#How To Save An Unhealthy Marriage

[brummiereader]

PREVIOUS PART

Killing Me Softly (PART SIX/ DARK!TOMMY)

Summary: It's been two months since your escape from Tommy's clutches. How long will you be able to stay hidden until your husband hunts you down?

Warnings: Language, angst, psychological mind games, controlling behaviour, toxic marriage, Dark!Tommy ( this is a dark fic, please read the warnings before continuing)

Writers note: Just to note, £250 in 1920s England is the equivalent to £9,183 in today's money, the price Tommy paid for your diamond encrusted bracelet . The song Tommy sings to Y/N is called "Run Rabbit Run" by Flanagan and Allen that was released in 1939, a song Tommy would have known.

Two months later...

Storming into the factory building, every worker turned around in a hurry to avoid the fury on their bosses face. They had learnt over the past two months that one wrong look could end with them getting shot, a lesson they learnt quickly when one of Tommy's many workers approached him to ask about a delivery due that day. Tommy's response, the end of his gun pointed to the young man's head. The workers only saving grace was when Arthur and John stepped in before he ended up six feet under with a bullet hole through his skull. The reason for his anger, you. For the past two months Tommy had torn Birmingham apart looking for you, every one of his henchmen as well as himself had been out searching for you night and day. Countless hours had been spent checking potential leads and yet, he still hadn't found you. The king of Birmingham, the notorious boss of the Peaky Blinders couldn't find his wife, the embarrassment only angered him more. Fury was consuming him, your brazen act of disloyalty and disobedience at the forefront of his mind every second of the day. Unable to sleep or eat, the only thing that kept him going was tobacco, whisky and the awaited pleasure he would feel unleashing his punishment on you, a punishment you would not escape for a second time. Slamming the door to his office shut, Tommy sat down in his leather chair, his fingers running through his hair as he looked down at the various notes left on his table. Sitting back he flicked through each one of the potential sightings, all of them quickly deemed useless as he tossed them into a nearby bin. Gazing down at his wedding ring, Tommy turned the gold band around his finger, clenching his jaw as he pushed down any anxiety that dared to make an appearance. A small inconvenience until he had found you, he thought to himself as he brushed his hand down his face. But was it? You had begun to stir up anxieties in him that he had pushed away for years since his return from war. The fear of having no control over what could happen started to slowly creep up on him again, the same fear he felt digging tunnels in France as the weight of the earth threatened to fall down on him. Swallowing back the memories, Tommy clenched his fist as his mind forced him to remember his time in France, and the only thing that kept him going, his childhood love. At first, it was a comforting memory he'd conjure up as the sound of gunfire echoed through No Man's Land behind him, but in his desperate attempt to block out reality it had become an unhealthy fixation. A once innocent young love became an obsession, an obsession he refused to let go of. Overtime the sound of gunfire and bombs exploding no longer scared him, instead it was replaced with the fear of never seeing you again, a fear that started to feel all too familiar. Straightening his posture out Tommy poured himself a glass of whisky in an attempt to rid himself of the uncomfortable feeling pressing against his chest.

" Why did she leave?" John's wife Esme asked her husband as she watched her brother-in-law through the glass window of his office, his head in his hands, his knee rapidly bouncing up and down as the stress coursed through his body. He was loosing control, and it was becoming evident to all those around him.

" The worry of her mother being sick. She's in a fragile place Esme. She couldn't handle it and left. Tom says she always does that, runs away from her problems when things get too difficult" he replied as Polly looked on, raising an eyebrow at Johns explanation.

" He looks like he's going to murder someone" Arthur said as he walked into the factory looking at Tommy now pacing back and forth in his office with another glass of whisky in his hand.

" He nearly did" Polly said, referring to the factory worker who almost got shot in the head for having the audacity to talk to him.

" He's still not found her then?" Arthur asked, leaning against a wall as he pulled out a silver flask of whisky. Clearly the soothing lull of the amber liquid was not too early for him either.

" Does it look like it?" John replied as he rolled the toothpick in his mouth between his lips.

" Fuck...we've looked everywhere, how far could she have got?" Arthur replied, taking a swig of liquor.

" Pretty far, when your scared" Polly spoke up, as she looked down at the newspaper in front of her.

"Heads up" Arthur said as he nodded to Tommy's office door, warning everyone of his younger brother's approaching presence.

"Arthur, John, we're leaving " Tommy said as he put his coat on, his eyes darting to his Aunt who was staring him down

"You gonna tell us where we going?" John asked as he hopped off one of the receptionists desks placing his peaked cap firmly on his head.

" Just had a phone call. She was seen down by the old Jewellery Quarters over a month ago" Tommy replied as he turned his head to his Aunt. "Problem?" he asked, annoyance in his voice as he cocked an eyebrow at his Aunt's insistent glare.

" Oh no Tommy, you go find your wife...that's if she wants to be found" Polly replied, turning away as Tommy cleared his throat in irritation at her remark. Had Polly finally figured everything out?

"Y/N there's a letter here for you, your Landlady said as she bounced her baby up and down on her hip.

"Thank you Mrs Riley " you replied as you smiled at the baby boy reaching out for you.

"Is it still ok for you to babysit tonight?" she asked as she wiped the dribble off her son's chin with the end of her apron.

" Of course, I don't mind at all. Plus, how could I say no to this little man" you replied as you took him from her, blowing small raspberries to his neck as he giggled in response.

" Ahh thank you. First time me and Mr Riley have gone out since this little one came along. You should really come one day, lots of single men will be there, they will be jumping at the chance to dance with you. We need to find you a husband!" she chuckled smiling to you, unaware that you were already married.

"Why would I need a man when I've got this little bundle to keep me company" you replied looking down at the baby in your arms, a small uneasiness washing over you at the thought of Tommy. " Oh god, it's that time already. I'm going to be late" you said looking down at your watch as you passed the baby back to his mother. Saying goodbye you walked out onto the farm you had been stopping at for the past two months. Having sold the bracelet Tommy had gifted you before your wedding, you had plenty of money to afford a more expensive place to stay, but you needed to keep low. You knew Tommy would be out searching for you, and with that in mind you responded to an advertisement in the local paper for a small lodgings at Riley Farm, the perfect place for anyone wanting to go unnoticed. A small bedsit attached to the side of the farm house in a little village you had never heard of, so inconspicuous that it was not even marked on a map. With everyone knowing the last name Shelby and Tommy knowing you might use your maiden name in replacement, you started using your mothers maiden name from the day you left Arrow House. Word spread fast about Tommy Shelby's anger. Even in the small village you was now living in a you heard talk of how the gang leader of the Peaky Blinder was tearing the city apart. No one knew exactly why the infamous Tommy Shelby's fury had rained down on the smog covered city, but there were rumours of his wife having run off with another man, a rumour you only imagined infuriated him even more. You knew your husband would never cease in his search for you and that you would eventually have to leave and find somewhere else to stay, but for now you enjoyed the peace and quiet the small village gave you, a peace you had forgotten existed. You had started working as a teaching assistant at the village school, a school that accommodated many orphaned children from the war, funded by rich benefactors. You enjoyed your job, the children's laughs and joyful spirits were a pleasant distraction to the memories you held inside of the previous months. But there were still times when Tommy would invade your thoughts and you would suddenly find yourself longing for him once again. Longing for his strong arms wrapped around you, his hands cupping your cheeks as he look down into your eyes, his voice telling you he loved you. Had he still a hold on you, even after everything that had happened ?

"Stop here Arthur" Tommy said as his older brother pulled up in front of a shop in Birmingham's city center.

" What the fuck we doing here, thought she was seen in a jewellery shop?" Arthur replied as he looked out his window at the small building. Giving no response Tommy opened the door as he reached into his pocket to light a cigarette. Looking up, Tommy squinted his eyes at the sign attached to the old stone brick wall, "Johnson & son Pawnbrokers". Breathing out a cloud of smoke he entered the small business, shutting the door behind him.

" Well I guess we bloody follow him then" Arthur said rolling his eyes as John shook his head laughing.

As the three brothers entered the shop, the owner immediately scurried back behind his till, instantly recognising each gang member, the shine from the blade on the front of their caps a stark reminder of their brutality if he dared to anger them.

" Please, I don't want trouble" he said as he put his trembling hands up in defence.

"What makes you think we're here to cause trouble?" Tommy asked as John and Arthur looked around at the various objects for sale.

" A young woman was seen coming in here a few months ago" Tommy said reaching into his suit jacket, pulling out an old picture of you that had clearly seen better days.

" We get lots of people coming in to sell things Mr Shelby" he replied nervously as he looked down at the picture. " I don't remember her, she could have come in when my son was working or maybe my wife, I'm not very good at remembering faces. I'll, I'll go get my wif.." he said only to be interrupted when Tommy pulled a gun to his head, tired of the conversation. The shop keepers eyes quickly darted to the back door next to him as he contemplated fleeing.

"I wouldn't do that if I was you" Tommy said as he clicked the safety off. " I have very little patience these days Mr Johnson".

" Tom, I think you might want to see this" Arthur said as he looked down into a glass cabinet. Narrowing his eyes Tommy lowered his gun, a small smirk playing on his lips as he looked at the trembling man in front of him. Walking over, Tommy's eyes widened at the small bracelet he had offered you before your wedding sitting in a glass cabinet on a red velvet stand. His stomach suddenly felt sick, his hands sweaty.

" Care to explain why the fuck you have my wife's bracelet in your possession?! " Tommy shouted as he marched back over to the shop owner, the gun now pressed firmly against the old man's temple.

" She...she must have come in and sold it, please don't shoot me" he said mumbling as he scrunched his eyes shut, the barrel of the gun cold against his skin.

" No? " Tommy grinned darkly as he twisted the end of the gun further into his flesh.

" P..please Mr Shelby"

" I wouldn't say anything more if I was you, he's two seconds away from pulling that trigger" John said as Arthur watched on.

" Yeh, and I can't be bothered to pull him off another innocent soul for a second time. Got elbowed in the bloody stomach last time " Arthur added as the two brothers looked at eachother smirking, enjoying the torment they were inflicting.

" Right give us the keys to open this thing " Arthur said slapping his hands together, pulling Tommy out of his trance. Dropping the gun from the shop keepers head Tommy scoffed as he watched him fumble to find his keys.

" So is it hers?" John asked as Tommy picked it up, turning it over to see both your initials and the date of your wedding engraved on the back. Brushing his hand down his face Tommy nodded as he enclosed the bracelet in his hand, placing it in his pocket.

" Did she erh..." Tommy said as he started to clear his throat, his mouth suddenly going dry "...did she leave any details, address, number?" He asked as he turned back to the shop keeper.

" I'll check right now for you me Shelby" the owner said hurrying back to his counter as he looked through various pieces of paper, desperately trying to find something as Tommy waited next to him, lighting another cigarette

" What do you think?" John laughed placing a straw hat with an array of different flowers stitched into the side of it on top of his peaked cap.

" Very pretty John boy, you should get it" Arthur said winking to his brother. "Ain't he pretty Tommy?" Arthur laughed trying to get his brother to lighten up.

" Beautiful" Tommy replied flatly as he looked back over to the shop owner, his fingers taping on the counter, his patience disappearing.

"Ah here! I found something. One diamond encrusted bracelet sold in the exchange of, One Hundred and Ten pound King George Sterling to one Miss Y/mothers maiden/N, 12A Ferris Court Birmingham" he said handing the small piece of paper to Tommy, breathing a sigh of relief.

"She's still in Birmingham?" John questioned confused as to how they hadn't found you since they had already checked that part of town. Scrunching the paper in his hands, anger started to build up in him. Was someone helping you?

" Y/mothers maiden/N" Tommy scoffed. " One Hundred and Ten pounds ey? I brought that bracelet for Two Hundred and Fifty" Tommy said, squinting his eyes at the shopkeeper who swallowed harshly as he leaned over the counter to open his till. " One Hundred and Ten pounds, and I'll be keeping the bracelet" Tommy said pulling the same sum of money out, a smirk on his lips as the owner rubbed the sweat of his forehead as Tommy emptied his till." Lads " Tommy said as he walked to the door, his brothers quickly following behind him. " Pleasure doing business with you Mr Johnson" he added, walking out the door as Arthur took the hat of John's head replacing it with slap to the back of his skull instead.

After a long day of working at the school, you and the teacher you were assisting made your way to the village square. You and Mr Brown or as you called him Robert, had grown close to one another over the past weeks. He had become a good a friend, but only a friend. He would never ask questions about your personal life, quickly realising you were reluctant to talk about it whenever the topic arose, he respected your privacy and decided to leave the subject alone. Every day after school had ended he would walk with you to your lodgings, he was a caring man whose friendship you deeply cherished, one you was afraid of Tommy learning about. If your husband knew you was talking to another man let alone him accompany you home, you would certainly both pay the price for his anger, the thought alone scared you into never delving into your past.

" Think the kids really enjoyed your imaginative way of learning the alphabet today. Still don't know how you managed to find an object for each word of the alphabet" he laughed as he walked beside you along the country lane.

" I don't either" you giggled as you both approached the village square, the sun shining down on the quiet neighborhood.

" Thinking about having them do a large drawing for our benefactors visit tomorrow, we are so grateful for their donations. They keep our school going and Mr Sh.." he stopped as you came to a halt, your hand grabbing holding of his arm.

"Y/N are you ok? " he said looking at the fearful expression on your face, your eyes fixed on the back of a smartly dressed man with a peaked cap sitting on a bricked wall.

" He found me...I, I need to go" you panicked, tears welling in your eyes as you started walking backwards letting go of Roberts arm.

"Wait, Y/N" he stopped you, your eyes widening at the man turning around as Robert turned his head to look at what had you so frightened.

" Oh..." You exhaled as tears ran down your face to see that the man in front of you wasn't your husband. Feeling your knees go weak, you stumbled to a nearby bench as Robert held you up.

"You're married aren't you?" He questioned as he looked down at your trembling hands, the indent of where your wedding ring once was only now coming to his attention.

"Yes" you said nodding your head as you blinked away the tears.

" And you're hiding from him?" he asked as you mouthed a silent yes in response whilst you looked desperately into your friends eyes.

" You don't understand, if he finds me.."

" He's not going to find Y/N, nobody knows about this village, they can't even pronounce it let alone find it. You're safe here, I promise" he said, as he placed a comforting hand over yours. " Come on, let's get you back before Mrs Riley starts worrying" he said smiling to you as he reached his hand out for yours. Smiling back you stood up wiping the tears away with the back of your hand as a wave of dread washed over you at Roberts words. Tommy would never stop until he found you, it was only matter of time until he would finally hunt you down.

"FUCKKK!" Tommy shouted at the top of his voice as he repeatedly punched his fist into the wall. " She's playing with me Arthur, she's fucking playing with me!" Tommy yelled as he frantically reached into his pocket for a smoke, anger coursing through his body as he tried to light the cigarette in his mouth. You had deceived him, the address you gave was the address to an abandoned flat on the north side of Birmingham's city center, Tommy was furious.

" Tom, maybe she just wants some space, she'll come back eventually" John said as he stood by the door, his hands in his pockets.

" What the fuck was that, space?!" Tommy said storming over to his brother, Arthur putting himself between them before a fight broke out.

