. “I finally got the last box delivered today. Bunch of picture frames and shelf decor.” You pointed to the box. The air was heavy, almost too thick to breathe.

“Do you need help with the picture frames?”

“Um… Yeah, why not. Let’s get it over with,” You bent down to open the box, feeling Gavi’s eyes trail from your back to your ass. “Um… Do you know your way around a drill? Or at least a hammer?”

Gavi’s eyes diverted from your ass back to your face. You could swear something had changed in the way he looked at you. It was softer, kinder, more sincere.

“You know what, um, I will go grab the drill, you just take the pictures out of the bubble wrap.” You blurted out, running to the utility closet you and Aurora kept. Closing the door behind you, your let out a sigh of excitement…giggling like a schoolgirl. Allowing yourself to let these emotions out, you swiftly grabbed the drill before joining Gavi back in the living room. Sitting on the couch, he was admiring the pictures displayed in front of him.

“I didn’t know you kept that one.” He said, a picture of his 13th birthday in his hand. You were both asleep on their old couch, your head slumped on his shoulder as he embraced you. You sat down next to him, reaching out for another picture.

“There’s also that one.” You handed him the picture your mom took on Christmas Eve, 4 years prior. It was a group picture, but Gavi had his hand on your waist while your hand was around his shoulders. Everyone was looking at the camera, except you two, too busy looking at each other. Soon enough, you abandoned the idea of hanging the pictures, prioritizing a trip down memory lane instead.

“I remember last year’s annual summer cookout. Your mom accidentally switched out the smoked paprika for cayenne pepper. Safe to say the meat was…” you laughed uncontrollably. Gavi stifled a yawn, his eyes drawing tears. “Oh gosh, it’s getting late.” You said, looking at your phone.

“I think Aurora told you I’d be spending the night.” Gavi yawned once again, this time dragging you into a yawning contest. You saw a glimmer of malice shine in his eyes. “I have an idea. The next person to yawn, has to tell a secret to the other person.”

“Deal.” You stifled a yawn. “Starting now. Let me show you the guest bedroom.” You got up, leading Gavi to the guest bedroom Aurora had previously set up. “I’m gonna go wash my face and brush my teeth, let me know if you need anything.” You told him. After you finished your routine, you went back to the living room only to be surprised to find Gavi laying down on the couch.

“Pablito, everything okay?” He perked up at the childhood nickname. He had changed into a sweater and some grey sweatpants. He sat back up, patting down the spot next to him. You sat down, allowing your body to be swallowed by the couch.

“Do you wonder what our friendship would look like now had I not moved to Barcelona?” He blurted out. You were taken by surprise. The two of you had a handful of deep conversations, all of which happened before the age of 15.

“Of course I do. I mean, I used to. Why do you ask?”

“Something about seeing our old pictures. It got me wondering what our friendship would have looked like had we stayed close-” He interrupted himself with a yawn. “Shit. I lost our deal.”

You chuckled at his reaction. Leaning further into the couch, your eyes glazed over the details of his face. The light stubble; his plush, pink lips; his furrowed eyebrows… His face hadn’t changed much, you could always recognize the little kid you had befriend all these years ago.

“You have to spill one secret, Pablitooo.” You teased him.

Gavi hid his face in shame into the throw pillow. You could make up a slight shade of pink tinting his cheeks.

“Fine, fine. Come closer,” You scooched closer. “A bit more.” He guided you by the shoulder. You were so close that you could feel his breath on your face. Your eyes subtly shifted to his lips before establishing eye contact again.

“Um.. Okay. I hope I don’t fuck things up.” The familiar pink tint spreading again on his cheeks. “Close your eyes.”

You closed your eyes, and it was a second later that Gavi shyly placed a kiss to your lips. You leaned in, your hand finding a way to his neck, bringing him closer. Gavi let out a breathless moan as his hands pulled you onto his lap, his hands now resting on your waist. Gavi broke the kiss, his lips moving to your neck, leaving a trail of kisses, eliciting a string of broken moans from you. Your hands found the nape of his hair, slightly tugging, pleasure taking over. Had you known that moving into Aurora’s apartment would have you making out with your best friend, you would have done it sooner. Pablo pulled away, his eyes blown with lust, his lips glossy from your heated make out session.

“I… I really like you. I wanted to tell you sooner, I don’t know why I didn’t.” He confessed to you.

“I really like you as well. Have so since we fell asleep on your couch on your 13th birthday.” You leaned back to steal a kiss. His hand rested on your lower back as you worked on leaving a few love bites on his neck.

“Be my girlfriend. Let me shower you with the love you deserve. Let’s give ourselves a chance.” Gavi begged you.

“I wouldn’t want it any other way.” You leaned back in for a kiss, Gavi’s arms carrying you to your bedroom as you shed your clothes.

The next morning, Aurora woke up to find the guest room empty. Gavi’s things were still in the apartment but he was nowhere to be found. That was until she followed the trail of clothes and opened the door to your bedroom, only to find you guys entangled and naked from last night’s activities. Letting out a shriek, Aurora woke you up. Panicked, you covered yourselves in a hurry, dressing up before apologizing to Aurora for walking in on this sight. Glancing at one another, you knew you’d do it again if it meant being pinned under Gavi while he made you scream his name.

[vindicated-truth]

Beyond Evil: The Romcom

I've always said that barring all the murder and mystery elements, Beyond Evil is at its core a romantic comedy, and here's the proof (aside from Hakyun and Jingoo themselves pushing the agenda lol):

Bear in mind that if this is a romcom, not a thriller, it means Everybody Lives ™ and No One is A Murderer ™

Our main protagonist is of course our eccentric small-town hero, Lee Dongsik, who's known for his quirkiness and idiosyncratic tendencies in solving crime. His unorthodox methods of catching criminals earns him the grudging respect of the Regional Investigation Unit, where he works under his mentor and beloved second father, Nam Sangbae.

The office is situated at the Seoul Metropolitan Government Office, where our hero meets the other male lead: Han Joowon, esteemed Inspector working in Foreign Affairs, renowned for his keen intellect, cold personality, and most importantly, the notoriety of his rich and powerful family.

A particular difficult case involving the disappearance of illegal immigrants forces Foreign Affairs and the RIU to work together, and an unlikely partnership between each department's best officer.

The second lead is our hero's longtime childhood best friend, Park Jeongje, whom Dongsik thought was initially in love with his twin, Yuyeon. Yuyeon liked Jeongje but not enough to give up her ambition for him, and when Jeongje left for the states, Yuyeon graduated from Seoul National University as summa cum laude and passed as the bar topnotcher.

Yuyeon had the brains, but unfortunately not the connections, and with her background AND her gender she found it difficult to prove herself at the law firm where she was hired, and goes head to head with the ambitious Kwon Hyuk.

Unbeknowst to Dongsik, he was actually the one Jeongje was in love with. Do Haewon finds out and she's against it because she wants Jeongje to have that traditional marriage with a traditional family because for Jeongje to come out of the closet would affect her image as a rising politician.

Han Kihwan, for his part, is seeing how his normally poised and law-abiding son is being pulled into questionable methods by Dongsik, and vows to separate their partnership.

Dongsik's and Joowon's begrudging partnership also leads Yuyeon's and Kwon's paths to cross more often, and a budding romance develops between the lawyers as the side couple.

Lee Changjin is still Oh Jihwa's ex-husband, and no matter how Dosoo tries to arrange blind dates for Jihwa, she turns them all down. Dosoo wonders why she doesn't have time to date if all she does is visit Jaeyi's butcher shop even after work.

Jaeyi herself gets questioned often by her mother and the ahjummas in town why she won't get herself a boyfriend, especially that handsome young officer from Foreign Affairs who keeps visiting, and she only smiles and doesn't answer every time she reserves a seat for Jihwa after work hours, just for the two of them.

Minjeong, meanwhile, sneaks behind everyone's back to date Jihoon, but Dongsik, overprotective of her ever since he became her legal guardian after her parents abandoned her, keeps getting in her way. It causes a tense friction between him and Jihwa, as Jihwa asks if Dongsik thinks her brother isn't good enough for his ward.

Jeongje of course, sees this as an opportunity to side with Dongsik, and it causes friction with his friendship with Jihwa as well, which also then causes friction between Jaeyi's friendship with Dongsik, and drama ensues.

Upon seeing how Dongsik is distracted by his mysterious new partner, Han Joowon, Minjeong takes it upon herself to make sure those two get together so Dongsik wouldn't focus all his attention on her and she gets to do what she wants. Hijinks ensue, especially when he ropes in Jihoon in her plans.

Somehow this leads to Minjeong and Jihoon accidentally discovering an international crime syndicate and they both get kidnapped for it, but not to worry because Everybody Works Together™ to save them and unravel the crime syndicate at the same time.

Han Kihwan and Do Haewon finally sees and understands Dongsik's true worth to both Joowon and Jeongje, and in the end, Dongsik asks Joowon if they can extend their partnership outside of work.

Jaeyi and Jihwa end up together, Yuyeon and Hyuk end up together, Minjeong and Jihoon end up together, and Jeongje comes to terms with his feelings for Dongsik and vows to be there as his best man.

At the wedding held overseas, Jeongje is reunited with Yuyeon, and tells him she wishes happiness for him too, someday. She and his twin brother will always be there for him no matter what.

At the reception, Dongsik introduces Jeongje to this new young officer: Lee Sangyeob. Sangyeob tells him he was Dongsik's former partner, and they spent the rest of the reception laughing and commiserating over Dongsik.

And they lived happily ever after. As they ALL should.

[whataperfectwasteoftime]

Spring Fling

(gif by @pedropascalsx. I've given up using Tumblr gif search)

Pairing: Marcus Pike x virgin f!Reader

Rating: E (explicit smut, 18+ only)

Word Count: 19,228. Oops.

Warnings: Significant age gap (almost 20 years), college-age reader, sexual tension, mentions of: strained familial relationships, divorce, unhealthy breakups, stalker(ish) behavior (PAST), therapy. Virgin/inexperienced reader, fingering, oral sex (f! receiving), unprotected PIV sex and a lot of it, comeplay if you squint, Marcus’s filthy filthy mouth, happy ending

Summary: When you and your friend, fellow pre-Law student Emma, plan to go to Washington DC for spring break instead of the typical beach destination, she makes plans for the two of you to stay with her estranged father for the week to save money on lodging. You never expected Emma’s father, a man she says she’s barely seen throughout the years, to be so sweet, so troubled, and so unfairly pretty. Neither did you expect for what you'd thought was a one-sided attraction to turn into a spring fling... or maybe something more.

A/N: I got an ask asking about 'Best Friend's Dad' Marcus Pike, so I now post a question to you, dear reader: What if Marcus Pike had a college-age kid from his first marriage, one that he'd entered into at a very young age because of an unplanned pregnancy? Anyway to find out the answer read this almost 20k fic LOL

Masterlist

"We should go somewhere for spring break."

Your friend and fellow pre-Law student at the University of Texas, Emma, laughs. "Go somewhere? Like what, the fucking beach? And with what money?"

"No, no beaches. Somewhere cool. Somewhere unusual."

"Like what?" Emma asks, shoving another handful of chips in her mouth.

"I've never been to Washington, DC," you comment thoughtfully.

"I thought every public school in the entire country went to DC at some point," Emma remarks. 

"I had the chickenpox."

"Ew."

"Do you think that would be fun? Going to the Capitol for break?" you ask.

"I guess," Emma shrugs. "It's better than going to writhe on the beach with fifty thousand wasted twentysomethings."

"There's still the issue of how to pay for a trip. For any trip. I think I could cover airfare, but a DC hotel? Ugh," you say with a groan. 

"I could put the hotel on my credit card and work a bunch of extra shifts at Pizza Express afterward to make up for it," Emma says. "But that would pretty much max out my card."

"I can look up the cheapest spots outside the city," you suggest. "And we can take the metro in."

"Outside the city isn't going to be much better," Emma remarks. "We could… nah."

You look up, curious. "We could… what?"

"Well, my uh, my dad actually lives in DC."

"Your dad?" you repeat incredulously. "You've literally never mentioned your dad. I thought he and your mom were estranged?"

"Sorta," Emma says. "The official story is that they married too young and eventually separated."

"...And the unofficial story?"

"My mom found out she was pregnant at nineteen, and my dad wanted to do the right thing, so he married her. But I guess they weren't right for each other, because they were already divorced by the time I was two."

"Do you see him much?" you ask.

"I used to," Emma says quietly. "But my mom was never really enthusiastic about spending much time together, so it wasn’t very often. And then he moved to DC when I was a junior in high school, and I haven't seen him since. He always sends me cards on my birthday and Christmas, though. And…" she suddenly blushes, looking down and away.

"What?"

"Nothing."

"What, Em?"

"He pays for my tuition."

"What?!"

"Yeah, I've barely had to take out any loans. It's just for housing and stuff."

"You ass, you never told me that!"

"It's not common knowledge," Emma mumbles. "Besides, no one wants to admit they've got an absent, divorced father paying the bills."

"But you'd want to contact him for this? For a place to crash over spring break for a week?"

"He's nice," Emma says quietly. "I always got the feeling that he wanted to do his best by us."

"I mean, if you're cool with it, it kinda sounds fun," you admit. "Better than Galveston, anyway."

Emma laughs. "Yeah, way better than Galveston."

"Holy shit, Em, you can see the Capitol from here." 

The two of you had emerged from the underground tunnel of the metro station, trailing suitcases behind you, into what feels like the middle of the city itself. The busy street is flanked with large condominiums on both sides, with--unbelievably--a view of the Capitol building in the distance.

"I think it's this one," Emma says, squinting at the address on her phone and back up at one of the buildings. 

"How do we get in?" you ask. 

"He just said to text him," Emma answers. "Hang on." She taps out a message on her phone before sliding it back into her pocket. "And now we wait."

You barely have time to check your email before the front door opens and a man emerges, striding quickly toward the two of you. You think he's about to envelop your friend into a crushing hug, but he stops short, eyes wavering with uncertainty as he looks his daughter up and down. His hand reaches toward her arm, but he hesitates just short of touching.

"Emma," the man breathes, the emotion evident in his voice making you want to duck your head and turn away from the scene. 

"Hey, uh, Dad," Emma says, giving him a sheepish smile. "Been a while."

"It's been six years," the man says emphatically. 

"Yeah."

You watch as Emma's father's fingers twitch toward her. "C-Can I–" 

Emma shrugs. "'Course."

The man carefully steps forward and wraps his arms around her, pulling her to his chest. His eyes close, his eyebrows pull upward to reveal a deep crease in between them as he holds his daughter for apparently the first time in six years. This time, you do look away from what feels like surprisingly tender and private moment. 

"I'm sorry I wasn't there for your graduation," you hear him say softly. "I was undercover for a case, and… Anyway, it doesn't matter. I'm sorry. You don't know how badly I wanted to be there."

"S'okay," Emma says cooly. She steps back, and, for the first time, her father seems to notice you. 

"Hi," he says brightly, and his pained, heartfelt expression melts into an easy smile as he extends his hand to you. "Marcus." 

You don't know what you had been expecting. Maybe someone older. Maybe someone less… attractive. Not this frankly gorgeous man, with his boyish smile, pretty eyes that crinkle around the edges, slightly mussed brown hair that falls over his forehead, and the light smattering of facial hair that only seems to soften his features further. Not that he needed any help, in that respect. Slightly stunned, you step forward and take the man’s hand, trying not to trip over the syllables of your own name.

Marcus’s smile widens, and he repeats your name, which does nothing to quell the sudden burst of butterflies in your stomach–and are your palms sweating?

"Thank you for allowing us to stay for the week," you say politely, forcing yourself out of the trance.

"Not a problem," Marcus answers. "What a great destination for spring break! Whose idea was that?"

"Mine," you say with a little laugh. 

"My kind of girl," Marcus jokes. "Keeping my daughter out of trouble."

"Dad," Emma groans. "I'm not a kid."

"Well, last time I saw you, you were fifteen," Marcus says pointedly. "You're gonna have to let my brain do a little catch-up, here."

"Well, to start with, I'm not a beach party kind of person," Emma says. "I'm a nerd–y'know, being pre-Law and all."

Emma's father beams. "So I've heard. Well, I'm happy to host two nerds while they do a little sightseeing in the nation's Capitol. I can even," he adds with a conspiratorial smile, "give you a tour of the J. Edgar Hoover building. If–If you want," he finishes awkwardly, appearing hesitant and unsure again.

"Oh, cool!" you exclaim automatically, without thinking.

Marcus grins widely at your enthusiasm, and you find yourself staring at your shoes, biting your lip as you flounder under his attention. You're being weird. Stop it. 

"Y-Yeah," Emma adds, nodding hesitantly. "That would be nice... Dad. Thanks."

“C’mon,” Marcus says, grabbing both Emma’s bag and, before you can protest, yours. “Come on up. I ordered some pizza for everyone. You can get settled tonight and… go do whatever you two want to do in the morning.”

The two of you follow Marcus through the lobby and into the elevator. You can’t help but keep stealing little glances at him–the way his shoulders fill out the maroon henley he’s wearing over jeans, the way those shoulders taper down to narrow hips, the way he’s got the top two buttons of his shirt casually undone, showing you a hint of collarbone that has you damn-near salivating. Snap out of it. Oh, God, snap out of it. You’ve known the man for five minutes, and you feel like you’re losing your mind. It’s gonna be a long week if you don’t pull it together. 

Marcus opens the front door and gestures the two of you in before him. You stand awkwardly in the living room, looking around at the furniture and at the decor on the walls, looking anywhere but at your best friend’s dad, whose very presence seems to fluster you beyond all reason.

“I just have one spare room, hopefully you two don’t mind sharing…?” Marcus asks.

“That’s fine,” Emma says good-naturedly. 

“It’s just through here,” he says, walking past you. “I’ll set your bags down in there and show you around.”

The room is clearly his workspace–there’s a desk and a chair shoved into a corner to make room for a comfortable-looking guest bed. The side wall is covered with floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, and you subconsciously step toward them, eager to see what titles this man keeps on his shelves.

“Sorry, it’s kind of an… all-purpose room,” Marcus says sheepishly. “Bit cluttered.”

“I like it,” you murmur absentmindedly, still scanning the spines.

“‘Gardner’s Art Through the Ages’” Emma reads, crinkling her nose. “How many editions of this book do you have?”

Her father laughs. “It’s work stuff, mostly. Although there’s a few thrillers here and there. And some classics.” He approaches the shelves as well, and you can feel the hair on the back of your neck start to stand up on end at the sensation of his body hovering just behind you. You’re so… aware of him. You don’t know if it’s because Marcus seems to naturally command every space he’s in or if there’s something electric that’s pulling you toward him, but either way, your entire body feels as though it’s on high alert.

A sharp buzzing makes you jump comically, making Emma snort.

“That’ll be the pizza,” Marcus announces. “Be right back.”

You glance over at Emma, who is still staring disinterestedly at the bookshelves. “It’s a nice place,” you say conversationally. 

“Mmmhm.”

“You okay?” you ask softly.

“Oh, yeah,” Emma scoffs, waving her hand. “Just been a while. It’s weird. You know.”

“He seems nice,” you say.

“He is,” she remarks. “I told you he was. I just… don’t know him very well. Like he said, I haven’t seen him in six years.”

“Maybe this will be good, then,” you suggest. “Get to know him now that you’re an adult and all that.”

Emma shrugs. “Maybe.”

You look back at the shelves. Emma was right; Marcus does have an alarmingly large number of editions of Art Through the Ages. You furrow your brow.

