#anyways got told to post this and never did oops

[flyingcakeee]

Williams are doing wheel or no wheel because they don't know if their steering wheel will work or not that week.

[kayentokk]

Hey :) How are you doing?

Okay so, i wanted to request a platonic father Aizawa in which he is out patroling and he finds his teen daughter doing something ilegal with her friends or something like that.

Please and thankss :)

A/N; I’m okay thanks for asking! Love this idea, I’ve gotten many requests somewhat related to this lately actually! I’ll be posting those throughout the week. Also sorry it’s taken me a while to get to this! 🥲 I truly believe Aizawa is a girl dad and a softie parent. 

Pairing; Platonic!Father Aizawa x Fem!Daughter Reader

Contains; a little ooc Aizawa, fluff, soft, drug mentions, reader is about 16-17 like mha characters, quirk-less reader, death mentions, bad friends, comfort

wc; 1,763

You weren’t supposed to get caught. In fact, you didn’t even think you would. It wasn’t a big deal anyways, you only did it because you thought it’d be a way to relax with your friends. Plus, if you guys did get caught your backup plan was your father. It wasn’t like he was going to detain you…right?

Wrong.

You were very wrong to believe that your father wouldn’t take you into custody over a little weed with your friends. You just wanted to have fun! Besides, you didn’t want to be the ‘perfect heroes daughter’ who’s a buzzkill. Why couldn’t he understand that? 

There was just so much pressure that came with being the child to a hero. Your friends already joked about how you were too ‘good’ to do anything remotely illegal. Which is part of the reason you were in this situation in the first place. 

Of course he just happened to be patrolling around the alley you and your friends decided to get a little high in. That was just your luck, he didn’t seem mad though. So you thought he’d just tell you guys not to do it anymore, and move on. Nope. Leave it to Aizawa to want to teach you a ‘lesson’ all of a sudden. He was normally just a “don’t do it again,” kind of parent. Mostly because you had never done anything of this caliber before.

“Did you really have to bring me in?”

Silence.

“I mean come on, none of the other heroes care. They’re too busy thinking about protecting the city, shouldn’t you be too? Nobody cares about a couple of kids getting a little buzzed, besides everyone does it nowadays-“

“That doesn’t make it okay y/n.”

You’ve rarely seen him like this, so tense. He didn’t look angry, but you couldn’t shake the feeling you got that he was. It was almost….scary. 

So you resigned to a simple, “Okay, I’m sorry.” Were you really sorry though? Not that much, you still didn’t see the big deal. 

He let out a low grunt, “This is serious y/n, I know you think I’m making a big deal out of nothing,” well he said it first, “but you could’ve been seriously hurt.”

“Hurt? From getting a little high?”

“Criminals lace that stuff all the time, whether it’s with poison, more drugs, or whatever else they decide-“

“Yeah sure, but we got it from a trusted source-“

“And who’s that?” He said crossing his arms. 

Oops.

You decided it’d be best not to respond right now. Especially since the source wasn’t technically trusted, just another kid who got it from someone else. Who probably got it from someone else too.

Sensing your apprehension he decide to drop it, “we’ll revisit that later,” he said waving a dismissive hand. “I’ll drop you off at home, you’re grounded.” 

You internally groaned at that, grounded? That’s a new one, you were starting to really regret your decision. You should have just told your friends no, even if it meant being the ‘buzzkill.’ Then you remembered, your friends-

“What about my friends?”

“We’re working on calling their parents to come pick them up soon.”

“No!-“ you said sharply, “I-I mean, can’t you just let them off? Or something?”

“You know that’s not how this works, they are already getting off with a minor offense. The worst they’re going to get is their parents’ scolding.”

“Dad! You don’t understand-“

“I understand perfectly fine, a bunch of young kids wanted to ‘have fun’ and thought this was the best way to do it.”

Okay maybe he did understand, but not your side. He didn’t get that now you’d officially be the outcast, the top 10 ranked hero’s daughter who gets everyone in trouble. Does he get how embarrassing that is? 

“Come on, let’s get going.”

You stood from the chair leaving the comfort of being shielded, by the small desk separator, from your friends’ piercing gazes. They thought your dad would let you all off too considering the chaos the city’s currently in. 

You nervously waved and mouthed a quick ‘sorry’ to them before rushing out the door trying to follow closely behind Aizawa. 

You guys didn’t speak the whole way home, you opted for silence mostly because it wasn’t that big of a deal and he just didn’t know what to say. You had never done anything like that before, or had he just never caught you? When did that start?

He remembered when you were little and you’d give your vegetables to stray animals so you didn’t have to eat them, or when you tried to sneak out at night and he caught you. But those were all pretty minor things, and he was only always concerned with your safety.

You’d never done anything this bad, and in terms of the worst thing you could do of course this wasn’t horrible but he still didn’t get why. It couldn’t have just been for fun.

He entered the house after unlocking the door and opening it for you. Before you could make it to your room, where you’d probably go to sulk, he decided he’d ask.

“Why did you want to do that y/n?”

You stopped and turned around to face him. He was standing in front of the door, and now that you actually took in his appearance he looked tired. His dark circles more prominent, eyes a light pink most likely from his quirk, and his black pants had small patches of dust that had been hastily patted off on them. 

You replied after a moment, briefly forgetting his question, “For fu-“

“And don’t just say for fun, because I know you and there are plenty of other things you would do for fun.”

You huffed resigning to just come out with it, “it was a bet.”

“A bet?”

“My friends bet me that I wouldn’t get high with them since I’m a hero’s daughter.”

“And you decided to take them up on that?”

“Yes, I know it was stupid okay?”

“I know you know, you’re smarter than that. So why’d you say yes?”

Why’d he have to be so persistent? “Maybe because I thought I’d finally get some friends.”

“What do you mean y/n? You do have friends.”

“No, I don’t. Momo, Tsu, and Uraraka only hang out with me out of pity, since you’re their teacher, if they even have time-“

“Pity? Y/n no they don’t, there’s nothing pitiful about you at all-“

You scoffed, “don’t lie. I get you’re my dad and all but be honest with yourself, truly honest.”

“I am being honest. I’d never lie-“

Guess you’d just have to spell it out for him then. “The only daughter you had killed your wife, was born quirk-less, and there’s nothing special about her!” You were shocked at the admission of your own feelings but kept going, “I don’t have a talent, I’m not exceptionally smart, I’m not breathtakingly pretty, and I can’t even make friends!” You listed raising a finger for each reason, “Now tell me what about that is not pitiful?”

After that question there was silence, and Aizawa was just looking at you. You hadn’t even noticed you were crying until the first tear slid down your nose crease and hit the corner of your lip. Before touching could even wipe your tear or register the sound of footsteps approaching you, you were being hugged. Fully covered by his arms, your head grazing the bottom of his chin where stubble had began to grow, face buried partially into his scarf. 

You heard high pitched wailing, which you hadn’t even registered was you until his hand began to rub up and down your back with quiet ‘shh’s to try calming you.  

“Don’t cry, it’s okay. It’s not your fault, none of it okay?” He began whispering in your ear.

“Your mom and I both knew the challenges she’d have if she gave birth to you. We were well aware, and she wanted to have you. She didn’t care if she’d die in the process, you are our child.”

He continued comforting you, and when you eventually calmed down he let go and gently pulled your face out of his chest so you could look him in his tired, red eyes. “I love you so much, and I’m sorry if I don’t tell you that enough okay? It’s my fault I’m sorry. You are the best thing that’s ever happened to me, and you’re perfect. I mean that, I’d never lie. You don’t need a quirk, to be super smart, or have a special talent. You’re perfect to me, okay? And that’s all that matters. You’re important to me,” he said firmly. 

“Okay?”

You sniffled, reaching a hand to wipe your nose, “okay.”

“Hey,” he said turning your face back to his, “I really mean it, I’d be no where without you. And how could you say you’re not beautiful? I know I’m not the best looking hero, but haven’t you seen the pictures of your mom? You take after her, gorgeous. Nothing I’d ever change about you, I don’t regret anything.”

“Okay,” you said slightly unused to him saying these things, “I’ve never heard you say something so corny dad,” you said chuckling trying to lighten the mood. 

At that, he gave a small grin which faded when he remembered your earlier point, “And Ochaco, Tsuyu, and Yaoyorozu do like being your friend. Not just because I’m their teacher, trust me I’m more of a supervisor if anything. I let them figure most stuff out on their own. They wanted to meet and hang out with you. I don’t think you give yourself enough credit, you make friends just fine.” 

“I know, I know, it was just heat of the moment stuff dad.”

He let out a sigh of relief, hugged you once more, and pressed a kiss to the top of your forehead.

“I still have about another hour of night patrol, but I’ll stay here if you want me to?”

“No dad, it’s fine go.”

He looked at you once more as if saying, ‘are you sure?’ 

“Yes I’m sure I’m fine, it’s only an hour anyways.”

“Okay, call me if you need anything, I’ll be back soon,” he said headed towards the door.

“Okay,” you said starting to walk to your room. 

But just before he shut the door you dashed for it and started, “Hey! does this mean-“

“No you’re still grounded,” he said. 

And with that the door shut.

@/cafekitsune for the divider!

[yurislotusgarden]

Just you and me

ʚїɞ Dazai Osamu, Nakahara Chuuya, Edogawa Ranpo x reader

ʚїɞ Keep in mind English is not my first language, so you may find mistakes!

ʚїɞ Word count: 556

ʚїɞ Short hc's for Valentines! Was meant to post something else but won't be done with it today so have this small thing I wrote rq! <3

He almost always wakes up before you, and most of the time it's a quiet time that he uses to admire your pretty face

Lil soft kisses on your face <3

But it's Dazai so he added a small amount of tickling to help with waking you up

Don't blame him, he just loves hearing your laughter

He for once didn't try to fuck up in the kitchen on purpose and tried his best

He got you a necklace that looked like it costed a lot, but when you asked he said he saved up money to buy it (You knew it was a lie, but didn't know that he stole money from Kunikida AND Chuuya’s bank accounts <33)

It was a surprise to no one that he didn't show up at the agency that day, but not even Kunikida had any big problems with it

Listen, don't question why he's paying for everything was that Kunikida’s credit card? Who's black card was that?

Don't worry he did pay for some things with his own money, he did save up something

Stayed out to look at the night sky, and you could swear that the stars were just a bit more brighter than usual

You thought he spoiled you before? Get ready bcs he WON'T miss a day where he can get away with it

Normally he would listen to you saying he doesn't have to spend so much money on you (in one day bcs we all know he will never stop) but not on occasions like this

Will wake you up so softly ugh :(

Soft kisses all over your face, gentle hand on your cheek, waist or hip

He will have breakfast ready so that you don't need to leave the bed too early

Won't leave you alone nor stop with compliments, but it's not like you're complaining

He will use any excuse to get you something

Got one of the days off to be on the valentines so he can take you out for the whole day

Ignore how he's staring at you with a small smile and soft eyes the whole day, he won't stop no matter what you say

Looked at something longer than 2 seconds? Oops it's suddenly in a bag in your hands

“Chuu, I don't need this.”

“I want you to have it though.”

Walking along the water side to look at the sunset <3

Ranpo

I swear he was more annoying in the morning than usual on purpose

Was surprisgly quiet while you were making breakfast tho

He told you he had a case and that you should go with him as per usual

You went to the place just for Ranpo to reveal that there's no actual case and it was just a lie to get you out into the city

He actually did save up some money to buy you something nice unlike certain someone

A lot of it went into sweets anyway, but he did share more than usual so, you didn't really complain

You both ignored calls from Kunikida and he just gave up at one point

You had to go back pretty early because you didn't wanna risk losing this man child after dark😭

Still looked at the stars from the rooftop of the agency dorms while laying on a blanket <3

[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.

[ughgoaway]

don't you think of me?

plot; snapshots of your breakup, with one letter underlining it all.

word count; 6.9k-ish

content warnings; swearing, dramatic overreactions, distressing dreams, depression, blood, general sad vibes, drinking and no happy ending (oops <3)

a/n; guys... angst is SO HARD. idk how people write it sooooo well. this fic is inspired by the songs "Sad Beautiful Tragic" and "I Almost Do" and the storyline is based completely on those songs! but there are a few other Taylor song references in the fic too. anyway, this kind of jumps around a lot, perspectives and timelines. so if it's completely incomprehensible, I am so sorry!! lemme know if it's so awful I need to have a re-write lol. I really hope the flashbacks are clear, and that this timeline makes any sense whatsoever <3

(p.s this is basically dedicated to 🍪 anon and bff anon, ty for riding so hard for this fic lol)

(this is non-canon)

✿❀✿✿❀✿✿❀✿✿❀✿✿❀✿✿❀✿✿❀✿✿❀✿

The cold wind hurts Matty's face as he battles against it. Each gust feels like needles prickling his cheeks. But still, he pushes through, not really feeling much of anything these days anyway. The paper in his pocket scratches his hands as he burrows them in deeper, but he just grips it harder. The scratches made him feel more human anyway. They convinced his hazy head that maybe life was still happening around him. 

The red post box in front of him is almost taunting. He stands frozen, gripping the letter he’s worked so hard on tightly. He has the passing thought of just letting it go, watching it blow away in the breeze, and never having to think about it again. 

He never has to think about you again. 

But he knows that's unrealistic. How can he never think of you again when you're all he thinks about? Every waking thought he has is about you. He still thinks about how your breathing changed when you slept next to him. The way your lips curved into the smirk he loved whenever you teased him. The flush that covered your cheeks when he did it back. 

Every morning, he still gets out 2 mugs. He still grabs your favourite wine at the shops and doesn't say yes to plans without thinking if he should check with you first. The last time he saw you was still burned into the back of his mind, and he was not sure it could ever leave. 

And to be honest, he doesn't know if he wants it to. If healing means forgetting you, forgetting everything you built, then maybe it is better to live in the pain. Each time he begins to heal, he picks up the scab over and over again. The sting reminded him of you, so he picked and picked. Blood poured from him relentlessly, but that was all he could do. Bleeding for you was all he had of you anymore.

He shoved the letter in and walked away briskly. He fought every bone in his body telling him to go back. To smash the post box and filter through every letter until he found his. He imagined a world in which he hadn't sent it, where instead he turned around and marched back to his house. 

Or maybe there's a world where he marched to your house instead. Maybe he finally got over himself and told you everything in person. He begged and pleaded for you to forgive him, to look him in the eyes and tell him you've been hurting just as much as him.