" We'll find her Tom" Arthur reassured his brother as he took out his lighter, igniting the cigarette resting between Tommy's lips.

" She fucking needs me, she's weak without me" Tommy said as he exhaled a cloud of smoke, the nicotine calming his nerves as his brothers looked nervously to eachother at Tommy's strange choice of words.

" Come on brother let's get out here" Arthur said wrapping his arm around his shoulder as he walked with him to the door, John sheepishly following behind. Tommy may be John's brother but even he knew he was not immune to the deadly gang leaders retribution, a retribution he wanted to stay clear of.

Sitting by the classroom window the following day, you looked down at the stack of papers In front of you that needed to be marked as Robert walked into the classroom carrying a pile of books in his arms.

" They'll be arriving soon" Robert said as he placed the books down onto his desk, a film a sweat covering his skin from his frantic state.

" Who?" You replied looking up from the papers you were grading as you took a sip of tea, a playful smile on your lips as you looked at Roberts nervousness.

" The benefactors of the school, remember? They've been funding us for over a year, we can't keep this place going without them, everything needs to be in order for when they come" he replied as he sat down in his chair exhausted.

" Come on Robert, no one would pull funding from a school for orphaned children'' you replied trying to reassure him.

" Yes maybe, but these patrons are not exactly, clean money" he responded as he wiped the sweat from his skin whilst you giggled at the thought of criminals funding anything, let alone a school.

" Well they can't be that bad if they have the heart to donate money to our little school. What did you say their name was?" you replied as you put your pen back into your bag.

" It's Sh..oh god it's them" he answered cutting himself off when he saw their car pull up in front of the school.

" Do I have time to use the bathroom?" you asked getting up with a grin on your face as you turned around to see the Bugatti parked just outside.

" Yes yes but hurry, the boss is... well he's, he's intimidating"

"Intimidating" you repeated, rolling your eyes laughing whilst you made your way to the restroom as the sound of the school door opened.

" Remind me why the fuck we have to go to these things Pol?" Tommy asked as he lit a cigarette.

" Because it's what you do when you own a charity Tommy" she replied shutting the school door behind her.

" Well don't drag it on, I've got things to do. Who chose this school? I've never even heard of this fucking village " he added as he looked at his pocket watch, his patience already disappearing.

" Can you at least try to pretend like you want to be here" Polly said as she gave him a stern look, Tommy forcing a sarcastic smile in response.

" Mr Shelby, Miss Grey. It's so nice to see you again" Robert greeted them as he shook each of their hand, a warm smile on his face as he welcomed them into the classroom. Looking around the small room Tommy perched himself on one of the empty desks, exhaling a puff of smoke as Polly and Robert talked to eachother.

" Do tell us Mr Brown, how are the children doing? Do you have everything you need?" Polly asked as Tommy rubbed his cigarette in between his fingers, looking out the window, uninterested by the conversation that was taking place.

" Oh, they are doing great, we have a new teaching assistant that started a few months ago, she should be back any minute, she's been a real help" he replied pulling out the drawing the children had made for them. Rubbing his forehead Tommy looked ahead of him at the small desk beside the blackboard when something suddenly caught his eye. Scrunching his brow he stood up walking over to the small wooden table in the corner, tilting his head as his eyes narrowed in on the black handbag sitting on top of the old wood. This was your bag, he was certain of it. The sound of Polly and Roberts conversation started to muffle in his ears, the thumping of his heart replaced the echo of their voices as he felt the room closing in on him. Feeling the pressure of his shirt pushing against his throat, Tommy loosened the tie around his neck, his anger rising in him at an unstoppable speed, you had been here all this time.

" When did your new assistant start working here ?" Tommy seethed, turning around to face Robert as he wiped the beads of sweat from his forehead.

" Around 6 weeks ago Mr Shelby" he replied, taking a step back as he saw the anger in Tommy's face.

" At this new teaching assistant " Tommy started to say as bitterness and fury built in his voice. " What's her last name?"

" Well it's Y/mother's maiden/N" he replied as Tommy scoffed in reply, shaking his head in disbelief.

" Miss Y/mother's maiden/N...not Mrs Shelby then?" Tommy answered as he looked Robert dead in the eye.

" What's going on Tommy?" Polly interjected as she watched the the tension build in her nephews face.

" Have you been helping her, hm?" Tommy said raising his voice as Polly's eyes darted to your bag on the table, putting her hand to her mouth in shock at the realisation.

" I... I don't " Robert stuttered as his brain tried to catch up to what Tommy was asking. And then it hit him, he was the man you were hiding from, he was your husband.

" Where is she? Answer me!" Tommy shouted as he slammed his fist down onto the desk in front of him.

Leaving the bathroom, you frowned in confusion as you heard the sound of raised voices coming from the classroom you had just left. Drying the back of your hands on the front of your dress you hurried to the room as quickly as you could, only to come to a stop as your eyes widened in terror, a gasp leaving your mouth whilst your hand grasped onto the door frame in fear you would lose your balance. There, standing in the middle of the room was your husband, Roberts hand holding onto a chair as Tommy loomed over him. Straightening his coat out Tommy turned around to the sound of your presence.

" Hello darling" your husband said, his hands casually in his suit trousers as a wicked smile grew on his lips, his eyes roaming over your body. He had found you.

Letting go of the door frame you started to walk backwards, tears welling in you eyes as you looked back at your husband, his eyes darkening, his face taunt with anger as he waited for you to do what he knew you would.

" One, two, three..." Tommy started to count as if this was a game of hide-and-seek, and he was the seeker. Shaking your head tears fell down your cheeks as you prepared yourself to run, the sound of his countdown ringing in your ears. But Tommy never would count to ten. With the smirk growing on his face, Tommy stopped at three, his eyebrow raised as he took one step forward and you took one step back. Spinning around you ran to the front door as quickly as you could, slamming it shut as the sound of your husband's footsteps chasing after you rapidly approached.

" Y/N Shelby!" Tommy shouted as he ran after you, a sinister smile dancing on his lips. This was all a game to him, he was enjoying it." You never was very good at hiding" he shouted as he watched you run around the corner out on to the road.

" Come on sweetheart, don't I get a kiss from my long-lost wife" he said sarcastically as he hunched down pulling his gun out. Now ducked down running along the opposite side of the hedge Tommy watched you through the small holes in the hedgerow as you rapidly walked down the country lane wiping the tears from your eyes.

"Run rabbit, run rabbit, run run run, don't give the farmer his fun, fun, fun " Tommy sang as you abruptly stopped in the middle of the road your eyes darting left and right as panic coursed through your body. Turning around you looked back to the top of the road when you suddenly heard someone pushing their way through the hedge, the cock of a gun echoing along the country lane. With a trembling body your turned back around, tears cascading down your face as your eyes turned to see Tommy standing right behind you, his gun pointed straight at you.

"Lost little bunny?"

NEXT PART

Tag list: @litteltourtius @aesthetic0cherryblossom @swordofawriter @casa-boiardi @muhahaha303 @fmo166 @call-sign-shark @priyajoyy @pet1t3 @ifevilwhyhot @bruher @whereismymindnow

#peaky blinders #tommy shelby x reader #tommy shelby #tommy shelby fanfic #tommy shelby x y/n #peaky blinders fanfic #killing me softly #dark!tommy shelby #tommy shelby imagine #peaky blinders imagine

[jpmarvel90]

Grief

Masterlist Natasha Masterlist

Relationship: Natasha x Reader, Sister Wanda x Sister Reader

Summary: After Clint's death, Natasha falls of the rails and her marriage is at stake.

Word Count: 6554

Y/n’s POV:

When Clint died, it affected everyone in the team. But most of all, it affected his best friend, Nat. After his funeral, Nat started to withdraw from everyone, including me, her wife. Her walls went up and she almost went into self-destruct mode. I barely saw her. She would be out all-night doing God knows what. Most of the mornings when she would eventually come back home, she was drunk or high.

She had stopped working, which was for the best anyway as she wasn’t in the right mind set for it. But work was always her outlet when things got rough for her. I barely saw her and when I did, she would talk to me. I was lucky if I got a good morning or goodbye. She would never tell me where she was or where she was going. At first I would wait up for her, terrified something had happened, then she would come in to bed in the early hours, not even addressing the fact she had been out all night.

Eventually, I would be asleep before she came in and then she would be gone before I woke up. I felt helpless that I couldn’t help her. I would try to get her to open up, but she would just ignore me. We started to argue more, something we had rarely done. If we disagreed, we would always talk about it. Even if we didn’t end up agreeing, it would rarely end up in a fight. Now, it seemed like just saying good morning would get a rise out of her.

The team were worried too, and they had all tried to help her as well. But it was no use. I spent so much time talking to my sister Wanda about how I was worried that she was slipping away. But she would encourage me to be patient and just be there so when she was ready to talk, she knew I was there to listen. But she was becoming nasty and the worst she got, the harder it became.

I would tell myself that she had lost her best friend, the man that saved her life and gave her a second chance to fight for what was right. If I ever lost Wanda, I would be devastated and know that I wouldn’t cope. I was Natasha’s wife. It was my job to be there for her, for better or for worse. But it looked like better was never going to make its way back again.

It was late on a Tuesday evening when Natasha stumbled through the door to our house. The smell of alcohol seeped off her and she looked a mess. When looked closer, I could see lipstick on her neck. I felt my heart constrict at the sight, but I wasn’t going to jump to any conclusions. “Nat, where have you been?” I asked calmly, making way towards her. She just started to giggle. “I wanted a drink.” She slurred out, pushing past me to the stairs.

I followed her and watched as she stumbled around trying to get herself ready for bed. I knew there was no use in talking to her now. She was drunk and probably wouldn’t hear anything I had to say anyway. So, I waited. I sat up in bed and waited until she woke up a few hours later. One thing about Nat was she never got a hangover so was always ready to function the next day. She looked at me surprised when she saw me awake and watching her. I heard her sigh, but we needed to talk. It had been 6 months since Clint died and she was getting worse. I know she is grieving but this isn’t healthy, and I hate not being able to help her. What sort of a wife isn’t able to comfort the person they love?

“Where were you last night?” I asked, keeping my voice calm and low, not wanting to frustrate her. But it didn’t work. “I was just out for a drink.” She said coldly, making her way to the bathroom. “Please Nat, I’m worried about you. I want to help you.” I said trying to contain the emotions. “I don’t need your help Y/n. I’m fine.” She huffed, doing everything to ignore looking in my direction.

“I know you’re hurting, and I can’t begin to imagine how you’re feeling, but you can’t keep doing this. It’s unhealthy.” I said and I could tell she was starting to get angry, but I wasn’t planning on backing down today. “Exactly, you don’t know what I’m feeling so just back the fuck off.” She spat, shoving past me to leave.

I ran down the stairs and blocked the door so she couldn’t leave. “Natasha, I’m your wife. I’m not going to force you to talk to me, but please talk to someone. You need help. I’m worried about you. I don’t know where you go and then you come home drunk and last night you came home with lipstick on you.” I said frustrated, my resolve breaking.

She slammed her keys down on to the counter and walked towards me not breaking eye contact. “I do not need you telling me what to do. Being my wife doesn’t give you some special pass to know everything about me. And the so what, I was having fun last night. Isn’t that a good thing?” She said with an evil smirk on her face. “Fun with someone else is that what you mean?” I ask, almost at a whisper, terrified of her answer.

She paused for a moment before answering. “Yeah, someone who doesn’t badger me at every minute of the day.” She said it so casually, and I felt my heart shatter. She cheated. “I mean that little to you, that you would go and cheat?” I asked. “This just isn’t working anymore Y/n. Neither of us are happy. Let’s just cut our loses whilst we can.” Her words were cold and callous. “Nat, you don’t mean that. We’re married, we’ve been together for 8 years. You’re grieving and if you need space, then I’ll give it to you. But please, this isn’t the end for us.” I argued, tears filling my eyes.

“Well, maybe 8 years was enough. This isn’t the grief talking Y/n. I can’t do this anymore. I think we should break up.” She said, not making eye contact anymore. I felt sick and my legs were shaking. “Break up? You want a divorce?” I asked in shock, and she just nodded. I was speechless. I looked at her and I knew that there was nothing that I could do. I moved away from the door and walked away from her, tears streaming down my face.

When I heard the door close, as she left, I fell to my knees and broke down. I couldn’t believe that the woman that I had fallen in love with could do that to me. Not wanting to stay in this house any longer, I grabbed my bags and filled them with my clothes and anything I wanted to take with me. Which wasn’t much as I didn’t want the memories of this anymore. I locked the door and push my key through the letter box. I packed up my car and made my way to the compound.

I was greeted by Jarvis, and I asked where Tony was. As usual he was in his lab. I was making my way there when Wanda saw me and chased after me, trying to find out what’s wrong. “Y/n/n, please slow down. Have you been crying?” She asked as I ignored her and found Tony. “Y/n what do I owe the pleasu…. Y/n, oh God what’s wrong” He asked, his voice turning to one of concern. “Can I move back in please?” I asked with no emotion to my voice.

Both him and Wanda looked at me confused. “This place will always be your home, but what about Nat?” Tony asked and I felt myself shudder at her name. “She’s asked for a divorce.” I stated and they both gasped. Wanda pulled me into a tight hug. “She’s just grieving Y/n she didn’t mean it.” Tony tried to comfort me, but it was no use. I shook my head. “She said it wasn’t that. She wasn’t happy and she um. She cheated last night.” I shared and I felt Wanda’s grip on my arm tighten. I looked up to see her eyes going red. “I’m going to kill her.” She said but I grabbed her hand.

“No Wanda. It’s not worth it. Clearly, I was stupid to ever believe that she ever truly loved me. I never should have let my walls down.” Wanda’s eyes calmed and she looked at me with pity. “Please don’t put them back up Y/n. I can’t see you like that again.” She pleaded but it was too late. I didn’t plan to let anyone back in. “Tony, could you give me a number of a divorce lawyer? I’d rather get this done and out of the way so we can move on.” I explained.

I noticed his eyes move towards Wanda with concern, but I ignored it. “Sure, I’ll email you the details for when you’re ready.” She offered with a kind smile. I thanked him and made my way to my car to grab my bags. Wanda helped as we unpacked my things in silence. I had never felt so lost and hurt. Wanda could feel the pain I was in, and I could tell it was hurting her to see it. I started to block off my mind, not wanting her to her my thoughts. The first step to building my walls back up.

Third Person POV:

The team were shocked by Natasha’s actions. They barely saw her anymore, but how she so callously broke up with Y/n was something none of them expected. Natasha had never been happier than when she was with Y/n. They all knew she was hurting, but to cheat on Y/n and ask for a divorce was a complete shock. Although they understood that Natasha was grieving, many of them were angry at her.

Y/n had done nothing but be there for Natasha. She had never pushed, and she had taken every argument and insult that Natasha would throw at her in the heat of the argument. She stayed when many people would have left. Instead of working to get better for her wife, she pushed her away and did the one thing that was unforgivable. She broke Y/n’s trust the moment she decided to cheat. The team didn’t recognise Natasha anymore and they didn’t know what to do. They only person they thought that could get through to her was slowly falling into their own pit of depression.