“What does your dad do in DC?”

“Oh, did I not tell you? He’s in the FBI.”

You feel as though you’ve swallowed your tongue, but before you can garble out a response–something like, “Mmmgnnbbllgffnhh?”–you hear Marcus coming back.

“Get it while it’s hot!” he says cheerfully. “You guys must be hungry after traveling all day.”

“Oh wow, Dad, that’s… a lot of pizza for three people,” Emma says, her eyebrows raising in surprise and confusion.

She’s right–there are five boxes sitting on the small kitchen island, along with several options of drink.

“I had no idea what either of you liked,” Marcus reasoned. “So I got a few different options. Cheese, pepperoni, supreme, hawaiian, and some kind of vegan thing, just in case.”

“You know, you could have just texted,” Emma remarks, at the same time that you whisper, “Thank you.”

Marcus looks sheepish. “Wanted to surprise you. Anyway, dig in–there’s obviously a lot.” He laughs quietly to himself, grabbing three plates and setting them down on the counter. You grab three different kinds–supreme, hawaiian, and the vegan option, out of curiosity–and sit on one of the barstools opposite Marcus. Emma grabs two cheeses and sits down next to you.

“So,” he says after a few minutes of surprisingly companionable silence. “I know Emma is pre-Law. Are you pre-Law too?” he asks, looking at you with a friendly, curious smile. 

“Mmmhmm,” you nod, tight-lipped. You hate this conversation–the college-age version of ‘What do you want to be when you grow up?’ Everyone asks the question with good intent, but it always leaves you in an anxiety spiral, an existential crisis, because no matter how many times you’re asked, you have absofuckinglutely no idea. 

“What kind of law do you want to go into?” This question is addressed more to Emma, who immediately launches into an explanation of Environmental Law and the impact of climate change on public health. Marcus nods eagerly, giving Emma his full attention as she talks, watching her with a small smile. 

“What about you?” he asks when she’s done, turning to you.

You gulp. 

“I don’t—I don’t really know. Not yet, anyways.” You brace yourself for the judgmental eyebrow raise, the well-meaning advice.

“That’s okay,” Marcus says, smiling. “No one says you have to have it figured out at… how old are you?”

“T-Twenty,” you mumble, feeling more naive and inexperienced than you ever have before.

“Nah,” Marcus says, shaking his head playfully. “No one has it figured out at twenty. And the people who think they do? They change.”

His eyes go far away for a split-second, and you wonder what he must have been like at twenty. Did he already have Emma at that point? Did he just find out that his girlfriend was pregnant? Was he panicking, trying to figure out how to make things work? You wonder what it was that he had wanted to do, and what he had sacrificed for Emma and her mom. You wonder if he had wanted the divorce, or if she had been the one to suggest it.

“Anyway,” Marcus says, casually waving a slice of pepperoni as he talks, “I mostly work with criminal lawyers. If that’s something you’re interested in, I could arrange a chat with someone this week.”

“Oh,” you say, too stunned to say anything else. “Yeah, maybe.”

Marcus shrugs good-naturedly. “Think about it,” he says, giving you another crooked grin. His eyes crinkle around the edges when he smiles, and it makes your stomach do somersaults. 

“Yeah,” you say again, a little breathlessly. Your next bite of pizza misses your mouth entirely, and you manage to stab yourself in the cheek with your slice, transferring a glob of tomato sauce onto your face in the process.

Emma laughs, and Marcus’s eyes glitter with amusement as you frantically reach for a napkin. 

“So you do, um… FBI stuff?” you ask him clumsily, trying to break the silence.

“Yep. FBI Stuff. Says it on my badge and everything.”

“Why do you have a bunch of art books?”

“I lead an international task force dealing with art crimes,” he answers patiently. 

“What constitutes an art crime?” Emma asks, her mouth full.

“Theft,” Marcus lists, “forgeries, black market sales, dealing in antiquities, looting of archaeological sites…”

“Oh, wow,” you breathe, a dopey smile on your face. Emma shoots you a funny look.

“So it’s like, nerdy FBI stuff,” she says.

“The nerdiest,” Marcus agrees, smiling.

“Do you still have a gun and stuff?”

“I do,” Marcus says carefully, frowning slightly. “It’s in the safe for the week, though, while you’re here.”

Your stomach flip-flops at the mental image of Emma’s dad holding a gun, those warm brown eyes dark with focus as he stares down… an art thief. Or something. 

“Enough about your old man,” he says with a self-deprecating chuckle. “What are you two looking to do tomorrow on your first day in DC?”

“Think we’ll hit the museums,” Emma says. “Get them out of the way first. We want to see the Library of Congress, obviously. Plus walking around to all the monuments and stuff. Oh, and the zoo!”

“Do you want my advice?” Marcus asks, and you both nod. “It’s supposed to be unseasonably warm tomorrow, and sunny. I’d do the monument tour or the zoo tomorrow if I were you. Save the indoor stuff for the end of the week, because it’s supposed to rain.”

“Monuments it is!” Emma exclaims. “Hey, can I… can I use your shower? I feel kinda gross from the travel day.”

“Absolutely.” Marcus hops up, leading Emma over to the guest bathroom. You listen as he points out a stack of towels intended for the two of you during your stay, the extra shampoo he’d bought, the spare toothbrushes just in case… Eventually he returns, hands stuffed in his pockets, looking hesitant again.

“Thank you,” you say again. “You went through a lot of trouble, and–”

“It’s no trouble,” Marcus says quickly. “No trouble at all. I–I have to admit I was surprised when Em–when she called, but I’m–I’m more than happy to host you two for the week. It’s no trouble at all,” he repeats.

“Okay,” you say dumbly. You’re staring again, unable to help the way your eyes are drawn to the way his arms fill out the shirt he's wearing when his hands are in his pockets like that. 

"You alright?" 

Your eyes flit up to his at the question. He's looking back at you, his head cocked to the side as he watches you. And suddenly, you can just tell–you can tell that he knows how flustered you are in front of him. 

You nod rapidly up and down in response, not trusting yourself to answer.  

"Good. Had enough pizza?"

"Mmhmm."

"Anything else to drink?" he asks. 

"Got any beer?" you ask with a quirk of your eyebrow.

"You told me you were twenty," Marcus reminds you. 

"Oh."

"And I work for law enforcement," he says gravely. 

Oh. 

"Oh, f-fuck, I um… I was kidding. Holy shit. I'm sorry. Seriously, I'm not a-a bad… student, or anything. I swear, I–"

As you continue to frantically backtrack, you realize that Marcus’s shoulders are shaking with laughter. 

"Oh, you're funny. Real funny. Ha. Ha."

"Next you'll be saying I should quit my day job," he says, his eyes sparkling. 

"I'm not sure what kind of art… crime… solver… you are, but I have to believe you're a better agent than you are a comedian," you deadpan. 

"You can come to my stand-up show on Tuesday and see for yourself."

Your jaw drops before you realize Marcus's lips are quivering with the effort of keeping a straight face. 

"You're on fire, tonight," you say, rolling your eyes. 

"You'll have to forgive me," he says, a gentle, more wistful smile gracing his lips. "I don't have company often, and it's been even longer since I've seen–" his eyes flick to the bathroom door, and he looks troubled for a moment. 

"Strictly off the record, if you do want a beer, I happen to have some," he says, changing the subject and smiling back at you again. 

"Nah, I'll save that favor for later in the week," you tell him.

"Noted," Marcus replies. He's looking at you again, still. He seems to be one of those people who gives all of his focus to someone when they speak, and the attention is starting to overwhelm you. 

"Hey!" Emma calls from the guest bedroom. "I wanna get started early tomorrow. Those monuments aren't gonna monument themselves."

You laugh and roll your eyes. "That's my cue," you say with a little smile. "Gonna grab a shower myself and call it a night."

"If you need anything, I'm a room away," Marcus says, but it only serves to remind you that this man will be sleeping in the next room.

"Got it," you say, nodding thickly. "Um, good night."

"Good night," he answers softly. 

When you reach the bathroom door, you turn around again–you can't help yourself. 

He's still looking at you. 

"Get up!

"Get up!"

"GET–"

"Okay!" you whine, throwing an extra pillow in the general direction of Emma's voice. "Fuck. I'm up."

You throw on a pair of jeans and a faded tee, scrubbing your hands over your face as you stumble out of the guest room and into the kitchen, where Marcus hands you a cup of coffee, which you accept with a grunt.

"Emma warned me that you weren't a morning person," he says. 

"God, it's both of you, isn't it?" you grumble. "Morning people."

"I guess we turned out alike after all," Marcus says with a soft smile, watching as you take a grateful sip from the mug. "What's the first stop on the list?"

"I dunno, she's got it all planned out," you murmur. "Of like, seeing the farthest place first and working our way back."

"Sounds like a plan," Marcus says. "You two have fun."

"What are you doing today?" Emma interjects, coming into the kitchen, grabbing a bagel off of the counter, and stuffing it into her mouth. 

"Well, it's Sunday, so… grocery shopping," Marcus says. "Any special requests?"

"Filet mignon," Emma says. 

"You got it. Want some lobster tails as well?"

"Mmhmm."

"I was thinking more along the lines of spaghetti and meatballs. Anything else you ladies would like?"

Emma shuffles her feet, and you frown slightly. You've never known her not to immediately say what's on her mind–and clearly, something is. 

"What is it, Emmie?" Marcus asks softly.

"Do you remember that one time that we came to your family's for Christmas–I think I was maybe twelve?–and you made…"

"...Tamales?" Marcus asks, his eyebrows shooting upward. 

"Yeah," Emma answers, her voice smaller than you've ever heard it. "I still remember those. They were really good."

"Jesus, I haven't made those in…" he shakes his head. "I don't even know. But uh, sure. We can do that. Tamale night. It's a deal."

"Thanks," Emma says, smiling. "And… really? 'Emmie?' Dad, I'm not seven anymore."

"My mistake," Marcus says with a playful wink in your direction–which might make your heart stop. "You girls stay safe. Text if you need anything."

Marcus was right–the weather is beautiful today. It’s perfect for walking endlessly from monument to monument, which you do all morning. You try to stay focused–thoughtfully reading the names on the Vietnam War Memorial and not thinking about Emma’s dad, in the plain white t-shirt he had been wearing this morning, in the produce section picking out apples. Even worse, you try not to imagine the sight of him cooking tonight.

He’s becoming a bit of an obsession for you, you can admit it. You want to know everything about him–what his job is like, what he does on the weekends, what he likes to read, what he did in the past to alienate the mother of his child enough that he’s barely seen his daughter–who he very clearly cares deeply for…

As you walk around the Washington Monument, you can’t stand it any longer. 

“Sooooo. It seems like things are going well between you and your dad,” you say conversationally.

“How do you mean?” 

“Less awkward, I guess.”

“It’s not that we don’t get along,” Emma says with a shrug. “We always used to. Like I said, I always thought he was nice. My mom…” 

“She didn’t like him?”

“She didn’t want to be around him. I don’t know why. They tried to protect me from the messy parts of divorce, but part of that means that I have no idea what their history is. She never talked about it. Neither did he.”

“Huh.” You stare in silence at the large white obelisk. “I wonder what happened.”

“I thought about asking my mom,” Emma says. “Lots of times, but I never got up the courage.”

“You should ask him,” you say quietly. “I get the feeling he needs to tell the story.”

Emma gives you a funny look. “That’s a weird thing to say.”

You shrug. “I’m weird.”

“Fair.”

The two of you walk until it feels as though your feet are going to fall off. 

“My feet are going to fall off,” you announce. “Surely there are no more monuments in the entirety of Washington, DC.”

“We’ve still got the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier.”

“Uggghhhh, how important can he be? He’s unknown.”

“This was your idea,” Emma points out. “Go to DC for spring break! Stay with my best friend’s estranged dad! Walk around and see all the monuments and shit!”

“Too many steps,” you groan. “They should all be concentrated in one square mile of land.”

“One more,” Emma promises. “And then spaghetti.”

“And laying on the couch watching TV,” you counter.

“And laying on the couch watching TV,” Emma agrees. “...And tomorrow we go to the zoo.”

“No!”

Marcus chuckles as you stumble into his condo just after six. You immediately collapse onto the couch with an exaggerated groan.

“I’m staying right here for the rest of the week,” you announce.

“It’s been one day,” Marcus points out. 

“My phone’s step counter measures over thirty thousand steps,” you mumble. “I’m done.”

“That’s a lot,” Marcus concedes. “Hopefully that means the two of you are hungry this evening.”

“Fucking starving,” Emma agrees, crashing onto the couch herself and nearly colliding with you as she does so. 

“Well, since everyone is so tired,” Marcus says, the playfulness evident in his voice, “I’ll make spaghetti and meatballs tonight. Tamales are a group effort, so you two better be ready to work for your food.”

“I shall endeavor to do so,” Emma remarks with an exaggerated accent, causing you to laugh giddily. 

While Emma’s eyes are closed, you take advantage, watching Marcus–still with that same fitted white shirt–in the kitchen, boiling water, heating the sauce, and adding the meatballs. He must sense your gaze, because he turns, a characteristic crooked smile on his lips as he acknowledges you. 

“I know they’re frozen,” he admits, speaking of the meatballs, “but they always taste the same to me anyway.”

“I can’t wait,” you say, truthfully. “It’s been a long day.”

As if to demonstrate the fact, a loud snore emanates from the body next to you, making you grin.

“I’m glad you guys came,” Marcus says softly. “I don’t often have the opportunity to cook for… more than one.”

“No girlfriend?” you ask conversationally. 

Marcus laughs. “I’m… in between things, I suppose.”

“In between,” you parrot with a laugh. “How long have you been ‘in between?’”

He huffs. “Too long,” he murmurs. 

“How come?” you ask quietly.

Marcus frowns, thinking. “I dunno. No one recently has been… exactly what I’m looking for.”

“And what are you looking for?” you ask breathlessly.

“Spaghetti,” Emma mumbles from the couch.

“Spaghetti,” Marcus repeats, giving me a slightly melancholy smile. “Exactly. Come and get it, you two.”

Emma stirs, stumbling into the kitchen where two giant bowls of spaghetti and meatballs are awaiting the two of you.

“Holy shit,” she remarks. “Thanks for this.”

“Of course,” Marcus says. “I would never agree for you to stay and then not…” he trails off, unsure of himself.

You’re starting to realize that the bulk of Marcus’s most emotional statements go unsaid. I would ever agree for you to stay and then not take care of you, is what he hadn’t said. 

“Still doing the zoo tomorrow?” he asks, changing the subject, as always.

“Yup,” Emma answers.

He huffs, smiling wistfully. “Been ages since I’ve been to a zoo.”

“D’you wanna go?” you ask, before you can determine that it’s a bad idea.

Marcus looks at you, indecisive for a few seconds before he seemingly comes to his senses. “Nah,” he says, grinning. “You two have fun.”

“Are you sure?” Emma asks. “Apparently there’s a new panda baby.”

“That’s a hard bargain,” he admits.

“You should come with,” Emma decides. “It could be fun.”

“All right,” Marcus agrees hesitantly.

“It’s Monday,” you point out. “Don’t you have to work?”

“I’ll call off,” he answers quickly. “Not everyday one’s daughter is in town for an impromptu zoo trip.”

“Look at the little lad,” Emma gushes. 

“The what?” Marcus asks. 

The three of you are staring at the panda enclosure, watching the newest addition to the zoo cause chaos.

“The chonky boi,” you agree.

“I have no idea what you two are saying,” Marcus admits. 

“The baby panda is cute,” Emma offers. 

“That I can agree on,” he decides.

The three of you, you’ve decided, make a good team. You try not to think about how your heart burns whenever Marcus looks at you, how your stomach does flips whenever he laughs. If you’re going to be a good friend to Emma–and you are–you’re going to have to put this silly crush aside and accept the fact that he’s a package deal with your best friend. 

That doesn’t stop the way the man looks at you, though. 

You think you’re imagining it, at first. After all, Marcus seems to be the type of person who focuses completely on whatever anyone has to say. The more you’re with him, though, it’s hard to deny that he seems to look at you just a tiny bit longer.

You start to notice it all day–when you’re looking at the exhibits, Marcus is looking at you. 

He’s watching your reaction to them–smiling when you smile, laughing when you laugh. You can’t parse out the meaning behind his actions–does it mean something? If so, what? What does it mean? 

You can’t admit the truth to yourself until you’re in the insect house. Emma is giddy with interest, and you… are trying. 

“Are you okay?” Marcus asks softly in your ear–and you try not to shiver.

“Great,” you squeak. “Just don’t love the bird-eating spider.”

“I don’t like them either,” he confesses with a smile. “Do you need to leave?”

“Idunno,” you mumble, slurring the words together. 

“Emmie,” Marcus announces, “we’re going to take a little break, okay?”

“Mmm.” 

You and Marcus escape into the bright sunshine, and you let out an awkward laugh. “I can’t believe they have some of them loose in there–without glass or anything!”

“I’m not going back in that building,” Marcus agrees, laughing with you. “The giant orb weaver was the last straw.”

“That was awful,” you say, nodding.

“Come to think of it, I might be more of a baby panda guy, myself.”

“I’ll take the snakes over this,” you agree.

You sit down on a nearby bench, still giggling together as you wait for Emma.

“Is it weird if I say I’m glad you came?” you ask quietly.

“I’m glad I came, too,” Marcus says beside you.

“I think–” you begin, but Emma emerges from the insect house, grinning ear to ear.

“You think… what?” Marcus asks, but you shake your head and shrug.

“I dunno,” you mumble. “I just… think.”

“Hey, wimps,” Emma shouts. “They let me touch the tarantula.”

Marcus takes the two of you out to dinner at a casual burger spot near his place. While the tension between him and Emma has lessened significantly since the first day, it feels as though it’s been replaced by a thick cloud of tension between the two of you. 

There’s something about the man that speaks to you, something within him that seems to vibrate on the same frequency as something within you. Twin souls, you’d say, if you were in a mind to be romantic, except… it can’t be. He must be nearly forty–and almost twice your age. There’s nothing you have that he would want–nothing you could offer a man who has his entire life together while yours has barely started.

Still, the way Marcus laughs at your jokes and gives you knowing glances–as if the two of you are sharing some type of inside joke that you’ve had for years–keeps you flustered and breathless throughout most of the evening.

The glass of wine he offers when you arrive home doesn’t help, either. You watch the red liquid swirl in your glass and wonder how it would taste from his lips, instead. And, when you’ve reached the bottom of your glass, the fuzzy-headed feeling you get from the alcohol combined with the way your stomach swoops in its place every time Marcus’s eyes meet yours has you feeling dizzy and enraptured in equal parts. 

When he locks eyes with you over the rim of his own glass as he drains the last sip, you freeze, afraid that you’d been caught out–that he can read every dumbstruck expression on your face and knows exactly what he does to you.

But all he does is shoot you a little smile, announce that he’s going to bed– “Back to work for me, tomorrow”–and leaves you in the living room alone with Emma, trying not to look as though you’re checking out her dad’s butt as he leaves the room. 

The next day, you and Emma spend most of the day at the Library of Congress while Marcus is at work. As a result, neither of you are too tired to help when Marcus suggests making the tamales tonight. 

“I’m going to preface this by saying I’m not very good at making these,” he says with a laugh as he struggles with the dough. “My grandma only made these on special occasions, and I’ve done it myself approximately two times without her.”