Matty isn't sure that world exists, though.

✿✿❀✿✿❀✿✿❀

3 days later, when it arrives, you stare at it endlessly. You move it from place to place in your apartment and try to visualise opening it there. But soon enough, that just becomes you avoiding that room like the plague, and you start to treat parts of your flat like they are infested with a deadly virus. But they're not, really. They're just filled with a small envelope with your name on it and a return address you know all too well.

You decide you aren't going to read it 2 days later. You hold it over a candle and watch the amber flames lick the bottom of the envelope. But before you can set it ablaze, some instinct takes over, and suddenly, it's the most important object you've ever owned. You pull it from the flames and put it out with your fingers, not caring if the fire sizzles your skin. You cry and beg for it to be okay, tears streaming from your cheeks as you frantically pull it open, “No no no. fuck, please.” 

But the letter inside was unscathed, just the corner of the envelope was covered in a thin layer of ash. As soon as you see that handwriting, though, you feel the unspeakable urge to burn it again, to set it on fire and watch it burn. 

You don’t. 

You lay it on the table and go to bed. You decide tomorrow will be the day you do something with it, even though you promised yourself that every day since you got it. But you're sure tomorrow will really be the day. It has to be.

You return to the warm solace of the bed you've grown to know too well over the past few weeks, and the duvet welcomes you in like an old friend.

✿✿❀✿✿❀✿✿❀

It's a few days after he sent the letter and the day after you received it when he sees you for the first time, and he can't quite believe it. There you were, standing in the coffee shop you always went to together. 

He wondered if the baristas had noticed you both started to come in without the other. Maybe they started gossiping about it, “Did those customers break up? I never see them together any more” and he could almost see someone else saying “I hope not. They were cute.”

Even though he knew no one would ever actually say that, and that the baristas hadn't noticed anything.

Some force that he couldn't explain pulled him towards you, and before he knew it, he was reaching for your arm. “Hi” he breathed out heavily, staring at you like he wasn't sure you were real. He wasn't convinced that you were anything but a figment of his imagination. Has his delusions about you already gotten to the point where he's having visions? He thought it would take a few more months for that.

“Matty?” You say gently, tracing your eyes over the man in front of you. Hearing your soft voice after months without you felt like heaven on earth for Matty, relaxation washing over him just at the soft dulcet tones of you.

Matty smiled softly at you, and you immediately returned it. He can see the cogs turning in your head on how to greet him. Was a hug too much? Is a wave too little? Is a handshake too formal? Overthinking was one thing you were so good. Matty was sure you could win an award for it. So he decided to take the decision into his own hands and wrapped out up in a hug, burrowing his face in your hair and smelling that familiar floral aura he'd fallen in love with.

Your whole body tensed when he first touched you. The once familiar feeling now was slightly cold and awkward. But Matty felt you relax and couldn't help the grin that spread across his face the the feeling of your head in his neck, the place you always used to lay. He swore he could feel you breathe him in, but soon convinced himself it was wishful thinking.

Reluctantly, you pull away, looking up at Matty with glassy eyes. The barista next to you clears his throat, bringing you both back to earth and out of whatever haze you were in. “your tea is ready” he says awkwardly, eyeing you and Matty with a sly smile on his lips.

“Right! Sorry, yes. Thank you” You grab your cup and turn back to Matty nervously. He can see the anxiety radiating off you, just like it always had. He never thought it would be directed at him, but he tries not to overthink it too much.

“Do you-” You clear your throat, shaking your head as you try to process that you're seeing him again. Seeing your Matty. “Do you want to sit with me? Catch up?” 

Matty can see your hands shaking around your cup and the nervousness swimming in your eyes. “Of course,” he says easily. He could never deny an opportunity to spend time with you. Especially not when he hadn't seen you in so long. And certainly not when you still take up his every waking thought. 

The conversation flows like you had never left, easily chatting and catching up like you always had. You tell Matty about the cat you adopted and how she loves to sit on top of the fridge to scare you. He tells you about his mum and her latest drama. Her kitchen cupboards were the wrong colour of grey, and it was the topic of conversation for much longer than he thought possible.

The first bout of silence comes when you ask about Annie, and Matty can tell it took every ounce of strength to force the words out of your mouth. You felt like someone had taken one of your vital organs when you left her, and you can still see her face in your mind whenever you close your eyes.

“she's good. Misses you, though. Especially because she doesn't see you at school anymore since you got a new job” he says with a solemn smile. Matty tries to hold eye contact, but he gives up a few seconds into it, instead staring at his coffee as if it was the most interesting thing in the room. 

Thankfully, soon enough, the once stilted silence becomes easy chatter and laughter all over again, Matty welcomed the warm conversation with open arms, missing your presence more than he ever thought possible.

But Matty's mouth soon got ahead of him, “so when was the last time I saw you?” he asked thoughtlessly. His brain was on autopilot, and the words poured out of him before he could stop it. The very topic you'd both been dancing around was now laid out in front of you, and it couldn't be ignored. 

Matty saw something in your demeanour change, your once soft smile morphing into a faux-happy grimace, “Don't you remember? You screaming at me in the kitchen? And then storming out after saying what you did? Maybe you remember smashing a plate on the floor?” Matty pauses at your words, not quite believing you're deciding to re-hash all of this in the middle of a coffee shop, especially with a massive and slightly creepy grin on your face, but he answers anyway. 

“Of course, I remember. And there's not enough words to say how sorry I am but-” he stutters as he tries to explain himself more, but you cut him off, gently placing a hand on his arm.

“Are you sure you remember? When you left me? Abandoned me? Left me sobbing and alone? What about the 30 phone calls you ignored?” You kept talking, and Matty couldn't get a word in, your voice increasing in volume with each desperate question. 

“Look I’m so sorry-” Matty desperately looked around him to see if people were staring at your raised voice, but the cafe was empty. The once bustling coffee shop is now like a ghost town, with no evidence of another human ever being in there. 

He flicks his head back to yours, only to be in his kitchen, forced back to that night. He stares at you in your pyjamas, tears streaming down your face. He flicks his eyes down to see him dressed in the same liquor-stained clothes, and he can taste the red wine on his tongue.

“Why” you whispered over and over again, gradually getting louder, eventually shouting at Matty as he stood there motionless.

Matty wakes up in a cold sweat, panting wildly as his brain fights to figure out what the fuck is happening. He scrambles to his phone and realises; it's still the same day. It was just another fucking dream. He knows nightmare would be the better word, but he can't bring himself to describe anything with you in it as a nightmare. 

With a heavy sigh, he flops back to his pillow, gripping his phone desperately and trying to fight the urge to call you. It almost doesn't work, and he clicks on your contact and lets his thumb hover over the call button. He sees the unanswered calls and the pleading messages. He can feel the desperation through the screen. 

He thinks your new boyfriend must've blocked his number because that's easier than thinking that you just hate him. Each time he reaches out, there’s no reply, and he feels a part of himself die.

He hadn't tried for a few months now, but he still had that urge to type out his every thought, to send it and call you until you answered. But he doesn't. 

It doesn't occur to Matty that the real reason that the reason you don't answer isn't because of a new boyfriend or because you hate him. Instead, it’s because you know you can't deal with another goodbye. You can't risk all this happening again. You were already practically ripped open. You can't risk tearing the very stitches you worked so hard to sew closed.

But matty doesn't know that, so with a huff, he clicks off you and onto George, and this time, he lets the phone ring.

“Huh? what-” he hears the groggy voice over the phone mutter, and it's then he realises maybe ringing George at 3 am because he had a nightmare wasn't the best decision. But it was too late now, and he could practically see George's expectant face from the other side of the phone. 

“Hi. it um- it happened again” Matty said with a huff, falling back into the pillows and staring at the moonlight dancing across his ceiling. He heard George's heavy sigh and the distinct sound of ruffling sheets, George had sat up instinctively, knowing something was up.

“What was it this time? Did everyone in the crowd turn into her again” George says softly, rubbing at his tired eyes and fighting a yawn. 

“No, it started off really nice this time. I saw her again at that cafe we always went to, you know the one near the studio? We were just chatting and catching up. But then she wouldn't stop talking about that night, telling me what happened all over again. And then I blinked, and I was back. I was in that kitchen again, just staring at her.” Matty follows the moonbeams with his eyes, lingering on the two beams crossing over, only for their paths to separate once again.

It reminded him of you and him.

“I think you need to get some lavender oil or some shit. You need to sleep. And these nightmares aren't helping” George says firmly, Matty would usually fight him tooth and nail at the suggestion.

He claimed it was because that stuff had never worked for him, but George knew it was because he saw it as still having a part of you in his life. Even if you were there in the form of his demons, at least they all looked like you.

But to his surprise, Matty immediately crumbled, “Yeah, you're right. Will you come to Boots with me after the studio tomorrow?” George agreed quickly before Matty could change his mind.

But he didn't try to, Matty simply said, “Thanks. Okay, I'll let you sleep now… Bye.” And before George could tell him it was okay, and he’d stay chatting as long as Matty needed, he was gone. 

Tears leaked from Matty’s eyes, wetting the same pillow where you used to lay your head. This loop of healing felt endless, and Matty wasn't sure if fixing this was possible when he knew you were still out there without him. Forever wouldn't have even been enough with you, but now he has nothing. What is he meant to do with no you?

✿✿❀✿✿❀✿✿❀

As Matty lay awake in Manchester, you were in the same position in London. The same lonely bed, but different cities. Unlike him, you haven't managed to sleep yet. Instead, you can't stop your brain from imagining what is in that letter. Your mind falls back to that night, and you replay the events over and over again. Every word Matty said was etched in your mind, so it played easily, the same script ringing in your ears all these months later.

//////////////////////

Matty shut the door delicately. Getting home at 2 am. was already bad enough. He didn't want to wake you or Annie in the process. But when he saw the light pouring out of the kitchen and heard the distinct hissing of the kettle, he knew you were awake. And he knew you were waiting for him.

He walked into the kitchen silently, leaning on the counter and watching you potter around, he remember when he used to sit here for hours and dream of you in his house. Now he's not even sure the last time you said I love you to each other. You continue to ignore Matty, but you getting a second mug out of the cupboard tells him all he needs to know. This is going to be a long night. 

“At the studio late again?” You ask, passing Matty his mug and leaning across from him. Your eyes trace up his figure, and you can't help but think you don't recognise the man in front of you. His clothes hung off of him, and heavy bags sat under his empty eyes. His hair was standing on end, once perfectly manicured curls now frazzled beyond repair.

“Yeah, George wanted to fix this harmony. Sorry I'm back so late” he knew lying to you was wrong. He really did. But he couldn't bring himself to explain where he actually was, drinking alone in a bar rather than at home with his family.

“Oh. okay.” you pause and wait for Matty to correct himself, giving him a chance to be fucking honest for once. But he doesn't, so you push again.

“That's weird though, because I asked Charli where George was 2 hours ago, and she sent a photo of them together. In bed.”

Matty's eyes widened. He knew he'd just been caught, but he wasn't ready to give up the lie yet. He just needed a few more weeks away, and then he would come back. Then everything would be made right again. So his tipsy mind comes up with a new lie and pleads with whatever God there might be that would believe him, “Oh did I say George? I meant Hann, you know how I get when it's late”

“Matty. You stink of booze. Do you think im an idiot?” You sigh, placing your tea down and crossing your arms over your chest. The anger bubbling within you was threatening to spill over. You felt as if every word from Matty was a stab, yet he kept just pushing the knife deeper.

“So I had a drink at the studio! Sue me, Jesus Christ” Matty sneers at you as he talks, slamming his cup onto the counter, ignoring the burning on his hand from the tea falling over the rim.

“Liar” you click your tongue at Matty and cast your eyes to the floor. Staring into his eyes as he lied to you was agony, and you're not sure how much more pain you can take.

“I'm not lying. I swear I just-” he tries to argue, but you refuse to let him keep going.

“I know you're lying. You're always fucking lying! You weren't at the studio.” you sighed heavily flicking your eyes up to Matty briefly, but the tension was too much, it hurt to look at him.  

“Baby, cmon, calm down. It’s okay, yeah? I’m here now,” Matty moved towards you, grabbing your cheek in his hand and moving in to kiss you, prepared to make this all melt away just like he always did. You try to push him away, but Matty stands strong. He had to fix this. He needed to kiss and make up. It was all he knew how to do.

“Would you just fucking listen” you shout, pushing Matty back across from you, “I don't even know who you are anymore! These past few weeks have made you into a man I don't even fucking recognise.” You look up at him with crazed eyes and scoff at the sight of the man in front of you. 

You were done with it all. The lying, the running away, the sleuthing around. Done. You were having this conversation, and you were having it now.

“No please don't say that. You know me. I don't know who I am without you knowing me,” Matty begged, sobering up quickly at your words.

He needs to bring this back, claw what little life you had left in you to the surface. Everything that left Matty’s life has had claw marks in it, and he would be damned if he'd let you go without the same scars.

“Don't you understand that's the fucking issue, Matty? You don't know who you are anymore, I don't know who you are anymore. You need to be a person without me.” your words struck Matty in the chest like a bullet. 

Were you seriously suggesting what he thinks you are? Do you actually want to break up with him?

Matty baulks at your words. Every feeling he’d had over the past few months was catching up to him, crashing into each other in his brain as they fought to be let out. Anger won because, of course, it won. It seems to always win.

He decides that if you want to break up, then he'll do it himself. He can't let you beat him to it. He knows it's childish, but he doesn't fucking care. He needs to win this. “Please, I've been a person without you for 30 fucking years. I’m a fucking dad! I don't need you to tell me who I am.”

“Annie needs both her parents, Matty. We need you back, please.” The mention of Annie makes outrage bubble within him like it had never done before. He can't believe you'd practically threatened to break up with him one minute and then beg for him back for the sake of his daughter the next. Because that is what she is, she's his daughter.

“You don't know what it's like to be a parent y/n,” Matty mumbles under his breath, but he might as well have screamed it at you because that's how loudly it rang in your ears. He knew he'd fucked up as soon as he said it, but there was no going back now, and he could see that in your eyes.

“I don't know what it's like to be a parent. Are you fucking kidding Matty? What the hell have I been doing here for the past year? Just fucking around? I can't believe you could say that to me.” You hear your voice wavering as you force each word out. 

“Annie is just as much my daughter as she is yours” you whisper desperately. The regret of mentioning Annie was building in your chest, and it felt like a rock impeding your lungs, each breath fighting against the weight. but it was too late to take anything back now. Both you and Matty knew it.