Y/n thought she was being strong by hiding her feelings and focusing back on work. But the team could see past it. They knew she was hurting, and it pained them that they couldn’t help. When Y/n and Wanda joined the team, both of them struggled to settle in. But Y/n found it harder. She had spent more of her life in Hydra, and it took years before she was the fun, caring and loving person that the team grew to know. They were terrified that she was going to fall back to being that broken girl that joined the team 10 years ago.

Everyone was shocked when Y/n got divorce papers so soon. They thought she would give Nat time to realise her mistake, but Y/n was beyond hurt now and was doing everything she could to protect what as left of her heart. Wanda was most worried. Not being able to understand how Y/n was feeling scared her. Even in Hydra when Y/n would block Wanda from her mind, she still spoke to her. But this time she had totally shut herself off.

Y/n threw herself into missions and was nearly always away from the compound. For Fury it was great. Her success rate was high, and she never complained regardless of what the mission was. He started to use the fact that she was hurting to his advantage, which frustrated, Tony, Steve and Wanda. But Y/n passed all evaluations and was will which didn’t really given them a leg to stand on to stop it.

On team missions, it was clear that Y/n was reckless. Not with the safety of others or the success of the mission, but with her own life. On multiple occasions she would come back with some form of injury, but it wouldn’t stop her. Y/n main focus was to get the job done and protect Wanda. The last person that she truly cared for.

She still loved the team, but Wanda had been there her whole life. Y/n would do anything to make sure her sister came home in one piece, regardless of the cost. Wanda was the last person Y/n could lose. She knew she would never come back from that if she did. Y/n would rather die if it meant that Wanda survived.

It was a solo mission that ultimately brought trouble for Y/n. Fury had underestimated the forces that Y/n would go up against and within a few hours, Y/n was missing. Steve was leading comms from the compound and her tracker and comms were down. There was no sign of her. Tony started to do all he could to find her, whilst Steve had to have the difficult conversation with her sister.

He found Wanda in the common room reading when he took a seat next to her. She looked up and instantly her eyes started to gloss over. “Its Y/n isn’t it.” She said before Steve could say anything. He nodded sombrely. “She’s missing. Tony and SHEILD are doing everything they can to find her.” He explained and Wanda broke down. Steve was quick to pull her into his arms to hold her. “I can’t lose her Steve. She’s all I’ve got. I should have done more. She was hurting and I couldn’t help. My own sister. I let her go back to closing herself off and now she’s gone.” Wanda cried into Steve’s shoulder who tried to keep her calm.

“You did everything you could Wanda. Do not blame yourself. No one could have helped her in the state she was in. You being there was what she needed, and you did that. This was just her way of coping.” She consoled. “I’m terrified Steve. My sister can’t be dead.” She sobbed. “Y/n is dead?” both Steve and Wanda’s head shot up, anger filling the witch’s eyes when she saw the source of the voice.

Nat’s POV:

Losing Clint was the hardest thing I’ve had to go through. He was the reason I was able to make a difference and start to clear my ledger. He made a choice to save me and give me a second chance. One that lead to me gaining a family and a job that allowed me to make a difference. He was the reason I met my wife.

I knew I was pushing everyone away, but I couldn’t help it. I could feel the grief consume me and I was angry at everyone. So, I didn’t what I did best, I ran from my feelings. I knew I was hurting Y/n but in my mind, I didn’t care. I knew she would be there for me when I got my shit together. She didn’t push me at the start, and I was grateful for that. But then she would question where I was more, and I didn’t want to talk about it. So, I pushed her even further.

I started to dread coming home and seeing her. Our relationship wasn’t the same anymore. I know it was my fault but in the heat of the moment, I decided I wasn’t prepared to do that anymore. So, I did something I never thought I would do. I broke her trust and then asked for a divorce. I could see her heart break but the grief I was feeling was selfish and I didn’t care. So, I left.

If I had not been so fucking stupid, I would have seen that Y/n had done everything I needed to work through my grief. I was just too stubborn to do what I needed to. I let it consume me and I didn’t care who I hurt along the way. Even if that was my wife. The woman that I adored with all my heart. The woman I would die for. I was an asshole.

I lied to her. I didn’t cheat. Well, I guess technically you could say I did. I kissed another woman, then as it started to go further, I realised what I was doing and stopped it. I couldn’t do that to Y/n, even if I couldn’t see that everything else I was doing was toxic towards her.

After going on a 3-day bender, I found myself at the door of Clint’s old house, knocking. Laura opened the door with a smile which dropped when she saw my state. “Natasha, what are you doing here?” She asked a little shocked. I hadn’t seen her since the funeral. I could face her knowing that Clint was gone. Clearly my subconscious had brought me here. “I uh. I don’t really know.” I told her honestly and she was quick to pull me inside.

She made a pot of coffee and we talked for a while. I apologised for not being around. But she said that she was doing good. She had her good days and her bad, but she was strong for the kids, and they were finally started to heal as they knew that Clint wouldn’t want them to be stuck in a cycle of grief.

Her words hit home with me. If his wife and kids could move on with their grief, why couldn’t I? “Don’t take this the wrong way, but you look awful.” Laura said with a smirk, but worried eyes. “Yeah, I’ve not really been dealing with everything so well.” I explained and she nodded. “So I’ve heard.” She responded and I looked at her confused. “I see the team regularly. Tony told me that you and Y/n aren’t together anymore.” She said and I was shocked that she knew.

“I must say, you’re a fucking idiot.” She said and it shocked me. “What?” I asked confused. “You let go, well pushed away, someone as great as Y/n. I never too you for the cheating type Natasha. I know you’ve been grieving but you were selfish. Grief doesn’t give you a free pass to hurt someone else.” She scolded me and my eyes dropped to my hands in embarrassment. “We weren’t in a good place. We were fighting all the time and it seemed like the right decision.” I defended.

“Well, you’re even more of an idiot than I thought. Y/n was terrified that she was going to lose you. That you’d end up hurt or worse. She did everything that you wanted until it was becoming too much. Then you broke her trust for what? Because she cared too much about you to let you throw away your life as you were doing. You know, Clint didn’t save you for you to fall back to your old habits.” She said sternly. She really wasn’t letting me off the hook here.

“I would do anything to have even one more minute with Clint. Yet you are happy to throw away the one good thing in your life?” She questioned and I could see the hurt in her eyes. “If you want to self-destruct, fine. But breaking someone who worked so hard to build themselves up is unacceptable. Life is short, don’t throw it away.” As she spoke, it was like a movie reel was playing in my head of all the horrible things I had done to Y/n over the last 6 months. Then I saw everything good thing she had ever done for me. I was a coward, and I didn’t know if I’d ever be able to fix what I’ve broken.

I spend the next couple of weeks with Laura. She helped me to get my shit together. Spending time with her and the kids help me to come to terms with losing Clint and finally being in a position I could move on and honour Clint in the way he deserved. I had to make myself better not just for me, but for my wife. I eventually went back home ready to fix things with Y/n. Firstly, I needed to explain to her what really happened that night.

I opened the door to our house, and it struggled to open as there was a pile of post. I picked it all up and was surprised when I saw a key underneath it all. I picked it up and realised it was Y/n’s key. I called out to her, but knew she wasn’t here as her car was gone. I made my way up to our room and saw all of her things were gone. I don’t know what I was expecting. I asked her for a divorce, so of course she wasn’t going to wait for me anymore.

After clearing up a bit, I started making my way through the mail and paused when I got to a large A4 envelope. I opened it and felt my heart complete shatter. It was divorce papers. Fuck, I was too late. I grabbed my keys and made my way to compound. I knew she’d have gone back there to be with Wanda.

Tears were falling down my cheeks the whole way there. I can’t believe that I hurt the one person I love more than life itself. How could I let my grief get to the point I was willing to let her go? When I got to the compound I ran as quickly as I could to find her but was greeted by a sobbing Wanda in the common room. Steve was holding her, and I could tell that he was holding back tears as well.

Then I heard the words that shattered my world. “I’m terrified Steve. My sister can’t be dead.” Wanda sobbed and I couldn’t believe what I had heard. I was speaking before I even knew it. “Y/n is dead?” I asked. They both looked up at me and I could see how angry Wanda was. Her eyes had turned red. She stood up and marched over to me and before I knew it, I was on the floor with a bloodied nose and Wanda stood over me.

Ok I deserved that. Jeeze she packs a hell of a punch. “This is all your fault! You were so selfish that you pushed her to her limit.” Wanda screamed at me. I could hear the pain in her voice. What had happened? Where was Y/n? Was she actually dead? I had all these questions flying around my head, but the words didn’t come out. At my silence, Wanda started to generate an energy ball. I prepared myself for the impact, but it never came.

I looked up and saw Wanda’s hands drop to her side, the energy ball extinguished. She fell to her knees, heart breaking sobs leaving her. I sat up and pulled her towards me. I hated seeing her like this. She fought my comfort but eventually gave in. When she had calmed down, she pulled away, the anger had replaced the sadness that filled her eyes a moment ago. “If anything happens to Y/n, I’ll never forgive you.” She said coldly and walked off.

Steve was looking at me like I’d never seen before. He was disappointed but also hurt. “Steve, where’s Y/n? What is going on?” I asked needing to know what was actually happening. Steve went on to explain what had happened and the guilt was just continuing to grow. “She shut down Nat. It was like she was when she first got here. Her only priorities were missions and protecting Wanda. I know you were grieving, but I never thought you’d ever be able to do what you’ve done to her.” I couldn’t respond to him. I knew exactly what I had done and how unforgivable it was. I just had to hope that Y/n would come back safe to try to fix this.

For the next two weeks we all worked as hard as we could to find Y/n. We attacked numerous Hydra bases in the hopes we’d get more information, but it was useless. The more time that went on the more we realised, it was a high possibility that Hydra didn’t have her and that she had been hurt, or worse, in a fight with them.

Over these weeks, I had slowly been able to gain the others trust back. Wanda still hated me, and I didn’t blame her for that, but we worked well together. We both had the same drive and we understood how the other was feeling. We often would end up in the kitchen late at night talking about what was going on in our heads. “When I lost Pietro, I thought I would never get out of the darkness, but Y/n was there guiding me back to the light. When she started throwing herself into missions, I knew it was only a matter of time before something would happen. I tried everything I could to get to her, but she had shut me out. I failed her.” 

I watched the turmoil on Wanda’s face. I hated that I had caused Y/n to close herself off to the world again. “Wanda, it’s not your fault. I broke her when I promised I never would. She cares for you, and she would hate that you are blaming yourself.” I try to comfort her. She sniffles and nods in acknowledgement. “Why did you do it?” She asked quietly but her eyes were boring into me.

I took a breath. “It’s a shit excuse, but with all the fighting we were doing, I convinced myself that we were coming to an end, and it was best to end it. I was too lost to realise that I was the cause of all the fighting and Y/n was just trying to help. When I came home to find the divorce papers, it felt like my world stopped. I took her for granted thinking that she would always be there no matter how horrible I was.” I explained. I was waiting for another punch or yelling but nothing came.

Wanda looked at me with sad eyes. “Is that why you cheated?” She asked and was quickly shaking my head. “I didn’t cheat. Well not like she thinks. I lied.” I said and I saw a hint of anger in Wanda’s eyes. “You lied about cheating?” She asked clearly not believing me, but I quickly told her to go into my mind and see what really happened that night. When her eyes returned to their normal emerald green she sighed. “I’m terrified that I’m going to lose her, like I lost Clint, but she won’t know that I’m sorry and I truly love her. She’s my light, my life. I can’t live in this world without her.” I started to cry and was shocked when Wanda comforted me.

“You broke her walls down once, maybe you can do it again.” She said calmly. “You really think she’d let me back in?” I asked surprised. “There was one emotion she couldn’t shut off from me the last few weeks, her love for you. It was so strong she couldn’t block it off. That doesn’t mean that she’ll forgive you, but I know she got the papers to protect herself. She thought it would stop the pain, but it didn’t.” She explained and I felt a small bit of hope.

The next morning, I was woken by Steve rushing into my room. “The quinjet is about to land. Y/n is on it.” He said out of breath. I shot out of bed and ran with him to the landing pad. “Do we know how she is?” I asked, wanting to be prepared for what we were about to see. “No, Fury’s team found her but there was no report of her condition.” He shared. We arrived and I stood next to Wanda, taking her hand in mine to give her comfort.

We could hear an argument from the back of the yet. “Y/n, you need to go to the medbay, please just get on the gurney.” We could hear Bruce say frustrated. “I’m fine Bruce, I don’t need a bed. My legs will be able to carry me to the medbay and I’ll let you do what every you need to do.” Hearing her voice was a relief and I could hear Wanda let out a big of a chuckle. As Y/n appeared at the back of jet, I noticed that she was covered in cuts and bruises and her shirt was saturated in blood.

Bruce was walking next to her, helping her as she limped her way over towards us. Wanda was quick to let go of my hand and made her way to Y/n. She was hesitant but still pulled her into a hug. “You scared the shit out of me! Don’t you dare do that again.” She scolded, but Wanda was quick to hug her again. “Here, let me help you.” Steve said, jogging over to help Bruce get Y/n to the medbay.

My heart rate was increasing with every step closer they took. Then our eyes met and for a brief moment it was like I couldn’t breathe. “As if getting shot wasn’t bad enough.” She muttered under her breath, but loud enough that I could hear. I followed as they took her to the medbay and watched as they started to patch her up. Wanda stayed with her whilst the rest of us observed from the waiting area.

Once he was done, Bruce came out to give us an update. “She’s doing good. Bullet wound to her shoulder and abdomen, but both were through and throughs. She did a good job of keeping them clean and stemming the bleeding until she was found. She got some small injuries such as broken ribs, fractured eye socket and a few broken fingers. But they’ll heal over time. She’s lucky.” She explained and we thanked him before making our way into the room. I took my place next to Y/n and couldn’t hold back anymore.

I grabbed her hand between mine. “Thank God you’re ok. I was so scared.” I said through tears. She turned to look at me, but her eyes were empty. Wanda was right, she had closed herself off again. She didn’t respond to me, but she also didn’t take her hand away. “What happened?” Wanda asked from her seat next to Y/n’s bed. “Mission went sideways. I was able to fight them off as best I could before I got hit. Thankfully I was able to get away. But the bleeding was too much so I took shelter in an abandoned hut. I was in and out of consciousness for a while and with no comms I had no way to call for help. Eventually I was found by a hunter and his son. They helped me get in contact with Fury and now I’m here.” She summarised.

Wanda held her hand tighter and ran her hand through Y/n’s hair. “I thought I lost you. Please, you have to be more careful and stop taking so many missions.” She pleaded. We were all surprised when Y/n agreed so easily. The team started to disperse, saying their goodbyes leaving just Wanda, Y/n and me. Wanda looked between us and stood up to leave. “I’ll come back later with some dinner.” She said but Y/n wouldn’t let go of her hand. I could tell they were having a conversation in their minds and obviously Wanda won when Y/n let go of her hand.

I sat in silence for a moment thinking about what to say, but it turns out I didn’t have to. “Have you signed the papers yet?” She asked coldly. Her words were like daggers to my heart. “No, and I don’t plan to.” I responded and she scoffed. “You were the one that wanted a divorce Natasha, just sign them and we can move on.” She retorted, not making eye contact with me once.