“Well, the good news is that I’ve got no frame of reference,” you tell him. “So as long as they’re edible, they’ll be the best tamales I’ve ever had.”

Marcus chuckles and ducks his head; you can see the pink tinge on the tips of his ears as he continues to stir the mixture.

“Emmie, do you want to do the dough or the filling?” he asks. 

“Filling.”

“That leaves you with the fun part,” Marcus says to you with a playful wink. “You get to spread the dough out on the corn husks like this–” he frowns as a glob of dough gets stuck to the spatula. “I told you I’m not very good at this. But you get the idea.”

You really don’t; cooking has never been your strong suit. You do your best to spread the dough out, but after just a couple of repetitions, your fingers, your shirt, and the counter around you are sticky with dough. 

“This is not going very well,” you mumble. 

Marcus looks up from the tamale he’s currently folding and laughs joyfully. “That’s part of the process.”

“I really don’t feel like it is,” you shoot back. “It’s sticking to everything but the corn husks.”

“Here,” Marcus chuckles. And suddenly, he’s right behind you, his chest nearly touching your back as he reaches around you to gently guide your hands himself. “Like this.”

You can’t possibly focus on your task, not when you have to remind your body to keep breathing while Marcus’s hands are on you. Your eyes stare unseeingly down at the corn husk until he releases you. 

“Better?” he asks.

“Mmhm,” you hum, abnormally high-pitched.

“You’ve got some on your cheek,” he remarks with a soft smile. His thumb gently swipes across it, catching the stray dough and wiping it on a towel. 

In the end, the tamales are hideous, but they taste incredible. They might be the best meal you’ve ever had–or maybe it’s just the way Marcus had smiled proudly at you when your technique improved after his intervention.

After dinner, the three of you sit on the small couch and watch a movie.

“It’s in black and white,” Emma remarks, wrinkling her nose.

“Double Indemnity? It’s a classic!” Marcus protests.

“Old movies are always so boring,” Emma says. 

“It’s not boring,” he pouts. “The unhappy wife of a wealthy oil baron starts a dangerous, illicit love affair with an insurance salesman, and they hatch a plot to murder her husband and collect the insurance money.”

“That’s wild,” you laugh. “How have you seen this before?”

“I’ve always been told I’m an old soul.”

“Are you sure you’re not just old?” Emma teases.

“Hush. Watch the movie.”

The film is engaging, but all of the walking around of the past few days starts to catch up with you about halfway through. Before you know it, your eyes are drooping, and your head tips back on the couch cushion as you start to doze off. When you wake, the credits are rolling, and you’re no longer upright on the back of the couch.

You’re drooling on Marcus’s shoulder.

You startle, sitting back up with a frantic gasp and wiping your mouth in horror.

“Shh,” Marcus whispers, placing a calming hand on your forearm. “Emma fell asleep, too.”

“Fuck. I’m sorry,” you babble, taking in the little wet spot on his shirt.

“Hey, it’s okay,” he assures softly. “You’re tired. You needed the sleep.”

“Still,” you say. “I didn’t mean to…” you trail off awkwardly. 

“It’s okay,” Marcus repeats, even quieter still. His hand still rests on your forearm, his thumb subtly moving back and forth across your skin. 

Neither of you speak for what seems like an eternity, until finally, he breaks the spell.

“Should go to bed,” he murmurs. “I’ll wake up Emma. Go get some rest.”

“Marcus,” you whisper shakily.

“Go,” he whispers back. 

He squeezes your arm once, then releases you, and you reluctantly get up from the couch and cross to the guest bedroom door. You turn again, watching as Marcus gently smooths Emma’s hair back from her forehead as he rouses her from the couch. There’s so much tenderness in his eyes, and you wonder how much different he might be if Emma had been a more constant presence in his life. He seems so lonely–does he have friends outside of work, you wonder? Does he ever date? 

Emma sits up blearily and pads across the living room, walking past you and collapsing on the bed. You take one last look at Marcus, and follow her. 

The next morning, you feel as though you could cut the tension between you and Marcus with a knife. There’s something there–and you both know it. He seems to be doing his best to ignore it, avoiding eye contact with you, and busying himself with pouring a thermos of coffee and messing with his tie absentmindedly as he gets ready to leave for work. 

“Where are you off to today?” he comments lightly.

“Smithsonian,” Emma answers. 

“Sounds fun. I’ve got a deposition this afternoon that’s probably going to run late, so go ahead and grab something for dinner while you’re out. I’m not sure when I’ll be home.”

The only time Marcus’s eyes fall on you is in the moment just before he steps through the front door. He pauses, hand on the doorknob, and glances back in your direction, dark eyes watching you for a moment before he nods subtly and leaves.

It’s funny how just a simple, seconds-long moment of eye contact with this man can turn your insides to jelly. Your breath stutters as the door clicks shut, and you try to gather yourself again.

“What’s first?” Emma asks. “Natural History or Air and Space?”

You put Marcus out of your mind for most of the day, although he’s never far away; you’re able to call up the feel of his hand on your forearm at any given moment. You can imagine the burn of his eyes even as you walk through exhibit after exhibit.

True to his word, he’s not home for dinner. You and Emma grab sandwiches from a shop around the corner and eat them in the living room in front of the TV. It’s nearly seven when Marcus finally gets home, opening the door and greeting the two of you with a tired smile and a heavy sigh.

“How did it go?” Emma asks.

“Shit,” he answers, shooting her a crooked grin. “But I’ve got leftover tamales to look forward to, so the day is looking up.”

You watch another movie–Emma’s choice this time, and something a bit more current. You don’t fall asleep this time; you can’t, not with the way your body feels on high alert tonight. Marcus is sitting beside you again, as he was the night before, and all you can think about is how much you want to sink into his arms again–and this time, intentionally. You want to lay on his chest and have him wrap his arms around you; you want him to slowly turn and press you down on the cushions, to feel the weight of him on top of you, the light scrape of his beard on your neck, his breath in your ear.

A wave of arousal washes over you, heating your skin and sending a little trickle of damp into your underwear. You wonder if Marcus can feel it–feel the elevated warmth of your skin from where he’s sitting. You wonder if he can tell how much he affects you. 

When the movie ends, you can barely meet his eyes as you bid him goodnight, following Emma to your room. You can’t turn around to see if he’s watching you; you can’t stand another glance at that deep, burning gaze of his. 

Sleep evades you. You’re too hot, so you kick off the covers. Then you’re too cold, so you cover up again. You flip over the pillow, turn from your back to your stomach, and back again. The fantasy plays once more in your head: Marcus’s hand cradling the back of your neck as he kisses a path down your neck and to your chest. You want to feel the weight of him between your thighs, feel him pressing against your core. You’re dripping for him, and he doesn’t even know it. 

No one has ever done this to you, but he has. And he hasn’t even touched you. 

You wonder if he’d be bothered by the fact that you aren’t exactly sure what you’re doing in that department. You wonder if he’d be put off by your inexperience, or if he’d be happy to guide you in the act of pleasure. 

You’ve had a couple of fumbling encounters, rushed, frenzied moments as a teenager with boys who haphazardly stuffed a finger or two into you, but it didn’t feel like anything to you. Not really. No one has ever made you cum–just you, in the safety of your own bed at night, your fingers seeking relief that no one else has been able to provide.

Could he give it to you?

Your past experiences have been with boys; and Marcus is a man. 

Your legs shift, rubbing your thighs against each other as you try to find a more comfortable position.

You can’t find one.

Eventually, you give up–getting out of bed with a sigh. Maybe if you grab a drink of water and sit on the couch for a while, sleep will win out in the end. You pad into the kitchen, filling a cup in the sink and taking a few long sips. The cool water is a relief, so you run your hand underneath the water next and scrub it over your face. Finally sated, you set the cup down by the sink and turn.

To see Marcus sitting on the couch, dimly lit by the glow of his laptop screen.

You nearly double over with shock, the unexpected sight causing a spike of adrenaline to course through your body.

“Sorry,” he says apologetically. “Couldn’t sleep, so I was… catching up on work.”

The mirror image of a popular news site reflects through the glass picture frame behind the couch, exposing the tiny lie.

“Yeah, me neither,” you admit quietly. “Thought I’d sit out here for a while and see if that helps, but… sorry, I’ll leave you to it.” You make to turn back, to retreat to the room again, but Marcus speaks softly behind you.

“Come sit,” he says. “I don’t mind.”

Breath caught somewhere in your throat, you hesitantly sink down on the couch beside him. Marcus closes his laptop and sets it down on the coffee table, and the silence stretches out between you. 

“So, are you liking DC so far?” he asks.

“Yeah,” you answer eagerly. “I’m having a great time. I’ll… I’ll be sad to leave,” you admit. “Is that weird?”

“It’s weird if you’re talking about missing the Washington Monument,” Marcus teases. “Or the traffic.”

“I’m talking about the metro, obviously,” you joke. “The rest of the country could stand for some public transit options.”

“I’m not sure they should be taking their cues from DC,” he chuckles. 

“Pssh, I like it.”

“The novelty wears off, believe me.”

You lapse into silence again. You’re sitting close enough to Marcus that you can feel the warmth from his skin, even though you aren’t touching. You want to sink into him, to have him envelop you, consume you.

You feel yourself unconsciously shifting closer to him. 

Is it just your imagination, or did Marcus subtly lean closer to you?

The pull is inevitable; your eyes flick up to his, and you can almost feel the point of no return pass the two of you by. 

You lick your lips, and his breath catches in his throat.

“I wasn’t talking about the metro,” you say breathlessly. 

“I know.”

And suddenly, his lips are on yours. 

It’s not fast, not rushed or frantic; he doesn’t surge forward to take you. It’s simply that the two of you are close enough that at one moment, Marcus Pike is not kissing you, and then the next moment, he is. 

As with everything this man does, the kiss is soft and tender. His hand comes up to cup your cheek, and he gently tits his head as his lips move against yours. His mouth opens ever so slightly, and you feel a wave of pure want rush through you at the light flick of his tongue against your lower lip.

You make a ragged sound in your chest as your lips part for him, and your tongues slide against each other for far too short of a time before Marcus pulls back, suddenly, his eyes full of worry.

“Oh, shit,” he murmurs. “Shit, we… we shouldn’t.”

This time, you kiss him back. The neck of his soft t-shirt crumples in your fist as you pull him closer, opening your mouth to him, and his protests die at the feel of your lips on his. Instead, it seems to light a fire within him; one hand curls around the back of your neck and the other grips your hip and you gasp softly into his mouth at the feel of his hands on your body. 

Marcus breaks the kiss again, but instead of pulling back to give you more reasons why you can’t, this time he kisses a path across your cheek and down your neck. You’ve imagined the way his light beard would feel against your skin so many times over the last couple of days, but nothing compares to the reality of having him gently scrape his teeth against your neck as you arch your back to him. 

“Fuck,” Marcus whispers. “So sweet, honey.”

You whimper at the term of endearment as Marcus gently starts to shift positions, turning and guiding you down onto the couch, just as you’d imagined. 

Now that you’re horizontal, the kisses that started out tender and sweet start to grow more and more lascivious. You can feel the weight of him between your legs and his hot length pressing against you, his hips rocking slightly as he lazily explores you with his hands and his mouth. 

One hand creeps up your inner thigh and slips under your thin sleep shorts and underwear, gently grazing your folds and feeling the obscene amount of slick that’s already gathered there. 

“Shit,” Marcus hisses softly, reverently. “You’re so wet. How are you so wet?”

“You,” you answer earnestly, staring up at him with wide eyes. 

He laughs breathlessly in response, his eyes raking up and down your body, taking in your nipples peeking through the threadbare material of your tank top. His finger explores deeper, slipping inside your tight channel and immediately finding… something… that makes you gasp raggedly. 

“So responsive,” he murmurs playfully. “I’ve barely touched you.” He starts to slowly pump his finger in and out, his thumb pressing on your clit as he rubs against that little spot inside of you every time, and all you can do is squeeze your eyes shut and cling to him as this one little movement threatens to take you apart. 

“Honey,” he whispers disbelievingly as he feels you start to tighten around him. “Already?”

“I–” 

Whatever you had been about to say dies on your lips as you suddenly fall over the edge, shaking as the pleasure overtakes you. Marcus soothes you through it, whispering in your ear as you come down from your high.

“Wow,” you murmur. “Holy shit, that was amazing.”

Marcus pulls back and gives you a funny look. “What’s going on?” he asks, frowning slightly.

“Heh–you’re going to laugh,” you say, giving him an awkward grimace. 

He raises his eyebrow, waiting for you to continue. 

“I’ve–kind of never done this before,” you admit, pressing your lips together sheepishly. 

“Oh shit,” Marcus breathes, sitting up fully as his eyes frantically sweep over you. “Oh, honey–no. I can’t–we can’t do this.”

“Why?” you ask, wincing internally at how whiny it comes out.

“It can’t–it shouldn’t be me,” he says softly. “That’s more than I deserve to take.”

“You’re not taking anything,” you protest. “I–I want it to be you.”

Marcus shakes his head again, but you can see the cracks in his resolve, the way his eyes are searching you, devouring you with his gaze.

“I don’t want it to be some boy at a frat party back home,” you tell him. “I want you. I want it to feel good. Please?”

Marcus’s expression is inscrutable as his eyes rake over your form, disheveled and sated, underneath him. Your heart sinks when he stands up, shame sinking down into the pit of your stomach, but then he extends his hand to you, and you look up at him, questioning. 

“I’m not going to let your first time be a quick fuck on my couch,” he says quietly and resolute. “If we’re going to do this, we’re going to bed.”

Wordlessly, you accept his hand and allow him to pull you to your feet. You wobble slightly, still shaky from the orgasm, and Marcus draws you into his side, steadying you. He guides you forward, keeping you close as the two of you walk to his bedroom. 

Despite the fact that you were more than ready to let this man take you right there on the couch, the change in venue has your heart hammering in your chest. Now, it feels real. It feels intentional. 

“C’mere, beautiful,” Marcus murmurs when he feels your steps falter. His hand slides up your arm and across your shoulder until it curls gently around your neck, causing goosebumps to rise to the surface of your skin. He presses a couple of soft, chaste kisses across your opposite shoulder, and your lips part of their own accord. 

“I need you to tell me if you don’t want to do this,” he says softly in your ear.

“I want–”

“I know, I know,” Marcus interrupts. “I want you to tell me if that changes.”

He gently guides you onto his bed, one hand on the small of your back to keep you from going too fast. 

“I wanna know what you like,” he murmurs as he hovers over you again, his hand coming up underneath the thin material of your top. “I wanna know what you don’t like.” 

“I–I don’t really know–”

“I know,” Marcus grins wolfishly, his eyes sparkling with amusement. “That’s the idea.”

He starts to push the material of your shirt up, up, up, until your nipples are pebbling in the cool air of his bedroom. He gently pulls it over your head and casts it aside, looking down at you with undisguised hunger. He trails the backs of his fingers down the side of one breast and underneath. “I get to find out what you like,” he says. He circles one areola with the tip of his finger, making you shiver. “And I get to be the first to do it.”

He gently drags the pad of his finger across the little bud of your nipple, and you gasp for him as if you’d hit a live wire. 

“I’m gonna take a guess and say you liked that,” he teases. 

“Marcus,” you whine. 

“Shh,” he whispers again, just before his mouth engulfs your nipple. Your hand darts out unconsciously, tangling in the hair on the back of Marcus’s neck as you squirm under his hot tongue. You can’t tell whether you want to pull away or push toward him, but in reality all you do is whine and take what he gives you. He switches to the other one; lathing and flicking his tongue and pressing down until you whimper.

“So… fucking… responsive,” Marcus murmurs in between kisses as he starts to mouth his way down your belly to the band of your sleep shorts. His fingers dip underneath, poised to pull them down over your hips, but he waits–eyes flicking up to yours to gauge your reaction. 

“Can I taste you?” he asks quietly.

“I-If you want,” you laugh shakily. 

“If I want?” he parrots disbelievingly. “You’re saying that like it’s not a given–like I haven’t been thinking of burying my tongue in that sweet little pussy all night. If I want,” he chuckles to himself again, slowly dragging your shorts and underwear down your legs. “I need to taste you. I need to feel you fall apart on my tongue. The first one was kind of a surprise, and all I want is to feel you shaking again.”

You’re bare before him, but you don’t have any time to be self-conscious, because Marcus is laying back down on the bed, his face inches away from your pussy. He gently guides your legs over his shoulders before lowering his mouth to you. 

You aren’t sure who groans louder at the first touch of his tongue through your folds. 

Marcus makes a pained noise in his throat before murmuring, “So sweet, honey–fuck, you’re so sweet.”

His tongue is delicate, but precise; he flicks it back and forth against your clit, then dips down to lap at your entrance until you’re trembling for him. He’s tireless and patient, cataloging every whimper and moan he pulls from you as the pleasure slowly builds inside of you. In no time at all, you’re dangling on the precipice, your hips locking into place as you start to reach the point of no return. 

“I–I–” you stammer, trying to warn him.

Marcus hums enthusiastically in agreement, concentrating his efforts on your clit until you fall apart with a gasp.

He groans again, licking you through each little aftershock of pleasure until you’re boneless. 

“You squeeze me so hard,” he croons. “Can you feel that? You’re so tight around my tongue.”

“Shit…” you murmur. You’re too fucked-out to say anything else. 

“Gonna have to open you up a bit with my fingers,” he says softly. “So I don’t hurt you.”

You look up at him with half-lidded eyes. He’s still clothed–wearing sweatpants and a shirt, while you’re completely naked, and you frown slightly at the disparity.

“Everything okay?” Marcus asks, seeing your expression. 

“Can–Can I see you? You’re so… clothed,” you say with a little pout. 

He laughs, smiling widely so that the corners of his eyes crinkle, and your heart soars. 

“Of course,” he agrees, stripping off his shirt. “Of course.”

You raise up on one elbow, gazing up at Marcus’s broad chest, the light smattering of hair, and the soft swell of his belly. You can’t help but reach up and touch him, pressing your palm to his sternum and trailing down, tracing the little path of hair until it disappears under the band of his sweatpants. Your fingers curl underneath the band, looking up at him with wide eyes. 

“These, too?” he asks with a teasing chuckle, smiling wider when you nod eagerly. 

His cock bobs free as he pushes his pants down his hips, and your eyes widen at the sight of him, thick and hard and heavy with want. Curiously, you wrap your hand around him, and you’re rewarded with a little ‘hnnngg’ of pleasure and surprise as you touch him. 

You gently trace the little ridges on his shaft, traveling up to the flushed, purple head, where the skin is even softer, and back down again.

“F-Fuck,” Marcus muttters. “Can’t do that too much, honey, or I’m gonna lose it before we even get started.”

“I like it,” you say with a little giggle. “I never realized they were so… soft.”

Marcus makes a broken, choked sound. “Jesus. You’re gonna be the death of me.” 

He falls onto one elbow, giving you a messy, passionate kiss before sucking his fingers into his mouth and gently sinking one finger into you again. His lips stay close to yours, noses almost touching, his eyes watching your face intently as he slowly opens you up. His fingers are so thick, and just like before, he seems to know exactly where to press up inside you to make the pleasure spark inside of you. He adds a second finger, and you whimper–you're already so full. 

"Little bit more," Marcus murmurs. "Doing so well for me–fuck–so tight."

He gently starts to slide a third into you, the heel of his hand pressing against your clit to offer some relief.

“Is it greedy if I say I want you to cum for me again?” he asks softly. “I want to feel it again. Can you do that for me?”