Matty scoffs at your words, rolling his eyes as he fiddles with his fingers. He tries desperately to cool his raging mind, but he can't. He figures if he is already in this deep, why not stoop a little lower?

“Just as much your daughter? Please. You weren't here for fucking any of it. Where were you here when she was born? How about when she was sick for the first time and wouldn't let me put her down without screaming bloody murder? Or- or how about when she broke her arm and she cried when she couldn't have a pink cast? Or maybe for any fucking time apart from the last 12 months. I know you liked playing happy families y/n, but be fucking real for 5 seconds. You were her teacher, maybe a fun friend, but nothing more. And if you think you were, you're more delusional than I thought.”

His chest heaved as he finished, not taking a single breath during his rambling speech, he could see your wet eyes and he felt his heart aching but he just couldn't stop himself, words tumbling out of his mouth. "Even if you stayed, even if you never give up on us, on this. You could never be her mother.”

Both of you pause, the silence thick and heavy around you. How long could you stand like this and pretend he didn’t say that? Maybe if you just stayed there and listened to your ragged breathing, something would change.

But nothing did.

“Fuck you. You told me I was practically her mother a month ago. You said to me I was it for you, that your family was complete. I can't believe-” words poured out of you, streaming helplessly as you paced the kitchen. 

Matty tried to cut in, desperate to get a word in edgeways. The need to defend himself was all-consuming. He needed to know that you understood he said it in the heat of the moment. Words fall out of his mouth without thinking. He can’t help it.

“y/n, love-”

“I’m not her mother? Tell that to the time I took her dress shopping for your mum's wedding. Or when I took her to A&E with suspected appendicitis. and-”

“y/n. Stop, just listen to me, please.” Matty begs, he almost inches closer to you, but some ineffable force keeps him where he is, watching you pace helplessly.

“Listen to you? Oh, I've done plenty of fucking listening Matthew. All I do is listen to you! But you never fucking hear me-” 

“Can you just shut up for 5 fucking seconds” Matty shouted, grabbing a plate from beside him, throwing it against the concrete floor, watching it shatter into a thousand pieces. He just needed you to look at him, to tell him you could fix this, but you wouldn't stop talking.

A gasp from you pulls him back to earth, and he feels his heart break into as many pieces as the plate below his feet. Your wide eyes and tear-stained cheeks glare back at him, and Matty has nothing to say. He has no fucking idea what just came over him.

Matty gingerly takes a step towards you, trying to avoid the ceramic splayed over the floor. His fingers shake as he reaches his hand out to your cheek, wanting to thumb away the tears falling.

But just as he does, he sees you flinch. It wasn't even a full movement, practically a micro-expression. But you fucking flinched. And you both knew it. The veil of silence over you is thick as you both stand there motionless with no idea what you could say to fix this. To make the last 10 minutes disappear. 

Matty’s touch used to calm you. It was the only reassurance you needed. But now the mere thought of it filled you with some twisted sense of fear. The woman he had planned the rest of his life with was scared of him. And it was all his fucking fault. How had this all become his worst nightmare? How had the very thing he sacrificed so much to build crumbled and destroyed itself so deeply?

“Matty wait- I’m sorry, I was just still on edge. It's okay, im okay. See?” With a shaking hand, you grip his, bringing it to your face despite his protests. You can feel him trying to pull his arm away, but you fight him at every tug. Forcibly placing his hand on your wet cheek.

As soon as your hand drops from his, Matty wrenches away from you. The feeling of your cheek against his palm felt as if his skin was burning. The pain touched his every nerve. 

The air is charged with pure fear as you stare at the other, both of your chests heaving and your eyes glassy with unshed tears. Without thinking it through, Matty storms off, grabbing his keys as he pushes through the house. You chase after him, ignoring the blades of ceramic impaling your sock-covered feet, “No don't leave, Matty, please. Stay, stay here.” You reach to grab his arm, but Matty snatches it away before you can even feel his skin against yours.

“I’m leaving. I’m staying at George tonight. Tomorrow I’ll come pick Annie up from school. You will call in and take a sick day. Start packing your shit. I’m done. You're out of my house by tomorrow.” Matty demands, and with that, he leaves. Slamming the door behind him. 

Bloody footprints lay in a trail behind you, and your socks start slowly becoming sodden from your weeping wounds. But still, you stood there, unmoving. Shock coursing through your veins.

It was all over. Just like that.

////////////////////

The letter was taunting you from the other room, the blacked corner flashed into your mind whenever your eyes finally fluttered close. The image of you burning the letter played behind your eyelids like a movie, and you almost wish you really had done it.

But you didnt, so it still sat on your living room table, torturing you.

Eventually, you drift off to sleep, tears dampen the pillow below your head, but you ignore the thumping in your head and finally let sleep pull you under.

✿✿❀✿✿❀✿✿❀

You know you're dreaming when you're back in that kitchen. But you can't stop it from happening. The hazy filter that covers your surroundings is the only thing assuring you this isn't real, that this isn't all happening again.

Matty stands in front of you just as he had that night, but he looks different. His once frizzy curls sat in perfectly ringlets around his face, the streaks of grey dancing through them more prominent. His unshaven face was now neatly trimmed, and you admired the salt and pepper hairs within it. You can see the tears brimming in his eyes, glittering on his waterline. 

“So you'll forgive me? We can move on?” he says desperately, smiling and moving towards you with tears falling down his cheeks.

You try to speak, but your mouth doesn't move, your lips stay pressed together against your brain's protests. Not even grunts escape you. Silently, you stare at Matty, completely motionless. 

“y/n? You forgive me. I can make this right again, can't I?” Matty begs desperately. He grabs your hand but recoils at the cold feeling on his skin, your fingers cold as ice in his grip.

You fight to speak again, to tell him yes. To tell him you forgive him, that you need to try again. But still, nothing leaves your lips.

Matty scoffs at you, ripping himself away from you, “I can't believe you're ignoring me. I thought you'd be more mature than this. Call me when you can actually have an adult fucking conversation.”

He storms off, but all you can do is watch him helplessly. Every nerve in your body is screaming to move, to chase after him. And you almost do, but some inexplicable force is keeping you there, motionless in the same place where your life ended all those months ago.

So you watch him leave again, the haze surrounding you soon becoming darkness. 

You know it's a dream, and you keep on telling yourself that. But when you wake with wet cheeks and a heaving chest, it feels pretty fucking real.

You swear you can feel him next to you, awake and staring at the same ceiling. But when you turn to see him, the piled-up duvet is all that's there, along with a cold bed beside you.

It's then you decide to finally give in to that voice in your head, the one screaming at you to just read the letter, to get it over and done with. The one begging you to throw it away and never look back is nearly silenced, and it soon becomes nothing but a whisper in the back of your mind.

The letter stays exactly where you left it, and whilst you know it couldn't have moved, part of you wishes it had. With shaking hands, you grab the pile of pages, and you can feel your heart racing the very same way it used to when you saw him.

The city lights shine onto you as you finally open the pages, looking at the handwriting you knew all too well. The same handwriting that used to give you butterflies, that used to detail how much it loved you, filling pages with adoration. 

Now you're not so sure what it entails. But you read anyway, ignoring every screaming signal telling you to stop.

///////////

Hi darling,

I know I don't have the right to call you that anymore, but I can't bring myself to call you anything else. It's been a few months since we've spoken, and I've felt every minute of it. I've filled notebooks writing about you, writing to you. I must have practised this letter a dozen times, and I know this still won't be right. 

So, instead of trying to write the perfect letter, I've ripped out some pages from my journal. My therapist told me to write like I was speaking to you, so that's what I did. I’m sure she would be pissed that im sending this at all, but I need to do this for us. To remember what we once were. 

Anyway, I hope it makes you understand what this time without you has been like for me. You can ignore this letter completely and I wouldn't blame you. I won't hold it over you if you burn it and never look back. But if you do read it, I just need you to know im sorry. For everything.

(3 weeks without you)

To say the past couple of weeks have been hell for me is beyond an understatement. There is this festering part of me that thinks I will love you forever, and the knowledge that we will never be like we once were kills me, but it has to kill me. Because if I felt anything other than agony, I would come crawling back to you, and you don't deserve that. And I know that. But fucking hell, that doesn't make it hurt any less.

You know me, I don't know what it's like to have surface-level emotions. I either feel it all, or I feel nothing. and with you? I fucking felt it all. I felt every touch, every smile, every fight, every screaming match ending in tears. I fucking felt it. and for some reason- I'm still thankful for it. because at least I felt you.

I wonder if you're at the point where you miss me when you hear my name. And I can't help but think about you hearing my songs, do you change the station? Even if they're about you? But if I’m honest, they're all about you. Every one of them. Even before I knew you, they were about you.

(a month and a half)

I wish you could forgive me. I think if I knew you didn't hate me, I could move on. Or maybe it would do the opposite. I don't know. All I do know is, I miss you. 

(2 months)

Sometimes I miss you so much I can't handle it. I go driving and find the places we used to go, I sit there, and I can still hear your laugh. I can feel that all-encompassing warmth that surrounds you. but then someone speaks, or a car horn goes off, and suddenly, it's cold again. I mourn you like you're someone I've lost forever, and in a way, I have.

You know I still feel you every day, everywhere. Because you might have left, but you never really did. I still find your socks down beside the bed, and your hair ties around the house. I accidentally used your shampoo in the shower this week. You know that ridiculous Jasmine one that you pay too much for? 

It was like having you around again, I never thought the small of some shitty shampoo would be the thing that brought it all back to me, brought you back to me. Yet it was. But still, you were gone. 

So apparently, I decided to fall into the breakup trope of crying in the shower. For 45 minutes, which made me feel slightly pathetic. And it didn't help when George knocked on the door and washed my hair again. with my shampoo. But I still find myself smelling jasmine even when it's nowhere near.

You haunt me in ways I never thought possible.

(3 months)

It's 3 a.m., and I can't stop picturing your face. Just knowing you're still out there makes it so much fucking harder. I don't know how to cope knowing you're there and not here, with me. Even months later there's some sick part of me that hopes leaving me was the hardest thing you've had to do. but I hope loving me wasn't. 

I know that's selfish, and that this is all my fault anyway. so I want you to move on, even if it kills me. it's hell thinking that the one person you could never forget is fighting to forget you. 

But I hope you find the love of your life. I hope they make your tea just how you like it, and buy you those crazy expensive candles you love. I hope they will follow you to the ends of the earth, just like I would. even now. 

(3 and a half months)

I want to say you don't know how it feels to miss you, you don't know how hard it is. but I have to keep hoping you miss me just as much. because if you didn't, if you just moved on without a second thought; I couldn't cope. the fact that we will always just be an almost will live with me until the day I die. I don't want you to be an almost. I want you to be an always. but it's over, and I know that. or at least I'm very good at pretending I know that.

(4 months)

Recently, I've been thinking about “what ifs?” Despite my therapist telling me I shouldn't. But you know what it is like after breakups. It's this all-consuming thing, and you can't help but imagine if things were different.

I think in another universe, we worked out. I got over my massive ego, and you worked through your past, and it fixed itself. We got married, had another kid, and got that cat you always wanted. We'd go to Annie's graduation together. Her wedding together. you'd cry as I walked her down the aisle, I'd smile and kiss away your tears. and I know that's not this universe. but fucking hell why can't it be?

(4 and a half months)

My mum misses you. She asked how you were doing today and if I had reached out yet. I got angry at her and stormed out. If only she knew how many times I’d dialled your number and then turned off my phone. Or how many unanswered texts I've sent. 

Annie misses you too, by the way. She's finally stopped asking when you're coming back.

I wish she still asked.

(today)

I don't expect you to read all of this, and if you've just skipped to the end, I don't blame you.

but I'm sending this letter because I think I'm finally at a place where when I think of you, I don't take it as a sign from the universe that we were meant to be together. instead, I think of it as a past life, as proof that we were an almost.

Next time I see you, I hope it doesn't hurt as much as the last time.

Goodbye, my love,

Matty x

///////////

The distinct sound of dripping tears hitting paper was the only noise in the room. You watched helplessly as the ink distorted under the little pools of wetness. A million thoughts race through your mind, and you can't help but fucking hate him for sending this.

How could he do this to you? All you've been doing for months is healing, but he keeps ripping open old wounds carelessly. He has to know you can never go back. You can't trust him.

All you left behind you was a mess. You were both better off this way.

With a scoff, you grab your lighter and cigarettes, stepping onto the balcony with the letter gripped in your shaking hands. You have to flick the lighter a few times before it works, the bitter wind fighting against it. 

But soon the flame comes, you sigh happily, moving it up to the cigarette delicately balanced between your lips. You suck in a deep breath, revelling in the feeling of the smoke filling your lungs. The slight crackle brings you more relaxation than anything else these days, but you still have to fight to ignore the familiarity of the scent.

You flick the lighter again, huffing annoyed as it goes out. Once you see the distinct glow of amber, you don't hesitate before placing it against the paper and watching the pages in front of you burn up.

Ashes sizzle your skin, but you couldn't care less. In fact, you welcome the pain. A sick smile comes across your face, grinning around the now-lit cigarette in your mouth.

Isn't it funny how little words mean, when they're a little too late?

[hollowed-theory-hall]

Dumbledore is a Manipulative Piece of Shit: Part 4/?

(part 1, part 2, part 3)

He knew and allowed Harry's abuse

Well, this is a pleasant subject, isn't it? Harry's abuse at the Dursleys' hands. And the worst part about it is that no adult in his life really seems to care.

I'll talk about the Weasley parents in a different post. This one is dedicated to Dumbledore and how he always knew about Harry's abuse and allowed it to persist. For years. Not just once, Harry started Hogwarts. No, I think Dumbledore knew what was going on at Number 4 Privet Drive long before Harry stepped foot in Diagon Alley.

And more importantly, I can prove it.

So, I'll cover my evidence according to the order of the quotes that appear in the books since there is quite a bit to cover.

And yes, I know Dumbledore calls the Dursleys out in Half-Blood Prince:

“You did not do as I asked. You have never treated Harry as a son. He has known nothing but neglect and often cruelty at your hands. The best that can be said is that he has at least escaped the appalling damage you have inflicted upon the unfortunate boy sitting between you.”

(Half-Blood Prince, page 55)

But this scene is the definition of "too little, too late" considering how long this has been going on.