I know Y/n more than I know myself. I can always get a pretty good read on her. I thought it would be difficult if she had closed herself off, but I could tell she was in so much physical pain, that she wasn’t able to fight to keep those walls up right now. And I knew she didn’t really want me to sign the papers. She’s trying to protect herself. “I don’t want to move on. I want to make things right with my wife.” I said firmly. “Ex-wife.” She muttered and once again her words hurt. But I deserved it.

“You’re not my ex-wife. We’re not divorced yet and I don’t plan of letting that happen.” I insist. “If you don’t sign them, I’ll go through the courts if I have to. I have grounds for divorce. You cheated on me. My lawyer said that I can proceed with that alone.” She explained and I realised just how much she had done in a short space of time. “Well, I didn’t cheat, your grounds are gone. So how about you just talk to me for a moment before trying to force through a divorce that neither of us want.” I kind of shouted and I saw her flinch slightly.

“Don’t lie Natasha, you’ve already hurt me enough, please just stop.” She said, her voice cracking. “I’m not lying. I did kiss another woman that night. I was drunk and then as she wanted more, I stopped it. I didn’t sleep with her because even in my drunk ass state, I couldn’t do that to you. You don’t know how much I regret even kissing her, let alone then letting you believe that I cheated on you. Wanda read my mind, she can show you that I’m not lying.” I quickly explain hoping she’ll believe me.

“Then why did you say you did? Did you just want to hurt me?” She asked and I hated my response, but I had to be truthful. “At the time yes. I was angry and I thought the only way I could process everything was in my own stupid way. I was frustrated when you would try to help so I just pushed you away and then lied so I could get you to leave me.” I said shamefully, unable to keep eye contact. I could hear her sniffling and it was killing me knowing I was causing her pain all over again.

I then heard shuffling as she started to get out of bed, pulling off the wires attached to her body. “Hey! Where do you think you’re going?” I said jumping out of my seat to push her back into the bed. “I can’t stay here right now. My own wife just admitted that she wanted to hurt me. When all I had ever done was try to help her through her grief. I took every harsh word you ever said to me because I knew you were hurting, and you didn’t mean it. It was more important that I was there for you. But that night, I looked in your eyes and I could tell you did mean it. My wife, my Natasha, would never have treated ANYONE like that regardless of what she was going through.” She was crying and she was angry, and she was right.

I fight with her a little to make sure she stays in her bed. I can’t have her hurt herself anymore. “Please just stay here. You’ll make your injuries worse. If you want, I’ll leave and give you space.” I tried to bargain with her. She huffed and dropped back on the bed, giving a slight hiss in pain. “I don’t want space. I want to stop feeling all this pain. I want to stop feeling like the world is slowly falling from underneath me. I can’t do this until you let me move on. So just sign the god damn papers.” She almost yelled.

I did this too her. I caused this pain and turmoil by being selfish. But I wasn’t going to give up on her. “I’m not signing the papers.” I insisted once again. “I made you a promise on our wedding day that I would fight for us through anything. I broke that promise which I will never forgive myself for. But I still plan on living by that promise now. There is no one else like you in this world. You make me feel whole and without you there is just darkness. I let myself get lost in grief and used it as an excuse to act out. I know that you still love me. I also know that you are trying to protect yourself because you think that I’ll just end up hurting you again. So let me make one more promise to you that I will never break. I will never stop loving you and I will never hurt you again. Just please give me one more chance.”

I’m pleading to her through my own tears and every minute of silence is slowly killing me. I’m losing her, I’ve fucked up and I’m going to lose her. “Please, what can I do to get you to give me one more chance.” I begged. She sighed but looked up at me. “Go to therapy. You need to process what happened with Clint before you can commit to our marriage again. You need to help yourself before you can help me.” She said and I nodded along in agreement. “Anything for you. I’ll get myself sorted and I’ll be the best wife that you deserve. But you need to make me a promise.” I said, hoping I wasn’t crossing a line.

She raised and eyebrow at me but encouraged me to carry one. “Stop closing yourself off and going on dangerous missions to deal with your own pain. Wanda won’t cope if she loses you and I need my funny, caring, and loving wife.” I explained and she looked down to her lap, but she eventually nodded.

I sat on the side of her bed and pulled her towards me and placed a kiss on her head. “We’ll get through this. I’ll make everything up to you and we’ll be back to where we were. Ready for the rest of our lives together and maybe starting that family we talked about.” I said hesitantly, hoping she still wanted the same things that I did. “I love you, Tasha.” Those simple words brought warmth to my heart, and I started to sob into our embrace before responding “I love you too my Angel.”

#natasha romanoff #natasha #romanoff #natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff x y/n #natasha romanoff fanfiction #marvel #marvel fanfiction #avengers #avengers fanfiction #Wanda Maximoff

[parlerenfleurs]

The power dynamic between Bingqiu is so complex and unhinged.

On the one hand, Shen Qingqiu is the Shizun, and Luo Binghe the disciple. He still pretty much serves and defers to him as such. Shen Qingqiu is the master, the elder, the superior, in a way that can never change in a culture so steeped in respect for such hierarchies, and where reversal or equalization is simply not a thing. Shen Qingqiu himself still refers to himself as "this master" for most of the story (even post canon? I can't remember), and the one quality he appreciates in Luo Binghe (at least that he says aloud) is his obedience. In both their minds, he's very firmly the one who raised and trained Luo Binghe - though with very different connotations depending on who you ask.

On the other hand... well... Luo Binghe plays the obedient puppy-ish disciple, but he pretty much cute/pathetic-bullies his way into anything he wants, because Shen Qingqiu is weak to him and can't say no. So Luo Binghe plays submissive, cries a little, then gets to top Shen Qingqiu into next Sunday in the most unfillial way imaginable lol. Also, and I cannot stress this enough, he's the most powerful person in the world, he doesn't have to serve anyone in a humble cottage. He literally has an empire and is a ruler, but he plays housewife and meek disciple to this one spoiled guy who gave him the correct manual once and head-patted him with abandon.

Also let's not forget that, to Luo Binghe, Shen Jiu and Shen Yuan are pretty seamlessly the same person. This serial head-patter is also the guy who poured hot tea on him and would string him up to beat him and made him sleep in the woodshed like a particularly miserable Cinderella. To him, one day, his cruel master deemed him worthy of his love after he made him go through many trials, and then slam-dunked him into the abyss, and then self-destructed to save him and then turned out to be alive and avoiding him like the plague and then sulked because Luo Binghe did not properly ask his hand in marriage. Luo Binghe may be the most powerful man in the world and have Shen Qingqiu wrapped around his manipulative golden little finger, BUT the grip and ascendant Shen Qingqiu possesses over Luo Binghe's psyche is unparalleled.

BUT the other side of this equation is that Shen Qingqiu feels so guilty, and loves Luo Binghe so much, he can't bear to make him unhappy and folds like a wet paper towel any time there is the merest hint of tears - which is a conscious strategy on Luo Binghe's part! Shang Qinghua told him acting pathetic works, and it does, and so he milks it! Who knows how much of it is real? Not me. Not Shen Qingqiu either, who also does not care that he's being manipulated. He knows he's being manipulated! But it works anyway!

Because what are you going to do when a cute puppy makes sad eyes at you?? Not give him the bit of meat???

You're his master but he owns your heart so that's your fate, now. He's huge and could maul you but he loves you too much and prefers to act spoiled. He sits when you say sit, comes when you say come. You tell him no but he climbs into your lap anyway and you are helpless to stop him so you pet him. It's messy, full of pathos, possibly unhealthy. You're both living your best life.

That's Bingqiu.

#bingqiu #Shen Qingqiu #Luo Binghe #svsss

[rottendollface]

Guilty.

Character: Wriothesley.

Warnings: NSFW, female reader, OOC Wriothesley and Neuvillette, religious cult, mass suicide, psychological manipulations, gaslighting, corrupted court, unrequited love from Wriothesley to reader, unhealthy obsession, toxic care, forced unequal marriage, unhealthy self-criticism, unprotected gentle sex, oral sex (reader receiving), 18+.

W/C: 3240.

In the DNA of every Fontaine citizen there was a primal fear of the Primordial Sea. Some of the citizens were happy to convince themselves that it wasn't a fear – just a placidity with the notes of hidden anxiety. Others were counting days and seeking for the proof of the prophecy coming true. Your father belonged to the second category.

He was a good speaker and did know how to manipulate other people's feelings. He was blessed with good fantasy, lively tongue, and commitment to his ideas. He would rather die than betray his ideals – thanks to this impressive core strength, he was able to become a preacher for a group of people that was waiting for the end humbly. Your father's mind was gone and he, drugged with the sense of power, created a cult of Primordial Sea, where he and his followers were praying for the Judgment Day to come. Their insanity was ineffable: the whole cult decided to commit mass suicide as a prey for the Primordial Sea. Your father told his followers that after their death, their souls would beg the Primordial Sea to pour on the Fontaine to purify the sinners, and the evil would be erased. He managed to make people think that the whole nation of Fontaine was born as a messiah. But something went wrong: everyone, except your father, had died.

The trial was rough and humiliating for you; there was only you left in Fontaine as your mother left the city right after her husband became a preacher. The Chief Justice Neuvillette was furious, you could swear his piercing gaze was directed not on your father only, but on you as well; Neuvillette himself insisted on your presence and prohibited you from leaving the trial. You could hear people in the courtroom whispering behind your back: they were discussing every detail of your family life, laughing scornfully at your destroyed reputation. The whole clan of yours was disgraced, and you, as the only alive representative of it, was meant to take this burden on your shoulders. You were thinking about leaving Fontaine, too, but you missed the opportunity. During investigation, you got into a list of suspects and was banned from leaving Fontaine for a couple of years. Your innocence was proved, but the authorities promised to keep an eye on you, as they still believed you were affected by your father's ideas.

For the whole trial, you couldn't take a handkerchief out of your eyes. You were crying silently, praying for this grotesque performance to end. The white cotton handkerchief of yours embroidered with pink roses was wet with tears and felt disgusting when you pressed it to your skin, but you couldn't help but cry about your ruined life. It was a triumph of justice and the funeral of your youth. Not a respected man would ever marry you or hire you on a prestigious job. You were doomed to lead a miserable life until you would be able to leave Fontaine.

Wriothesley was here too, and he was observing you carefully. He knew you well since adolescence and the whole situation left him in shock, but with a pleasurable aftertaste. Previously you wouldn't even look at him and now you didn't have a choice but to go to him if you wanted to save the remnants of your reputation and provide yourself a life without hardships. Wriothesley wasn't lucky to fall in love with you since the very first moment he met you at a tea party between honorable families, but you were fascinated with another boy. Wriothesley knew your engagement fell apart, so he was blessed with a good chance.

Despite his social status, the title of the Lord of the Fortress of Meropide left its mark on Wriothesley's reputation. Respected as usual, he silently became unwanted at many events and parties, as if the spirit of jail and the aura of social outcasts he had to work with were following him everywhere. This isolation affected Wriothesley, making him distant and cold. The more time he spent at the Fortress, the fewer reasons for leaving it he had seen. Maybe if you agree to become his woman, he would taste the pleasure of simple walks and visits to the cafe again.

Wriothesley noticed you looking at him and he gave you a nod, you gave him back a forced sorrowful smile and turned your head to Neuvillette. Even in a state of full emotional breakdown you were beautiful: your puffy and red eyes with clumpy eyelashes, the reddened tip of your nose and your swollen red lips awoke long forgotten desires in him. Your hair with two small and messy braids that were framing both sides of your charming face left him dreaming of just one touch of it. Rose gold locket with a print of a flower on your neck begged Wriothesley to replace it with the one with his family's symbol; and this mourning black dress on your fragile figure needed to be torn off of your body and burned in a fire along with this tragic past of yours, Wriothesley believed. You were a heroine of his dreams, and Wriothesley was determined to become your knight in real life.

You didn't look at all the relatives of the victims of your father's deeds. You paid them a stated compensation, but money couldn't bring back their loved one – it was impossible for you to endure talking to them as the guilt was covering your whole existence and turned you into a silent shell of a man. You had to sell all the furniture and tableware, all your jewelry except family heirlooms and plenty of your dresses were sold, too. The more you tried to hold the family estate and the heritage your ancestors made in your hands, the faster it fell down, as if your touch was diseased. When the trial ended you were the first to rush out of the courtroom.

You got into debts trying to pay off legal costs and to feed yourself. You applied to dozens of jobs but all of them were silent. The debt papers were multiplying and there was no way for you to escape the vicious circle, until one morning you got a letter with a black wax seal and the emblem of Wriothesley's family. It was short and cold. Wriothesley stated that he paid for all your debts and invited you for a private talk to the Fortress of Meropide. Your hands started shaking both from fear and gratitude, your mixed emotions made your heart beat so fast it was hard to breathe. You cried all your tears already and your face grimaced in a painful cry without any tear. You didn't expect Wriothesley to stand by your side when everyone else turned their backs on you, he had no reasons for helping you: you had always been allured by someone else and rarely found a moment to spare on him. You suspected that he had romantic feelings towards you and this made you avoid him even more. For you Wriothesley was just an acquaintance and you were afraid to give him a false hope. The only time you initiated a talk with him was the day of his promotion to the post of Lord. It was short and simple: just a greeting and a small present with a congratulatory card. The present was so simple and unsuitable for the occasion, yet it seemed like a great idea for you to present to Wriothesley a set of your favorite pastries. It was the best pastries on the whole Fontaine but you didn't even ask him if he liked them.

Wriothesley was waiting for you nervously. You came right at the appointed hour. Before he could tell you a thing you hugged him, pressing his mature figure to yours tightly.

'Words can't express my gratitude to you, Wriothesley.' You whispered loud enough for him to hear. Stunned, he even forgot to hug you back, and you let him go right when he wanted to embrace you. 'You wanted a private talk, and I'm here. Still, I can't understand why we have to do it in the Fortress…'

You shivered and looked around with pain in your eyes. It worked, Wriothesley thought, noticing every detail in your appearance that showed him clearly – you were exposed and ready to accept everything he would offer to you. The extreme degree of despair that you felt coming through the cold moldy corridors full of murderers, thieves and rapists made you distressed, and the escort of Clorinde with her attentive eyes watching your every step didn't make it easier.

'I hope you understand all the seriousness of the situation you ended up in,' Wriothesley started with a calm assured voice. 'Your life fell apart in a moment. My life is crumbling slowly. The best we can do is to stay together. Your reputation will be restored, you will live a happy life again, I promise you I will take all the responsibility for it in my hands.'

'I appreciate your tenacity, but how? It's impossible, dear Wriothesley. I will leave Fontaine after the end of my travel restrictions, just like my mother did. This is the best I can do.' You answered him with sadness. Leaving behind the great history of your family, the manor and a carefree life that you once had, and the lovingly tended homeland was hard, impossible even, but you couldn't endure the way your friends were turning their faces away from you on the streets, hiding their hands inside their cloaks just not to have a handshake with you.

Dear Wriothesley… Those words were sweeter than honey when spoken out of your lips. It seemed like he ignored everything you said after, his gaze fixated on your lovely face as he admired it. He dreamed of those words, of the private moments, of the simplest conversation – and now he had it all at his plate.