You nod dazedly–wanting to do anything, everything this man asks as long as he keeps making you feel like this. 

His fingers press up against your walls again, and you sob loudly into the room.

Marcus immediately muffles the sound with a kiss, swallowing your whimpers and cries in an attempt to keep the sound from carrying across the apartment. 

“Gotta stay quiet for me,” he whispers against your lips. 

“S-Sorry.”

“No, shh, don’t be sorry,” he murmurs. “I wish you could be loud. Wish I could make you scream for me. Just–fuck, honey, you’re right there, aren’t you? I can feel you squeezing me–fuck, you get so wet. Give me one more. One more, and I’ll give you my cock. That’s it, that’s–yes–” 

Marcus breaks off on a groan as you clamp down on his fingers. It’s so much, you’re so full, and you buck against his hand, your lower back rising up off of the bed as he pulls it from you. 

You slump back down, breathing heavily, as he carefully withdraws his fingers. 

“Hey,” he says quietly, trying to get your attention. “Hey, I should have asked this sooner, but–are you on birth control? Do you want me to use a condom?”

“I-I’m on the pill,” you tell him. “If you… you know, if you didn’t want to. That would be–I’d like that.”

“That’s perfect,” he whispers, giving you a tender kiss. “I’d like that, too.” He pauses, and mutters a soft curse under his breath. “I wish I had some lube,” he remarks. “Just to be sure I don’t hurt you.”

You watch as he spits on his cock and takes himself in hand. 

“This will have to do, though,” he says as he slicks it over his cock and crawls over you. “And I’ll just go slow.”

He cups the back of your neck with one hand as he lines himself up with the other. His lips are inches from yours, but he doesn’t lean down to kiss you–no, he seems to want to watch your reaction as the tip of his cock notches at your entrance. 

“Don’t want to hurt you,” he whispers again.

“You could never hurt me,” you say confidently, and you watch as his lips part in surprise. “Marcus–” you add, as you shift your hips impatiently. “–just do it.”

Your eyes widen as you feel him push into you, his girth splitting you open. It can’t be much bigger than three of his thick fingers, but still, it just feels like more. It’s longer, certainly; he keeps pushing in, and even when you’re sure he’s reached the end, there’s still more. 

“Oh wow,” you hear yourself murmuring again and again. “Oh, Marcus.” 

“I know,” he returns, kissing your cheekbone, your forehead, your nose, and then finally, your lips. “I know, honey.”

He starts to rock his hips, slowly undulating them, letting his cock drag back and forth against your walls. It feels incredible–you never imagined how fucking good this would feel–and you know beyond a shadow of a doubt that it’s because it’s him. It’s Marcus–a man you’ve admittedly only known for a few days, but you feel as though you know him already–and you trust him completely. 

“Does it hurt at all?” he rumbles softly in your ear.

“No,” you answer emphatically. “It feels–holy shit.”

Marcus laughs breathlessly. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. Can–can we do this again?”

He chuckles. “We’re currently doing this.”

“I already want it again.”

He starts to go a little harder, his thrusts a little deeper. His hand grips your hip for leverage, the other still cradling the back of your neck. He kisses you, a deep, messy, passionate thing, before burying his face in the crook of your neck and sucking a gentle mark into your skin.

“Feels so good,” he murmurs. “I’m not gonna last, not when you feel like this.”

“Like how?” you ask, smiling widely. 

“So fucking tight,” Marcus groans. “And wet, and hot, and–” he brings his thumb to your clit and starts to rub little circles around it. “I need you to cum again,” he says. “Fuck, you–you feel too good, honey, I’m not gonna last.”

“I—I don’t know if I can,” you murmur. 

“Please,” he says, a hint of desperation in his tone. “Please, baby, you’ve gotta do this one last thing for me. Let me feel it, let me make you feel good. Let me–let me–”

Your mouth falls open as you feel it wash over you. This is better than anything you’ve ever felt before, any relief you’ve been able to seek with your fingers–the drag of his cock along your walls only serves to prolong your pleasure, making each little aftershock feel like a new wave of pleasure. 

“Oh, fuck,” Marcus groans. “Fuck.” He buries his face in the crook of your neck as he shoves his hips into you one more time, emptying himself within you with a deep groan. 

The aftermath is quiet. After gently, tenderly cleaning you up with a damp cloth, Marcus collapses on the pillows and pulls you to him, wrapping his arms around you as you settle with your head resting on his shoulder.

“Was this a bad idea?” you ask quietly as you trace little shapes on his chest.

Marcus huffs a laugh. “Probably,” he answers.

“I don’t care,” you say resolutely, causing his hold on you to tighten. “...Do you regret it?” you ask, feeling unsure of yourself again.

“No,” Marcus says immediately. “No. I was drawn to you from the beginning. I’m sorry, I–I should have tried harder to prevent this, but…”

“I felt it, too,” you murmur. “Maybe we weren’t meant to prevent it.”

The two of you bask in the afterglow, reveling in the feel of your bodies pressed together. You can’t help but think of how tender, how loving he is–not just with you, but with Emma.

“Can I ask a personal question?” you ask, breaking the silence.

Marcus shrugs. “Sure.”

“This is probably weird to be thinking about right now, but… why does Emma’s mom not want you around?”

 Marcus sighs, his lips pressing into your forehead–not really a kiss, just a caress of your hairline with his mouth.

“That story doesn’t exactly paint me in the best light.”

“I want to know. I just… don’t understand.”

“What don’t you understand?” he asks.

“You’re… you’re such a good dad–a good man. I don’t understand how her mom wanted nothing to do with you. I just don’t get it.”

Marcus nods, pressing his lips together. “I wasn’t always a good man,” he says quietly. “I tried to do the best I could for the both of them–for Emma and her mom–but I’m afraid I fell very short, in the beginning.”

“What happened?”

“We were in college when we found out she was pregnant,” Marcus says with a sigh. “She was nineteen, I was almost twenty-one. We hadn’t been together long; maybe a couple of months. She was terrified, of course–and so was I, but never told her that. I asked her to marry me because I thought it was the right thing to do.”

“Did you love her?”

“I cared for her, very much so. And even if we weren’t quite right for each other, knowing–” Marcus swallows thickly, “–knowing our child, my child, was growing inside of her made me feel deeply connected. If you had asked me at twenty-one, I would have sworn up and down that I was in love.”

“But not now?”

Marcus huffs softly. “I know a little better, now.”

“What happened?” you ask, tracing the line of his collarbone with the tip of your finger. “What did you do?”

“Well, the first thing I did was drop out of art school,” he says with a little laugh. “Didn’t think it would pay the bills, especially not with a wife and a baby.”

“You were an artist?” you ask, surprised.

“Wanted to be,” he chuckled. “At least at that time. So instead, I applied for the FBI. Joined the Art Crimes division. And shortly after I completed training… Emma was born.” His eyes are far away, a small smile on his face as he remembers. “And she was perfect. And I remember thinking, all the struggling, all the hardship, all the times Denise and I didn’t get along… it would be worth it, in the end. No matter what happened; because I had her.”

You swallow past the lump in your throat. “What went wrong?”

“Nothing in particular, at first. We struggled to make ends meet. We were two young parents with no idea what we were doing, and even though I might have known deep down that we weren’t right for each other, I just wanted it to go right. I wanted us to be happy, but in the end we were just too different. We didn’t work–and while I might have been blind to it at the time, Denise wasn’t. When Emma was barely even two, she filed for divorce, and I–” he sighs heavily again. “I went a little off the rails.”

You tilt your head and look up at Marcus. His eyes are stormy, and you can see the remorse etched into the lines of his face. You don’t ask how, you just wait patiently for him to continue.

“I didn’t want to be divorced at twenty-three. This wasn’t–it wasn’t the life I had expected for myself, not what I would have chosen, but because I had Emma, I didn’t want anything else. I always knew I would want a family, and so what if it happened… a little out of order?”

“What did you do?” you whispered.

“I tried to convince her to change her mind. She took Emma and went to live with her parents, and I’d call them every day, asking to talk to her. I wanted to persuade her–I thought that if she could just see that we had plenty of time, we could raise Emma and be good parents and still… still have time for whatever we wanted. That we could still build lives.

“When she never returned my calls, I started stopping by,” he confesses, his voice even quieter. “They’d always tell me she was out, so I started showing up at odd hours, trying to… trying to just catch her one time–I thought if I explained that she could do whatever she wanted, as long as we could just stay together and raise Emma, she’d agree. But the more I tried to contact her, the more she pulled away, and rightly so, honestly. I was badgering her. I tried to justify it at the time, said I was doing it all for Emma, but I, uh… It took me until much later to admit I was actually doing it for me. I was so scared of being a failure, and scared to be alone.

“Anyway, the court didn’t look very kindly on what looked to everyone involved like stalking behavior, and Denise was afforded full custody.”

“M-Marcus,” you murmur, unable to help the water gathering at the corners of your eyes. 

“Broke my heart,” he whispers, his voice full of emotion. “And I was angry about it for a while, but when it comes down to it, I was just angry with myself. It was my actions that lost me my daughter, and… well, I’ve had twenty years to come to terms with that, now.”

“How did you finally… come to face all of that?” you ask quietly.

“Therapy,” Marcus says with a genuine laugh. “And that is another story for another time.”

“God, what else happened to you?”

“Nothing,” he chuckles, “just another relationship that I fought way too hard for.” He playfully runs his finger down the bridge of your nose before tilting your chin upward for a soft kiss. “And you,” he murmurs, “need to go back to bed.”

Your emotions still running on high alert after Marcus’s emotional confession of his past, you surge forward and throw your arms around his neck. 

“I’m sorry,” you whisper. 

“I’m okay,” he promises. “It was a long time ago.”

“You should tell Emma,” you say softly. “She never knew why her mom didn’t want you around.”

“Not really something you want to tell your daughter,” he says with a sad smile. “That you basically stalked her mom.”

“She’s grown up. She’s older than her mom was when–”

“Believe me, I know,” Marcus groans. “Don’t remind me; it makes this feel very… wrong.” He gestured between the two of you.

“Just trust me,” you murmur. “She’d want to know.” With herculean effort, you extricate yourself from his arms, grab your clothes, and redress. Feeling unsure in the way the conversation ended, you tell yourself not to turn around again when your hand lands on the doorknob.

“Honey,” Marcus calls out softly from the bed. “Good night.”

“Good night,” you whisper back, and then you’re gone.

“Where are you two off to, today?” Marcus asks conversationally over coffee. He’s made it stronger than usual today, and it makes warmth pool deep in your stomach at the reminder of your very sleepless night last night. You’re grateful for the extra boost of caffeine as well, of course–the morning seemed to come far too early after being up half of the night. Sleep had still been hard to come by when you finally returned to the guest room, after all; the conversation about Marcus’s past was still swirling around in your head, and every time you closed your eyes, you could still feel his hands on you. 

You never knew it could feel like this, never knew how good it could be with someone who really knew what they were doing. Someone so giving, so gentle and yet so ruthless in pursuing your pleasure. Someone brimming with passion, capable of both the softest prase and the most depraved filth in the same sentence.

If you had thought your thirst would be sated after finally getting what you’d fantasized about and more, you were a fool. The flame burns hotter than ever this morning, and the sight of Marcus in a suit with not a hair out of place only makes you think about how he had looked between your legs last night–that devilish smirk as he teased about wanting to taste you.

You wonder if you’ll ever see him that way again, or if last night was a fluke. 

Had he noticed when your fingers had trembled around the coffee cup he handed you? 

He had given you a soft, tender stare when you had first entered the kitchen, but that’s the only evidence you can find so far that Marcus is even half as affected as you feel. You can still feel him this morning, a subtle ache between your legs when you sit down, and you wish you could see some outward sign on him that this actually happened.

“Not really sure,” Emma answers Marcus’s question. “Kind of ran out of stuff to see.”

“Impossible,” Marcus chuckles. “Well, you can hang out here if you want, or if you're really looking for a distraction, you can come to the office with me.”

“The fucking FBI office?” Emma asks. “Are we allowed?”

“Yeah, why wouldn’t you be?” Marcus shrugs. “Plus, I might be able to set up some time for you to talk to someone in Legal,” he says to you. “Are you still interested in that?”

“Oh wow,” you breathe. “Really?”

“‘Course,” he replies. “I said I would.”

You nod, smiling up at him beatifically. “I’d like that a lot.”

“Perfect,” he grins. “Well, if you’re coming, we’re going to need to leave soon. Are you almost ready?”

“I’m ready,” Emma announces, shouldering her bag.

“Yeah, me too.”

Marcus winks at you, and you try not to let yourself react to it.

“Let’s go, then.”

You had assumed that you’d spend most of your day at the FBI holed up in Marcus’s office, doing nothing. You had imagined that, out of necessity, you’d be barred from attending any meetings or hearing about his department’s day-to-day activities, but when you arrive, his team seems enthusiastic to have you and Emma there. Much to your surprise, they even let the two of you sit in the back of the room while Marcus conducts a briefing. 

You listen, enthralled, as he discusses a recent forgery case that the team is working on. His demeanor, as it is at home, is good-natured and easygoing. He’s easy to smile, and engaging when he talks, and as a result, he utterly commands the room. His style of quiet, unassuming authority has you subtly squirming in your chair. Even though you have no idea what’s being discussed, you can tell simply by listening to his cadence of speech that he’s incredibly knowledgeable, and fucking good at his job. It’s clear he loves the work–and when you think back to the night before and his whispered confession that he had once dreamed of being an artist, you find yourself beaming with happiness that he’s clearly found something he loves to do. 

“People change.”

You suddenly recall his words the very first night you were there–his assurance that it didn’t matter that you had no idea what you wanted to do at your age, because there’s no promise that you’ll still want the same things in ten years. After last night, you realize that he was talking about himself in that moment.

You hope he’s happy and fulfilled.

He deserves it.

You watch him wrap up the meeting–delegating work to each member of the team and asking for updates–and every so often, as his eyes sweep around the room, they always seem to land on you.

As he promised, Marcus introduces you to Kimberley Alexander, the lawyer that his department works with most of the time. You’re nervous at first–you aren’t sure what you’re going to talk about, but you end up staying in her office through lunch, spending almost an hour and a half longer than you had intended, talking about potential jobs with the FBI.

Not because you suddenly have the desire to return to Washington, DC as soon as you can, nope. It does interest you–quite a bit, actually–but you can’t pretend that you aren’t excited at the prospect of living in the same city as Marcus. Would he want to see you again? Is he really interested in you, or is it just the forced proximity–because you’re convenient and available? If you had your own life here, would he be interested in a place in it?

When you find Emma and her dad again, they’ve clearly just come back from lunch. Emma thrusts a container into your hands, which you discover, with an exaggerated moan of satisfaction, is pad Thai.

“Must have been a good talk,” Marcus remarks. 

“Yeah, you were there for two hours,” Emma adds.

“It was good,” you nod. “Talked about, y’know, internships and stuff.”

“You wanna live here?” Emma asks, looking surprised and curious.

You try to shrug noncommittally. “Sure,” you say lightly. “It’s as good a place as any, and it would be kind of fun to work for the FBI, right?”

“I’m afraid I can’t give you an unbiased answer to that,” Marcus says with a wry smile, “but I think you’d be a great fit.”

Your heart swells at his words. “Really?”

“Absolutely,” he says earnestly. “And I hate to do this, but I’ve gotta run to do a witness interview, and you guys have to stay behind this time.”

You watch as Marcus gives Emma a quick kiss on the forehead, and your eyebrows raise in surprise at the action. They’ve gotten more comfortable around each other in the time you’ve been here, but neither of them had seemed to be very comfortable with physical affection. Marcus, for his part, is always so hesitant–wanting to reach out, but seemingly afraid that he doesn’t deserve it, or worse, that it won’t be received well. You still remember the first day you saw him–when his hand twitched toward his daughter, seemingly desperate to wrap her in a hug, but he hadn’t allowed himself to do it.

What changed?

Marcus glances at you, and gives you a slightly awkward, stiff nod before leaving for his meeting.

You busy yourself with eating lunch, digging into the container they brought you.

“Tomorrow’s the last day, huh?” Emma says conversationally.

You gulp. You’ve purposefully been putting the fact that your time here has an expiration date at the back corner of your mind. Whatever you have with Marcus, it’s temporary by its very nature, and you know it.

You just don’t really want to think about it right now.

“Yup,” you agree, mouth full of noodles. 

“What do you wanna do? I’m kind of out of ideas.”

You shrug. “We could ask Marcus if there’s anything he recommends seeing that we haven’t already been to.”

“I think we should go as far out as the metro line goes,” Emma says.

“Why?”

She shrugs. “See where we end up.”

“Whatever you want,” you tell her. “Last day is up to you.”

“How’s the pad Thai?”

“Good,” you nod, mouth full. “What’d you get?”

“Calamari,” she answers. “Never had it, wanted to try it.”

“How was it?”

“Chewy.”

You laugh, taking another bite of noodles. “Think I’ll stick to my favorite.”

The two of you huddle together on the small, two-seater couch in Marcus’s office, watching YouTube videos and laughing together until he comes back near the end of the day.

Your eyes automatically brighten when you see him return, drinking in the sight of him–the crisp lines of his suit paired with the slightly unruly hair. You discovered last night how soft it is, and how much he loves it when you thread your fingers through it and tug gently. 

He meets your eyes, but quickly drops his gaze, and you try not to sink in disappointment. Did it not mean as much to him as it did to you? Or is he just better at hiding it?

“You two hungry for dinner?” he asks, putting his stuff back in his messenger back and throwing it over his shoulder.

Emma groans loudly beside you. “Gonna be honest, I’m not really feeling dinner.”

“That was a lot of pad Thai,” you agree.

“Good,” Marcus says with a smile. “Me neither. Let’s go home and have a lazy night eating popcorn on the couch.”

The moment you arrive home, though, Emma makes a beeline for the bathroom. 

“She okay?” Marcus asks you.

You grimace at the faint sounds of retching. “Doesn’t sound like it.”

When she emerges again, Marcus hands her a glass of water with a concerned expression. “Everything okay?”

“No,” she mutters pitifully.

“Was it the calamari?” you ask.

“Please don’t say that word ever again,” Emma groans, flopping down on the couch. “Fuck. Everything hurts.”

“What do you need?” Marcus asks, looking a little lost.

“Distraction,” she mumbles. “Long movie or something.”

Emma takes up the entire couch, so you and Marcus have to sit in opposite armchairs while you watch Lord of the Rings. It’s almost unbearable to you, being so close to him and yet not being able to touch, not being able to look at him for fear of giving everything away. If you two were to lock eyes, you know that you wouldn’t be able to hide your reaction to him. So much so that even Emma, who’s still alternating between running to the bathroom and collapsing on the couch, would have no choice but to notice. 

The pull to him feels overwhelming; the only thing you can think of doing is crossing the living room and sinking into his arms. It makes you feel guilty–your best friend has food poisoning, Marucs is trying to help by refilling her water and encouraging her to drink, and here you are, with nothing to do but yearn for your best friend’s dad. 

When the movie is over, it’s late; Marcus brushes Emma’s hair back from her forehead and suggests she go lie down. As she’s stumbling toward the guest room, Marcus touches you for the first time since last night–lightly wrapping his fingers around your wrist while Emma isn’t looking.

Your eyes meet, and he gives you a coal-black stare, trying to communicate without speaking. He nods subtly, and his meaning is easy to understand.

Come to me tonight.

You come to him in the dead of night. You lie awake, listening for Emma’s breathing to even out, and then waiting another thirty minutes after that, just to be safe. 