So, let's start:

“Nah. Dumbledore gave me the day off yesterday ter fix it. ‘course, he shoulda sacked me instead — anyway, got yeh this.…” It seemed to be a handsome, leather-covered book. Harry opened it curiously. It was full of wizard photographs. Smiling and waving at him from every page were his mother and father. “Sent owls off ter all yer parents’ old school friends, askin’ fer photos… knew yeh didn’ have any…d’yeh like it?”

(Philosopher's Stone, page 218)

Hagrid can't keep a secret to save his life, we know that, and he isnt the brightest, with all his good intentions. Yet, even he noticed something's wrong with Harry's home. He knows Harry doesn't have photos of his parents, he knows he never got any gifts.

"But that's not Dumbledore,"

True, but Hagrid tells Dumbledore everything. So if Hagrid knows, Dumbledore knows.

“I told you, I didn’t — but it’ll take too long to explain now — look, can you tell them at Hogwarts that the Dursleys have locked me up and won’t let me come back, and obviously I can’t magic myself out, because the Ministry’ll think that’s the second spell I’ve done in three days, so —” “Stop gibbering,” said Ron. “We’ve come to take you home with us.”

(Chamber of Secrets, page 31)

“It was cloudy, Mum!” said Fred. “You keep your mouth closed while you’re eating!” Mrs. Weasley snapped. “They were starving him, Mum!” said George. “And you!” said Mrs. Weasley, but it was with a slightly softened expression that she started cutting Harry bread and buttering it for him.

(Chamber of Secrets, page 39)

Both these quotes from Chamber of Secrets show Fred, George, Ron, and Mrs. Weasley clearly knew what was happening. That Harry was being locked up and starved.

Harry really, never kept his abuse a secret and is quite open about informing anyone who'd listen to him about it. He is just used to it being brushed off as something unfortunate that nothing can be done about. The Weasleys, McGonagall, Dumbledore, Remus, and the entire Order of the Phoenix treat it as such.

In OOP, Harry references needing to duck from Vernon's beatings as a joke to Ron and Hermione. He wasn't keeping it a secret.

On the same vane:

She had no idea that Harry was not following the diet at all. The moment he had got wind of the fact that he was expected to survive the summer on carrot sticks, Harry had sent Hedwig to his friends with pleas for help … Hagrid, the Hogwarts gamekeeper, had obliged with a sack full of his own homemade rock cakes. (Harry hadn’t touched these; he had had too much experience of Hagrid’s cooking.) Mrs. Weasley, however, had sent the family owl, Errol, with an enormous fruitcake and assorted meat pies.

“Why didn’t you tell me you’re a Squib?” Harry asked Mrs. Figg, panting with the effort to keep walking. “All those times I came round your house — why didn’t you say anything?” “Dumbledore’s orders. I was to keep an eye on you but not say anything, you were too young. I’m sorry I gave you such a miserable time, but the Dursleys would never have let you come if they’d thought you enjoyed it. It wasn’t easy, you know. . . . But oh my word,”

(Goblet of Fire, page 28)

Harry wrote everyone he knew he was being starved. He wrote Hagrid and the Weasleys, and they all sent him food. The adults sent him food without bothering to ask him the important question: "Why aren't you being fed?"

(Order of the Pheonix, page 22)

This is the most damning evidence against Dumbledore.

He knew. He knew how Harry was treated his entire childhood because he had someone spy on him for years.

Mrs. Figg knew how Harry was treated by the Dursleys. She calls it: "miserable". She knew.

And she was sent there on Dumbledore's orders, meaning she was a spy. because let's be real, a squib, who can't do magic and doesn't own a gun can't do anything to protect Harry. She can only be there to spy. To report everything to Dumbledore.

This proves, more than any other quote here, how okay Dumbledore is with Harry suffering at the hands of the Dursleys.

Next moment he jumped as the lock gave a loud click and his door swung open. Harry stood motionless, staring through the open door at the dark upstairs landing, straining his ears for further sounds, but none came. He hesitated for a moment and then moved swiftly and silently out of his room to the head of the stairs. His heart shot upward into his throat. There were people standing in the shadowy hall below, silhouetted against the streetlight glowing through the glass door; eight or nine of them, all, as far as he could see, looking up at him.

(Order of the Pheonix, page 46)

The entire Order was there, at Number 4, Privet Drive. They've been following Harry since he got there. Tonks has seen Harry's bedroom. I don't think they missed something is definitely wrong. (I think this is why they tell the Dursleys off at the end of the fifth book and Dumbledore again in the sixth because someone else finally knew and Dumbledore had no choice but to address it)

And to make sure the Order is aware something's wrong between him and the Dursleys (that being an understatement), Harry outright tells Lupin:

“Excellent,” said Lupin, looking up as Tonks and Harry entered. “We’ve got about a minute, I think. We should probably get out into the garden so we’re ready. Harry, I’ve left a letter telling your aunt and uncle not to worry —” “They won’t,” said Harry. “That you’re safe —” “That’ll just depress them.” “— and you’ll see them next summer.” “Do I have to?” Lupin smiled but made no answer.

(Order of the Pheonix, page 54)

Harry makes it very clear the Dursleys don't care for his safety and that he never wants to return to literally everyone he can.

Why then? Why would Dumbledore want Harry abused?

“She’s evil,” said Harry flatly. “Twisted.” “She’s horrible, yes, but . . . Harry, I think you ought to tell Dumbledore your scar hurt.” It was the second time in two days he had been advised to go to Dumbledore and his answer to Hermione was just the same as his answer to Ron. “I’m not bothering him with this. Like you just said, it’s not a big deal. It’s been hurting on and off all summer — it was just a bit worse tonight, that’s all —” “Harry, I’m sure Dumbledore would want to be bothered by this —” “Yeah,” said Harry, before he could stop himself, “that’s the only bit of me Dumbledore cares about, isn’t it, my scar?” “Don’t say that, it’s not true!”

(Order of the Pheonix, page 277)

Harry said it best here: "for his scar"

In the previous posts, I covered how desperate Dumbledore was at the end of the war for a win, so much so, he might've forged a prophecy. And I explained he needed Sirius Black out of the picture for the same reason he wanted Harry at the Dursleys and wanted him mistreated — confident boys with a good support network and emotional regulation don't make very good martyrs.

In part 2, I mentioned how Dumbledore knew since the night the Potters died that Harry is likely a Horcrux. He has been manipulating Harry's life since then to achieve his grand plan of killing Voldemort. Even if it comes at the price of Harry having anything resembling a childhood and a life.

[ladykailitha]

Royal Pain Part 21

Hello! We're back with more Royal Pain. For the person(s) that thought the kiss meant the nearing of the end of the story: NOPE! We still have a bit to get through plot wise. Plus I don't usually go through past them getting together, and wanted to explore that a little before the end.

Also, where have my commenters gone? I used to get 10 or so comments a post and the last part of "Well Met By Moonlight" only had one. My usual commenters just didn't. If I have suggested in anyway that I don't like comments or don't appreciate them, know that I really, really do! And I miss it when people who used comment don't anymore. I'm not going to name names because this isn't a callout post, just a concern, I guess.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 Part 15 Part 16 Part 17 Part 18 Part 19 Part 20

Today we have a replay reaction to the kiss by the Royal Pain crew, Wayne being wise (and mention of a ring that has always been a thing in the story, I just forgot to put it in before this oops!) and Chrissy getting some advice.

***

To say that Steve was practically squealing from joy when he got to his car would be an understatement. He put his bluetooth earpiece in his right ear and immediately called Robin.

“Are you okay?” she asked as soon as she picked up.

“Eddie kissed me!” he giggled excitedly.

“No fucking way!” she gasped.

“Not yet anyway,” he said slyly, pulling into traffic.

“Steven Joseph Harrington!” Robin squeaked. “You don’t get to make dirty puns like that unless I’m in hitting distance.”

Steve laughed. “Joseph isn’t my middle name.”

He could hear her snap her fingers. “I’ll guess it eventually.”

“It’s been nearly a decade and you still haven’t guessed it,” he reminded her. “I can make it harder though...”

“Don’t you dare!” she hissed. There was silence for a moment. “You can’t make it harder, can you?”

He tapped his fingers on the steering wheel. “I can actually, but you told me not to.”

He could feel her narrow her eyes from across town as she weighed her options.

“Go ahead,” she said haughtily. “I don’t think you can.”

Steve grinned. “I have two middle names and you’ve never guessed either one.”

“You do not!” Robin hissed. “There is no way!”

“My parents were super traditional,” he told her. “My middle names come from each of my grandfathers.”

“Oh my god,” she said, “that makes so much sense.”

Steve licked his lips and waited. Five, four, three, two–

“Don’t you change the subject, Steven!” Robin came back. “Eddie kissed you.”

“He did indeed,” Steve said, “and I will tell you all about it when I get back to the shop. I’m like three minutes away.”

“I want to know everything!”

“I promise.”

*

Steve got to the shop and everyone was standing around the front counter, chins propped up on their hands, blinking at him expectantly.

He shook his head. “Menaces, the lot of you.”

Erica batted her eyelashes. “Yeah, but you like menaces.”

Steve tilted his head to the side and then nodded. “Yeah, yeah. But first I have to tell about my lunch with Wayne.”

Erica and Chrissy groaned, pushing off the counter and rolling their eyes. Robin and Argyle stayed in position though.

“Trust me,” Steve said holding his hands up, “it’s relevant to the story.”

“This better be good, Harrington,” Chrissy snarked.

“Oh it will be,” he said with a smile, “I promise.”

He started telling them everything. Wayne’s approval, the confrontation with Quinn, Eddie coming to the rescue, the kiss.

“Lunch was definitely relevant, dude,” Argyle said. “Getting parental approval is super important in a relationship. Especially if they’re close.”

Steve nodded. “So does the story live up the hype?” he asked the girls.

Robin rolled her eyes. “I suppose.”

Chrissy giggled. “It was so cute, Stevie. I’m happy for you!”

Steve waited for Erica, who sat there tapping her lips for a moment. She cocked her head. “Ehhh...it was all right.”

Everyone protested, talking over each other.

She burst out laughing. “God, you guys so easy. Of course it was awesome. Super sweet, too.”

Steve opened his mouth to say something when the bell over the door sounded, announcing the arrival of his next client.

He turned to greet them as everyone but Robin scattered. As much as he would love to gossip about his newly minted love life, he had clients that wanted tattoos.

*

Eddie kept licking his lips the whole way to his apartment.

“What made you change your mind?” Wayne asked. “About dating Steve? Him saying ‘I love you’?”

Eddie bit his lip and shook his head. “I had made the decision before that. It was just with Seth stalking me, I didn’t want to get Steve hurt if Seth thought we were together.”

Wayne nodded. “If Seth would threaten Steve over being your friend and tattoo artist, I shudder to think what he would have done if your relationship was more serious.”

“In fact I was going to tell him before Seth threatened him,” Eddie said with a sigh. “We had plans to have dinner at his place and I was going to tell him then.”

“But then Seth showed up?” Wayne asked.

Eddie nodded. “And then that night, I was going to at least let him know that after the whole thing with Seth got resolved, I was going to kiss the hell out him, but that didn’t work out either.”

Wayne tilted his head to the side. “What do you mean?”

“That was the night he ran into an ex,” Eddie explained. “The ex. The one that broke his heart. Found out a whole bunch of other shit that night, too. I spent most of the night trying to console him.”

“So the stars finally aligned today, then?” Wayne asked.

“About god damned time, too,” Eddie agreed fiercely.

Wayne hummed. “He’s good for ya, Ed. I don’t think I’ve seen you this happy in a long time. Even when Seth was breathing down your neck, you were more solid. You had your friends, but with Steve standing beside you, you looked like you could handle whatever the world threw at you as long as you had him.”

Eddie blushed, annoyed that driving kept him from ducking his head or shoving hair in his mouth to cover the flush on his cheeks. “He makes me feel brave, because he’s been through shit too and he’s still standing. Still moving forward each day. I love that about him.”

“Good.”

They drove the rest of the trip in silence. When they got back to the apartment they chatted as Eddie helped Wayne pack for his journey back to Hawkins.

“I want to see you both come Labor Day,” Wayne growled. “No excuses, you hear?”

Eddie nodded. “Yes, sir.” He gave him a jaunty salute.

It looked absolutely ridiculous coming from a long haired metalhead and Wayne’s snort cinched it.

Eddie grinned but gave him a gentle shove. “Steve wasn’t lying when he said that was the plan, by the way. We had been talking about taking him down to meet you since the first week of us becoming friends.”

Wayne nodded sagely. “I understand that he’s not close with his parents.”

“It was big ole mess,” Eddie said softly. “His parents are very recently divorced, like it was finalized last month, recent.”

Wayne hummed. “I remember you saying something about that,” he said. “At least you had an uncle who cared when your parents decided to be shit, it doesn’t seem like Steve had that option.”

“He was close to his grandpa though,” Eddie murmured. “On his mom’s side. He was really broken up when the man died.”

Wayne zipped up his suitcase. “How old was Steve?”

Eddie shrugged. “Young. Eight or nine. His grandfather got cancer before his mom met his dad. His grandpa had struggled with the disease before it finally took him. Steve said that it had ravaged so much of his body that his death certificate was like a laundry list of possible causes of death. Heart failure, kidney failure, cancer...you name it, it was probably on the damn thing.”

“That ring he wears all the time,” Wayne asked, “that his grandfather’s?”

Eddie nodded. “His dad tried to take it for years, saying it inappropriate to leave to a little boy.”

“Only he wasn’t going to stay a little boy forever,” Wayne said. “I guessing that since he still has it, his mom interfered?”

“Maureen Harrington wasn’t going to be winning any best mom awards at any point in Steve’s life,” Eddie scoffed, “but she did do some shit and hiding that ring was one of them.”

“I’m glad he had someone looking out for him,” Wayne said. “I’m sorry it wasn’t all the time. But he at least had something some of the time.”

“He’s not jealous of me or Robin,” Eddie said, “Or anyone of his friends that have a good home life. He’s happy with his found family. He loves them as though they are blood.”

Wayne smiled. “I’m happy for you, Ed. You’ve got something real special with Steve.”

Eddie blushed. “I love him.”

“I think the whole world knows it’s mutual at this point,” Wayne said with a small shake of his head.

Eddie just grinned.

*

Steve grinned as Chrissy wandered out of her room for the third time today. The first time was that she forgot her purse in her car. The second time it was because she had a question for Robin (completely made up and not something that was essential at all to her job). The third time it was because she wanted to ask Robin if she wanted anything from the deli on the corner for lunch.

