You’ve got a type. A bizarre type. Bizarre-ish. Older men. You know the type, strong arms, big shoulders. Maybe even a bit of a dad bod. The hair is going a little grey, he’s more respectful then many your own age.

Marcion. That’s your older man. He’s wealthy, but aside from that he’s charismatic and caring, etc. But we can all appreciate when a man with large hands and tattoos from the 90s gives us the thing we were eyeing while shopping last week, no questions asked.

He’s a result of generational wealth. He’s like 50, not horrendously old but considerably older than you. He inherited a luxury watch business which he’s the boss of. He lives in a luxury Victorian London home. And of course, it’s open for you.

He never had kids. Married once. Ended ROUGH. He never wants to look back. Especially not since he has you.

He’s on the phone with some family one day. You’re half asleep on his chest while some tv show you chose infiltrates the background noise.

Marcion: “would you like us to pick you up from the airport?” He asks. Mid conversation with his brother Theodore who’s coming to London from Paris with his wife and 2 daughters. And Marcion is having them at his house. His hand brushes through your hair while he speaks. “Yeah, yeah. Oh alright. You’re not flying in? Do you want us to pick you up from King’s Cross or are you fine?”

Mid conversation, but it’s quite fun in a way to be able to make up guest rooms for company. Plus Marcion won’t make you lift a finger if you don’t want to.