It’s nearly midnight when you slip into Marcus’s bedroom, but he’s still awake; his lamp is on, and he’s reading a book.

Waiting for you. 

The moment the door creaks open, Marcus casts the book aside without even marking his place, and rises to his feet. He strides forward and you meet him in the middle, a clash of mouths and hands as you come together desperately. 

“Fuck,” he whispers against your lips. “All fucking day, all I could think about was this.”

“Me too,” you mumble hastily in between kisses. 

“No idea how hard it was to concentrate on giving that meeting this morning,” he confesses, “with you in the corner looking at me with those eyes of yours.” 

He grabs your top and pulls it over your head in one swift motion and ducks down to lathe his tongue against your nipple, making you arch against him. 

“Ah!–Really?” you gasp. “I didn’t–you looked so… calm the whole day. Like it didn’t affect you the same way it affects me.”

“Doesn’t affect me?” Marcus repeats incredulously. “Honey, I am out of my mind with wanting you.” He pulls back, his palms cradling your cheeks as he stares at you with a disbelieving smile. “Do you not have any idea what you do to me?” he asks softly. 

Stunned, you shake your head.

Marcus laughs breathlessly, as he reaches down to encircle your wrist with one large hand and brings your hand forward to press against the front of his pants, where you can feel him, hard and straining against the fabric. “You feel that?” he rasps. “Do you fucking feel what you do to me?”

He shoves your flimsy sleep shorts down your legs and all but tosses you onto the bed. He strips off his own shirt and follows you down. “I’ve been half-hard all day,” he confesses. “I had to fuck my own hand in the shower this morning and still,” he groans. “As soon as I picture your face as you fall apart for me, I’m done for.”

“You thought about that?” 

“All fucking day,” Marcus promises. 

“That all you thought about?” you ask, your voice turning coy as you gain more confidence.

He chuckles darkly. “Thought about a lot of things,” he murmurs.

“Such as…?”

“Just–all the ways I want to have you.” 

“Show me,” you demand.

Marcus chuckles again. “Show you what, pretty girl?”

“All the ways that you want me.”

“That would take a lot more time than we currently have,” he says wryly. 

“Then show me how you want me most,” you say. 

“Let me get you ready first,” Marcus murmurs, starting to kiss a path down your body, intent on his destination. 

“No.”

“Hmm?”

“I want it now,” you say frankly.

“Honey–” he protests softly.

“Consider the fact that I’ve done nothing but think about what happened last night and fantasize about what’s going to happen tonight foreplay,” you tell him. “I can’t–I can’t wait. I don’t want it to be slow. I need–I need—” you trail off, searching for how exactly to find the words for what it is that you need. 

Marcus nods slowly, his eyes darkening as he watches you plead for him to take you now.

“You really want me to show you?” he asks quietly.

You nod.

“Then get on your hands and knees for me, honey.”

You comply with a shiver, your heart in your throat as you turn around and put yourself on display for him.

Marcus mutters a soft curse behind you as his palm strokes up the skin on the back of your thigh and up over the swell of your cheek. 

You hear him spit in his hand, and you know he's coating himself in it behind you, easing his way in. He does it again, and this time you whimper softly as he cups you, transferring more wetness to your folds. 

"Already so wet," he teases softly. "Tell me if it's too much."

He slides forward, sheathing himself in one fluid motion, and your elbows nearly buckle at the overwhelming feel of it. 

Marcus doesn't wait for you to adjust, this time. He starts thrusting right away, his hands grasping your hips for leverage. He's pressing right on the spot that makes pleasure sing throughout your entire body. Once he's sure that his pace isn't too much for you, he starts giving it to you harder, snapping his hips into you over and over.

Last night was overwhelming in its own way, but this–this is devastating. You thought last night was the most pleasure you could ever feel, but you had no idea that this could wreck you so completely. 

You're crying out with every thrust, each punishing snap of his hips punching little pathetic noises past your lips as you take what he needs to give you. 

"Shhh," he reminds you. "Gotta stay quiet, honey."

You drop to your elbows, burying your face in the pillows to try and muffle the involuntary sounds, but you can tell it isn't enough. 

"M-Marcus," you whimper frantically. "I can't."

"Do you want to stop?" he asks (making you shake your head rapidly), "Or do you want me to help you be quiet?"

You nod frantically, although you have no idea what he means. You'd do anything to keep feeling his cock like this. 

Marcus’s hand wraps tightly around your mouth, quieting your cries and forcing you to breathe through your nose. Something about the action makes your pussy clench violently, and Marcus makes a quiet groan of pleasure above you. 

He fucks you harder and faster, one hand sliding underneath you to rub tight circles over your clit. 

"Cum for me," he rasps brokenly above you. “Fuck, please–” 

The soft plea is enough to end you. You wail into Marcus’s hand as you come undone, and he tightens his grip, muffling the sound. 

It doesn’t take long for him to follow–just a couple more minutes of brutal thrusts that have you whimpering into his hand, oversensitive from your orgasm. The minute he stills, his cock slips from you as he immediately collapses on the bed and pulls you into his arms. You’re both still breathing heavily, but he smooths the hair back from your forehead as he looks you over.

“Are you okay?” he asks softly. “That was a lot, I’m sorry.”

“‘Re you kidding?” you slur. “That was… amazing.”

Marcus laughs and pulls you close again. “I’m glad,” he whispers, and you can hear the smile in his words. 

“Can I stay here for a little longer?” you ask. “Just a little.”

Marcus pulls back again and looks down at you with an amused smile. “It’s cute that you think I’m done with you, honey.”

Your eyes widen. “You’re not?”

“Mm-mm. Don’t think I’ll ever get tired of the way you look when you come undone,” he murmurs, tracing the tip of his index finger down the side of your cheek. “You didn’t think I’d be satisfied with just once tonight, did you?”

You giggle. “I guess not.”

He fixes you with a fiery look. “Do you trust me?” he asks quietly. 

“...Yeah?”

He raises one eyebrow. 

“Yes,” you answer, with more conviction this time. “Yes, I trust you.”

Marcus kisses you tenderly before sitting back on his heels beside you. His fingertips trail down your chest, over the peaks of your nipples, and down your stomach, as though he can’t get enough of the feel of your skin. One hand travels further down, stroking the soft patch of hair on your pubic bone before he slips one finger gently inside you. 

You cringe slightly at the wet squelch of your combined release, but Marcus shushes you gently. “Love how wet you get,” he teases affectionately. “And I like knowing I’m there inside of you.”

You clench involuntarily at his words, your lips parting as you exhale shakily. 

He chuckles. “You like that? You like knowing that I get off on the idea of you carrying a little piece of me with you?” he asks, as he starts to slowly fuck you with one finger.

“What if I told you that I was thinking about it during that meeting this morning?” he continues. “I kept wondering if there was still a little in there from last night, leaking into your underwear as I talked.”

“Shit,” you mumble. “Marcus.”

“Wanna fill you up again tonight,” he remarks casually. “So it’s still there when you’re walking around tomorrow.” He groans softly. “Fuck–Can I–Can I give you my number? I–I want you to text me. Tell me you can still feel me.”

“Oh my god,” you murmur. “Yes.”

“Good.” He adds a second finger and presses the heel of his hand against your clit, working you up to another orgasm exactly how he now knows gets you off quickly. When you start to clench around him, though, he doesn’t stop. He starts to rub quickly back and forth on that little spot inside of you until something else starts to build. 

“M-Marcus,” you murmur. “W-Wait, I–something is–”

“Shhh.” He keeps going, rubbing harder and faster until he suddenly rips his fingers from you as you gush around them, soaking his hand and the bed.

“Oh! Shit,” you cry out, panicking. “What the f–”

“Fuck, yes,” Marcus groans, the sound coming deep from within his chest. “Oh, fuck, do that again.”

When he notices your expression of utter shock, though, he pauses, a slow smile of understanding spreading across his face. 

“Honey,” he says soothingly. “Was that the first time?”

You stare up at him, mouth hanging open. “I… I kind of always thought that was a myth,” you admit, ducking your head in embarrassment. 

“Oh, baby,” he breathes softly. “No, it’s definitely not.”

He lays down beside you again, gently tucking a wisp of stray hair behind one ear. “That was so good,” he praises softly. “So good to me.”

You smile shakily, but something is starting to nag at you.

“What’s wrong?” Marcus asks, noticing your hesitant expression. 

“I just… feel really inexperienced,” you admit quietly. “You know all this stuff, and I–it must be tedious, having someone who doesn’t know what they’re doing, or–”

“No,” Marcus interrupts, his voice full of sincerity. “It’s not tedious at all. On the contrary,” he says with a little laugh, “the fact that I get to show you… that I’m the only one who can get you to do something you didn’t even know you could do–Well, shit,” he says with a crooked grin. He reaches down and palms his cock, which is hard and weeping again. “Look at what it does to me, huh?”

“Does that mean you’ll fuck me again?” you ask eagerly.

Marcus chuckles at your enthusiasm. “I did say I was going to fill you up one more time, didn’t I?”

When you wake up (in your bed, next to Emma, after sneaking back into your own room after Marcus was finally finished with you in the wee hours of the morning), your travel companion is decidedly not ready to go. 

“I feel like I’ve been run over by a train,” she grumbles. “And my stomach is still in fucking knots.”

“We can just stay around the house,” you offer.

“I don’t want you to lay around being bored just because of me,” she protests, flopping down on the couch with a groan.

“Not feeling any better?” Marcus asks, coming into the living room. 

“No,” Emma pouts. “I’m gonna stay here and rest.”

“What are you going to do?” he asks, looking over at you.

You shrug. “I don’t really know. Stay here too, probably.”

“How about this,” Marcus says carefully. “I’m supposed to be going to the National Gallery of Art today to give a little talk about forgery detection. If you wanted to come, we could… walk around the museum a bit, afterward?”

You try to keep your face neutral at the prospect of spending a day with Marcus. Alone. 

“Sure,” you say, hoping it sounds nonchalant. “Could be fun.” 

“Great,” he says lightly. “It’s a d–it’s a plan.”

It’s a date.

You’re giddy as you wave goodbye to Emma–who’s watching daytime TV and holding a bottle of Gatorade–and follow Marcus out of the door. 

As soon as the door shuts, he rounds on you, taking your face in his hands and kissing you soundly. “So glad you said yes,” he says breathlessly. 

“Why wouldn’t I say yes to that?” you tease. “Spending the day with you.”

“I don’t know,” Marcus murmurs playfully, capturing your lips again. “Good question.”

“Is this a date?” you ask coyly.

He pauses, lips parting in surprise. “Do you want it to be?”

Taking a big leap of faith, you nod. 

Marcus’s expression softens, and he threads your fingers together. “Then it’s a date.”

After his talk–which you listen to with eager eyes and rapt attention–the two of you stroll slowly through the galleries, talking. Marcus occasionally stops, taking in the artwork, and tells you little tidbits of information about each piece. He seems to be using the quiet setting as an excuse to keep you as close as possible; his arm wraps around your waist as he leans down and talks quietly in your ear, making goosebumps rise on the back of your neck whenever he speaks. He seems to know the effect on you–you had no idea art could be described so sensually. 

You lose the afternoon to each other; having lunch in a small cafe and then walking down the National Mall, hand in hand.

You pick up a sandwich for Emma, just in case she’s feeling better, on your way home. As you get closer and closer, every step starts to feel heavier and heavier. You never want this to end. 

Just before you arrive at his building, Marcus stops and spins you around, cupping your cheek and pulling you to him for a soft kiss. 

“Today was–” he starts, but breaks off, shaking his head. 

“Yeah,” you agree.

“Listen, I don’t–I don’t know what your plans are after you leave tomorrow, but–”

“I don’t know.”

“Okay.”

You’re both dancing around something big–both of you afraid to say what you really mean, and you know it, but you can’t bring yourself to take the leap. 

You had been hoping that Marcus would.

“It was nice,” you say lamely. 

“It was,” he agrees softly. 

Emma is looking a little less green when you arrive back home, and accepts the sandwich eagerly. 

“Sorry about today,” she says, her mouth full. “I don’t know what the hell that was.”

“It was the cal–”

“Don’t fucking say it.”

At first, when you hear Emma start to fall asleep beside you, you're paralyzed. You want to go to Marcus. This is your last night; if you want to say goodbye, you need to go to him this one last time.

You just don't know if you can face goodbye.

You don't know if you can face him. 

You aren't under any reservations about what this is. Marcus is a man, and you're nothing special. You're also nearly half his age. You gave him 'fuck me' eyes for three days, and he when he gave in to the temptation, you came willingly. But this was never meant to be a long-term arrangement. 

It was never meant to be in the first place.

You just wish your first time hadn't been with the total package. Marcus is sweet, kind, attentive, and can apparently make you cum like it was a competitive sport. How are you supposed to go back home, back to being around boys your age, and expect them to measure up?

You debate staying in bed. It would be the easiest thing to do. You could begin tonight: stuffing your feelings down and burying them deep, never letting them see the light of day again. You were on spring break, and this was a fun romp. A fling. You could leave it there and never give Marcus the goodbye he probably deserves. 

On the other hand… 

What's the harm in delaying for one more night?

You slip into his room for the third time in three days, and carefully close the door behind you. Marcus is shirtless in bed, and he beckons you over with a crooked, affectionate smile. 

"Fancy seeing you here, beautiful," he says, drawing the covers back with a playful raise of his eyebrow. 

Despite your heavy mood, you can't help but grin back and enthusiastically hop into bed beside him. 

He takes advantage immediately, grabbing you and turning you, and pulling you back against his chest with a playful growl. You're caged tightly in his arms, and there's nowhere you'd rather be.  

"This is nice," you hum contentedly. 

"Oh yeah? This all you want? Just a little cuddle?" Marcus teases, nipping gently at your shoulder. 

"What if it was?" You wiggle your hips playfully against his hardening cock.

"If that was all you wanted? Then I'd think really hard about dead puppies and my childhood neighbor Mrs. Fitzwilliam in order to calm myself down a little," he answers. 

"Mrs. Fitzwilliam?" you laugh. "Why?"

"When I was a little boy, I was convinced she was a witch. I couldn't so much as talk to her for years."

"Stop it, no you did not."

"I wouldn't joke about that," he laughs. "I was really scared of her!"

"Do me a favor and don't think about her," you tease. "I like how it feels against me."

"Would feel better somewhere else," Marcus says darkly. 

"Have somewhere in mind, do you?"

"I've had it on my mind all day," he says softly. 

"Show me," you murmur. "Show me what's been on your mind all day."

"Wanna know what I was picturing while I was giving that little forgery talk?" Marcus asks.

"Obviously."

"Then sit up, pretty girl."

He loosens his hold on you and you sit up, unable to keep the grin off your face. He sits up too, gently taking hold of the hem of your shirt and drawing it up over your head. He hooks his thumbs under the waistband of your shorts. 

"Help me out with these," he commands quietly. 

You shimmy them down your hips and kick them off, still kneeling before him, now completely bare. Marcus sits back on the headboard and pats his thigh suggestively, giving you a wicked smile. 

"C'mere."

You giggle and bite your lip nervously as you crawl forward and straddle him.

"Wanna see you just like this," he murmurs. 

"I–I've never–"

"I know," he interrupts with a wry smile. "I've got you. Just wanna see you like this," he confesses, palming your jaw and rubbing his thumb across your cheekbone.

Your eyes start to flutter shut as you feel the tip of him breach you as you sink slowly down. 

"Eyes on me, honey." 

With a shaky breath, you open them again, holding Marcus's intense gaze as you impale yourself on his cock. Your lips part, eyebrows pinching together at the stretch of him–you don't think you'll ever get used to the feeling of being broken open for the first time. 

"That's it," he whispers. "Just like that." 

You slowly rock your hips, rising up and sinking back down again. You feel so full like this; your lips part and a breathy gasp escapes you as you feel the drag of Marcus’s cock inside of you. 

This is the first time you've chased your own pleasure with him like this; Marcus's eyes rake over your form greedily and as you ride him, you start to feel overly conscious of his scrutiny.

"Do I look okay?" you ask shyly.

Marcus makes a disbelieving noise and surges up, his hands starting to guide the movement of your hips as he kisses you messing, trailing from your mouth to your neck as he flexes up into you.

"Are you kidding?" he asks softly. "You're ethereal. A fucking goddess in my bed. And if you're thinking about that, I'm not fucking you right."

"That's a lie," you say with a lazy smile. "You're very thorough."

"Oh yeah? You like how I fuck you?"

"Mmmhmm," you hum. "Liked what you were doing last night."

Marcus chuckles deep in his throat. "Is that so? Cum for me like this, honey, and I'll put you on your knees again."

When his thumb presses into your clit, rubbing in small circles, it doesn't take you long to start to feel the pleasure growing in your core. You start moving faster, bouncing on his cock, no longer caring if your body is jiggling too much or that your face might look silly contorted with pleasure; all you can think about is chasing that feeling that’s building inside of you. Marcus helps you along, thrusting up into you, and you swear he must get deep enough to feel the very end of you. 

He whispers little praises and encouragements in your ear in that deep, raspy way his voice gets when he’s drunk on pleasure. You can recognize all his little foibles, now–the way he wiggles his wrist back and forth when something’s on his mind, the way he talks with his hands when he’s passionate about a subject, and the way he sounds when he comes undone.

You’re going to carry all of those things with you, now–the way his eyes crinkle when he smiles, the way he raises one eyebrow when he’s being playful, and the way he sometimes mouths along to the words of his favorite old movies.

Is it possible to miss someone so completely after just one week?

You’re so deep in your emotions when you cum, you barely even realize that you’re about to until you’re clenching hard around him, grinding down on his cock as he works you through it, guiding your hips with his fingers pressing hard into your skin.

You’re still in a daze as Marcus flips you over, depositing you on your back and then turning you over onto your stomach on the bed. Rather than pull you up to your knees like the night before, he straddles you like this and sinks back into you, draping himself over your back as he starts to really fuck you.

Oh. This might be your favorite position yet–it’s the same angle as it was last night with the added bonus of getting to feel the weight of this man pressing down on you. His chest is against your back, his ragged breaths in your ear. His elbows cage your face and he entangles your fingers together over your head. It’s a sensory overload in nearly every way, and you’re drowning in the feel of him.

It’s so good that you feel your core start to tighten again.

“So soon?” Marcus teases breathlessly in your ear. “Fuck, I can feel you shaking. How are you so fucking perfect, hmm? You always feel like you were made to take me.”

His words inexplicably cause a lump to build in your throat. Made to take him, but this couldn’t, by definition, last. The statement only makes you wish that your compatibility didn’t have to be so fucking temporary. 

You’re teetering on a precipice–on the verge of both an orgasm and inexplicable tears. When Marcus gently brushes the shell of your ear with his lips and murmurs one last, soft sentence, you finally succumb to both.

“You can let go, honey. I’ve got you.”

You convulse with a wet sob, pleasure and sorrow overtaking you simultaneously. Blessedly, with your face buried in the pillow, Marcus doesn’t notice yet; he starts fucking into you with abandon until he lets go with a deep groan in your ear. 

When he finally stills, and he starts peppering kisses across your shoulder blade, you can feel him stiffen when he realizes that, mortifyingly, there are tears on your cheeks.

“Shit,” Marcus breathes. He carefully slips out of you and turns you over underneath him, quickly brushing the tears at the corners of your eyes. He kisses them away, whispering softly to you.