Could you tell that Vickie was being trained by Robin today?

Vickie put her hand on Robin’s arm to get her to slow down in her nervous and very rapid fire explanation of the phone system and Steve thought Chrissy was going to explode.

Chrissy was wearing a pink blouse with spaghetti straps and white lacy cardigan over the tightest jeans Steve had ever seen and he’s been to a lot of Corroded Coffin shows. Her hair was up in an artfully messy ponytail and her makeup was tasteful and very pink.

Steve was just grateful she hadn’t paired the outfit with anything high heeled and instead chose white ballet flats. He was always worried someone was going to sprain their ankles in high heels walking on their hardwood floors.

He winced as Chrissy’s poor attempt at flirting fell flat.

“Oh,” Robin said, “Steve already ordered him and me Chinese, sorry.”

“I’d love something though,” Vickie said brightly. “Do they have a turkey club?”

Chrissy sputtered for a moment before she nodded meekly. “Yeah.”

“Great!” Vickie continued. “Just let me know how much and I’ll wire you the funds.”

Chrissy nodded again and with a squeak, dashed back into her room. Steve watched as Vickie’s smile turned knowing.

He shook his head and went to go talk to his apprentice.

“Someone’s got a crush,” he said, leaning against the door frame, with his arms folded.

Chrissy threw her arms in the air. “At least you noticed. I don’t think she has.”

Steve chuckled and made his way over to her, swinging the door shut behind him.

“I love her,” he said sitting down on her client lounger, “but she absolutely loses her head when a pretty girl is around. Gay, straight, bi. Doesn’t matter she becomes an absolute mess.”

“I’ve noticed,” Chrissy said bitterly. She thought about Vickie and Mandy and how Robin was just goo around them.

He hummed, knowing exactly what she was thinking. “Here’s the thing though, you are one hundred percent ahead of the game compared to the other two girls.”

Chrissy scoffed. “What makes you think that?”

Steve grinned. “Mandy has a boyfriend, soon to be fiance and Vickie could be bisexual. But she could also be straight. Robin knows you’re a lesbian. You have the advantage of her knowing where she stands with you.”

Chrissy blinked. “Oh.”

“You want to get the girl?” Steve asked. She nodded. “Then you’ve got to step up your game. Time to woo her and not just flirt with her.”

Chrissy chewed on her lip. “But how do I do that?”

Steve shook his head. “Well for starters, paying attention. Robin and I always get Chinese on Fridays.”

She blinked for a moment, pulled out her phone and then the light bulb went off above her head. “Oops.”

“Yeah...”

She took a deep breath. “Do you think I have a chance?”

“She thinks the cheerleading thing is scary hot, so...”

Chrissy grinned. “It’s short skirt, isn’t it?”

Steve shrugged. “And the cute little socks.”

Chrissy laughed. “Can’t forget those.”

He turned to walk away, but she stopped him. “Thanks for this, Steve. I know you didn’t have to.”

Steve just smiled softly and then walked out of the room, leaving her alone with her thoughts. Thoughts on how to get the girl of her dreams.

***

Part 22 Part 23 Part 24 Part 25 Part 26 Part 27 Part 28 Epilogue

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[heartsoji]

"i'm sure. i promise."

suna rintaro x reader

summary: you're feeling a little insecure about you and rin's relationship. but who could blame you? you're at a party with a bunch of people you don't know and your boyfriend is catching up with an "old friend." that would be fine except for the fact that this so-called "old friend" is his ex and looks like she came out of a magazine.

hurt to comfort so its kinda angsty ig?? but not rly bc my heart can't take it lol

warnings: insecurities, body image, post time skip, mentions of alcohol

a/n: THIS IS MY WORK! TRANSFERRED FROM MY OLD ACC

a/n pt. 2: i wrote this at like 1am bc i woke up and this is low-key inspired by the dream i had hehe bc u should always follow ur dreams 😀👍

this. was. the worst.

to give a brief overview, you were at a club with at least a bajillion people because your boyfriend told you that it would be a "fun new experience." he gave you a kiss on the forehead upon seeing that you were nervous and the two of you walked in together.

now, you were sitting at the bar by yourself watching as another girl flirted with your boyfriend.

you were filled in on the backstory earlier. she went to inarizaki and she and suna dated for their first year and a small part of their second year of high school. she then had to move to the united states (specifically los angeles) and they ended up breaking up.

you had transferred to inarizaki in the middle of your second year, and you and suna started dating 3/4 through your third year, so you had never met her before. your classmates had never mentioned her before either. and when suna introduced you to the girl as his girlfriend, she shot you the nastiest glare before smiling sweetly at your boyfriend.

anyways, one thing led to another, and they got so caught up in chatting that they hadn't noticed how bored you were, nor had they noticed when you silently walked away.

after taking another sip of your drink, you let your eyes wander to the two of them.

a fatal mistake.

she was beautiful. no, stunning. no, show-stopping-looks-like-she-just-stepped-out-of-the-front-page-of-a-magazine-absolute-drop-dead-gorgeous was probably more accurate.

she was wearing a tiny black figure-hugging bodycon dress with a cutout just above her chest that looked amazing on her beautiful hourglass figure. she had platinum blond hair that was pulled up into a long high ponytail, big grey eyes, and shiny, clear skin.

you looked down at your own figure. then at hers. then back at yours. then hers.

though you knew it wouldn't do any good, your mind began to wander.

are these the kinds of girls rin likes?

she's so beautiful.. her waist is so tiny

i wish i could be half as pretty as her

what if rin still likes her?

what if rin doesn't actually love me..?

you knew that you needed to stop. you decided to slip out to get some fresh air.

you sat down on a bench at the park across the street (don't question why a place where children play is directly across from a club. just don't mention it) and inhaled the cool air. you were so relieved to be out of that club. so relieved that your eyelids began to feel heavy.

you awoke to a string of "ping! ping! ping!" rubbing your eyes sleepily, you opened your phone to see who would be texting you so urgently.

rinnie <3: where'd u go

rinnie <3: where r u

rinnie <3: hey bb where'd u go

rinnie <3: bubs?

rinnie <3: hey r u mad at me

rinnie <3: what did i do

rinnie <3: im sorry

rinnie <3: ok srsly where r u

rinnie <3: r u ok

rinnie <3: WHERE R U

rinnie <3: no srsly im actually worried where did u go

rinnie <3: BABE

rinnie <3: WHERE R U

There are 83 more messages from rinnie &lt;3. Click to continue!

oops.

you: sorry babe

rinnie <3: WHERE R U

you: i went outside for some fresh air

you: im at the park across the street

the club doors swing open and see your boyfriend's head furiously whipping around, trying to find you. when he sees you, he sprints over to where you're sitting.

"sorry babe." you apologize. "i didn't mean to worry you." you had never seen him look so frantic before.

"so you mean to say.." he starts before pausing to catch his breath, "that you thought that leaving without telling me and not responding to my texts wouldn't worry me?"

"i'm sorry." you say, before adding on a quick and quiet "to be fair though, you were having such a great time with ms. los angeles model that i didn't think that you would notice."

though it was quiet and muttered under your breath, suna heard it loud and clear. he sighed.

"look, we didn't break up because she was moving. we broke up because i was sick and tired of her nasty attitude. i just didn't want to be rude and say that in front of her. the only thing that's changed about her is that she's learned how to put a smile mask over her disgusting personality. a really phony one that's made out cling wrap with a sharpie smile and a bow."

you giggled slightly at this.

"look," he says softly, lifting up your chin to look you in the eyes. "you're the only one that i love. i promise, ok? you're so beautiful and sweet and it's crazy to me that god finally decided to give me some help and give me a chance with you."

he gave you a small smile.

"i love you, y/n. i love you so, so much."

and with that, he swooped you up in his arms bridal style and started walking.

"WOAH- rin where are we going?"

"home."

"but it'll take a while to walk home from here. shouldn't we just uber like we did here?"

"walking gives me more time to be close to you and talk to you."

"but you'll be walking while simultaneously holding me for a while."

he blinked. "i play professional volleyball. if you think that i can't take a walk home with my girlfriend in my arms, i'd honestly be pretty offended."

"right."

there was a brief moment of silence between the two of you.

"i'm sorry if i made you feel sad today, bubs. i love you so so much and i'll stop at nothing to make sure that you know that."

you smiled softly.

"that's what i like to see." he said, peppering ticklish kisses onto your neck to make you giggle a little.

"rin! stahahap-!" you giggle, trying to scrunch up and protect your neck.

"your laugh and smile are the two most precious things in the world."

you and rin talked the rest of the way home and he kept reminding you of how much he loved you.

when you finally got home, you asked him one final question.

"rin, are you sure that there's no more chemistry going on between you and ms. los angeles model?"

he pressed a kiss to your forehead.

"i'm sure. i promise."

[gloomysoup]

when the world stops turning (my heart stops beating) - pt. 3

happy holidays to all who celebrate! as it stands, i'm posting this on christmas eve after a full evening with my dad's mom and his siblings and all my cousins, before i go to bed to deal with even more family all day tomorrow (we have my mom's side in the morning for brunch and then my dad's dad's house in the late afternoon/evening) BUT i did FINALLY get this part figured out and i couldn't wait to share it! i would apologize, but we all know i'm not actually sorry... oops

anyway i hope you all enjoy it!

ao3 pt. 1 pt. 2 pt. 3 pt. 4

cw: mentions and discussions of drug use, addiction, sobriety, relapse, referenced overdose, etc. y'know, the usual

The first time Steve ever got high, he was fourteen. Tommy had scored some weed off one of the older basketball guys, Steve’s parents were gone for a weekend. It was perfect. Steve, Tommy, and Carol laid back on the roof of Steve’s childhood home, overlooking the blue glow of the pool and the line of trees beyond the yard, passing a joint back and forth. It was a warm buzz, making his head go all fuzzy. It was nice. Until it wasn't, at least. He liked the feeling of being high. What he didn't like was what came after.

The comedown from that first high was rough, to say the least. Carol was fine; Steve didn't know why it didn't affect her as badly. Steve and Tommy, however, were not so lucky.

It was a while before he ever smoked weed again. He never did anything more than that, though there were plenty of opportunities. And he never smoked alone. It was always parties, or hang outs with Tommy and Carol. It slowed down when he met Nancy. She wasn't a fan of drugs, and always asked him to stop. He never could, but he definitely cut back. Then Nancy shattered his heart, so he picked it back up again. Started smoking on his own. Anything to chase the free feeling of the high. He spent so many nights trying to escape his nightmares and heavy thoughts. He smoked until his head was floating in the clouds. He kept the high until he ultimately passed out, hard, into a fairly dreamless sleep.

And then Starcourt happened.

That was a different high. Slower. It was loose lips, but firm thought. Tethered, but not quite there. It took longer to hit the peak, to really float. When he finally hit it, it was the best he'd felt in a long time. And then he came crashing down. It was the worst he'd felt in his life, aside from the time Billy bashed his head in with a plate. It sucked. It ruined weed for him, if he was honest. Every time he tried after that, his body panicked. His brain would get fuzzy, he'd start to float, and then he'd seize up. His brain would shock him back into reality. He vowed, with the help of Robin, to never get high again. He would finally quit. It wasn't worth the panic attacks and anxiety and trauma response that came with it anymore. He was successful for a while, at least. He'd been sober for almost a year.

That didn't last long after the final battle with Vecna. He and Eddie were friends. They were starting to grow into a little more than that. Steve’s nightmares were awful again. His body was sore and his scars stretched uncomfortably every time he moved. It was Eddie who initially suggested weed, even though he had stopped smoking himself.

“It's actually a pretty good method for pain management,” he said with a shrug. “You just gotta be careful about it. Stick to the natural stuff.”

Eddie didn't know that Steve was sober. Steve never told him. He'd been itching for a good high again anyway; something to clear his head, take some of the pain away, get a good night’s sleep for once. Eddie had handed him an extra joint, leftover from his own stash that he hadn't touched in weeks. Steve went home that night and lit a joint for the first time in almost a year. His sobriety went down the drain, just like that. The worst part? He didn’t even regret it. Not one bit.

He didn't tell Robin. He couldn't. He knew she'd be disappointed in him. She would go back to watching him like a hawk, following him around, and never leaving him alone long enough to even think about getting high. She'd spend every night with him, just like she did those first few months before. He couldn't let her do that to herself again. Not when she was doing so well with Vickie. He wasn't going to ruin her good thing with his own problems. So Robin never knew he relapsed. And Eddie never knew that he was supposed to be sober. He never told a soul.

Steve carried it with him for years. Every time he lit a joint instead of a cigarette, he thought about Robin. Two puffs in, he wasn’t thinking about her anymore, just how nice it felt. He smoked until his head was empty and floating, and then he smoked some more. He smoked by himself a lot. Then the band got recognized, and they were all smoking again too. Steve would smoke with them any chance he got. He never told anyone the secrets he was hiding. He never told anyone the weed wasn’t quite enough anymore. He was perfectly content with what he had, sure, but some deep part of him itched for more. He got cross-faded more times than he could count, just to feel something more.

His first experience with harder drugs was at a party with the band. Their manager had gotten them an invite for promotional purposes. There were supposed to be some high-end producers and such they wanted to network with, and Steve always went with them to these sorts of things. It was innocent, at first. Steve stepped out on the back deck of whatever big shot artist’s house they were at to light a cigarette while Eddie talked music with some people in the living room.

He took a deep inhale, feeling the nicotine saturate his lungs before he blew out the smoke. What he really wanted was some weed, but Eddie had it all on him and Steve didn't want to bother them. This was good for the band. They needed this. Still, a cigarette couldn't only do so much for the itch under Steve’s skin. He had a beer on the railing in front of him, but that's not what he needed. He took another inhale, holding it, hoping it would keep him satisfied until Eddie brought him a joint. It wasn't really working, but Steve was trying to convince himself otherwise.

“Mind if I join you?”

Steve turned to see a slightly older man standing in the doorway. He vaguely recognized him as another musician, but couldn't place his name. “No, not at all. Honestly, I could probably use the company.”

The man nodded and stepped onto the deck, closing the sliding glass door behind him. He took up a place beside Steve, holding out his hand. “Billy.”

Steve laughed at the irony and took his hand. “Of course you are. I'm Steve.”

Billy gave him a curious look. “Something wrong with my name, Steve?”