Wriothesley's tone was stern. 'The stain on your reputation is indelible. You shouldn't think that a simple escape will erase it – it will make everything even worse, everyone will think that you are guilty, just like your father. You should stay in the city and forget about your plan.'

'Why?' Your eyes filled with tears. 'How can I stay here if everyone despises me?! Merchants close their shops when they see me coming! I'm pushed out of society just because of my father! I am the one tortured with terrible inner guilt! This is a miracle that you are talking to me, you are the only one whom I'm talking to in a month! I'm so sorry to the one who lost their relatives, but they are not the only victims and no one feels compassion towards me!' You cried like an animal wounded by a trap. Your lips were trembling, as you tried to prevent tears, but it didn't work and an uncontrollable stream poured from your tired eyes. You covered your face with your palms, but your shuddering shoulders unrevealed your hysterical, bitter, full of anger and sense of helplessness crying.

Wriothesley came to you and hugged you softly, carefully, not to scare you away: he pressed you to his body, one of his hands held your back and the other was patting the back of your head. You felt safe for the first time and took your palms away from your face.

'Marry me, and your problems will be gone.' Wriothesley whispered, pressing his cheek to your head. His touch was full of need and love, he held you in his hands tightly, as if you could melt and disappear, and was the most precious part of his life. Seconds before your answer were the most agonizing in his entire life.

You bit your lip until blood while thinking chaotically, choosing between honesty to yourself and all the goods you could have from pairing with Wriothesley. You respected him, admired him for his character, but you never loved him. And he loved you – the terrible guess turned out to be true, and guilt pricked you once again. All this time your cowardly silence was hurting him. Even now he was ready to put at risk his own reputation only to save yours. The selfless things Wriothesley was ready to do for love – you never deserved him.

'I will…' You could feel how your heart dropped, and how Wriothesley's heart started beating faster from excitement. He was the happiest man on Teyvat, and you were the most despised in your own eyes.

You moved to Wriothesley's house before you got engaged. He insisted on it, as he believed that your manor was full of negative memories and he wanted you to rest before the ceremony. Everything was just like Wriothesley said: people started treating you better after you were announced as his fiancée. The wedding was small, only for the closest friends, and there was no one from your side.

'I see the results of my help,' Neuvillette said, patting Wriothesley on his shoulder, when you were busy talking to Sigewinne. 'Treat her well. That is the only way you can atone your foul trick on her.'

'Sure, Chief Justice.' Wriothesley chuckled. 'You don't have to worry about it.'

Wriothesley's authority was strong enough to affect people's opinion. If he believed you and thought of you as a good match for him, then it meant that you were a decent woman, disgraced by your father's deeds. Slowly, you became welcomed again. The society that once cruelly pushed you out, was pitying you. You were able to attend parties, but Wriothesley didn't share your happiness.

Every time you got an invitation he was here to remind you, that those families turned their backs on you when you needed their support. He claimed them unworthy of your presence, he told you it would be better if you stop befriending traitors. You were surrounded by traitors, Wriothesley believed, and all your surroundings needed to be changed.

You tried to brush it off, but deep inside you knew – Wriothesley was right. Instead of noisy parties you preferred to spend your time at home, having a conversation with Wriothesley and drinking tea with your favorite pastries. He was so generous towards you: your every whim, your smallest wishes were done. Your laugh and joyful shine of your eyes were his best payment – he wanted nothing, but your smile. The only reason Wriothesley came home was you waiting for him. He knew you would meet him and give him a greeting kiss, then ask him about his day. It was an unchanging ritual, a rule of your and his family. While on work Wriothesley dreamed of your gentle touch, of warmth of your lips against his. He couldn't forget how blessed he was to share the most intimate moments with you. Your body was supple and took everything Wriothesley gave to it. Usually a rough lover, he couldn't treat you the same way he treated other women. His hands undressed you, traced your curves gently, with adoration, as if he was touching the masterpiece made by Archons themselves. His lingering touches were mixed with his wet kisses on your body. Your soft skin got hot from the simplest touch and Wriothesley used it to his advantage. You laid under him, exposed and needy, and Wriothesley started from kissing your lips until they swell. His tongue slipped inside your mouth to tease yours, he sucked on your lips and bit the lower one to hear you gasping. Wriothesley's fingers were caressing your breasts, pinching your nipples lightly only to prepare them for his tongue. He sucked on them alternately, playing with them with his tongue and wetting with saliva. Before entering you Wriothesley had always spared a moment for teasing you by using his mouth. He opened your thighs with droplets of your wetness glistening shamelessly on your skin, his lips reached your swollen clit immediately. He licked on your pussy hungrily, adding stimulation but denying you cum. Wriothesley sucked on your clit, licked on it while his fingers circled around your clenching hole, then stuffed you and bumped on the sensitive spots inside. When he replaced his fingers on his tongue, Wriothesley showed it inside as far as possible, pressing his lips firmly to your opening and fucking you on his tongue.

Your wet pussy took his massive cock easily and hugged it tightly. Wriothesley felt the pulsation of your overstimulated walls and pounded on you in a calm rhythm, leisure even, to let you feel all the pleasure when his cock hit on your deepest parts. Once you begged for more, Wriothesley went faster, going hard, his hands on your hips pressed you down on his cock roughly. The faster and rougher pace drove you mad, you couldn't hold your screams in your throat. Wriothesley could go on you for hours before cumming, and you accepted all of him, as your pussy couldn't get enough of his cock. Usually quiet, Wriothesley became loud when he was close to release, his grip on your body was so tight it left bruises on your skin. You were the first to cum, and your climax on his cock made him cum too, scorching your spasming pussy with his seed.

From your side you tried to do everything for him, showed him as much affection as you could, but the feeling of falseness accompanied you at your every deed and made you sick of yourself. Wriothesley couldn't have enough of you, he needed to be with you for the whole day and even at night he was hugging you to his chest so tightly you couldn't escape. His sleep was light and he woke up every time you left the bed. Wriothesley shared your every hobby, and you did the same with his, even though you didn't like them. When you wanted to go for a walk, he came with you even if it interrupted his own plans. He tried to do everything together with you: cooking, cleaning, resting, sleeping and being awake. Wriothesley wasn't tired of you, but you felt the opposite. All the hours he spent at work were just like a pure blessing from Archons – it were hours of tranquility and silence. You were afraid to ask for more private space: you still felt that you owed him. He had plenty of money that he spent on you without any hesitation, he restored your family manor and treated you like a queen. You didn't have to work, but you searched for a job – of course, Wriothesley noticed it. He sat you up in the Fortress of Meropide, so you two could see each at work too. It was the best job a woman could dream about: with a good salary and easy duties to perform. When he had a free minute he always came to your office, knowing perfectly that you had already finished your job and were helping other girls with their stuff. If you refused to spend a lunch time with him, referring to the strains of work, you felt stink-eye gazes from your colleagues which lead to a self-loathing.

In the storm of complicated feelings, the only one, that had never left you, was guilt.

#genshin x reader #genshin smut #genshin fic #genshin impact smut #wriothesley x reader #wriothesley x you #wriothesley smut #wriothesley x fem reader

[tornedheart]

Yandere Aegon Targaryen With His Dead Wife

GIF by @takenbythelightfantastic

Warnings: childbirth death, stillborn mentions, unhealthy relationships, implied necrophilia, dark themes.

The credit for this idea is from @tinfairies, if you like my writing, try her Tumblr, she is an AMAZING writer.

Otto had been against the marriage from the start, the betrothal offered more damage than benefits. But his grandson had been keen on it from the start, and the approval of the king — he was almost sure the blessing was only given because of how it prevented Aegon from gaining more power — basically made it unavoidable.

Aegon was charmed from the start, he had always been in a desperate craving for love and attention, and to have someone whose duty is almost completely just giving it to him

The betrothal is short, but he's happy to get married and bask in all the attention he can get from her. She's also the one to deal with his sour moods and tantrums every time her eyes wander even a bit. 

There are no surprises when she falls pregnant at the start of their wedlock, not with all the time they spend together.

Then Otto is alerted that the woman is having difficulty in giving birth, the timing is almost too good and his reaction is immediate. To approach the maester and give the order, to save the baby instead of the wife.

Expecting him to do something else could only be called naivety, truly.

The bloodcurdling screams that come from the woman are a bit worrisome, and he has to send Alicent to calm the boy down. The despair and fear in her eyes and the way she trashes around is a bit sad, he won't deny it.

The baby to be born dead was not something he had planned, but it is not a great loss. He will marry Aegon again, and then he can have another child with his next wife. It's not great for a king to not have direct descendants, however it can be managed.

Aegon then finally is able to enter the room, he runs to his wife's body, cupping her face, bringing her closer to him, and tentatively trying to bring her butchered stomach together. It's a sad sight, and Otto doesn't even try to hold the sigh that leaves his mouth.

He knows that will be a mess of a day to deal with, but it is needed.

And then in the next morning he walks in a mess in the court, both of the bodies of the woman and the baby are nowhere to be found. He's left to deal with annoyed septas, only when he is alerted that a wet nurse was called to the king's chambers he understands how bad the situation is.

There is the maid he had called breastfeeding the stillborn — her face paralyzed in terror — while Aegon is pawing at a corpse.

Aegon doesn't think he can continue to deal with the constant bother that the court keeps delivering to his wife. The constant insistence to find a new wife, they don't seem to understand that she's just a bit sick after the birth. And then they talk about the insecurity in the succession of the throne, it doesn't matter how many times he tells about the child he already has or the ones he plans to have after his wife regains her health.

He makes sure to spend enough time with her and his child so they don't think he is giving any thought to their talk. Their nights together, when their baby is being cared for by the wet nurse, are few, he will not prejudice her weak health further just for his pleasure, the shocked stares from the maesters prove that he should be careful.

He will bring her to court more once her health allows it

And he stays with his child most of the days, his dragon egg may still not have hatched, but it's only a question of time, he vowed before the baby was even born that he would not be like his father.

He will not put his wife and child to the side for bastards and plays. 

However it doesn't seem like his grandfather is willing to take his word on it, that's why he tells her maids to dress her up for a feast on her name, giving her a quick kiss before letting her get ready.

#yandere hotd #yandere aegon targaryen x reader #yandere aegon ii targaryen #yandere aegon targaryen #yandere aegon ii targaryen x reader #yandere asoiaf #yandere house of the dragon #dark aegon targaryen #aegon ii targaryen x reader #aegon targaryen x reader

[cosmic--dandelion]

Hot take: Blitzø's "arrangement" with Stolas isn't abuse. It's sex work.

From the beginning, Blitzø and Stolas's relationship has been mutually consential.

Blitzø is not going to starve to death in the streets if he doesn't fuck Stolas. He's a highly accomplished assassin/bodyguard/fighter-for-hire on par with people like Striker. (How else do you think he started dating a global superstar celebrity like Verosika? He was probably her bodyguard.) Hell, Stolas himself was perfectly willing to pay him regular money to be a bodyguard in "Loo Loo Land." Blitzø almost turned the job down because he wouldn't get to kill people.

Whatever his motivations are for starting his own business, it's not mere survival. It's probably a matter of personal pride since he always wanted to be his own boss and have his own circus, but he was an absolute failure as an enrertainer.

Blitzø is the one who built his entire business model off of having continued access to an infinitely powerful, one-of-a-kind magical artifact that belonged to a demon prince. Blitzø doesn't have any sort of right to the Grimoir; it was given to Stolas so he could serve the machinations of the upper echelons of Hell by interpreting the prophecies in the stars. So no, Stolas is under no obligation to just give it to him.

As seen in "Unhappy Campers", if Blitzø really, desperately wanted to travel to Earth, he could just steal an Asmodean crystal from a sucubus. He stays in this arrangement with Stolas because it's convenient for him. We're not shown how Blitzø actually feels about sleeping with Stolas, but he seems to be pretty neutral on the act itself.

This is Blitzø after sex that he hated. Dude looks borderline traumatized.

Blitzø looks, at worst, mildly annoyed when they're in bed together, and that's largely because Stolas wants the book back so he can perform a ceremony at the Harvest Moon Festival. Blitzø, in his own words, has a long list of clients waiting for heads to roll.

Blitzø straight up volunteered to fuck Stolas's brains out just to thank him for saving him and the rest of I.M.P. The first night they had sex, he spent the whole night with Stolas when he didn't have to. Stolas even offered to skip the whole kinky sex thing multiple times and literally just hand the book over, and Blitzø was relatively indifferent.

Blitzø can and has said no to Stolas when he isn't in the right headspace or just plain doesn't want to, and Stolas accepts it. He never gets angry or entitled toward Blitzø.

It's also worth pointing out as early as "Ozzies", Stolas was researching Asmodean crystal. He knows the transactional nature of their relationship is preventing them from forming any kind of meaningful connection, and it massively hurts the fiercely independent Blitzø's pride that he's basically Stolas's sugar baby.

So Stolitz is an absolute train wreck right now. It's been made very obvious that things can't continue as they are and lead to any sort of genuine, fulfilling relationship like what Asmodeus and Fizzarolli have. Their "arrangement" is unhealthy, sleazy, and exploitive on both sides: Stolas is using Blitzø as an outlet for all his pent up sexual frustration after being trapped in a loveless, sexless marriage with an emotionally abusive partner for almost two decades, and Blitzø is willing to seduce, manipulate, and lie to Stolas to get what he wants.

Look, I like Blitzø, but he is *not* a good person, or a good partner. Remember when Blitzø tricked Stolas into thinking they were on a date just so he could ignore him and spy on the M&M's? Or how he *aggressively* came onto a possibly drunk Stolas, shoving him onto the bed and straddling him when he clearly not ready for what was about to happen and was even protesting a little, all so Blitzø could steal from him. And this is totally in character for Blitzø. Look how he treated Verosika!

Ultimately, they're both very damaged, fucked up people who've done shitty things and hurt themselves and each other. I think they can cobble together some semblance of a functioning relationship when they actually start communicating with each other and admitting what they want.

#helluva boss #stolas #blitzo #stolitz #meta #long post

[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.

#marcus pike #marcus pike x reader #marcus pike x f!reader #marcus pike x you #marcus pike fanfiction #the mentalist #the mentalist fanfiction #pedro pascal

[goldenharmony]

Ruby and Akane: Parallels

In chapter 77, Ruby reveals her dark secret to Akane, similar to how Aqua revealed his dark secret in chapter 52. In both situations, Akane enables their obsessions, thinking that she is doing them a favor when she shouldn't be encouraging them.

In Ruby's case, Akane is unaware that Gorou would be nearing his 50s if he was still alive, which makes me wonder how she would've reacted if she knew the truth.

In my opinion, she would've still encouraged Ruby. Akane's already cool with murdering for Aqua's sake so I don't think ethics is a high priority for her.

Unhealthy Obsessions ≠ Genuine Love

The way Ruby feels about Gorou is how Akane feels about Aqua, being obsessed to an unhealthy and obsessive degree to the person they think they might be in love with. Their unhealthy feelings are targeted towards the same soul but different incarnations. Akane's yandere tendencies flare up whenever the situation involves Aqua.

And while Ruby also wanted revenge for Ai's murder, the main trigger for her to fall into darkness was seeing Gorou's corpse.