“Did I hurt you?” he asks frantically. “Honey, look at me.”

“No!” you exclaim emphatically. “No, I–I don’t know why I’m doing this.”

“Talk to me,” he demands softly.

“I don’t–I don’t want to go home,” you whisper. “I don’t want this to end.”

“Oh, honey,” Marcus whispers. “Really?”

“Sorry,” you mumble. “I’m sure this is exactly what you’re looking for–for some girl to get attached to you after one whole week of knowing you…”

Marcus smiles and brushes his thumb against your cheekbone. “Attached to me?”

“I didn’t mean for it to happen,” you say. “You’re just really nice, and you’re gorgeous, and you’ve been so good to me–”

“Don’t cry,” he whispers. “Please don’t cry.”

"Sorry," you say again.

"Hey," he says softly, still stroking your cheek. "You know something? You're wrong. You're not 'some girl.' You're sweet, and funny, and cute, and maybe having this girl right here be attached to me after one whole week of knowing me is exactly what I'm looking for."

"What are you suggesting?" you ask bluntly. 

“All I’m suggesting is that we stay in touch,” Marcus answers. “No pressure, no expectations. We talk, and we get to know each other better, and when you graduate, Miss Pre-Law,” he teases, lightly touching the tip of your nose, “if you still feel the same way, come back to me. Go to Law School at Georgetown. Get an internship at the FBI. And whatever it is that you do, I know of a place you can stay.”

"You'd really want that?" you ask, a slow smile starting to spread across your face.

"I'd be a fool not to grab onto this with both hands," he murmurs, stroking his hand down your side. "A damn fool."

"What about Emma?"

Marcus pauses, biting his lip. "She's a grown woman," he says carefully, "and I haven't had much of a place in her life growing up. I would hope that… once we see where this goes–if it goes anywhere–she'd understand."

You nod slowly. "Okay."

"I've rushed into things in the past," he says softly. "More than once. But I'm not in any rush right now. I want to take my time, get to know you, and if you're still looking at me the way you're looking at me right now in a year, I'll consider myself a lucky man."

Your smile is brilliant. "I'd like that."

"I'd like that, too. And that means tomorrow isn't goodbye, anymore." 

"No?"

"Nope," Marcus says with a grin. "Just 'see you later.'"

"Can I still get a goodbye kiss?" you ask.

He shakes his head playfully, but his lips descend to meet yours anyway. 

"Not a goodbye kiss," he teased.

"A 'see you later' kiss," you correct. 

"A 'you are so goddamn beautiful that I can't help to kiss you' kiss."

"You're making this too complicated."

"An 'I'll call it whatever I damn well please' kiss."

"An 'everything's gonna be alright' kiss?" you ask hopefully. 

Marcus smiles and kisses you long and deep. "Especially that."

– – – – – 

One year later…

“May I present: the graduating class of 2024.”

Along with Emma and the rest of the seniors in the auditorium, you throw your mortar-board hat into the air, shrieking happily as someone else’s crashes down on your head, instead. 

“Fucking finally!” Emma shouts beside you, and you grin widely. 

The last year has been a whirlwind for the both of you, and you know it. 

After reconnecting with her dad, Emma made an effort not to lose touch again. Eventually, he had opened up about his past and the circumstances surrounding his divorce, and at her urging, even began the process of making peace with her mom. They even had Christmas together, for the first time since Emma was two. 

And how do you know all this?

Well, Marcus hadn’t lost touch with you, either. 

True to his word, you both took your time and got to know each other from a distance. Talking to him was still as easy as breathing, and you’d spend entire nights at the beginning staying up far too late and talking well into the wee hours of the morning. 

It wasn’t hard to see that the something that was between you was still there and not going away any time soon. And the only thing you’ve found so far that rivals the strength of your friendship is the passion that you continue to have for each other in the bedroom.

Marcus would make trips when he could–some visits ostensibly to see Emma and other, more secret trysts where his only aim was to see you. (And see you he did; on most occasions, he’d barely let you out of his hotel room.)

Your beginning may have been a meteoric collision–two people forced into proximity that had no choice but to fall into each other–but the growth of your resulting love was slow and careful.

Eventually, you’d need to tell Emma, but it didn’t feel like the time was quite right, yet. Of course, when she visits you at Georgetown next year and you give her not your own address, but her father’s, the two of you will have to come clean. 

Right now, though, as you and Emma weave through the crowds of people looking for Marcus, you’re content to keep things the way they are. Everything is slowly falling into place, and that piece of the puzzle will fit into the rest when it’s ready.

“There she is!”

Emma beams as she hears Marcus call out, waving his hand frantically to catch your attention among the sea of people. 

She lets herself be crushed into a hug, her father grinning proudly and murmuring something unintelligible into her ear. After a few minutes, he releases her and turns to you.

“Congratulations,” he says–perfunctorily, but warmly. 

“Thank you.”

After a couple of beats, Emma rolls her eyes.

“Would you just kiss her already? Honestly, it’s more weird that you’re not.”

Two sets of eyes swivel to her in alarm.

“You… you knew?” you exclaim.

Emma gives you a disbelieving look. “Okay, the fact that you two both think you were being subtle means you might actually be meant for each other. Wow.”

“How?” you choke out.

“Are you serious? You two had bizarre energy when you met, and ever since, I see you smiling at your phone all the time,” Emma says to you. “And after that week, whenever he’s come to visit, you both act weird around each other.”

“Oh,” you say dumbly.

“Plus, you had a hickey on your neck one morning,” she says, rolling her eyes. “Real subtle.”

Oops. You shoot Marcus a look, and notice that he’s as red as a tomato. 

“Em,” he starts, looking pained.

“It’s fine,” she interrupts. “Look, it’s not like we had the closest of relationships when I was a kid. I'm getting to know you as an adult, and it just feels different than it would be if you had raised me. I’m not going to say it doesn’t make me feel fucking weird, and I don’t ever wanna know details about your sex life and I am not calling you ‘mom,’ but I guess I’ll just say… I get it. You two are oddly similar, and I wouldn’t want to stand in between you and happiness. Because I… you know. I love you.”

“Emma,” Marcus says, his smile turning watery for a moment. 

“Don’t… make a big deal out of it,” she grumbles.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he laughs, and gives her a sweet kiss on the forehead. “I love you too, Emmie.”

He pulls back and looks at you, his eyes sparkling, and you feel your insides start to heat up just from his gaze alone.

Those words are still new, between you–the first time was whispered softly in his ear in the darkness after spending all night wrapped around each other just a couple of months ago. Marcus whispered them back immediately after; he was achingly patient and careful to take his time with you, even though you’d felt that emotion emanating from each of you for months prior.

It was just–you didn’t want to rush things. Love was new to you. Everything was. And if Marcus was going to be your first experience with all of it, you had a feeling that you were going to want to savor it.

You know he feels the same.

Stepping forward, Marcus gently tips your chin up to meet him in a gentle kiss. The shape of his lips are so familiar now, you could probably draw them in your sleep. You know the way they move against yours. You know how it feels when he smiles against your mouth–which he does often, and right now.

“Congratulations,” he murmurs again. This time, the word is dark and full of underlying emotion–love, affection, friendship, pride–and you grin back as you kiss him once more.

“What now?” you ask with a little laugh.

“I have a few ideas,” he husks in your ear, inaudible to anyone else, before pulling back. “But right now?” he shrugs. “Anything you want. Everything.”

“What if I said that all I wanted was you?”

Marcus’s eyes soften. “Well, honey,” he says gently, “you’re in luck, because that’s the one thing I can give you.”

The end.

[sidthedollface2]

A Crown fit for a God

(Part 2)

(Part 1 here)

Pairing: Azriel x Fem Reader

Summary: An enemy threatens Velaris leaving Azriel to choose between his found family and a long lost friend. Can he juggle the two or will he fall for the enemy?

Ch Summary: After you threaten Velaris with war. Azriel is tasked to find you and bring you to the prison above the mountain. He shadows have other plans when they confront you.

word count: 2.6k

Series warnings: 18+ MDNI, angst, hurt/comfort,light smut, war, including injuries, fighting, sign language, no use of y/n, nicknames, magic, greek mythology, pining, jealousy, azriel with other women (sorry), reader with another man (get it friend ; )

A/n: I hope this Ch sheds a little light as to what reader is and about her powers. I'm a daydreamer not a writer so if you see any mistakes that's how I dreamt it. Lol

In the beginning there was Khaos. The first God in existence to precede creation. Khaos filled the space between, invoking darkness and shadow. Unable to witness her work, her intense desire to see flickered before her. Discovering her own spark, she flew towards it, the force of her wings igniting, leaving a trail of stardust; giving birth to the vast universe. From her own will khaos had created the primordial deities that would reign over the elements of the universe. And thus terra, sky, darkness, light, night and day were created.  

 From the very desires of the first primordial gods, Demi Gods emerged, living among mortals and immortals. Soon enough these half gods no longer wanted the responsibility of mortals. Thanatos and his sisters, the Gods of Death grew tired of being witness to so much violence and bloodshed. Leaving their duties caused a riot. No other God would carry the burden of their responsibilities on top of their own. Those loyal to the Divine fought in the war of Gods, neither side backing down regardless of how much blood had been spilled. Khaos wept as she witnessed her slain children. Fighting against her kin, tears streamed down her face as she slaughtered her very own. Devastated, she fell to her knees in defeat, between her sobs she whispered in the ancient tongue, “I bind myself to the darkness of death, overpowering my light within so long as my spark prevails through the moonless journey.” All fighting ceased as every God witnessed khaos, bringer of life, descend to the lands in the form of a falling star. The fates of two entwined. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The house of wind was anxious, each door closed with a slam, rattling the photos that hung along the walls. The foundation, made from the mountain rock, shook and with it pieces of rubble and dust would float to the floors. Often the roaring would come back, leaving its inhabitants wide eyed and on edge. 

every member of the inner circle sat in Rhys office. The air thick with tension as Azriel explained his actions, why he blocked Cassian from hurting you, why he needed to be the one to search for you. Many questions left unanswered. How did you find Velaris? And what kind of ancient magic would allow you to pass through his wards so easily?

“Rhys, I know her! We were childhood friends!” Azriel pleads, “let me find her.” 

Elain’s eyes darted to Azriel, questioning his reason for his blatant lies. She knew he saw you once and never again. Yet she remained silent, a question for another day. 

Rhys sighed, leaning back in his chair. All eyes were on him as he stared at the map of Prythian that lay across his desk. He took a sip of his whiskey, considering his next move. One by one he informed them of their duties, sending every member away as soon as they received their mission.

Cassian was sent to Windhaven to ready the warriors and ensure their weapons were up to par for battle. Amren and Nesta were to stay in Velaris to survey and defend the city in case you returned. Mor was to revisit the courts that had scorched farmlands and buildings, to see if there were any more details that they overlooked. Elain wished to stay in Velaris and investigate the reason the house was slowly deteriorating. Rhys agreed. Finally he ordered Feyre to accompany Azriel in his search for you. 

Azriel ran his fingers through his hair in frustration, “No Rhys it has to be me alone. You can trust me.”

“After what I saw today, I’m not so sure where your mind is. I trust that you ‘ll do the right thing, but I don't agree with your current judgment so I’m sending Feyre with you.” 