He shook his head. “No, not at all. It's just a little funny, I guess. I knew a guy named Billy once. Broke a plate over my head, gave me a nasty concussion, and then he died a few months later in a fire at the mall I used to work at. The universe likes to have a good laugh, apparently.”

“Ah, yeah, I'd probably feel the same way then.” He reached in his pocket and pulled out a joint, gesturing toward Steve. “Mind if I light?”

“Only if you share,” Steve replied with a laugh before taking another drag of his cigarette.

“Of course, man.” Steve watched Billy pull a lighter from his pocket and light the joint, taking a puff before holding it out toward Steve.

Steve stubbed out his cigarette on the wood railing before taking the joint between his fingers. He took a deep drag, holding it for one, two, three seconds, and then breathing it out slowly. He looked up at the stars as he passed it back. “God, that's exactly what I needed.”

“Tough day?”

Steve shrugged. “More like a tough life. I'd usually be smoking by now anyway, but my, uh, friend has all the weed on him. He's busy talkin’ shop with some other music guys in there, and I didn't wanna bother them. It's important to him.”

“Not your scene then, I take it?”

Steve huffed, taking the joint back between his fingers. “I'm more… emotional support for his band, I guess. Though, I'm not sure they ever needed it. They do just fine on their own.”

“I'm sure they appreciate it anyway.” Billy glanced back at the house as he took the last drag before putting it out. “What do you say we go back in, Steve? I know a guy upstairs with something a little better than weed, if you're interested.”

“Hell, at this point, I might try just about anything. I don't do needles, though. Bad experiences and all.”

Billy laughed and motioned with his head. “Promise, no needles unless you ask.”

“Lead the way, then.”

Steve was floating on the best high of his life. He didn't know how much time had passed, but he didn't really care. He hung out upstairs with Billy and some other industry people for God only knows how long, smoking and laughing and snorting lines of cocaine. Eventually, Steve stumbled his way back downstairs with Billy, laughing the whole way. He bumped into Eddie, physically running into his back where he was scanning the house.

Eddie turned and wrapped his arms around Steve’s waist, holding him up. “There you are. I was wondering where you went.”

“Eddie!” Steve exclaimed, grinning brightly. He turned to Billy, who had his arm around Steve’s shoulders. “Billy, Billy, this is him. This is Eddie.”

“Oh, yeah! So you're Eddie! You've- you've got a good one, man. Steve's such a riot.”

Eddie seemed taken aback at first, looking between the two of them. His eyebrows furrowed as he took in Steve’s slightly disheveled appearance and wide eyes. “Steve, are you high right now?”

Steve giggled, leaning his face into Eddie’s neck. “Soooo high, baby. I feel great.”

“Alright, I think it's time we go home,” Eddie declared. “Come on, let's go find the guys.”

“But I don't wanna leave,” Steve whined with a pout. “I wanna dance, Eddie. Can't we dance? Please?”

“We can dance at home, Steve. Come on. It's time to go.”

“No fun,” he huffed.

“Steve, look, here, I’ll give you my number,” Billy said, still leaning heavily against him. “You call me. We’ll hang out again sometime, yeah?”

“Definitely. Definitely do that.”

It took Eddie fifteen minutes to drag Steve through the house and track down the rest of his friends. When they found the rest of them, Jeff frowned at Steve.

“What's up with him? Is he okay?”

“Apparently the whole time we were talking to that producer, my boyfriend was getting high off his ass with Billy Corgan. I'm sure he’ll be fine once he sleeps it off.”

“Wait, Billy Corgan?” Gareth asked, eyes wide. “Like the Billy Corgan of The Smashing Pumpkins?”

“Apparently they're best friends now.”

“Oh, yeah, Billy’s great,” Steve said through another bout of giggles, leaning all his body weight on Eddie. He cupped his hand around his mouth to whisper, but it wasn't really a whisper. “He knows who has all the good shit, guys.”

“Okay, he is really high,” Grant said. “Guess that's our cue to leave?”

“I don't care if you guys want to stay, but I'm taking Steve home. Just didn't wanna leave without letting you know.”

When Steve and Eddie finally got back to the apartment, Steve sloppily kissed Eddie in the entryway. His hand slipped under Eddie’s shirt, but Eddie pulled him back.

“Baby, no, not tonight,” he murmured. He pushed a lock of hair from Steve’s face. “You're too high for that right now. You need sleep.”

“Want you, though,” Steve whispered, ducking down to suck at his jaw and throat.

“Steve, no. I'm serious. You need to sleep this off.”

Steve huffed, a pout on his full lips. Eddie kissed him softly before wrapping his arm around his waist and leading him to the bedroom. Steve slumped back against the bed immediately upon impact. Eddie carefully and gently undressed him before tucking him into bed. He brought a water bottle and some meds for the morning, placed them on the bedside table, and then changed his own clothes. Steve was out like a light, snoring softly. Eddie held him all night, unable to sleep. He'd never seen Steve get that high before. Part of him worried it was more than weed, but he trusted Steve. He'd ask him in the morning, but he wanted to give him the benefit of the doubt. He didn't think Steve would do more than that. He didn't think he had to worry.

The next morning, Eddie made sure Steve was safe and okay before bringing it up.

“So, last night,” he said over breakfast, poking around at the scrambled eggs he'd whipped up for them.

“Oh, right! How'd it go with that, what was he, a producer?”

“It was fine, but that's not what I'm talking about, Steve.”

Steve frowned. “What is it then?”

Eddie swallowed, not looking at Steve. “You were really high when I finally found you after you wandered off. I need you to be honest, Steve. What did you take?”

“It was weed, Ed. Strong weed, but just weed.”

“You promise?” He looked up, meeting Steve’s eyes. “You promise it's just weed, Steve? I can’t- You have to understand how dangerous that other shit is. I can't lose you to it.”

Steve smiled so easily, like he wasn't lying right to Eddie’s face. Like he didn't have a baggie of coke in the pocket of his jeans, which were laying on the bedroom floor. “I promise that's all it is.”

And Eddie believed him, like an idiot. He trusted him, because it was so easy to fall for those eyes and that smile. He didn't think Steve would ever do anything like that. He had no reason to believe otherwise. He didn't know that Steve had been sober for almost a year before that spring break from Hell.

Steve lied for years, to everyone. He was good at it. It was easy. He didn't even think twice before the lies tumbled past his lips. The problem was how simple it was to score. How easy. He never had to turn far. He was listed as a personal assistant to the band. He was handing drugs to pass on to them all the time, but Corroded Coffin didn't do any of that stuff. They always turned it down. They knew what it did to people, especially in the industry. It was a dangerous thing. Every time the members ignored the drugs being passed to them, Steve slipped them in his pocket instead. No one ever noticed. The more fame and recognition the band got, the easier it became for Steve to score whatever he wanted. Pills, tabs, cocaine, heroin, the works. He never strayed far from coke and pills, still wary of needles from the Russians, but it was a high he couldn't get with weed alone. It was addicting. He wouldn't have been able to stop on his own even if he wanted to.

He snuck off to do a line or two every chance he got. If the band’s backs were turned for even a few seconds, he was popping a couple of colorful pills. He smoked weed every other night, whenever Eddie wanted to smoke. He smoked on his own occasionally, slowing down his body through the rush of a good high. It was nothing like he’d ever experienced before, and he couldn't get enough of it.

Then he was at the biggest show of Eddie’s career. Sold out at Madison Square Garden. Roaring crowds, electricity flowing through Steve’s veins. He was only going to do a quick line. He just wanted to keep the energy, soothe the itch. One line turned to two, then three, then some pills. Then everything went dark.

The first thought to cross his mind as his vision tunneled and his body began to shut down was that he should have told them the truth. He never should have lied to Eddie, or Robin. He never should have taken that joint from Eddie all those years ago. He should still be sober. But he wasn't, and now he was going to die, and it's his own fault. He fell to his vices. He didn't talk to Robin, like he always promised he would do if the urges came back. Instead, he got into the harder stuff, and now it was going to kill him. The clock had finally run out. The Reaper was knocking on his door.

That would be the end of Steve Harrington.

-----

tag list: @mugloversonly @djohawke @acowardinmordor @hallucinatedjosten @geekyfifi @slowandsteddie @estrellami-1 @cinnamon-mushroomabomination @canmargesimpson

(if you saw this upload twice no you didn't. i definitely didn't forget the tag list)

[bloody-cupcakes]

Jason Dean x yandere/dark! reader; you surprise him with slushies for breakfast

Tw: yandere/dark content, gender neutral reader, suggestive stuff/frank sex talk as well as implied sex/smutish activities, mentions of insomnia, implied murder, the reader is very clingy and affectionate with JD (almost to a smothering amount but he doesn't mind), this is one of the more tame things I've written tbh

A/N: this is a twist on the "one character gets a blue drink and the other gets a red so naturally their tongues become purple by making out" trope. I literally wrote this in thirty minutes so I could have something posted for heathers day, which is September 1st, so if this sucks then that's why and I'm sorry (and then I got distracted and forgot so it's a day late oops)

JD used to think he hated sleeping in general, but after meeting you he just realized he hated sleeping alone. Laying in bed after downing half a bottle of melatonin gummies while waiting for sleep to kick in wasn't exactly his idea of a good time. Lucky for him, you had plenty ways of resolving that issue.

Admittedly, they did a pretty good job at working effectively given that most of them involved you physically wearing him out. Whether it was with murder or sex, either way certainly made it easier for him to slip into a state of exhaustion and conk out as soon as his head hit the pillow.

He didn't mind much. In fact, the act of you tiring him out as quickly as possible once he complained about being unable to sleep was one that he quite enjoyed. He preferred to stay with you anyway. There was nothing at his house that made it worth sticking around other than the few vague personal effects of his, and most of them he'd transferred over to your place already.

The sun was already starting to peek through the blinds when he woke up, which signified he must've slept for a good long while. That didn't surprise him given just how late the two of you had stayed up the night before, but what did surprise him was your absence. Usually you waited until he woke up to leave the bed, or at the very least told him if you were going to get up.

Thank god you walked into the room a few minutes later, because otherwise he would've started to panic, and that was definitely not something he wanted to be doing so early in the morning.

"Hey, baby," you greeted as you kicked off your shoes and set two large Styrofoam cups you'd gotten from the 7/11 near your house on the nightstand. "Did you sleep well?"

JD could practically feel his heartbeat start to slow back down once he saw you. You hadn't abandoned him, you just went out to get some slushies. No problem.

"Mh, yeah," he mumbled groggily as he sat up in the bed, watching you slip off his trenchcoat and toss it to the side. If he had been more awake, the sight of you wearing his clothes would've given him an instant boner, but the drowsiness he still felt was currently cancelling that out.

"Good, I'm glad." You sat down on the bed next to him, gently smoothing his messy hair back from his face before handing him one of the Styrofoam cups. "Here, I know how much you crave slushies the night after sex."

He gladly took the cup from you, immediately taking a big sip. "Thanks." It still felt weird, having someone being so affectionate and loving with him after everything he'd been through. A huge part of him felt like he didn't deserve it, but he knew you'd never leave him even if that was true. Something about how attached you were should've been unnerving, but JD was pretty unnerving himself so he wasn't bothered by it.

"Did you seriously wear your pajamas to go get slushies?" He asked after a moment, his brain finally catching up as he began to wake up more. The cold, sweet drink in his hands certainly helped matters.

"Well, I wasn't going to put on real clothes," you insisted lightheartedly before drinking some of your own slushie, which just so happened to be the opposite color of his. "Besides, we both know they're not going to stay on much longer anyway."

"Oh god," he muttered under his breath, though he was unable to keep the faint smirk of amusement off his face when you said that.

"Here, lemme have your drink for a moment." You placed both cups back on the nightstand before grabbing his face and pulling him in for a hungry kiss. He suddenly became very aware of the fact that he was only wearing a pair of boxers as he hadn't gotten properly dressed yet.

"C'mon, I wasn't finished," he complained with a slight huff even as he let you push him flat onto his back with no other protest.

"You can finish later. For now, I say we take the blue and red from our drinks and make purple." Your voice came out in a low tease when you spoke, your body hovering over his as you leaned down to capture his lips in another kiss.

Both of your tongues were successfully colored purple and your drinks were no longer cold when you were done, but it was so worth it.

[hana-no-seiiki]

YAN! REINCARNATING LOVE INTEREST x READER ( ft. YAN! REINCARNATING LOVE RIVAL + YAN! SECOND LEAD BRAINROT / CONCEPT )

I legitimately could not stomach waking up and separating from this wild dream I had about this so…

These ocs have already been posted about before I just haven’t given them appearances and tbh I didn’t like Yan! Love Interest that much before but seeing as how HOT he is in my dreams I’m just like 🙇🏻‍♂️ my apologies have this post dedicated to you king

warnings: mentions of prostitution, classicism, elitism, aliens, mentions of seggs.

this post is for readers 16 and above, otherwise dni

In this scenario we have YAN! LOVE INTEREST. He’s loved you since time immemorial. He has lost all sense of affection for the world and everything in it since he was trapped in this wicked cycle. That is, everything but you.

You held no memories of your past lives and thus changed quite a lot in the ones that followed but even then he fell hard each time.

The lives I remember from my dreams are as follows:

LIFE NUMERO UNO

YAN ! LOVE INTEREST is head over heels for you. It’s been a few lives since he started remembering everything that happened before as such he’s still not as yan as he currently is.

This is set around “ancient japan” but like anime/genshin ancient japan cause he has pink hair and the prettiest ruby eyes I’m-

Anyways he’s arranged to marry his cousin who happens to be YAN! LOVE RIVAL. She’s also super pretty but unfortunately does not retain her memories like he does.

In my dreams he gets drunk, flirts with her and ends up biting her lips while he has her underneath him. YAN! LOVE RIVAL is just relieved he’s starting to move on from you but oop what does he whisper in her ears? Your name.

(Note: After this incident, YAN! LOVE INTEREST now never gets drunk without your or trusty YAN! SECOND LEAD presence around to anchor him. That and he doesn’t drink that often anymore since stalking you has become a much more uh- fulfilling vice)

Furious she goes over to your residence and you come from a new money sort of family which impressed her since she thought you’d be some pretty peasant or ‘hostess’ from a ditch somewhere.

And when she sees you she’s just like “God damn.” (for some reason her exchange with you went down in Korean in my dream-)

In that life you were a refined lady. Literally everything she idolized in YAN! LOVE INTEREST, but better. You carried yourself with such elegance and had a such an entrancing temperament that she immediate forgets what she was angry about. Also YAN! LOVE RIVAL is a bit of a face con so you bet she thought you were beautiful af.