Gorou/Aqua - Providing the Will to Live

When describing Gorou, Ruby focuses on how he gave her the will to live, saving her from having self-destructive/suicidal thoughts during her lowest moments.

This is further supported by how Ruby was having suicidal thoughts in chapters 115 & 121 but the realization that Gorou = Aqua had saved her.

How does Akane understand? Because she went through the same experience in LoveNow. When she was at her limit and about to kill herself, Aqua saved her and worked with the other LoveNow members to save her image.

Thanks to Aqua, she got the strength to return to LoveNow and move forward. That moment had a significant impact on her, similar to how Ruby describes Gorou's impact on her.

Returning to Original Location

Ruby and Akane return to the places where their relationships began, reaffirming their feelings. Its a callback but could be seen as them trying to hold onto those relationships when they should just let go.

Delusional Era

Both Akane and Ruby go through a period where they think they will get what they want. Aqua and Akane started dating but Aqua only loves Kana. Akane knows this but she's convinced that as Aqua continuous to lie to himself about loving her, those lies will become the truth - which they never did.

She also believed that the 2 of them had an equal relationship, and that she was saving Aqua - both immediately proven false in the subsequent chapter.

For Ruby, she thinks that now that she has reunited with Gorou, they will get married, not realizing that:

A) Gorou never promised marriage. He said he'd think about it which was letting Sarina down easy because she was a dying child at the time.

b) She no longer sees Aqua as just himself, but is projecting Gorou onto him considering she keeps emphasizing "Sensei" unlike Aqua with Sarina-Ruby.

c) Ruby in a stable and healthy mindset thinks incest is gross lol

Plus Ruby's sus manga panels being over-the-top hammers down the point that she is being really delusional right now.

Conclusion

In the end, the 2 girls are really similar to where I'm sure that Akane would've still encouraged Ruby to pursue Gorou even after knowing he was way too old for her because she can relate to Ruby's feelings, believing that he couldn't be bad for Ruby if she believes he is a good person.

Meanwhile Kana's reaction if Ruby confided in her instead:

And if Mem-Cho tried to argue about the age gap, Ruby would probably say that its basically the same as Mem-Cho hanging out with the rest of them - killing Mem-Cho in an instant:

#oshi no ko #ruby hoshino #akane kurokawa #aqua hoshino #gorou amemiya #onk #analysis #my analysis #onk spoilers #lily reads onk

[troperrific]

/ekuoto chapter 50 spoilers/

warning: discussion of very sensitive topics, usual ekuoto stuff

You know, I can’t stop thinking about how the whole situation with Sarah technically is almost all Asmodeus’ fault.

Let me explain.

Make the Exorcist Fall in Love has an interesting approach to how the 7 Deadly Sins are portrayed. It’s not simply about going into harmful excess, a sin becomes a sin when it crosses into violence.

Greed is not simply about wanting and hoarding wealth, it’s about trampling others to get what you want.

Gluttony is not just about gorging yourself, it’s about the slaughter that comes with feeding yourself.

Envy doesn’t limit itself to coveting what others have, it’s also about destroying them when you can’t have what they have.

Lust then, isn’t just about drowning in sexual pleasure. It’s about forcing your wants upon the other.

But it doesn’t stop there. Because the way the manga chooses to talk about these different kinds of violence isn’t in a vacuum. No, it shows them through the lens of systemic violences.

(which makes perfect sense to me, as the Demon Lords of Sin would be the original "corrupters" of humanity)

Greed talks about systemic racism, xenophobia, slavery and, more prominently, sexism and toxic masculinity, through both Mammon’s view on women and his peculiar relationship with Tachibana.

Gluttony talks about the inherent violence in living/surviving/eating, through the slaughter of animal and overconsumption of meat, and also discusses about veganism and food crisis.

Envy discusses general power imbalances in relationships and systems. And this one, I’d argue, actually focuses on the burdens and responsibilities of the people on the top, and the inevitable consequences of power gone unchecked.

Lust, if it wasn’t obvious before, through Asmodeus’ relationship with Sarah, talks about systemic rape, including child brides, forced marriages (upon both heterosexual and, as with the case shown with Sarah, non-cishet women) and sex as a duty.

The thing is, these are systems that benefit the Demon Lords. These are systems that they endorse, that they encourage, even when they call out the atrocities of humanity. These are systems that they likely helped create in the first place, what with our introduction to Mammon saying that he “taught humans how to excavate gold”.

Similarly, going back to the very first chapter, Asmodeus was seen collecting “lust” by proxy, through a succubus subordinate of hers, specifically by said subordinate posing as a prostitute. The brothels, and other establishments that sexually exploit women, then are a source of energy for her.

It’s worth noting that Asmodeus herself either collects energy by proxy or through roles that inspire adoration, such as Aria, the diva, which maintain her in a position of power. Even as Aria, a teenage singer, she’s the one calling the shots and making outrageous demands of her staff.

So, the system that harmed Sarah, was a system that Asmodeus helped create, or at very least, one that gave her power. Of course, Asmodeus did love Sarah, she could not rape her as she did others, nor did she want Sarah to suffer, but even at the end, Asmodeus could not part with her unhealthy, twisted mindset, with the way she views sex.

It’s sort of a pattern at this point, I think. The Demon Lords get attached to a human, becomes violently protective of said human, make said human their “exception”, who eventually gets harmed directly or indirectly by the Demon Lord’s mindset/sin.

Like… Mammon also got attached to Tachibana, who, according to the extras, got saved by Mammon from workplace abuse.

Credits to translation group Pastel Clouds for scans and translation.

It’s heavily implied she worked in a very sexist environment, and outright stated that she was chosen to be eye-candy. Mammon treats her differently: in his own words, “she may be a woman, but she’s his subordinate/friend”. She’s spared from his sexism. She has his protection. The organization who hurt her was slain by his hand.

But she also remains trapped within the same system that hurt her. She has to harm other women. She still has to work under a toxic, sexist man. She now has to perpetuate the violence she suffered. Even some of Mammon’s final words to Mr. Priest mirror the things she apparently complained about in a letter, in the volume two extra, particularly about women and wombs:

Again, Mammon does seem to genuinely care about her. Even at the end, when he’s turned into kid form and is naming every single one of his subordinates in apology for losing to Mr. Priest, the forlorn expression when he says Tachibana’s name… it’s telling.

But it's not enough to make him question his own toxic views, and how the systems he's endorsed hurt Tachibana. How this will affect their relationship in the future remains to be seen, as Tachibana seems hellbent on supporting him still.

Beelzebub, whose feelings towards Leah remain ambiguous and unknown to the readers (although it’s likely his affection for her was/is genuine, regardless if Leah and/or Beelzebub themselves are aware or not) also follows this pattern.

He kills everyone in the village (composed of livestock farms), except for her. Leah is not food, but a companion, a “flower needed for a pleasant meal”. The extra with Daniel’s report on her also mentions that, other than being emancipated and malnourished, she was unharmed and showed no signs of black magic contamination.

Credits to translation group Pastel Clouds for scans and translation.

The ones who receive the most brutal deaths, incidentally, were Leah’s family, who she complained to him about, as she was feeling neglected at the time.

Of course, like Tachibana, just because she was an exception, doesn’t mean she’s free from Beelzebub’s twisted philosophy. He actually takes it upon himself to teach her that “to live is to kill”. Only, Leah gets to sit at the top of the food chain, so to speak, with him.

Even after she’s rescued from him, Leah seems to have internalized what he said, as she admits to herself that veganism doesn’t exempt her from this.

Still, the harm was done, and Leah not only struggles with the guilt she feels over the incident, but also with a heavy shame over the very want and action of eating/living/wanting to be alive.

Leviathan is an interesting case in that she precisely chose Mr. Priest to be her friend because she thought he could be her "exception", in that he'd be strong enough to survive her, instead of him naturally becoming that because she cared for him.

She also doesn't harm people who harmed Mr. Priest. Instead, she harms innocents to give herself an alibi and a reason to approach and befriend him.

Still, it's important to note that this sort of harmful, abnormal behavior and monstrous strength is exactly why the Church relies on him so much. Despite wanting to be his friend, Leviathan is part of the reason why Mr. Priest suffers, and this odd mindset of being strong, and therefore, dangerous and harmful is so ingrained in her, that, instead of going away after Mr. Priest comforts her ("I'm not afraid of you and you don't need my acceptance"), she still decides to fight him (something he hates and often leaves him traumatized).

And so, we have Asmodeus and Sarah. When she considers making Sarah hers, as she wants the girl, she can’t stomach the thought of raping her like the others. She never touches Sarah herself, actually. Asmodeus can’t even kiss Sarah back, as she seems unable to separate all matters of sexual intimacy from sexual violence.

Nevertheless, Sarah is her exception. Those who Asmodeus perceived as harming Sarah received brutal deaths. And yet, it’s Asmodeus’ twisted views on sex, and the harmful systems she endorsed that hurt Sarah in the first place.

I just… really find these dynamics so, so interesting. I love how intense the Demon Lords love, I love how they end up harming their “special ones” despite trying to help them (and perhaps they harm their “exceptions” the most), I love how they keep shooting themselves on the foot.

It’s their own fault that they’re so lonely!! I love how it’s obvious that, if they don’t try to change their mindsets, if they keep denying responsibility, they’ll never have a successful relationship with a human and they’ll never be happy.

(of course, we gotta consider humanity’s free will and such and they’re also accountable for their own actions, yada yada, but my point still stands)

On a side note, it’s pretty interesting to note that women seem to get more… relevance, I guess? when it comes to the Demon Lords actions/issues (like, Mammon’s sexism, the pains of growing into a woman with Asmodeus/Sarah, Leviathan throwing a rather misogynistic remark at Leah “women’s worst enemies are women” and the whole “the kanji for envy has the character for ‘women’ appear twice", Beelzebub mildly objectifying Leah as a “flower to make his meals more pleasant” and most of his notable rivalries being with women- Mother Rosa, the ancient witch, Leah)

That along with the fact that harmful systems are very present within the narrative…. I think it makes sense, that we’re introduced with a subplot regarding the two divisions of the Church, and that Leah seems to be a central player within the division that seeks to make changes within the system. But that’s a whole other post.

Anyway!! This was just me rambling, but there are some last things I want to point out:

The Demon Lords are essentially a bunch of lonely, love-starved menchildren/womenchildren with daddy issues who got majorly traumatized by the events surrounding the rebellion against Heaven/God and the fall from Heaven (except Leviathan who is the only Sin who isn't a fallen angel, and thus her issues are centered mostly on her isolation);

The past and current relationships between the Demon Lords and the girls they love/loved/"possessed"/haunted are important to understanding what Imuri and Mr. Priest need to do in order to be happy together;

#troperrific talks #ekuoto tag #ekuoto analysis #I guess #make the exorcist fall in love #the demon lords are so fucking stupid when it comes to love and I love them for that #this is also important to Imuri and her relationship with mr priest #but that’s also a whole other post #I might add more images or links later but have this ramble for now

[animeyanderelover]

Can I request prompt 56 with Obito?Thank you ʕ•ᴥ•ʔ

I’m back from my vacation!

Tw: Yandere themes, unhealthy mindset, unhealthy relationship, possessive behavior, obsession, delusional thoughts, stalking, mentions of arranged engagement, abduction, death

Prompt 56

Nothing had been quite the same. Not since (f/n)'s death. Since their murder. The entire town had been in an uproar ever since, questioning everyone and investing heavily to solve the mysterious and brutal death of your future partner. Well, the one your parents had chosen for you. You hadn't had any say in it when they had arranged together with (f/n)'s parents the engagement, didn't have any right to object when discussions about the wedding had beem brought up. Deep down though you had prayed, prayed to old and new gods to save you, free you from a marriage you didn't want.

However, now that your wishes had been heard, you didn't feel any relief. Never had you wished death upon them, nor any harm as you had known that they hadn't had much of a choice in it either. They could have lived such a long life, far too young had (f/n) left this world. All alone, burnt and murdered. Who would commit such an inhumane crime?

---

You did your best to ignore everyone's eyes as you walked across the marketplace, although your head hung low and your gaze was focused on the ground in front of you. Ever since (f/n)'s funeral, rumors had started to make their way amongst the citizens. Many knew by now how unhappy you had been with the arranged engagement and since no one else had ever felt any ill will against (f/n), you had quickly become the main suspect in this murder case. No one had been able to confirm those rumors though as you had been on that day with your parents who had started preparing you for the upcoming marriage, looking with you for the fitting clothes you'd wear for that day. You had an alibi yet despite it, the gossip hadn't died down. An accomplice. That's what you often overheard as people came up with the conclusion that you probably had someone who had helped you. The question would be who though, you'd be slightly curious to see who they might suspect as your partner in crime.

Not everyone believed the ridiculous talk on the streets yet their pitiful and sympathic attempts to cheer you up didn't make you feel any better. You didn't want to be pitied, suspected or noticed at all. You didn't want to be the centre of attention nor made different in the mind of the people only because of your personal connection to the victim. Sometimes you felt like an attraction more than anything else. You were slowly made into an outsider and you did not like it one bit.

---

Muffled voices from behind the door caused you to stop abruptly, right in front of your parent's house. Only your parents were supposed to be home right now yet you definitely heard more than two voices right now. You slowly put down the bag filled with groceries before pressing your ear against the wood of the door, attempting to identify the muddle of voices inside.

"You're sure that your child will come? They've been avoiding us for those last few days. Mighty suspicious, wouldn't you agree?"

You recognized the sharp and rough voice instantly, even if the sound was still muffled. It was (f/n)'s father, their mother was most likely with him. You removed your ear hastily as you knew what they thought about you, you'd known ever since the funeral where the mother had shouted and cried at you, blaming you for the death of her child. You understood that both of them were in deep grief and sorrow, felt hot anger for whoever had murdered their only child. An irrational feeling that both of them had turned against the first person available, you. They had been the loudest from all villagers, had accused you the harshest. You were innocent and felt unfairly treated, a part of you still felt sympathy for them. You couldn't bring yourself to face them though, you felt too ashamed and scared to do so. So you slowly placed the bag of groceries in front of the door before turning around. It took courage to face parents struck with resentment and grief, courage you did not have.

---

You awoke with a startled gasp in the middle of the night. Strange light was illuminating your room from the window and loud screams could be heard from outside. Many different voices were shouting all at the same time and made it hard for you to distinguish what each of them was saying yet you could clearly hear the sheer panic inside each and every voice. You quickly stood up and hurried over to the window to take a look outside. Your heart dropped and your face twisted into a fearful mask. Fire. There was a fire.

You didn't care that you were still in your night clothes as you stormed down your stairs, hastily put on your shoes and ripped open the door. You stepped on something as soon as you stepped outside though, the object rustling as your foot pressed down onto it. When you lifted your leg confused, you saw a single red rose lying randomly on your doorsill, slightly withered. You picked it up carefully, avoiding to get pricked on the dark red flower. For a few seconds you stared at te flower, trying to come up with an explanation to how that had gotten here when suddenly one of your neighbours called out your name.

"(y/n)! (y/n)!"

They came running from the direction of the fire, fear and worry etched deep into their face.

"Y-you...I think you should get out of the village." they managed to squeeze out in between their panting, wildly gesturing with their hands around.