Azriels shoulders slumped as he nodded in defeat. Feyre placed a gentle hand on his back, attempting to soothe his disappointment.

~~~~~~~~~~

Feyre walked Azriel back to his room but before he entered she grabbed his arm moving him to face her. “ I have a friend I need to visit and he doesn't like when others tag along,” she whispered, hoping no one else would hear her. Azriel narrowed his eyes. “ So I hope you understand that I won't be joining you on your mission,” she winked, releasing her hold on him. Azriel just smirked, mouthing her a ‘thank you.’

Back in his room, Azriel cleared his desk of all the healer books he had meticulously studied.  All these years he’d been searching for a healer when in fact you were a God, at least according to Amren. He spent hours searching Death Gods and tracing back their lineage and none had the powers you possessed, the power in which made him search for you. The power to heal. “You've been at it for hours, come to bed honey,” Elains sweet voice brought him out of his thoughts. “None of this makes sense,” he said mostly to himself as he shook his head, ignoring Elains request.

She stood behind him, gently kneading his tense shoulders with her slim fingers. His back tensed at her touch, purely focused on his work. Determined to get him to bed, Elain rested her chin on his shoulder, angling her head towards his ear as she whispered seductively her desires. His eyes fluttered closed in frustration, as she placed wet kisses to the curve of his neck, humming at the taste of him. “Not tonight.” Coldly he shrugged her off, hating the pain she held in her eyes. Without a word Elain stepped away, leaving Azriel to drown in his work, drown in his thoughts of you. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“And then I pushed through, you should have seen their faces,” you chuckled, recounting the events from Velaris to your dearest friend.  “No matter the job you always try to make it fun.” He replied, petting the hen that sat in his lap; a gift you had brought him for the delicious tea leaves he had acquired. 

You smile, enjoying his company that you often missed. Out of the corner of your eye, a wisp of shadow scurries into the darkness of the night, earning your full undivided attention. Nothing but silence is heard. “What was that?” you ask, turning back to the Suriel. “An invisible thread that weaves and winds, binding hearts two of a kind.” you gape at him, blinking your eyes rapidly, “I don't even want to know.” A chuckle rattles in his throat, “go before he finds you.” Without another word shimmer and darkness envelope you, winnowing you far from the Night Court.

Azriels shadows darted through the low grounds of the woods, swerving through a dense thicket of birch trees and rock formations, scouring each bush and body of water in search of you. Once they spotted you, they quickly returned to their master, curling around his ear ,whispering ‘Suriel.’  

Just as you winnowed away a blade launched itself toward the Suriel; flying through the air from a shroud of darkness, pinning his cloak to a tree. “Where is she?” he asks, tone impatient and demanding.

“Here, there, everywhere.”

Azriel pinches the space between his brows in annoyance. Shaking his head he asks another question, hoping for a straight answer.

“How do I find her?” 

“Evoke emotions without a single touch, no wings yet able to fly. To catch this God let her hear the cords of the night.” 

“I don’t…..these riddles. I don't understand.” Azriel paced in front of the Suriel, wracking his brain for any clues. 

“The touch of a memory will carry her to you.”

“Stop with the riddles!” Azriel fumed, teeth clenched tight as he stared the Suriel down. 

“Are you not a shadowsinger?” he replied, pulling out the blade that held his cloak to the tree. “I've answered your questions, whether you can decipher the meaning is no business of mine.” Finished with Azriels questioning, the Suriel made his way through the woods, hen in hand for a fresh slaughter. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~

It had taken Azriel a few days to figure out the riddle. Repeating the words over and over, analyzing each term and its meaning. The line ‘hear the cords of the night’ was what led him to realize it was a song, but what song was what stumped him. He felt like a fool singing his favorite songs in the middle of the forest, belting it out with his whole chest.

He sang songs that made him teary eyed and even sang songs in the ancient tongue, but none of those had lured you to him. The Suriel mentioned ‘the touch of a memory,’  “oh Gods, I’m an idiot,” he said to himself. He only had one encounter with you, so it was easy to remember the events of that night, all these years he could never forget. He would never forget the song, the song he thinks is about you. His mother sang this song to him as a child and he wonders if she knew the dark power you possessed, was she singing to a God in hopes to answer her prayers, to lift her from the chains that held her down. 

The house of wind kindly provided warm tea and honey. It's eagerness to assist him piqued his curiosity. He would ask Elain about her findings another day. Soothing his vocal cords, a plan was formed to capture you and send you to the prison on top of the mountain.

You're the chaos of the night, 

A little girl lost in the woods

You're a folktale, the unexplainable

You're a bedtime story

The one that keeps the curtains closed

And I hope you're waiting for me

'Cause I can't make it on my own

I can't make it on my own. 

Azriel sang the words from his childhood, voice harmonious with a smooth baritone that held the memories from the past. He sang from the depths of his heart in hopes that the meaning behind his words would grace your ears and become a light in the dark. Guiding you towards his waiting arms.

Weathered leaves crunch under the weight of your relaxed body, grass floor cold and damp from the night. But the view of the stars in the Night Court were your favorite, they called to you as if saying 'stay.' Stars glitter like rare diamonds, and the crescent moon smiled brighter than the sun. The evening scent of mist and night felt familiar in the way that reminded you of home. It had been so long since you’ve been home, the thought of never returning grew closer and closer.

The midnight breeze caresses your skin, its gentle touch has your eyes closing, focusing on  the chirping of crickets and running water. A mellow voice sings the harmonious music of the night, its soft whisper tickles your ear like a past lover, luring you to follow the rich sound.

I hope you're waiting for me

Across your carpet of stars

You're the chaos of the night,

You're everything that we can't see

Chaos, you're the possibility.

Azriel ceases to sing once he spots you round a thick tree, his shadows excitedly rush towards you and Azriel curses under his breath at their eagerness. He observes as they affectionately coil around your neck, fluffing about in your hair before they trail down your arms. You giggle at their curiosity as they loop around your fingers, “you wanna play?” you ask, as you slowly move your fingers in awe at their closeness. They playfully bounce from one hand to the other, and you take that as a yes. Azriel is dumbfounded as he admires his shadows from afar. He has his arms crossed over his chest as he leans against a tree, his gaze slowly trails up the delicious curves of your body and he imagines what it would be like to lay with a God. He sees you smile and nod at whatever they’ve whispered in your ear and he fears you both are up to no good. As the shadows dance in a circle just a few feet in front of you, they rapidly circle around and around creating a whirlwind of darkness. Cautiously you near the edge of their tornado and zap one of the shadows, creating an orb of light within the vortex. You're mesmerized by the display in front of you. Your power bounces off the shadowed wisps like an elegant dance, the wisps gently stroke the flame of your power, careful to not get scorched.

With the blink of your eye the orb bursts, spraying the ground and trees with thousands of specs of glittering starlight. Azriel feels a jolt of electricity zip up his body, shaking him so hard he loses balance off the tree, quickly righting himself before you notice. His effort is too late, you've already spotted him.

“You're not a stalker are you?” you ask, voice playful and curious as you near him.

If you only knew, Azriel thinks with a smirk.

“No, but I can be. Nice party trick by the way.” Azriel pushes off the tree to meet you. The first thing you notice is his eyes, hazel and dreamy framed by long thick lashes. His nose is straight and a little too perfect for a warrior, you wonder if he’s ever been punched in the face before, or maybe he's just that good at fighting. His high cheekbones and strong jaw remind you of the many demi gods that have been sculpted throughout the years. You eye him up and down, taking in his stature and broad shoulders. He’s a little too handsome and in your experience these types of males are conceited snobs who only enjoy their own reflection and company. Meanwhile Azriel does the same, completely entranced by the sway of your hips and how your hair flows over the swell of your breasts. 

“They seemed friendly.” you respond, tipping your head to the shadows that have swirled around the both of you, appearing to close the distance between you.

Azriel shakes his head, “I meant in Velaris. You threaten my home, my friends and my High Lord and expect to get away with it? How did you get past the wards? And how did you find Velaris?” 

Before you could respond the ground shakes as a blast erupts creating a cloud of dust and forest debris. Instinctually Azriel pulls your body flush to his, shielding you from injury. Dark membranous wings curl around your body, cocooning you safely in his arms. Your hands find the planes of his toned chest as you peer up at him through your full lashes. You know what the blast was but the feeling of his body pressed against yours had your knees weak, and you couldn't break away. 

Azriels heart is ramming against his chest at the proximity, his gaze is locked on your brilliant eyes as he dares to cup the side of your cheek. Angling your face to meet his, your exposed collarbone catches his attention when a bargain tattoo vanishes before his eyes; breaking the trance you had him in.

“What did you bargain?” he urges, hands now tightly gripping your upper arms.

“Your worst nightmare.”

Azriel staggered back, paling in horror as he registered your words.

Only one creature carried that name.

Bryaxis.

Part 3

Taglist: @blackgirlmagicforever @going-through-shit

[runariya]

I just found your blog and turns out, I like your writings. Infinity is so cool, I miss reading other AU like aliens. Although I'm looking forward for chp 4 of My Beloved Villain, will you ever consider writing Jungkook's POV for Infinity? Just a short drabble on how he find her (lying on the wilderness' floor; maybe a bit extra when he clean and take care of her when she's unconscious) and how he react when she ran from him in the shop. Thank you so much for sharing your writings. I'm still binge reading from your masterlist. Really looking forward to your next update. Take care and stay healthy.

Hey anon 💕

tysm for your kind words and taking the time to explore my blog! I rly feel you with Alien!AUs, it's such a weak spot for me too. And considering the infinity!couple is special to me and your suggestion sparked such a joy to me, I couldn't help but to write 3.5k for your drabble request lol

So, yeah, hope you enjoy and tysm again for your support 🥰 you take care and stay healthy as well!

• (drabble below cut) •

Jungkook had been chasing a ghost ever since the day he came of age, hurtling alone from galaxy to galaxy in the quiet solitude of his spaceship. He was a drifter among the stars, born with markings that no other Nepturian possessed, a curious anomaly. From his first breath, he was set apart, regarded with a mix of reverence and envy—a strange creature in the eyes of his people, a mystery even to himself. The elders spoke of him in hushed tones, their awe thinly veiling their curiosity, while his peers cast sideways glances tinged with bitterness.

For most of his life, he had lived with no understanding of his place in the universe. Then, as his legal age approached, everything shifted. The council of wise men summoned him and his family, revealing at last the truth that had been hidden from him: his destiny was bound to the very essence of his home planet. It was a burden he hadn’t known he was carrying, and when he reached his age of majority, there were no cheers of celebration, no revelry marking the occasion—only solemn farewells. His journey began that day, a lone traveler cast out into the stars with nothing but his ship and his mission.

The years stretched long as he wandered, his search ceaseless, his heart tethered to the elusive promise of saving. Along the way, he consumed every scrap of knowledge he could find about humans, the strange, fragile beings who had once roamed the galaxies. But the more he learned, the heavier his heart became. 

It became clear, with every text, every conversation, that he had arrived too late—the human race had vanished, extinguished like a flame snuffed out in the dark. Yet, despite the overwhelming evidence, a small, stubborn hope clung to him like a shadow he couldn’t get rid off. That hope sparked to life again when, in a seedy starport tavern, he overheard a pair of Stranpy whispering about a human female. They claimed to have seen her in a brothel on a distant planet, a fading relic in a world that no longer recognised her kind.

Jungkook hadn’t hesitated. His ship roared to life, cutting through the void of space as it carried him seven galaxies away to the desolate outpost known only as Morthak. When he landed, the brothel wasn’t the dilapidated hovel he had expected—it was sleek, high-tech, a tower of hollow decadence in the midst of a barren, wild world. Yet something within him shifted, and as he stepped towards the entrance, his body recoiled. His markings, usually dormant, flared with a light of their own, casting a pale, blueish glow over his arms. 

His instincts screamed at him, tugging him away from the gleaming doors, as he could feel it in his bones—a pull, an insistent force driving him away from the path he had set out on. His feet stumbled, then steadied, as he veered off into the tangled underbrush that surrounded the facility. Each step felt lighter, as though the very ground beneath him was trying to push him forwards, his breath fogging and uneven in the cold air. He didn’t understand the compulsion that gripped him, didn’t know why his chest felt tight as he fought through the dense jungle, but he could feel that he was drawing closer to something—to someone.

When the foliage parted into a small clearing, the sensation hit him all at once. His instincts snapped into focus, narrowing his vision until all he could sense was the space in front of him. A scent lingered in the air, sweet and intoxicating, as potent as sugar dissolved in flame. It curled around him, drawing him in like a whisper in the dark, a promise of something precious and everything he searched for. 

And it was at the edge of the clearing, where a small, scaled creature—something wild and feral, with scales and sharp eyes—snuffled around in the dirt. It pawed at the ground as though searching for its next meal, its snout grazing a damp patch of earth. 

Jungkook moved closer, his heart thrumming with an unspoken warning. There was something wrong here, as he could feel it in his marrow, a tension building under his skin. The creature’s intent was clear, but what lay beneath its paws was not prey. He shooed it away gently, his voice low and steady, his hand sweeping the creature aside, and what he found beneath its paws twisted something deep within him.

Lying in the mud, half-buried in filth, was a human. You were small, fragile, your body covered in muck and leaves, as though nature itself had tried to reclaim you. Your skin, pale and bruised, seemed barely capable of sustaining life, your breath shallow and uneven, fogging in the night. It was as though the universe had abandoned you here, forgotten and broken, as if your very value was lost. Jungkook’s heart clenched painfully in his chest at the sight of you, as he knelt beside you, his hands hovering over your frail form as though afraid to touch, afraid to break whatever fragile tether still held you to this world.

“What have they done to you?” he whispered, the words a soft breath of anguish that he barely realised he had spoken. They were more for himself than for you, a bitter question aimed at the universe that had allowed such cruelty to exist. One glance at you, and he could see the scars, the suffering etched into your skin, the shadow of torment that clung to you like a second skin. It didn’t take a word from your lips to tell him the truth—your life had been hell.

Gently, he gathered you into his arms, your body light, almost weightless, as though the burdens you had carried had stripped you down to nothing but bones and breath. His markings, which had been flaring wildly only moments before, began to calm, their soft glow dimming into a shine that seemed to soothe not just him but you as well. 

He didn’t care that the mud and grime smeared his clothes, didn’t care that the non-existent weight of you in his arms made him feel sick. All that mattered was getting you to safety. All that mattered was that you were no longer alone in this unforgiving world. 

He would protect you now, with every breath in his body, with every beat of his heart. And nothing—no force in the galaxies—would take you from him.

Being back on his spaceship, he wasn’t sure where to place you—whether to settle you in the small, shadowed spare room of his ship or to let you rest in the white room, typically reserved for the stray hitchhikers he picked up from time to time. After a moment’s consideration, he decided the spare room, with its deep, dark colors, might overwhelm your frayed nerves too much. So instead, he opted for the white room, its soft, sterile light a break from the suffocating darkness you had surely endured up until now. 

There you lay before him on a smooth surface—a table he had summoned from the blank wall with the brush of his hand. Your chest rose and fell faintly, as though each breath took more from you than it returned, your unconscious form trembling slightly as you fought the cold and exhaustion that gripped you. His movements were careful, tender, as he began to strip away the remnants of the dirty rags clinging to your skin, each piece of fabric came away, falling in a rotten heap beside him. 

The act of undressing you did not stir within him any sense of awkwardness or discomfort, as for Nepturians, the body was something sacred and pure, beyond any shame. It was a vessel of life, and life itself was to be honoured, not hidden. Nudity was no more remarkable than the stars. 

Once you were free of your soiled clothes, he took to washing you, his hands moving with a tenderness that belied his strength in so many ways. Warm water flowed over your body, trickling across skin that bore the stories of suffering in the form of countless scars he already noticed through the mud—pale ridges from poorly handled wounds against your otherwise smooth flesh. 

He touched them lightly, his fingertips tracing their jagged paths with an almost reverent sorrow. Your bones seemed hollow beneath his touch, fragile as a bird’s, and he had to temper his strength, fearful that one wrong move would break you even more. Your skin, cold and pale with the bluish tint of chill, stirred a deep ache within him that nothing had ever managed to provoke.

The sight of you—so broken, so fragile—unraveled him, let him feel as the most powerless creature in existence. He had thought himself immune to such feelings, had survived the burden of the fall of his own planet without much more than a fleeting ache. But now, seeing you like this, something in him splintered like old battered wood. 

The weight of his homeworld’s destruction had been bearable, even trivial, compared to the devastation he felt at your past suffering. The prophecy, the grand destiny he had been given without wanting to, all seemed inconsequential now. None of it mattered, not the council’s words, nor the fate of his people. His sole purpose in the universe had crystallised into one clear, unwavering truth: he had to protect you. Whatever had happened to you, whatever horrors had led you here, they would never touch you again. You were his mate, his responsibility, and the thought of anything or anyone harming you again sent a rage simmering beneath his skin.

Still, he knew his feelings, his protective urges, would not help you right now. As he gently wiped away the last remnants of the grime, revealing more of the soft, delicate flesh beneath, he debated how he would face you once you woke. If your body was this ravaged, this close to collapse, then your mind must be even worse off. Whatever torments had taken root in your spirit would likely outstrip those your body had endured, and the last thing he wanted was to overwhelm you with emotions you couldn’t yet comprehend. He would have to suppress his own instincts, stifle the fierce need to comfort you with touch, to tell you that you were safe now. You needed control more than you needed affection, and he knew it.

He pressed his feelings down, locking them away beneath a cloak of detachment he truly didn’t want but knew, that it was a necessary restraint. He could not afford to show you the depth of his connection, not yet. You needed stability, a sense of distance, of control over your surroundings. Anything less might send you into a panic, and he couldn’t risk you seeing him as a threat. You were so vulnerable now, both in body and mind, and he feared that a rash instinct of selfdefense could shatter whatever fragile connection remained between your soul and this world.

After he had dressed you in his clothes, the oversized black fabric swallowing your petite form, he draped a thick blanket over you, tucking it gently around your body to help coax warmth back into your cold limbs and watching how your shivering gradually eased. 

Jungkook took one last look at you, his expression full of tender longing despite you being near, before stepping away from the room. But even after he left, he didn’t truly leave you, as he retreated to the cockpit, where he kept a watchful eye on you through the CCTV screen, his gaze never wavering as his ship flowed on autopilot through space and time. You lay there so still, so quiet, almost peaceful with the small smile grazing your lips in your slumber, yet every flicker of movement on the screen caught his full attention, every subtle shift in your breathing or twitch of your fingers quickening his pulse with a quiet anxiety he wasn’t familiar with.

He didn’t know how you would react when you woke, didn’t know if you would panic or strike out or collapse back into the depths of your broken mind. He only hoped, with a longing he had never known before, that you would remain calm—that you wouldn’t see him as a danger, hoped you wouldn’t hurt yourself in a desperate attempt to protect yourself from him. Because if you did, if you recoiled from him in fear, it would destroy him far more thoroughly than anything else ever could.

Jungkook stood by your side, as it took weeks for you to begin feeling even the faintest flicker of comfort around him, though the wariness never left your eyes completely. Always on edge, you carried yourself like a creature awaiting the next strike of inevitable doom, poised for a danger he knew would never come. Jungkook understood, though—deeply. It would take time, time measured in baby steps, in small moments where trust could be tested and proved, over and over again, and that was okay. Each small step forward, each moment you chose not to flinch away, filled him with a secret, quiet joy he had never known. Progress, however halting, was a balm to the ache that had taken root in his chest since the day he’d found you.

It was during one of these stretches of fragile peace that he noticed the rash creeping along the lower curve of your back, the angry red patch of skin making him frown with concern. You hadn’t mentioned it—probably hadn’t wanted to out reasons unknown to him—but he’d seen it. So he decided he needed to gather some herbs to help soothe the irritation. That’s when he decided to make stop at Thraxor, a planet known for its medicinal offerings. He suggested you come along, gently persuading you that the change of scenery might do you some good, offer a breath of fresh air to your mind. You hesitated but ultimately agreed, which felt like a surge of quiet triumph. It was another small victory, a moment where you chose to step out of the shadows, if only for a little while.

Jungkook’s instincts prickled the moment you entered the Silvex shop, an unshakable feeling settling low in his gut, as his eyes scanned the room warily, watching every shadow and movement with a sharpened eyes. He tried to keep his tone light as he conversed with the Silvex behind the counter, suppressing the uneasy twist in his chest. He didn’t want his nerves to ripple into you, didn’t want you picking up on his unease when you’ve clearly took a chance. So, he encouraged you to wander the shop, hoping the distraction would keep you occupied while he finished his purchase.

The Silvex, with its slick, slithering voice, made his skin crawl, but Jungkook pushed forward, asking about the herbs he needed, his nerves burning with each passing second. Then, out of nowhere, the Silvex uttered a single sentence that turned the air in the room to ice despite the heat on the planet. 

"She's a nice slave," the Silvex giggled, the words slipping out carelessly amidst the discussion of roots and tonics fitting for your rash. "How much do you want for her? I could use her just perfectly for my other business."

In that instant, a deep, all-consuming red rage flared across Jungkook’s vision. It was as if a switch had been flipped, his blood boiling with an intensity he had never known he was capable of. “She’s not for sale,” he growled through clenched teeth, each word a barely contained explosion. 

But it was too late. In his fury, he hadn’t noticed the shift in your stance, hadn’t seen the widening of your eyes, hadn’t felt the tremor of panic rise in you while hidden behind the shelves. You had already taken off, bolting through the door before he could stop you.

His heart shattered in a sudden vice of terror, panic flooding him as he watched you disappear from sight. "Stop!" His voice rang out loudly as he lunged after you, barely aware of the Silvex scrambling to follow. The suns above beat down mercilessly, its blinding light burning his eyes as he stumbled into the open market. He squinted against the glare, desperation coursing through him as he spun in frantic circles, trying to catch a glimpse of you, but all he could see were the different shapes of strangers, the colours and sounds of the market merging into a dizzying chaos around him.

He began asking anyone he could find, breathless, his voice rising in desperation with every question asked. "Did you see a human? A girl? Where did she go?" Some shook their heads, others pointed vaguely towards the far end of the market, but none of it was fast enough, none of it got him any closer to you. His heart pounded wildly in his chest, each beat hurting more than the other.

Then, piercing through the noise around him clogging his ears, he heard it—your scream. It echoed off the narrow walls of an alley not far from where he stood, a loud short cry that sent a wave of new icy terror crashing over him without him having time to breathe. His heart sank, a sickening dread twisting his insides as he sprinted towards where your scream disappeared.

‘She should know,’ he thought frantically, his mind racing. ‘By now she should know she’s safe with me, that I would never let anything happen to her.’ But clearly, he had been wrong. His chest aching with self-loathing, anger at himself for failing you so completely. 

You clearly didn’t trust him, and it was all his fault.

Jungkook shoved his way through the crowd, desperate to reach you before it was too late. He couldn’t lose you—not like this, not after everything. His breath burned in his lungs as he finally spotted you in the distance, standing there, your terrified eyes locking with his, and for a brief moment, hope surged in his chest. But then you were off again, fleeing before he could even call out. His voice broke, your name a desperate plea on his lips that fell on deaf ears.

He didn’t know what else to do—he had never expected you to be so fast and agile, so desperate in your escape. The Silvex appeared some distance before him, and for a split second, Jungkook cursed the day he had ever set foot in that forsaken shop. His mind raced, his very soul a storm of chaos and regret, until finally, in a move he would never have considered under normal circumstances, he did the unthinkable. "STOP HER!" he shouted into the crowd, the words tearing from his throat, filled with a desperation that scattered his bones. 

For a brief, agonising moment, nothing happened, but to his immense relief—though it was tinged with a bitter taste of shame—a Necrovian stepped forward, his long, spindly arms reaching out to catch you as you passed. You struggled against him, but he held fast, and Jungkook’s legs nearly buckled with relief, but the anger for himself didn’t lessen any less. 