…

You two end up fucking like animals that it alerts the entire noble world. Eventually leading to your execution.

From that life onward YAN! LOVE INTEREST swore to enact vengeance on all of YAN! LOVE RIVAL’s lives for your sake. Not knowing his family is the reason you died in the first place ( and. yan! love rival did her best to save you )

LIFE NUMERO DOS

This life is set in highschool (ish) where you and YAN! LOVE INTEREST have recently broken up due to rumors of him cheating on you arising. At least that’s what you told him. The truth was that you learnt he was getting married to YAN! LOVE RIVAL and decided you weren’t going to be part of this drama like at all.

In this life you don’t interact much with the YANs because oh shit aliens have invaded and now you’re in a survival game.

Told ya this dream was wild.

Anyways this life follows the typical Infinite Flow/Quick Transmigration format and has you traveling different universes to accrue points and well, survive.

While you’re out here suffering, YAN! LOVE INTEREST just immediately gets an S-rank due to his reincarnations and memories. You learn to hug the golden thigh and got back with him solely for the sake of staying alive.

Once you got to the same ranking as him you dump him to get with SECOND LEAD.

You underestimated how petty this man could be so in a last ditch attempt to have you in the end, YAN! LOVE INTEREST turns back time with the help of YAN! LOVE RIVAL to make you pay.

BUT THE PLOT THICKENS AS YOU DONT LOSE YOUR MEMORIES AFTER THE TIME REVERSAL.

AND IT’S JUST MIND GAMES AFTER MIND GAMES.

Anyways to HEAD-CANNONS !

Each character could look vastly different in each life but have identifiers you can point out from em. YAN! LOVE INTEREST always has red eyes that glow when he has menacing plans. They’re also unlike my other yan! oc eve are hella blank. super flat, reminiscent of kafka’s eyes in the opening of HSR. Also he’s usually a short king.

YAN! LOVE RIVAL always has purple/pink eyes. Is usually femme and has wavy hair. In comparison to LOVE INTEREST’s eyes, hers are always sparkly and full of life.

YAN! SECOND LEAD has blue eyes reminiscent of the sky. Fashion icon. You’ll never see him in crappy drip.

You can also pretty much identify them from their personalities. YAN! LOVE INTEREST is super flirty, often hypersexual and horny. He’s the most sadistic bitch I’ve ever written. He yearns for blood as much as he yearns to fuck you.

YAN! LOVE RIVAL is prissy, entitled and deliciously cruel. Somehow is always rich in every life, whether it’s new, old or lucky money.

YAN! SECOND LEAD is a clean freak. He usually either hates you at first or is indifferent. There’s actually a life where YAN! LOVE INTEREST confused him for you, and this led to YAN! LOVE INTEREST literally selling you to prostitution. SECOND LEAD saved your ass and you end up living happily together for the rest of that life as LOVE INTEREST was too busy dying out of guilt.

YAN! SECOND LEAD’s danger as a yandere mostly stems from how subtle it is. Manipulation king. Sometimes he doesn’t even know it, but he’s already making you hate the other two and come to him for comfort.

Have I mentioned how cute YAN! LOVE INTEREST is? He genuinely loves you to the moon and beyond, but because of the reincarnations he’d slowly gone insane. Your early lives together were diabetes inducingly cute. Mostly of him shirking his responsibility to be with you. If this post goes well I’m definitely drawing these three god im horknee for this man.

But for some reason despite literally having lives of experience fucking you (and him) as every gender/sex somehow YAN! LOVE RIVAL is the most physically compatible with you.

Honestly, if these three set aside their differences they’d make a great poly relationship with you. Unfortunately they hate each other too much for that to happen 😭

[eddiediazismyhusband]

🩺!

🩺 - "Something Med School Didn't Cover" or the 'Nurse!Eddie' fic!

I'm FINALLY getting around to replying to some of these WIP asks (genuinely when I posted that ask game, I expected to have more time than I ended up having and here we are literally a month later oops....)

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“So, Eddie,” Chimney asked, his mouth full with a bite of lasagna as he spoke. “Got anyone special in your life?”

He waggled his eyebrows as Maddie shoved him in the shoulder.

“Stop talking with your mouth full,” she scoffed. “Are you six years old?”

“Sometimes we wonder,” Buck teased.

“Like you’re any better,” Chimney sassed back.

“I am,” Buck smiled, smug. “I always swallow first.”

Eddie choked on his water- as did Bobby and Ravi. Athena dropped her head in her hands, Chimney barked out a laugh, and Maddie rolled her eyes.

“Jesus Christ, Buck,” she said.

“What?” Buck asked, innocently, before he widened his eyes with a dramatic fake gasp. “Oh did you think I was talking about-”

“That’s enough,” Bobby said through barred teeth, giving a pointed look to Buck. “Some of us actually want to enjoy eating our meal.”

“Just trying to keep it entertaining,” Buck raised his hands in mock defense.

“If we wanted dinner and a show, we would’a gone to the drive in,” Athena said, raising an eyebrow at Buck- one of the many looks of hers Eddie has learned means ‘don’t fuck with me.’

“Yes, ma’am,” Buck grumbled, returning to his food like a scolded child.

He had no business being that cute.

Eddie was about to stab his eye out with his fork.

“Anyway,” Chimney said. “Eddie, you never answered my question. Got anyone special in your life?”

“Just Chris and Abuela,” Eddie replied, taking a bite of Bobby’s delicious food.

“So you’re single and ready to mingle?” Chimney asked, waggling his brows.

“What, are you gonna be his wingman?” Athena asked with a small smirk.

“I’m just curious!” Chimney defended. “Geez, let’s all gang up on Chimney today...”

“It’s easy to do,” Ravi said, timidly, earning a fist bump from Buck.

Chimney narrowed his eyes, looking between the two of them before returning his scrutinizing gaze at Ravi. “Are you almost finished with the buffering on the chrome?”

“Y- yes,” Ravi said, his ears turning red.

“Good,” Chimney replied. “You can do the rest the right way by using the buffering tool that Buck lied and said we didn’t have.”

“What?” Ravi exclaimed, his eyes growing wide.

“Have you thought about dating now that you’re starting to settle, Eddie?” Maddie asked, and Eddie felt his throat tighten.

“He doesn’t like to date because of Chris,” Buck answered for him, everyone’s heads turning to him.

“And how do you know this?” Chimney asked.

“Because everytime I try to set him up with someone, he never lets me,” Buck replied.

“Maybe you just suck at being a wingman,” Chimney pointed out.

“You got my sister pregnant before you told her you liked her,” Buck smirked. “I don’t think you have a great track record for setting people up when you couldn’t even set yourself up.”

“Hey, don’t drag me into this measuring contest,” Maddie rolled her eyes. “I have no interest in it.”

“Besides, I’m at an unfair advantage if it’s Maddie judging that contest,” Chimney said with a wink, and Buck choked on his drink.

“Can we not talk about this at the dinner table?” Athena said, giving both of them another look.

“No, but we can talk about it at the lunch tab-” Buck started, but was cut off with a slap to the back of the head by Bobby.

--------

[jackfrombaskinrobbins]

all fixed up (matt murdock x teen!adopted!reader)

type of writing: headcanons / scenario

word count: 967

request: yes / no

original request: "Matt Murdock patches up a teen reader, and there's just a lot of angst and hurt/comfort. PLEASE LET IT HAVE A HUG AND FOREHEAD KISSES :)) (I'm a sucker for fluff)"

warnings: slight mention of wounds, blood, not too much though i promise!!

dynamic: matt murdock x teen!adopted!reader

characters: reader, matt murdock, quick mention of foggy nelson & wilson fisk

a/n: ILYT!!! also erm hey guys🤓i've been gone for way too long i'm sorry :') but i've had this in my drafts for a whiiiiiiile so i figured it was time to post :0 anyways ya feel free to request i have a bunch to get to but i always like new ones!! esp daredevil oop tee hee

taglist: @nutellani @thecloudedmind @ayohitmanddaeng @fiadh-bell

(fill out this form to be on my taglist!)

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“stop it, y/n. just come here for a minute, alright?”

normally matt’s words would be answered with an exaggerated sigh and an eye roll, but tonight was different. tonight was off, and you knew it, he knew it, and he knew that you knew that he knew it. (ridiculous, but true.) it didn’t help that you had wounds to patch up, sore spots all over your body that wouldn’t be going away any time soon – a constant reminder of your mistake.

and yes, as much as matt would deny it, you had made a mistake. a damn big one at that. you should have known better. no matter how gifted you were at defending yourself, no matter how many times you had practiced, it wasn’t enough. nothing would ever be enough. and yet you had stupidly decided to go against a group of kingpin’s lackies, big huge guys who ate kids like you for breakfast. they didn’t hold back, and they beat you up until you were barely conscious, and that’s when stupid matt came and did his stupid thing and saved your stupid ass from stupid death or some stupid thing like that. and now you were here, in this stupid apartment wishing you had just stayed in and done your stupid homework and watched some stupid tv and just stayed out of things for once. 

“i’m going to bed, matt.”

you spoke, too ashamed to face him. but stupid matt always knew, with his stupid heightened senses and the stupid way that he knew you inside and out, ever since he had taken you in a few years before.

“come on y/n. this isn’t something you can sleep off, and you know it.”

and you did know it. so that’s why you sat at the table, a hiss of air escaping you against your will as you lowered yourself down.

“i’ll get the kit from under the sink.”

“matt, really, it’s fine. it’s just little stuff, okay? i’m fi–”

“fine doesn’t smell like blood, y/n. i’m not stupid.”

that earned him an eye roll, which he never saw, but he always knew happened when he said things like that. you watched as he made his way to the sink, opening the cabinet underneath and rummaging around for the first aid bag. A while ago, you had put stickers on it so he could discern it from the other things in there. There were four flower stickers, and one that foggy had given you, with disney princesses that said “together we are strong”. 

matt settled into the chair across from you, exhaling softly. the lights of a police car suddenly filled the dark apartment, screeching sirens accompanying it. you reached for the kit, but matt shook his head.

“no, y/n. i’ll do it.”

you opened your mouth, about to protest, but you could tell he wasn’t going to budge. his stubbornness was something you liked, sometimes. it sure helped when you both wanted pizza for dinner and foggy wanted wings. besides, you knew he would be able to patch you up right, with all the experience he got from helping his father. he had always told you that you were just like him, willing to give anything to protect your honor. but what matt never said was that he was just like his father too, and that if anything, you had just gotten those traits from him. 

“did they get you in the head at all?” he asked, soaking a cotton pad in hydrogen peroxide and gesturing for you to guide it where your wounds were.

“yeah, a little bit. i tried to block ‘em. they just kept coming matt, i couldn’t do anything!” you grimaced as the pad touched the spot on your shoulder where you had been grazed by something sharp.

“i know, y/n. it’s not your fault.”

“see but that’s the issue. it IS my fault, matt!” you spoke, voice getting slightly strained, throat feeling tight. you squinted your eyes to prevent tears from falling, but it was too late. a few landed on his hand, and you turned away, trying to compose yourself. “there was no reason to go out there. i don’t know why the hell i thought it was a good idea. i was just … mad! mad about the way they’re treating everybody in this place, mad about the way they’re screwing over every person they deal with… mad about how they treat YOU, god damn it!”

a moment of silence as you tried to slow your breathing, and for a minute, you didn’t know how he was going to react. he reached into the kit, feeling around until he grabbed a bandage, unwrapping it. you helped his hand go to where it needed to be placed, and once it was, he sat back. only then did you see the furrow in his brow, the deep frown on his face.

“look, y/n. i need you to listen to me, and really hear me, alright? i’m proud of you.”

“come on matt, that’s –”

“no. i’m proud of you. really, really proud. i just … i just want you to be careful, alright? i worry about you. and for good reason, considering all this.” you could see his face start to crack ever so slightly, a quick break in his voice indicating that he really meant it. you moved your chair back, stood up, and hugged him tight, despite a slight lingering pain in your shoulder. after a little while, he kissed your forehead, then patted you on the back. 

“i’d assume it’s pretty late now. how about you get to bed? we’ll figure out if you need to go to school tomorrow, alright?”

“sounds good. thanks matt. love you.”

“love you too, y/n.”

-----------------------✰--------------------

[sempsimps]

lucifer x (fem)overlord reader

uhm so I've never posted anything like this before and tbh idk how its gonna go but the brain rot is too real and i need this out also i should stop writing in class oop- punctuation? never heard of her (sorry if my writing sucks :] )

tags;

NSFW

public

eating out / fingering

bites / small cuts

sexual tension obviously

just a small amount of bondage but its mild

edging if you squint

possessive if you squint (well its pretty clear)

Alastor is kinda a cock block sorry not sorry

it was the week after the extermination and i had been called to a meeting by carmilla and when she sets it we all know that its serious so i had to go and no doubt it was about the most recent events

"i don't want you to go"

ah the authority in his voice would be threatening if he wasn't my husband being the 'the big boss of hell' or whatever silly thing he likes to say but i just smiled and absentmindedly passed him off putting my purse into my skirt pocket if i was looking at him i would of seen the look of mischief in his eyes

"i don't want you to go my love, l-love?"

"uh huh..."

i wasn't paying attention to him as he did the same thing every meeting and so next thing i know i felt his claws on my shirt pulling me down to be face to face

"are you even listing!?"

i smile as i calmly raised my self back up and fixed my shirt

"yes I'm listing to you but we both know i have a reputation to uphold and Carmilla herself asked me to this so its obviously quite important"

i calmly say lucifer wasn't allowed at the meetings as he was the king and had little business in the overlord affairs and i always told him what happens anyway but he was being over protective since he learned Alastor was at these meeting but the devil looked quite disheartened at my comment which made me hurt inside but his smug smile appeared right after it

"I'm coming with you"

"luci you can-"

"they wont even know I'm there"

i looked at him sceptically but shrugged it off as he would do as he pleased oh what a showy dick he was i sighed but i walked out of the mansion before teleporting in front of the elevator up to the meeting i immediately seen Rosie and curtly bowed to her which she responded to in the same manner we both smiled and walked in together i sat to her right at the end of the table my chest right at the table as i preferred to have my arms on the surface soon i seen Alastor walk in and we waved at each other in respect and soon the meeting had started i looked around Carmilla at the head of the table talking of the recent extermination Zestial next her as well as her daughters i didn't know the overlords across of me but they seemed.... nice Velvet at the other head to my right she must be here instead of Vox because of the media fight that happened ha classic Vox always a sore loser and Rosie to my left and Alastor to hers i always admired their bond the meeting droned on for a while becoming background noise my mind wandered to my angel and thinking about what he meant no longer did i have to think as i felt a claw end gently tap my knee i leaned back slightly to see my daring husbands hand at my knee i raised my eyebrow at it face not showing much emotion 'the fuck....so that's what he meant be being here with me and not being seen too ooohh i get it aw cute'

"--- are you okay?"