"What? Why?" you blurted out confused before something clicked in your mind, a bad foreboding as your gaze stared at the brightly burning fire again. If you were right, it came from the direction of...

"What happened?" you asked in a suddenly somber tone, continuously swallowing down the lump in the back of your throat that threatened to appear there and make it hard for you to breathe.

"T-the house of (f/n)'s parents...it's burning! It's on fire, (y/n)! Both of them are most likely..." They couldn't even finish their sentence but they didn't need to, you understood perfectly what had happened right now and you also knew why they urged you to leave as quickly as possible.

"They suspect that I'm responsible for it, don't they?" you pressed out, clutching the rose inside your hand tighter, until you felt the thorns breaking your skin. You yelped quietly as you felt warm blood trickle down your palm, although you were far too stressed in that moment to dwell too long on the mild sting.

"They're out of their minds, (y/n)! They're scared! A few of us tried to stop them but they won't listen! I-I understand that this is unfair of me to ask but I think that it would be safer for you if you'd leave for a while. At least until everyone has calmed down a bit."

"How bad is it?"

"Some of them want to throw you in jail and use force to make you confess that you're the culprit. I don't think that anyone can reason with them right now."

The screams grew slowly louder in the distance, an angry mob that was coming for you. You had masked all your emotions behind a mask as you looked at them with an unreadable expression. They couldn't look you into your eyes and the thought left your lips before you could stop it.

"You're scared of me too." It wasn't an accusation but the stunningly soft tone with which you mumbled those words might have been even more unnerving. They flinched slightly, panicked eyes darting shortly across your face. Their mouth opened shortly as if to negate your statement but they couldn't bring themselves to do so with the way you looked at them.

"I...I'm sorry." they stumbled out, seemingly the only thing that they could come up with in this situation.

"It's alright. Thank you for warning me despite your fear." you replied, numbly stepping forward and walking past them.

"Wait! Are you leaving without any money or clothes?"

"I don't have time for that, I fear." you replied, glancing over your shoulder to catch a glimpse of the first villagers that came storming to your house. Your legs started dashing across the streets towards the nearby forest where you would take shelter for an unknown time. You wondered what would happen to your parents, prayed for their best as you continued clutching the flower as if searching for comfort in the pain.

---

You let your feet carry you through the forest, unaware of where you were going. You just walked and walked further away from the distant screams and the glowing flames and only when everything was only darkness and forest did you realize how uneasy you had been the entire time, holding your breath and clutching the rose in front of your chest, coating it in your blood. A few deep breaths in and out were taken as you took in the sounds of rustling leaves and chirring of the insects, reminding you that nothing would hurt you here. That's when you finally slid down against the trunk behind you, stretching your legs out and laying your hands in your lap, weary gaze focused on your blood-stained palms and the flower, shimmering bloody under the dim moonlight.

A long sigh left your lips, a sound far too old for someone your age, as you leaned your head against the wood behind you. You knew that the question of what to do now was unavoidable but at least for tonight you did not want to worry about it. At least a few hours of peace and silence. That was all you wanted. Heavy eyelids slowly drooped as you didn't even want to bother finding a better place to sleep for tonight. You were exhausted and just wanted to forget everything for a while.

---

Not entirely sure if you had fallen asleep at all and if yes for how long, your head shot up all of a sudden like you had seen in your past with alarmed animals when detecting something. A flash of something black had just appeared in one of the treetops before vanishing in thin air. It could have just been your tired imagination, it could have been just some bird but it had disturbed you nonetheless. Your back was stiff from the wood and your neck cramped painfully. You rolled your neck around a bit, the tips of your fingers digging into the tense muscles underneath your skin and massaging them to loosen them up. Your eyes never darted down though as you searched for the strange shadow from before, without much success though. For a blissful short moment you were able to convince yourself that it had been indeed not more than a fleeting imagination from your tired mind. Until you heard something that dangerously resembled footsteps.

Holding the flower in your hand, unwilling to leave it behind and risk leaving any traces behind, you pressed your feet in the hard ground and shuffled yourself into the ocean of bushes behind the tree. Your hands were still inflicted with wounds and nor did you want to open them again and leave behind a trail of blood, nor did you want to risk any infection. Doing it as fast as possible yet also as quietly as possible was a challenge so much so that with every rustle that came with your movement, your heart seemed to stop for a short moment.

Little twigs poked into your clothes, skin and entangled themselves into your hair, pulling it as you moved further into the bushes. Your view was eventually hidden, the limited light shining through the twigs and leaves limited. Only your ears were reliable now and you hyper-focused as you tried to pick up every suspicious sound.

Apparently whoever was out there though wasn't even trying to hide themselves though as you heard them walking to the spot where you had been resting only moments before. Knowing that, you stopped moving completely, not willing to risk getting caught. The tension was killing you and you would have given everything to just peek out of the bushes and catch a short glimpse but you weighted your chances and arrived at the conclusion that it might be too risky. The person walked across the open space, the pace of their footsteps increasing significantly after a while as if getting impatient or anxious.

"(y/n)!"

It was a male, unfamiliar and high-pitched voice that almost sounded fake in your ears. He knew your name so you couldn't do anything besides assuming that he was also from the village, only that you had never heard this voice before. Your home wasn't very big so everyone knew everyone though so the fact that this voice was belonging to someone you didn't know threw you off. Who else would know your name? You'd never left your town. The urgency in his voice was something that surprised you too, no malicious intent anywhere in his voice. Much on the opposite actually, he seemed scared for you. Nevertheless though, you stayed silent. You did not trust strangers who just knew your name whilst you had never met them before.

"(y/n), please come out. I know that it must be scary for you, you poor thing were chased out of your own village. I'd never harm you though, I'm here to help."

You sat up, slightly alarmed that the stranger knew about the village accident. That must have been only a few hours ago. How did he know? He must have been watching you this entire time, a thought that gave you slight chills.

“Sweetheart…where are you hiding? I know you’re here."

Sweetheart? Why would he call you by such an intimate nickname? That was something usually only lovers called each other or parents their own children. He wouldn't call you that without knowing you long enough, you realized with growing dread. How long exactly had this guy been watching you?

Your thoughts blocked out his attempts to beckon you to show yourself as your mind started peacing together the information like you'd done with puzzles when you were younger.

A stranger who knew you yet you'd never seen him who felt some form of weird affection for you. He'd known about you fleeing from the village mere hours ago so he had definitely been watching you without you being aware of it. Was he a stalker? If yes, for how long exactly had you been watched? Since before your engagement? If that was possible, how would have someone like that reacted to the information that you'd been engaged? He already sounded like he wasn't quite in his right mind so he must have reacted terribly to it. But that would only mean...that he must have murdered (f/n) in some sort of blind rage.

This man out there was the murder of (f/n) and their parents.

You felt your blood freezing in your veins as cold terror embraced you tightly. You noticed how your body had slowly started crawling further away as your survival instinct took over. You'd not stay close to someone who had murdered people for you.

When he suddenly started babbling though, you stopped, alarmed by his silence. Admittedly, you hadn't listened to whatever he had been ranting about but it seemed out of character for him. Had he lost his patience.

You heard him sigh, at least you had to assume that it was him. The voice itself was deep, far more deeper than it had previously been but at least it sounded real now. tThat must have been his real voice, although you had to wonder why he would feign his real voice like that.

"You don't leave me much of a choice if you don't come out willingly, you know?"

The voice seemed to be directed to the bushes as if he was looking straight at you, hidden behind the green leaves and twigs. All hair on your body stood up instantly when you heard his voice, your gut twisting around inside of you and letting you know that it sensed danger. You started moving faster as the sensation filled your veins, urging you to get away from this man as quick as possible.

“Come out, come out, wherever you are. I’ll find you anyways, I can hear your breathing.”

It happened in only a mere few seconds and you couldn't react or do anything. He just appeared, right above you. Hands shot through the twigs and leaves, grabbing you and tugging you forcefully out of your hiding spot. Your heart dropped down to your stomach when your legs were in the air flailing around as you were in the air all of a sudden for a few miliseconds before he lifted you up in his arms and seemingly transported back to the open field. The speed had your head spinning, you'd never encountered someone that fast before in your life.

His hold on you was consistent even when he slowly let you down, taking notice of your dizziness and holding you so that you could steady yourself. The world was turning an spinning and so did your stomach as your senses were overwhelmed with the buzzing dizziness in your brain. You wondered shortly if you'd have to vomit, something you'd rather avoid in front of a stranger. Your eyes closed as you took deep breaths, trying to distract yourself from the nausea and the dizziness somehow. You just had to wait until the world didn't spin anymore.

You caught multipe whiffs of his own scent whilst breathing in and out and the image of an old cave instantly popped up in your mind as you did so because that was exactly what he smelled like. An earthy and dusty odor clung to his clothes and skin which made you wonder if he was perhaps living in one.

"I-it's fine. I'm fine now." you stuttered out when you felt one of his gloved hands brushing through your hair worried, your eyelids slowly fluttering open as you blinked a couple of times. The world at least wasn't spinning anymore so you felt secure on both of your feet now, slowly straightening yourself.

He was wearing an orange mask as you noticed, black and slightly spiky hair the only thing that you could see. A small hole was where his eye should be, although it was weird why he didn't have another hole where his other eye was. You gazed warily at the one black hole, unable to see his eye due to the lack of light.

You attempted to remove yourself from his touch carefully only to stop when he quickly grabbed you and pulled you back, seemingly not tolerating even a bit of distance in between you too. You swallowed heavily, pushing the urge to scream and yell back down as you knew that it would be useless. There was no one around here and acting all hysterical surely wouldn't get you anywhere.

"You're the one who murdered (f/n) and set fire to their parent's house, aren't you?" you questioned with a quivering voice.

He tilted his masked face in an almost childlike manner which was answer enough for you and forced you to breathe deeply out and in, your heart pumping wildly inside your chest.

"What do you want to do with me now?"

A question you dreaded but that you had to ask. He hadn't come all the way just to introduce himself to you surely.

"You're coming with me. I'm not letting you wander around like this. It's too dangerous for you."

"Why do you think so?"

"Because I know how the world is. It's a cruel and unforgiving place. I won't let it harm a single strand on your head."

"But I have parents and friends."

You had said something wrong, you knew that the moment his grip tightened on you and he stood straight, towering over you.

"You mean the parents who wanted to marry off to some random stranger and the friends who wanted to chase you out of the village and hurt you? Those so called precious people of yours sold you, betrayed you and didn't even believe in your innocence! What worth could they have to you?"

His voice was poisonous and his grip tight to the point that it became painful. When you winced slightly and grabbed his arm, he luckily snapped out of it and released his hold. You rubbed your hurting arm, pulling it close to your chest.

"So you're saying that you're better than them? Despite the fact that you murdered people?"

"They deserved it! All of them deserved it! They were out to hurt you, imprison you and make you unhappy! I did it to protect you! I already told you, I won't let anyone harm you."

His voice became soft and sincere at the end and you knew that he meant those words. It could have been almost romantic if you didn't know that this was a deranged killer who had some weird obsession with you.

"And you're different?"

"I am. I'll care for you. I'll love you. I'll protect you."

He sounded eager as you asked him those questions and you had a suspicion he misunderstood your hidden horror as acceptance and your questions as confirmation. You couldn't run away though, he was far too fast so you had no choice but to play it safe.

"You say all of this yet I don't even know your name and your face. Seems a bit unfair, considering that you know me quite well."

You were sure that you saw hesitance flickering shortly across his body as he slowly reached out to his mask, paused for a brief moment before pulling it up. What you saw shocked you slightly as you had never seen something like that before.

One half of his face was covered in scars and you could only fathom what would cause such an injury. You had a feeling though that you shouldn't overreact so you kept your calm face and nodded.

"And your name?"

"Obito."

#yandere naruto #yandere naruto shippuden #yandere obito #yandere obito uchiha

[the-badger-mole]

Hi! Been loving your blog and writing!

I really like your characterization and opinions of A.ang. It’s nice to read fan fic and blogs that just gets it. Down the road and back again was just *chef’s kiss*. (Also uncharted waters I’m loving! I never know what to expect and each chapter is so good)

Anyways I was wondering if you have any head cannon’s of what a K.ataang marriage would look like? For me I imagine it being it being extremely passive aggressive, also A.ang is really selfish so that definitely would hurt their marriage. It’s kind of like the opposite side of the toxic coin with M.aiko being a screaming match and in your face constantly breaking up, K.ataang would be toxic but it’s quite and they would try to save face in public. I don’t know What do you think?

I kind of touched on it in Choices and Consequences, but I picture it being a lot of Katara swallowing her feelings and being a single mother to four children. I don't believe she was ever actually in love with Aang. She may have tried to tell herself she was, but I think the only reason she ended up with Aang is because she felt like she owed him. Kataang was unhealthy on both their parts, and while I do tend to focus on Aang (because he's awful, and I will not ever stop pointing that out), I think Katara was guilty of putting him on a pedestal. She knew the Avatar would save the world, and I think that's why she ignored Aang's flaws. Everyone wanted to end the war, but for her, it was a deeply intense and personal desire, and the Avatar would be the one to deliver that. It's a lot of pressure to put on a 12 year old who grew up slow in a world without war, and she knew that. On some level, Katara was aware of how much pressure Aang was under, which is why I think she was so insistent on everyone being gentle with him, even though they didn't have that kind of time. Then when he actually did end the war (he didn't, at least not alone, but the show refused to give credit where it was due) Katara felt some sort of obligation towards him and called it love.

Katara is a smart, passionate girl, and she would've wanted a partner who would appreciate that and respect her thoughts, feelings and opinions. The glimpses of her relationship with Aang in the early comics show me that she didn't have that with him. Aang didn't respect her feelings over those of his fangirls. He ignored her discomfort, and even thanked her for understanding why he needed to connect with those girls who were being horribly disrespectful because "sharing his culture"🤮. It wasn't their treatment of her that upset him. It was them doing something that offended him personally.

Meanwhile, Katara had to swallow her own feelings and smile through it all. That's how I see their relationship going. I think Katara might have convinced herself that he respected her thoughts and opinions because he relied on her as a caregiver and he took her everywhere, but I think as he grew into his own, he would've expected her to step back and be contented to be a homemaker/broodmare while he did the important Avatar work, which is why I think Katara wasn't present in that scene in LoK where bloodbending was banned, even though she was ostensibly the only other bloodbender in the world, but Aang was front and center. It's also my theory on why when Aang was about to go all in on pushing for anti-miscegenation, instead of her telling him that it would be a bad idea because of the effects it would have on the families and communities Aang would be separating, she appealed to how it would affect him.

I don't think their marriage would be passive aggressive. I think Katara would just make herself as small as possible and do her best to keep the Avatar happy and on track because that's what she owed him. She'd have moments of acknowledging her deep unhappiness and regret, but she wouldn't dwell on it. And she would convince herself she was content to be a devoted wife and mother, and nothing else.

#atla #anti aang #anti kataang #honestly the comics and lok make me feel so depressed for katara #she really gave that jerk her entire life #just for him to be as bad a father as he was a husband #and a horrid avatar #it's like bryke WANTS me to hate their pet ship #THE YEAR OF CONTENT!!!!

[whateverisbeautiful]

Hello, I love your "Ranking Richonne" series and all your writings on your blog. I thoroughly enjoy everything!