The desperation that had gripped him moments before shifted, almost violently, into a burning anger, that surged through him, only directed at himself and at you. Anger at his own failure to protect you, to make you feel safe enough. And anger at you—for being so reckless, so unbelievably reckless, to run like that. Did you not understand how dangerous it was? How stupid it had been to run when you stood no chance of surviving out here alone? You would have been lost, or worse, if he hadn’t been there to chase after you. 

He clenched his fists as he walked towards you, his jaw ticking with frustration, the heat of his emotions blazing through him even worse than all the suns in existence. He needed to do something, anything, to make you see—to make you finally realise that nothing could hurt you when you were with him. You needed to understand that. He needed you to understand that.

But still, you were safe now, and at the end of the day, it’s all that matters to him. 

He would bring you back to the ship, and there, at last, he could breathe again and make things actually right this time. 

Infinity ML • other work

[juststoriesintheend]

What would an au where Sol lives look like?

ohohohohoh boy howdy have i been thinking about this

i have a couple ideas, one for my horny brain that is in love with him and one that's more logical. since i've already kind of summarized my horny thoughts into a vague fic idea, i'll focus on a more logical string of thoughts

when vernestra finds him, he's barely clinging on to life (it's giving palpatine + vader parallels quite frankly)

they get him back on the ship, get him an oxygen mask, and eventually return to coruscant, but all the medical assistance in the world can't un-do the power of the force wrapped around your throat

his voice is permanently changed, much more hoarse and painful for him to talk. he has memory problems bc being deprived of oxygen for that long gave him brain damage

he stands trial for what he did on brendok 16 years ago. i feel like he might be able to be talked into taking the fall for every single death on khofar too, but if not then i could vernestra waving it away as "osha attacked him to save her own life & now he's delirious w/ grief and has lost his grip on reality"

maybe he's exiled? maybe he's sent to prison on coruscant? i think either way, he is no longer a jedi and he's going somewhere to rot for his crimes, and he goes willingly bc he feels like he deserves it

if he's aware that mae is with the jedi, he'd probably be torn between letting her be and being obsessed with reconnecting with her - to ease his conscience? to beg for death? he probably doesn't even know what he wants

all sol knows is that he made a mistake and he (and everyone he's ever loved) paid for it at osha's hand. he's plagued by flashbacks and nightmares. when he talks to other jedi or prisoners about a sith villain who threatens the republic, he's written off as a crazy old man

and maybe he is. osha choking him snapped his mind, it utterly broke him. if he had died there, it might have been enough to heal him, cleanse him of his sins. but surviving has only allowed his guilt to thrive. bc death would have been his penance

basically, he's still scapegoated and he probably loses his sanity over the years. i do not see anything happy or good for him in this scenario

which is why i don't like to think about it lol

alternatively, in some happier universe:

i like the idea of sol being able to escape. maybe vernestra thinks he's really dead bc he's quite literally on the cusp between life and death. and when she starts to drag him off for a sad, lonely jedi funeral, she realizes he's alive and mostly an amnesiac, so she decides to help him

she does what she can to help him heal in whatever short time she has and then she sends him off in an escape pod, gives him this second chance to go somewhere and live out the rest of his life in peace

the jedi he once was died on brendok, at his daughter's hand. now he can just be sol. no guilt or trauma to weigh him down. he can be a farmer. or a tradesman. a teacher. he can live

i think sol always wanted to be a father but couldn't bc of the way the order is structured/the jedi tenets, so maybe in this alternate life he can adopt some other orphan (amnesiacs sol and mae becoming found family for each other, anyone??)

maybe he meets someone his own age that he can love and become attached to in a better, slightly healthier way. someone he can wake up beside and dote upon. someone who makes him want to be the best person he can be

pls for the love of god, let this man have something happy for once in his life

[thekingofthenameless]

I’M BACK

And I’m rebranding everything.

Profile picture change, username change (in a few days), etc.

talesofarcadiaforever -> thekingofthenameless

I took a long hiatus from writing and Tumblr in general because of bad burnout and putting expectations on myself that I shouldn’t have. Ha. But I’m back! And good news! I started writing again! Better news?

I decided to officially discontinue Emerald Embers and the Daylight’s Redemption series and write my own book.

I was already making everything so different from ToA that it was practically an alternate universe already: redesigning Merlin, making Merlin and Charlie familiars, adding magical species that weren’t explicitly in canon, completely changing other characters… I still love ToA, but I’m not hyperfixated on it anymore. And that’s okay. I was so scared of letting go for a long time, but I’m happy with my decision.

My wip is now called The King of the Nameless!

Currently, there are five main characters, and tidbits about each of them will be a little further down. (Except for one guy. He sucks.) Their attempted designs will also be down there.

In some aspects, it probably hasn’t changed too much. I’m still basing it off of Arthurian Legends, and Merlin is still the protagonist. But I redesigned him. Again.

The deuteragonist is Charlie; he and Merlin are still familiars. I tried several different names for him, but none of them would stick for him no matter how hard I tried; so Charlie the dragon he stays. But he now has the last name Ambrosius to reflect that he and Merlin are found family as well.

The other three characters in this stage of the story are Igraine, Gorlois, and Uther.

Igraine is Arthur and Morgana’s mother in the Arthurian Legends, (which I did not know at first and was wondering how Arthur and Morgana were half-siblings because they have different fathers…) and will stay the same here. I couldn’t find any official last name for her besides Pendragon from when she marries Uther? (Which is not going to happen here.) So I gave her and her husband the last name “le Fay” to match their daughter!

Gorlois is Igraine’s husband, and like I said, is Morgana’s father. However, unlike some media, he’s not going to be portrayed as a jealous and abusive husband. He’s the epitome of the “I love my wife” guy.

Uther is… a piece of work, to say the least. He’s the character who’s going to have a separate post because of triggering topics that I don’t want in this post.

I’m also going to make a separate post for upcoming characters, which include Nimue, Morgana, Arthur, etc.

Bear with me on lore and designs though please (I’m still working on the lore and I’m not sure if these will be their permanent designs except for Charlie). Some of it might be just random babble until I decide on something 😭 You’ll definitely be able to tell which characters I think about most ahaha.

Anyways, in more good news, I don’t use Artbreeder anymore. I attempt to use Picrews, but sometimes they don’t have everything I want, so I also use character creators from video games. If I could use Baldur’s Gate 3’s, I definitely would, but I’d have to spend like $600-ish to get something to play it on and get the game. 😑 I could also play it with my boyfriend, but our schedules are so busy with both of us working that’s it not really a convenient option.

But there is a game called Dragon’s Dogma, and I’ve been using that one! It’s an older game, so it doesn’t really have many fantasy character options, but it’s good enough for human characters lol. I made Igraine and Gorlois with it, and a few other characters yet to be posted.

Design and lore time!

Merlin:

This is him at the beginning of TKN! Expect more art of him eventually.

• 6' 8"

• “my son crump he has every disease”: schizophrenia, C-PTSD, misophonia

• is still a cambion like in the Arthurian Legends (specifically half-human, half-demon)

• was supposed to be the Anti-Christ (also like in the Legends)

• is also a romance and sex repulsed, non-partnering aroace <3.

• usually excudes a regal, dignified presence, and his preference for flowing outfits helps

• may seem slightly formal with strangers, but on a good day where he can clock their personality, he’ll either warm up to them quickly, or distance himself, depending on the person

• has a strong sense of justice, which also makes him anti-authoritarian for the most part. (unless they’ve actually proven that they’re not just in their position for the power of it, or because of nepotism; and really do want to help people.)

• extremely loyal

• highly empathetic; cries easily

• has a lot of trauma, but is still kind because he’s not going to make people suffer just because he did

• adrenaline junkie in regards to flying with Charlie

• Doesn’t kill if not necessary.

• Is very punctual. If you tell him to come at 5 he’ll be there at 4:30. At most.

Charlie:

• 6' 6" (top of muzzle)

• 7' 3" (top of head)

• the marking on his leg is his familiar mark!

• still nice, seems a little rougher around the edges than Merlin

• says the things that his wizard thinks but won’t say, and doesn’t hide that he stares people down while gauging their character. he sometimes won’t care that he sounds mean or very direct either

• very protective of his familiar and is intensely loyal to him. isn’t really willing to leave the latter alone with people they don’t really know because of people attempting to take advantage of his schizophrenia in the past, gaslighting him into thinking that their actions weren’t real and were things he hallucinated/imagined

• Do no harm but take no shit

• Far more willing to kill than Merlin

• “Hey do you want me to kill that guy for you? Because it sounds like he sucks and I will totally kill that guy for you.”

• (I guess he technically counts as an emotional support animal but like. he’s sentient so idk 😭)

• is an omnivore (most dragons are, but he eats more human food than them from growing up and staying around them.)

Igriane:

• 6' 5"

• a wizard!

• was originally a red head before I realized that oh yeah. Morgana has brown hair, and a ginger and blonde would definitely not for the most part have a brunette kid

• purple eyes (haven’t decided if I’m gonna stay with this concept, but I like the idea of all wizards having some type of heterochromia, or technicolor eyes to show that they have magic)

Gorlois:

• 6' 0"

• he doesn’t have any type of unique eye color yet because I didn’t have the concept of that for wizards yet, and still not sure if I’m gonna keep it so. blue eyes for now

• again I say he’s the “I love my wife” guy!!

• also a wizard (which is where Morgana gets her magic when she’s born. You have two parents with magic you’re like. guaranteed to have magic.)

• maybe not really much of a fighter? Would probably use some type of sword if he was.

Wow that was so much lore. 👍 If anyone wants to talk to me about my ocs or suggest ideas, my ask box is always open! (And I love love love getting asks)

Artist credits!

Merlin:

Charlie’s original artist:

Charlie’s second artist:

Charlie’s saddle:

[arcticdementor]

"Ironically, I think whites as a racial culture are defined by the lack of ethnic nepotism. I don’t think it ever happened in the US that a Scots-descended businessman would want to keep the business entirely Scots and deny jobs to Swedes. And everybody and their dog seems to be 1/4 German and 1/4 Irish and 1/16 Chocktaw… Now, as a comparison, I was writing to a girl in some dating app and I said “You look kinda East Asian” and she replied “Kinda East Asian?! 100% pure blooded Han!” LOL. This is the level of racial-ethnic consciousness (and nepotism) that is normal in most of the world. In fact, that is why whites have a problem with Jews, they are not used to ethnic nepotism. Most people on the planet would find it entirely normal because they are doing the same thing.  Ethnic nepotism is deep down extended family nepotism. They are not simply hiring co-ethnics, if they can, they will hire fourth cousins. This boils down that in a low-trust society you can only trust relatives. Whites have invented the nuclear family, without deep extended family ties, individualism, and a high-trust society where trusting strangers is normal. The disappearance of ethno-racial consciousness and nepotism was simply downstream from this. Universalism, the idea of universal human rights and suchlike is a super white idea, originally IMHO developed in Paris, and clearly the flip side of individualism. Is it a Christianity-rooted idea? Perhaps, but there are many Christians from Greeks to Armenians and Georgians who are not interested in it.  The good news is that every time desegregation is not enforced, people spontaneously segregate. The 1960’s civil rights idea that blacks want to see white faces in their neighborhoods, schools and churches was basically a lie. They want the money, yes, and if the only way to get the money is to tolerate white faces, they will, but they are not that super happy about it. Here in Europe our elites are basically bribing the Muslims to stay here, because they actually don’t like to live in places with miniskirts, public drinking and the smell of roasting pork.  The white identity had arisen due to the age of sail, discovery, colonialism, and slavery, as an opposite of the brown natives. Scots and Swedes found they have more in common with each other than with the natives. People who did most of this sailing, were mostly of a Northwestern European background, and this is how whiteness contains some cultural, not only biological aspects, such as Protestantism, that is, a certain culture of practical-minded “dryness”, more engineers than artists compared to Catholic Europe. Here in Central Euro we tend to have national identities, not a white identity, because we did not sail much and thus everybody we met was mostly white, even the Ottoman elites tended to be much whitened by intermixing, slavery and renegades. So race is not an easy concept for me either. Especially if I look at my steppe nomad side of ancestors."

—TheDividualist

[venuslovesmascs]

Hi!! I don’t really have a certain style or outline for readings so every one will be a little different im sure, I don’t like to limit myself and let the spirits and universe tell me what’s needed.

if it resonates pls leave a tag or comment 

I’m begging, talking to tarot and spirits

alone can make a girlie think they need psychiatric help

first guy - happy shark ? he looks happy

- queen of cups up, queen of wands reversed were the first two cards to come out - which I thought was really interesting. they want emotional maturity first , before intimacy or passion if it’s that type of connection. they don’t seem to be a sensual person, they like to emotionally get to know others however. they don’t accept “childlike” energy or people who can not commit. they have virgo energy. also cancer. always reminds me of queen of cups. they like security and balance.

honestly to me this doesn’t seem like someone you are seeing, either a crush you are scared to come forward to, or just a friend in general. it it’s a friend, they want to know you more intimately , to be able to care for you more. to emotionally support you more. if you reach out a hand, they will always want to grab it to help you.

they like to stay home. don’t like to go out and party. do not invite them out, especially with a large group. maybe a study sesh, baking, movie. honestly im not getting too much to pick up on here, they seem like a pretty chill person who likes to be in their own world. like I feel bad for interrupting their energy or peace lmao. if you want something, you have to make it known. they will NOT make the first move. but this person has good communication skills, and emotional maturity. definitely worth talking to. i think you will both learn more about each other if you have an honest conversation about how you are feeling. this person appreciates honesty, straightforwardness, and vulnerability. i honestly really get the vibe it’s a friend u want to communicate feelings for. don’t come on too strong or passionate, take things slow, they don’t like to rush. you’ll scare them lol. they are sensitive. don’t like change. u got this. let things flow. i know it’s hard, I suck at it that part.

- it only takes a taste, waitress the musical - came to my mind

- they have mom friend energy , maybe u have dad friend energy, “accidently parents to found family trope”

pile 2 - curved sharkey

this person may tend to take more than they give. we got the devil card. which isn’t always bad, but can involve lust or deep fantasy, living too much in a dream world, not being practical enough. they don’t desire commitment or balance right now. or communication. if they want to….,18+….. they like things firey and passionate. quick. they are the type to “get what I want”. no thinking. they want you to maybe relax a little more about communication. to live more in the moment. everyone wants different things from connections and that’s okay, you don’t always have to be on the same exact page, but you need to find a common ground. make sure you aren’t always walking the extra mile for them.

this person is fast. moves on quickly. like they don’t want me in their energy. they are like… sorry got to go. I’m bored.

you may be blinded to some red flags. they seem really sweet!! just not looking for anything serious, do not have time for commitment. but also have not communicated that, yikes :/ they like to indulge. I’d be careful with their energy honestly. you do not owe them anything. i wish I had more to say but there’s not much left lmao. they do not like the mushy feelings, or letting people in. you won’t be able to change that any time soon. feel free to engage if you don’t mind, just remember to stay true to yourself as well. do not hide your wants and needs. be honest that you are meeting them where they are for now. don’t build any resentment before something even begins.

pile three - cartoon shark

seems like a connection that has had separation, big changes in the past. a lot of hurt for both ends. one being more silent about their pain than the other.

this person wants a change for sure. numbers 3 or 12 could be important. they want to be more integrative . they seemed stuck in the past before, and feel guilty for so. they may have left you in the cold, “dropped your hand while dancing” / champagne problems. they want to bring you peace, if not come together, at least give closure. i think they had a lot going on, and want to explain. if you want to talk or not, that is your choice. just make sure you aren’t letting your “ego” decide - the part of you that holds resentments , pettiness, the part of your animalistic desires or patterns - dont make this a quick decision, take some time to think about it, not what would bring you short term fulfillment, but long term fulfillment.

they will understand if you do not want to integrate again, but either way want to help in whatever way possible.

this person cared about others opinions in the past, let status/family/friends/affairs get in between the connection. they care about their reputation. maybe they have already done some things in the past they are ashamed of, and are still afraid it can come into light. they felt like they were holding on my a thread. i still think their fear of reputation hasn’t changed if I’m being honest, im not sure they are still willing to put in any fight against others, but maybe for your connection. but don’t expect this person to change over night. they care, but still have issues being publicly outgoing or seen. they don’t like conflict. which is probably why they ran from you too lol. definitely avoidant. but if they come forward, it shows they are making change - remember that.

they didn’t fight for something like you wanted them to. they have never been good at communicating. they have worked on that for months, for themselves, not just you.

you are good at strategy. planning things out. they admire you for this. they are not. they are not good at looking into the future. they live in the moment. but are learning either way they fear what is to come. and they wish they had you to rely on , to be in the future , if nothing else. they don’t want to put the burden on you however , this scares them, maybe you are more financially/ emotionally put together, they may not feel good enough for you.

okay there’s a lot going on here but I think I’m going to end it here, feel free to message me for any clarification but, I think this is something that can only be worked out between you two in divine time.

PILE FOUR - SHOWER SHARK

this is definitely an ex or a past lover or current situation that’s getting less intimate . something has recently gone wrong. some kind of trust has been broken.

i think you are waiting for this person to change. but you two can not change together. they do not want the same things, you are both lacking fulfillment.

if I’m being honest, I don’t even think this person wants closure or to talk. they want a clean break, a fresh start. im sorry if you feel left out in the cold. there’s some new journey here that you have to take on your own. and I don’t think you are used to being alone. i know it’s scary, but I think the universe is high lighting some lesson or journey here. maybe this is long distance. starting college, or studying abroad, a new job, that kind of energy . i think you have a lot to look forward to. all these new changes coming are a blessing in the future. take time to mourn and heal, but know that when you are ready, you have a lot of fulfilling things ready for you. new friends, passions, hobbies

i think you felt really bogged down by this persons energy. that you were too similar. “twin flames” energy , not the western Instagram post “twin flames” but the idea that you meet someone who mirrors all the parts of you that you have ignored for years. that feels like your soulmate - how quickly and intimate you knew them. but it’s just the catalyst for your change and self growth. you will heal and grow into a person that people will love and understand, a person that this past energy won’t even recognize. i think you will always have love for them, it dosent feel too toxic in a sense, more just confusing, and hard, too hard. love dosent need to be hard.

focus on taking a break. mourning. going no contact seems like the best route here. we all have free will, im not telling you what to do. however , I think your energy would be best preserved if you had a clean break. no meeting up again. no drunk texts. no giving back some old tee shirt from the back of your closet that they don’t even want. bring it to goodwill. you will feel better in the long run if you focus on feeling empowered by yourself and not others. it’s okay go want community, and human connection is natural, but we still need self reliance and independence to be able to help others too. okay that’s a lot hope ur ok , much love. bye.

pile five - teeth sharkey

I’m getting this person wants to call you lol. they want to come back around, maybe from the past but not too far back.

they want to cleanse whatever has happened , maybe a fresh start. you may have noticed they have changed a little , dress differently, talk differently, new confidence?? new haircut ?? new phone?

they are a “shape-shifter” , they want to be a person that can change and provide for you. i don’t know how long term these changes are, they seem to change a lot - that is for your judgement and not mine. they seem smooth , I can like feel myself blushing??

welp - there’s definitely some big change spiritually within them with the death card I just pulled. they want change in your situation. maybe they link k***nk …. u know. they want to know the dark parts of you. show you the dark parts of them. “For better or for worse” energy. idk if they want long term commitment so to say? but they definitely want a more stable emotional connection. i may not be your boyfriend/girlfriend/partner but I’ll treat u and know u better than any of them energy.

there’s some secret they are hiding . i still don’t think they want to tell you everything, im not sure they want me to even be clear of what they want, maybe they do not know. they for sure want u tho. especially physically. wow they are attracted to u. possessive energy. maybe u like that, maybe u don’t. that’s urs to say. they want more eye contact, they think you have pretty eyes. they may like the occult / spiritual. OOO u know what, maybe they know you like it , they either researched it to impress you or actually had an awakening and want to share with you. they love your energy. they like being with you at night lol. maybe for some non-pg 13 stuff, but also I think they just want to be “spooky” in general with you and look at the moon and wander at night , do spells, that stuff. you seem to have changed them if I’m being honest. maybe opened up their heart. maybe you are their death moment.

if I’m being honest, idk if this is a person you see as “the one”. more like, a fling or fwb. but they were brought into your life for a reason. don’t let fears of the unknown / future hold you back from connecting with them. they have a lot to teach you.

[lloydfrontera]

Hello! Did Javier or Frontera couple actually never find out that Original Lloyd and Kim Suho shared the same soul????

That's so sad :"(

they don't :( but to be fair neither does lloyd. as far as i know, this is an audience exclusive revelation and no one in-universe knows about it.

and tbh i'm kinda glad? i don't know, i much prefer that the affection and love that exists between the frontera family and suho come from their own experiences and the relationship they built by themselves rather than because it turned out suho was their own child all along. i think it would cheapen the found family aspect of it all.

as it is, i think it was... not a bad decision on bk moon's part to make the twist, but only because he waited to drop the bomb til the last chapter, once all the relationships had already been developed on their own. had it been on the middle of the novel, there would've always been the doubt of "oh is he doing all of this because they were his family in his previous life? does he actually care for them or does he just feel guilty? do they only love each other because they were biological family once?" and honestly it would've sucked, i hate just thinking about it lol

as it is, i think it's already a slippery slope, i've already seen a couple comments about how suho is the way he is because of og lloyd's feelings and guilt and like,,,, No ajsdhjka

for one thing suho has no recollection of his previous life, he's not at all affected by og lloyd's guilt or memories, everything he does, everything he feels is because of his own lived experiences and character. to attribute everything he accomplishes to the last split second resolution of a man who never cared enough to do something for himself or his family in his own life, would be a disservice to his character and honestly, kind of a let down if that's what bkm was going for.

and for another, i just think it's way more poignant to have lloyd find a family that loves and cares for him, not because of blood ties or same-soul shenanigans, but because of who he is and what he's done. it would be kind of disappointing for the story to say "they only care for each other because they were biological family before" because,,, then what was the point of the build up, of their relationship development, of the slowburn of lloyd coming to accept that not only does he sees arcos and marbella as parents but that he deserves their love too. it would negate how big of a choice it was for the fronteras themselves to decide that they loved lloyd, even knowing he wasn't their son, that they cared for him not as a replacement but as his own person, that they trusted him even after the deception, that they wanted him to come home and be part of their family.

all of that would be kind of cheapened if everyone knew that suho's previous life was og lloyd, because then what's the big problem, it's still the same soul, it's basically the same person, they were already family once, no big deal to be family again, everything is wrapped up in a neat little bow with no loose ends and they can carry on their merry lives without facing the big difficult emotions that come with all of the previously mentioned dilemmas.

ok maybe i'm exaggerating a little, i do think there would be very interesting feelings to explore if they did end up knowing about it, but let's be honest, they wouldn't have been explored in canon lol. this is not the kind of novel to explore the grand dilemmas that come with a reincarnated soul making amends for the faults it committed in its previous life and that's okay, not every novel can be.

but i don't know. perhaps i just like the found family trope more than the 'they were related all along' one even if it's just soul wise askjdlafkd

again this is just the way i see things, if you feel differently that's also perfectly okay and i would love to talk about it if you guys want! i'm just. being silly :3