"mh yeah I'm fine sorry Carmilla continue sorry"

i moved myself back to where i was feeling rather embarrassed now but not because i got called out like that even though that was awful but its the fact i now feel lucifer's hands tease me from under my skirt it was long enough as it reached my shins but it also made pretty good cover for lucifer to roam and tease with his hands i thought his intention was quite cute 'cant go one hour without me I'm flattered but seriously now? here!?' his claws lightly brush against my skin the edge grazing across my thigh leaving a feeling like a paper cut i felt his feather light touches moving closer to my core i reached down with my hand under the table to lightly move his hand away in response i had a light nip at my leg my eyes widen in slight shock at this i knew the king was quite risky when it came to this but this was a little far...... but I'm not completely complaining too much i felt his head push between my legs and i just did the same thing reaching to his face and pushing him away lightly to stop him but i felt his smile as a light kiss was placed to my skin i thought nothing of it and placed both my hands in my lap but that was a mistake i felt a light pressure on my wrists i looked down to see a golden glint around both of my wrists 'that handsome prick' i couldn't believe he would abuse his magic in this way but oh well i guess im in too deep now i felt his sly smile on me and he teased me with his tongue now licking some parts and lapping at others i could only bawl my hands trying to act normal in the meeting 'of fuck has anyone noticed this' i glanced around no one cared at all all to busy doing there own thing or listening to Carmilla, lucifer continued the secrete attack and i let him opening my thighs over so slightly and i held in a squeak of surprise when i felt the end of his claw gently move the fabric of my underwear to the side so he could move his fingers inside of me my breathing got quite heavy and my pupils dilatating as i zone out of my vision and focusing on not making a sound in front of my collages or "friends" lucifer's fingers teased my entrance only lightly slipping in to test me his other hand rubbing circle's on my skin while his head rested comfortably on my thigh enjoying the torment i was in i was so out of trying not to make a noise that when his movements twitched and halted i was back into reality and i quickly knew why as i moved my eyes over to Alastor his gaze lingered down for a split second before he spoke in that stupid radio sound

"--- my dear you all there? you seem distracted"

his voice carried a sinister lint to it sending an uncomfortable chill down my spine

"uh y yeah im alright"

carmilla looked at me and i bowed my head in apology

"sorry"

'fuck did he notice what was going on shit fuck fuck-' i was brought out of my panic nearly jumping out of my skin when i felt a particular harsh bite to my upper thigh clenching fists from the pain my eyes going blurry as i try not making any noise lucifer's possessiveness was showing through and i could feel the slow trickle of blood form from the bite lucifer eagerly lapping it up as an apology 'prick there was no cause' i understood the rivalry but my thoughts were directed to another 180 as i felt his fingers penetrate me slowly before ramping up the speed of them being cautious of the sharp ends but as i was starting to feel pleasure they left but soon replaced with his hot breath and forked tongue doing wonders the small licks driving me insane my legs slightly shaking at the contact he was relentless in eating me for all that i had i finally slipped up letting out a small quite strained sigh i felt lucifer's smile from between my legs 'that sweet sly smug fucker aaaa!' the slightest touch he gave to my clit made my thighs close around his face in shock but he just softly opened them again at this rate i wouldn't last i gave another glance around the room and seen Alastors eyes snap away from me his ear hair thingy twitching 'oh fuck he knows' i didn't have time to think as lucifer's relentless tongue kept at my body i was getting closer and closer to the edge his skilful hands tracing patterns along the bites he placed on my skin edging closer to my core coaxing my body to release my nails digging into my palms i was so close to finishing but everything stopped i freeze at Carmilla's voice

"this meeting is over thank you all for coming to listen to this matter we will meet again next week to discuse the same topic hope to see you all there"

my saviour i really didn't want to cum here of all places 'thank fuck holy shit too many close calls' just as i was about to stand up i felt how shaky my legs were all of the other overlords had already left leaving me behind with-

"my dear are you alright? let me assist you it seems your having trouble"

oh that stupid voice again filled with smugness Alastor wrapped his hand around my arm assisting me with walking out of the room

"oh Alastor you don't have to im fine really-"

"oh nonsense and i insist"

his voice got sinister quickly as he led me out of the room i held in a groan i was so close to finishing that it hurt to move so i excepted my fate as he walked us to an elevator but then my stomach dropped lucifer always waited outside for me and his not so friendly rival was basically hand in hand with me 'oh shit' the elevator moved down and i seen my husband waiting i attempted to loosen Alstors grasp but he held firm and the see through door opened to look at a more than pissed of king looking at Alastor with a death glare

"hello my love how was the meeting"

lucifer was acting as if he wasn't there he was talking through his clenched teeth still looking at Alastor as he asked the radio man let go of my arm and i awkwardly walked over to my husband and as i did i could hear him snarl lowly his hand wrapping around my waist

"cant keep your hands to yourself deer?"

"cant keep your nose out of someone's business? wouldn't want your own trick to backfire"

and with that i grabbed a hold of lucifer teleporting us back to our room before he started somthing on the street...again

i didn't really know how to end that but i hope it was okay this is my first ever fanfic that I've properly written so sorry if it sucks idfk

-semp

[chronologically-challenged]

The Magnus Archives spoilers but I keep thinking about Jon and Martin landing in the ISAT universe when the fears arrive but like. Right after post loops. So it ends up like:

1) They save these two weirdly accented guys (where one of them clearly has been stabbed holy shit) only to possibly be immediately told that they just got a bunch of evil gods in their world (oops)

2) Jon's eyes absolutely have color when Knowing things or using Eye powers in general.

3) The loops 100% count as a statement and Jon is purposely trying not to be alone with Siffrin so he doesn't munch on their trauma

4) Triple ace solidarity ruined by the knowledge their world is doomed to be plagued by fear gods U.U

5) Martin: "Jon did the fears turn this world black and white" Bonnie:"what's black and white?" Martin: "what" Bonnie: "what" Isabeau: "No but seriously what's black and white." Odile: "I think they're implying that colors exist in their world." Jon: "I see. Colors are apparently unnatural to this world." Martin: "Like that one Lovecraft story?" Jon: "what". Martin: "You know colors beyond our comprehension and what not?" Jon: "I- I suppose??" Bonnie: "Hey! Could this Lovecraft guy be from our world?" Mirabelle: "Wait no. These two just arrived here??? Unless time messed up too???" Jon: "Trust me you do not want to claim him."

6.a) Jon looks at least 10 years if not older than he actually is. He also probably can get along better with Odile anyway. Plus with different universes as backgrounds, the lack of general knowledge around his age wouldn't be obvious. Cue the moment where Jon is asked how old he is and the absolute AWKWARD silence when it's clear that both Jon and Martin are basically Siffrin's age, give or take a few years.

6.b) Bonnie: "Is 30 years old different in your universe? Are you about to die?" Jon: "From embarrassment, perhaps."

7) General discussion/argument/existential dread regarding the Fears and how they interact with this world. Honestly the gang may never forgive Martin and Jon for doing this to them. Even if they do everything they can to help them. They get more sympathy once they find out about the Eyepocalypse and the absolute hell Jon in particular went through. Doesn't mean they have to like it.

8) Siffrin finding out about Jon's knowing powers and asking him if he can Know the name of the island in the North. Jon tries. Then he starts screaming. His eyes are red. Siffrin doesn't ask again.

9.a) The horror and dread knowing that not only is their mission not done. It can't be ever again. And this time, especially if Jon and Martin's story is true... well, the King wasn't easy, but at least he was a person. You can't exactly fight a distorted universe. Their happily ever destroyed forever.

9.b) I could see a physical confrontation happening... if Jon didn't look so absolutely devastated. If he didn't say "do what you will with me, but please leave Martin alone" and Martin yelling at him for being a self-sacrifical idiot. It just sucks so much all around. But it would have been easier if Jon and Martin were bad people. But they're not. Just... broken people doing their best in a broken world. And to do their best to save their own world, the family has to work with them.

9.c) Jon and Siffrin are also idiots with martyr complexes that refuse to talk about their feelings solidarity. Shame that Jon can't help but want to eat Siffrin's trauma cause they probably have a lot to talk about.

10) Funnier note, the slow realization that Jon and Martin in an rpg world. Martin figures it out first and Jon is just. Flabbergasted. Especially when they find out the magic system is rock paper scissors.

11) "rock paper scissors transcends the multi-verse. Neat!" (Later Martin asks Jon if gun is secretly a fourth hand symbol. He does not know and will not Know. He refuses).

12) I think at one point they're gonna have to deal with the fact that statements don't exist in this world. Either Jon gets too close to taking Siffrin's statement or he's going to tell Martin the facts: there is very little way Jon can survive without being a predator. He is an avatar that needs something to fuel his existence. He doesn't want to hurt anyone else ever again. Unless Siffrin wants to write their statement down or someone else does... even then there's no guarantee it's going to be enough.

13) Perhaps wish-craft can save Jon. Maybe. Maybe not. But. The party tells them about wish-craft anyway. It's the one hope they have to fight against this new horror. Maybe it can help Jon too to get out. (Everyone deserves that chance).

I have no fic with this, my fixations are simply crossing over briefly. Hope you enjoyed the ramblings.

[ouiouibaguettt]

Love beneath the shirt pt.2

Jana Fernandez x Aria O’Hara (oc)

@liverpoolfan96​ here is the part2!!

warnings: no one

words: +1k

Masterlist - part.1

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ARIA’S POV:

When I messaged Jana, a week after our match, I couldn't remember ever having been so nervous in my life. I was at Lola's house that night with Carmen and Virginia, and I saw that my phone had vibrated. When I looked at it to see what was going on, I had a sudden rush of heat.

@janafernandez3 liked your story @janafernandez3 replied to your story: 😳😳

The story in question was a photo of me lifting weights that the team photographer took. "I think she has a crush on you Ari" Carmen said to me as she appeared behind me. "AHH!" I exclaimed, jumping up with my phone in my hands. "You scared me Carmen never do that again" I said with my hand in my heart after grabbing my phone in midair. "Oops?" she apologized as she sat back down next to Virgina. "Do you think I should ask her out like tomorrow night?" I asked Lola, "I think it would be good for you two to get to know each other a bit more" she said as she thought about it "And you'll be cute together" she added as she pinched my cheeks. "Yes, look at baby America and baby Spain together!" she said a little too excitedly. "Well I'll ask her then" I said with a little nervousness in my voice.

//

It was time for my meeting with Jana, I would be lying if I said I wasn't stressed. I was currently at the meeting point, looking at the latest stories and posts on instagram, when I spotted her. "Hey Jana" I said as I stood up to greet her, "Hi Aria" she said, "Are you ready to go?" I asked "Yes I'm ready, let's go I've been looking forward to this since last night" she admitted as she looked down at the ground, her cheeks flushed "Is that true?" I asked pleasantly surprised, "Of course I was looking forward to it Aria, don't doubt it" she said as she looked at me with a beautiful smile. "Thank you, your smile is very cute too" she told me as she started to walk forward. "I spoke loudly right?" I asked blushing, catching up with her "Yes but it's cute" she said.

//

I don't know how much time has passed since then but I know I don't want it to stop. "Why did you choose to be on loan this season? "she asked, "Honestly, I always looked up to my sister Kelley, growing up, and it was through her that I discovered the sport but the thing is, I'm younger and less experienced than her, so despite the games I play whether they're good or bad I get compared to her, At Gotham FC I wasn't Aria O'Hara, I was Aria, the little sister of the big star Kelley O'Hara, and that played a lot on my mind because I can't talk to my sister about it and that's how I ended up in the club office asking for a loan. "I admitted. "It must have been very complicated, but I'm glad you went on loan here in Spain," she said. "Why Atlético de Madrid anyway? Were there no other clubs? Not that I'm criticizing, I'm just wondering?" she added. "I'm glad I was loaned out here too, I must admit, I've met some very nice people" I confessed. "And I don't really know, I just know that it was a good team and that I could only get better as the season went on" I said. "Great meetings eh? Who are they?" she asked. "Virginia, Lola and Carmen are definitely nice to meet but I was surprised by this beautiful girl from Barcelona" I admitted, "Oh yeah? And what is this girl like off the field?". Hm, I don't know, what are you like off the field?" I asked with a small smile. "I don't know, I'd say, adorable, cute, nice" she said, sticking her tongue out at me. "You forgot beautiful" I admitted.

When I pulled out my phone, I was shocked to see that it was already 00:46. "Should we go? You have practice tomorrow and I don't want your team to arrive in Madrid because you didn't sleep much because of me" I asked, "Yes you're right" she said as she got up from the sand and held out her hand to help me up. "Anyway I loved this evening with you. I can't wait to do it again soon," she admitted, smiling at me, "I also enjoyed the evening with you, Jana. And I can't wait to do it again," I admitted, imitating her smile, "Go on, I think Bruna will be worried if you don't," I added, "Oops, have a good flight home and let me know when you've landed. Good night Linda" she said kissing my cheek before walking in the opposite direction of me. "Good night Jana" I said a little late.

//

"I still can't believe you flew to see a girl" is the first thing Virginia says to me when she sees me at the airport, "Wow, hello to you too how are you?" I say as I hug her. "Oops sorry, how are you? Did your flight go well?" she asked "Yes it did, my flight went well thank you" I said. "And to answer your question, what I can't believe is that it went very well and that she is also looking forward to doing it again soon" I said with great enthusiasm. "I'm glad it went well for you then" she confessed, putting her arm around my shoulders as we left the airport. "Off to the house now," she announced. "I can't wait to get back to my bed and the girls" I admitted between two yawns.

TO jana💙❤️ I'm home safe don't worry.

FROM jana💙❤️ Ok nickel, rest well tonight for your training, good night linda, x

TO jana💙❤️ Thanks, good night to you too Jana x

When I went to bed that night I had never been so happy in my life and I hope it lasts.

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