Since you write that the sparks where there between Rick and Michonne from the very beginning and the development of their relationship (which you've brilliantly explained) slowly healed their, for lack of a better term, "demons", I would like your take on that "Jessie thing". Richonne seemed like a family and then..BAM!.. Here's Jessie!

I've read PTSD and all that. I get it, but it's still bothers me! There is a good explanation for that I suppose, but the show never really approached it. I read a few fanfics that delved into it which gave me maybe 80% satisfaction.

I'm curious on how you feel about it and what you believe happened to Rick and what got him to that crazy mode. THank you.

Thanks so much 💖 And thank you for this question! You know my extra self had to elaborate on this one. (also I loved reading “here’s jessie!” like “here’s johnny!” 😋)

For me, I’ve always viewed the Jessie situation solely as a device to push Rick to finally confront his past and the lack of closure with Lori.

Everything in Season 5 leading up to tf’s arrival at Alexandria showed that Rick and Michonne were slowly but surely growing more aware that they’d fallen for each other. But then they get to Alexandria and it’s this jarringly ‘normal’ environment and a reminder of the world before - which forces all the characters to need a moment to individually wrestle between who they are now and who they were before. 

And the Rick from before was a man in a marriage that was not the healthiest and who felt guilt that he wasn’t able to be there for Lori like he feels he should have. Like when Rick tells Daryl how Lori always wanted to live in a community like ASZ - so much about Alexandria is a trigger for Rick to finally face the very sore Lori wound of his past and finally “make it right” although not in the best ways since he’s not in the best headspace. Where before he could bury the Lori-pain a bit, ASZ and the similarities between Lori and this woman, Jessie, who needs saving from a toxic marriage of her own, won’t let him run from those ‘demons’ anymore.

As Rick wrestles with who he is now and who he was before, I think part of what sent him into crazy mode is becoming an unhealthy hybrid of both. He’s the man of his past trying to protect a woman to make up for feeling like he couldn’t protect Lori, but he’s also the man he is now who is still in that "terminus train car" mindset and can be real feral if it means protecting people.

(Plus, I think the show wanted to explore a scenario where Rick has the potential to be the “Shane” in the situation by intervening in a marriage and wrestling with if there are parts of Shane he should adopt, only for Rick to ultimately realize he should return to himself.)

Basically, while overall PTSD absolutely plays a huge part in why Rick behaved the way he did during that arc, I think an added and important layer to why that Jessie situation went the way it did is because Rick was triggered by how much ASZ and Jessie reminded him of Lori and the collapse of his past marriage. I notice that in almost every Jessie-related scene, Lori is in some way alluded to, whether it be a shot focusing on Rick’s wedding ring or Lori being brought up directly, etc, just to further make Jessie's purpose in the show clear.

The way I see it, Rick was never actually pursuing Jessie - he was pursuing closure. And as much as I don't like Jessie, no one deserves to just be a surface-level stand-in which is what she was. So that whole dynamic would have just been bad for everyone involved. Also imo the Jessie arc continuing in 6A was where it got more forced because after Richonne’s season 5 arc, it was more than clear that Rick’s heart belonged to Michonne.

Even as he was understandably losing it in 5B and on edge in 6A, anytime Rick was with Michonne and not hiding things from her it was like he was experiencing clarity and one of the few times he could think straight because she’s always been able to center him. And once Rick regained clarity and found a more healthy balance of who he was and who he is, he was fully ready to be with Michonne, the one his heart was always leading him to. 🙌🏽

#richonne

[enwonz]

kingmaker | p.sh

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CHAPTER II

As an assassin working for the Hwangs, you have proven your loyalty to your benefactors for more than a decade. But when Lady Hwang's plans for a rebellion land you in a bride selection for the Crown Prince, you find yourself at a loss. Unfamiliar with the ways of the gentry, your reliance on a previously unknown informant is your only source of hope. And yet, you learn very quickly that no one in high society can be trusted, including yourself. Because who else but you is there to assassinate the King?

WARNING: please do check the masterlist for potential triggers/themes you feel uncomfortable with! this chapter contains graphic depictions of blood, as well as a fairly unhealthy dynamic resembling slavery between reader and another character (for the purpose of historical accuracy and plot).

The late afternoon sun beats down on the nape of your neck, rivulet after rivulet of sweat rolling down your skin. Your grip on the wooden training sword is firm, grounding you despite the heavy pants you breathe out. Across you, your opponent mimics your stance. It’s been at least an hour, but neither of you are letting up. Trust Riki to hold his own against you, whose sword is your bread and butter.

Riki makes his move, surging forward once again. Your parry is solid, a hard thwack echoing through the training grounds as your swords meet. His eyes goad you as you meet his gaze, as though daring you to pull all the stops with him. 

Gladly.

In a flash, you swing your blade towards his head in a single practised movement. His return is swift, but it lags a second behind you. You have to admit, this is slightly unfair, considering he’s always been better with a pair of knives, gifted to him by Hyunjin when he was ten years old.

The pang of envy that strikes your chest at the thought is thoroughly embarrassing. 

“So, how is your fiancee?” 

The deep blush that fills his cheeks, along with the falter in his step, is completely worth it. As the youngest of the Hwang siblings, his older sister isn’t too keen on his joining the family business. The roots of Yeji’s vengeance had begun while Riki was still too young to understand. The extent of his grief did not reach that of his older siblings’, hence Yeji’s reluctance to involve him in a cause he might feel nothing for. No matter how you looked at it, Riki was proof of the remnants of his siblings’ humanity. Having said that, his freedom to be engaged to a lady of his choice was not out of the blue. 

“Lady Hwayoung is well, if that is your question.” There’s a sharp edge to his voice, and you don’t miss it. Don’t push it.

You smirk. “And what of the wedding date? The Lord and Lady must be eager to see you married.” Lady Hwayoung is, by all means, a wonderful marriage partner for Riki. You’d previously done some background checks for Lady Hwang, and from what you’d gathered she shared his love for the sword. By Riki’s standards, that was more than enough.

Without warning, you kick your leg out, sweeping Riki off his feet. He lands on his back not painfully, but hard enough for him to shoot a glare up at you. “Not fair!” You’d laugh if you hadn’t heard the distinct click of dress shoes behind you.

Lord Hyunjin watches silently as you hoist Riki to his feet, an amused glint in his eyes. He has never disapproved of your training with his younger brother, and yet you cannot help the shudder that runs down your limbs.

Luckily, Riki is a rather perceptive person despite his young age, and quickly takes his leave, leaving you to stand dumbly before his brother. You swear you catch a snicker as Riki passes you.

A breeze lilts by, lightly rustling the leaves on the surrounding trees. The weather has been good, making for quite a pleasantly calming atmosphere, save for your Lord’s…almost eerie presence.

You bow hastily. “My Lord, is there something you wish to say?”

He doesn’t reply immediately, instead extricating the slightly splintered training sword from you. Turning it in his hands, he hums quietly. “Unfortunately for him, I taught him to wield a sword the proper way. You must feel sorry that your opponent is such a stickler for the rules, unlike you.”

Sometimes, it is very, very difficult to tell if Hwang Hyunjin is complimenting you or insulting you.

“Even if I were to play by the rules, my Lord, there is no doubt that I would win, for I have dedicated my life to being in your family’s service.” You deepen your bow, hoping you appear polite enough. 

He huffs out a laugh. “Rise, girl. You need not exercise such propriety in my presence. It might do you better to treat me as your older brother from here on,” he assures, not unkindly. It is increasingly difficult to understand his intentions, considering he has always been more indifferent than this. Then again, change is happening. “Walk with me.”

You oblige, adjusting your pace to fall behind him. His long limbs make for a regal gait, albeit a rather fast walking speed. “Your profile?”

“Hwang Eunji. Third child of the Hwangs, who was sickly in childhood, slightly spoiled by her - my siblings.” You recite it by heart, having been briefed by Yeji for hours on end the previous day. “Ambitious, albeit naive, a rather ditzy girl.” Honestly, it’s a description that has nothing in common with your own. You question your own capabilities in embodying this nonexistent girl. 

Lord Hwang nods, deep in thought, judging by the tension in his eyebrows. His prominent dark undereye circles lead you to suspect Lady Hwang of keeping him awake far longer than he should be. 

It is harder to read Hyunjin than it is Yeji. Where Yeji is a tempestuous soul, Hyunjin is the eye of the storm, dangerously still. Both are forces to be reckoned with, more so since they are working in tandem.

You stroll through a small apple orchard in silence. Long ago, this whole orchard was your training grounds. You’d swing from branch to branch, scaling each trunk as you learned the hard way to evade every kind of projectile. Your fingers absently hover over a scar on your side, where you were once grazed by an arrow — Hyunjin’s doing.

Lord Hwang sighs, his footsteps slowing as he turns his gaze to an unripe flower on one of the trees. Likely, he is recalling the same things you are, but definitely not in the same way. Till now, you are unsure of how he truly sees you. His sister sees you as her pawn and blade. His brother holds you in high regard as his strongest opponent, and occasionally a confidante. To you, Hyunjin is a mentor of sorts, and above all else your benefactor. You are not sure if he even remembers your name, considering it has not been uttered by anyone in this family for years. 

“Eunji?”

The name sounds awkward on his tongue, unfamiliar and unpractised. To your own ears, too, it is odd. The thought of you having to respond to this name feels…wrong, almost. Yet you swallow it all down and give him the fondest grin you can muster. “Yes, brother?”

“…Y/n?”

You freeze. The last time he called you by name, it was to scold you for the grip on your blade, for your inability to dodge, when you were a weak, malnourished child. This is a test. It must be. 

“Your grace.”

Hyunjin’s gaze on you often feels like hundreds of icicles hovering just above your skin, threatening to pierce through for every wrong move. This time, however, there is a certain melancholy to it. When has he ever pitied you? “Have you…have you ever regretted putting yourself in our debt?”

You steady your breathing. It is an odd question, especially from him. “Would you like the correct answer or the honest answer, my Lord?”

He ponders for a bit. “The honest one.”

“Then, Your Grace, my answer is this: I didn’t have a choice.”

Days later, you stand before the Hwangs, dressed in a pale lilac gown — the colour of the Hwangs’ crest. Allegedly, this is the dress they intend to send you off to the palace in.

“Eunji, twirl for us,” Yeji commands. Obediently, you spin slowly, the pale fabric billowing at your ankles.

The look on Riki’s face is bordering on disgust. “You cannot be serious. She won’t last a day in the palace. Look at her! Do her hands look like those of a noble lady’s?”

“And how would you know what a noble lady’s hands look like? I hope you haven’t been indulging yourself in any unbecoming acts with your fiancée, dear brother,” Yeji snaps back. At this, Riki scowls, flopping into an armchair sullenly. You almost feel sorry for him. 

Hyunjin studies your appearance. Out of all the siblings, it is Riki who has the eye for fashion and decorum, but it doesn’t stop Hyunjin from pretending he knows something. “Yeji, are you proud of yourself? Because I certainly am not. The fabric is far too tight on her arms. And haven’t you talked to the tailor about adding pockets for her weapons? Terribly done, sister. I expected more from you.”

Yeji rolls her eyes. “You do it then. I’m busy with the palace blueprints.”

“And I’m busy ordering all her weapons!” Hyunjin turns to you, shaking his head. “By the way, you’ve been keeping up with your mithridatism, haven’t you? Courtiers are at high risk of assassination. You’re there as our assassin, so it won’t be in our interests for you to get yourself killed.” Right. Because that’s your only purpose in life.

“Yes, My Lord. I started administering doses of lycorine to myself a few weeks ago.”

Riki claps his hands together. “Enough said. Since none of you have any sense of style, I am going to enlist the help of Lady Hwayoung. We’ll sort something out.” He takes you by the arm, dragging you out of Yeji’s chambers and into the hallway. 

“Good on you for leaving those two to bicker amongst themselves,” you quip, a little half-heartedly. Truth be told, Hyunjin was right. The gown, elaborate as it was, had a rather tight collar that was threatening to kill you via extreme discomfort. You sighed, unlacing the corset quickly, stripping down to the inner layer. “I assume you’ll be keeping it safe for me until I leave for the palace?”

Draping the gauzy fabric over his arm, Riki nods. “Yes. I’m sure Lady Hwayoung will have some opinions on how to customise the dress to accommodate your needs. For now, just…”

“Take note of all the information I have? Look out for any openings to make my move?”

“No,’ he scoffs, turning to head back to his chambers. “Practise your etiquette. There’s only so much you can get away with by going under the guise of a spoiled brat of a sister.” He grins. “Try not to embarrass us, Eunji.”

Right. Ignorance will not be tolerated, especially in an esteemed place like the palace. The longer you stay on in the selection, the better your chances of an opening to complete your task. And the only way to stay on is to prove you are capable of becoming the consort of the Crown Prince.

Even if you really aren’t.

a/n: chapter 2!! i don't really know who's reading this, but for reference, mithridatism is tolerance to a poison acquired by taking gradually increased doses of it (via a dictionary). see you next week!

taglist (open!)

@viagumi @stariikis

#enhypen #enhypen sunghoon #park sunghoon #sunghoon x reader #sunghoon x y/n #sunghoon x you #enhypen fanfic #enhypen imagines #sunghoon historical au #sunghoon fanfic #sunghoon imagines #enhypen niki #enhypen nishimura riki #itzy yeji #skz hyunjin #skz #itzy #enhypen royalty au #kpop

[tornedheart]

Willow Maiden — Yandere Aemond Targaryen

GIF by @targaryensource

Warnings: unhealthy relationships, implied forced marriage.

Once upon a time, a scarred dragonprince, in a night as dark as his heart, runs after a flower maiden. The girl knows the only way for her to deal with it it's to not stop running.

She wonders how far it will get her. 

How a night that started with singing at the border of a lake, bored with her feet swinging in the water, her fingers treading her hair, only to do something with her hands, ended up with her into this situation. 

But she also understands how she got into this mess. Every nymph knows to run when seeing a man, for they always take more than offered, however she decided to do something different, had she really thought well about it? No.

It's just that she had longed for some company, to not be so alone.

So she did not run when he approached her, did not deviate her eyes when they stared at each other, she decided to smile at him — had she really thought something good would come out of it? — and to not fend off when his hand came to her hair.

To stay when he started to talk.

At least she had been smart enough to run when he tried to get closer. And she imagined it had saved her for some time.

There aren't any sounds of him running anymore, but she won't get herself fooled, it's not the time for her to stop her course.

And then she sees the gleaming orange coming to her, and, with her heart almost falling out of her chest, she knows how he plans to catch her — for a moment it almost makes her laugh at how simple it really is —, he just needs to drive her out of the forest.

Yet she does go out of the forest, because what more can she do besides meeting the dragon face-to-face?

The scarred prince is there, besides his beast, he does not chase her, she does not run from him.

She is tired enough to know she'll lose. She is tired enough to simply walk to him.

And then she is on the beast, arms around her, sweet words and even sweeter promises, some of which she doesn't even understand. The one of marriage is the most repeated.

She can guess that now she won't be so alone.

Masterlist

#yandere house of the dragon #yandere hotd #dark hotd #yandere aemond targaryen x reader #yandere aemond targaryen #dark aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen imagine