#because it gives a dangerous vibes on it

[janetlyricbook]

Groove Coverage - Poison (Rock ver.) [lyrics] + Malay translate🥀

Lit. "Racun"

Intro:

Poison...

Racun...

Yeah, poison...

Yeah, racun...

Poison...(2x)

Racun...(2x)

Verse 1:

Your cruel device

Alat kekejamanmu

Your blood, like ice

Darahmu, seperti ais

One look could kill

Satu tatapan yang membunuh

My pain, your thrill

Kesakitanku, keterujaanmu

Chorus:

I wanna love you but I better not touch

Ku ingin mencintaimu namun lebih baik ku tak sentuh

I wanna hold you but my senses tell me to stop

Ku ingin memelukmu namun deriaku menyuruhku berhenti

I wanna kiss you but I want it too much

Ku ingin mengucupimu namun ku inginkan selebihnya

I wanna taste you but your lips are venomous

Ku ingin merasaimu namun bibirmu berbisa

Poison...

Racun...

You're poison running through my veins

Kaulah racun mengalir di uratku

You're poison...

Kaulah racun...

I don't wanna break these chains...

Ku tak ingin mematahkan rantai ini...

Verse 2:

Your mouth, so hot

Mulutmu, terasa hangat

Your web, I'm caught

Sarangmu, aku terperangkap

Your skin, so wet

Kulitmu, terasa basah

Black lace on sweat

Renda hitam berpeluh

Chorus:

I hear you calling and it's needles and pins

Ku dengar panggilanmu dan ia membuatku gentar

I wanna hurt you just to hear you screaming my name

Ku ingin menyakitimu untuk mendengar kau menjerit namaku

Don't wanna touch you but you're under my skin

Ku tak mau menyentuhmu namun kau di bawah kulitku

I wanna kiss you but your lips are venomous

Ku ingin mengucupimu namun bibirmu berbisa

Poison...

Racun...

You're poison running through my veins

Kaulah racun mengalir di uratku

You're poison...

Kaulah racun...

I don't wanna break these chains...

Ku tak ingin mematahkan rantai ini...

Bridge:

Run deep inside my veins (my veins)

Mengalir di dalam uratku (uratku)

It's burning deep inside my veins

Ia membara di dalam uratku

One look, could kill

Satu tatapan yang membunuh

My pain, your thrill

Kesakitanku, keterujaanmu

Chorus (2x):

I wanna love you but I better not touch

Ku ingin mencintaimu namun lebih baik ku tak sentuh

I wanna hold you but my senses tell me to stop

Ku ingin memelukmu namun deriaku menyuruhku berhenti

I wanna kiss you but I want it too much

Ku ingin mengucupimu namun ku mau selebihnya

I wanna taste you but your lips are venomous

Ku ingin merasaimu namun bibirmu berbisa

Poison...

Racun...

You're poison running through my veins

Kaulah racun mengalir di uratku

You're poison...

Kaulah racun...

I don't wanna break these chains...

Ku tak ingin mematahkan rantai ini...

Poison...

Racun...

[autisticrosewilson]

First of all, you have given me so much to work with, thank you so much. Second of all, I’m really glad you could see where I was going with Grant’s real test not actually being about killing Slade. Third of all, I absolutely love what you’ve suggested with the powers and I am currently designing met gala esque outfits for the trio and Tara’s specifically is really fun to play around with. I’ve been thinking to show they’re becoming more divine I’ll change their hair and eye colours but not their faces for the most part. I was drawing robin Jason with Natalia and decided he should have brown eyes and a crooked nose from breaking it as a kid but once he returns his eyes get weird (eg go blue and occasionally other colours), a patch of his hair went white and he lost all of his scars. Also, I think the closer they get to divinity I’m gonna draw cracks on their body that glow with their specific colours just to hammer home how they’re shedding their mortal forms.

With Tara being able to see the strings of fate, I though it’d be fun to give her a harp and then with Jason having the see no evil trait I thought it’d be fun to give him weighing scales since lady justice wears a blindfold. Idk what to give Grant though. I mean probably a weapon of some sort or maybe a Shepard’s crook that he can turn into a scythe to play into the sheep, wolf, Hunter thing.

With Jason and Tara’s splintering, I love the idea of them making fun of Grant for being the baby god. He hasn’t even had a cult yet, gosh he’s so young. Also them being besties just holds a special place in my heart.

And I just came up with this, of course they have parallels to the trinity but in universe rumours of their existence have been around much longer than Bruce, Clark and Diana. They’re the big three of the justice league but these guys are justice gods. So they start calling themselves the justice trinity but then people get confused about which trinity is which because the justice leagues’ trinity sounds awfully close to the justice gods’ trinity. The new all caste is certainly more distinctive branding but the point isn’t to be distinctive, it’s to be petty.

I'm so glad my unmedicated rambling helped!!! And I'm so excited for the outfits!!! I love when characters start becoming less and less human, when they're stuck in that uncanny valley spot of not quite human but not entirely Other, when they lose control and the cracks start to show...um I should probably give a warning for slight body horror elements. Not in the gore sense, in the "this body is not made of flesh and there is something divine clawing it's way out". Uh also there are teeth. Just. Teeth. I dipped into a little bit of cosmic horror at the end there because I wanted to cover my bases with mixed mythologies

Jason, with his defined splinters, is usually depicted with three faces in ancient texts. The Child, gaunt and dark colored, is said to appear before the downtrodden and impoverished. The few stories remaining tell of kindly people who give him an offering, and in exchange he reveals his true form, with his crown of golden ivy and beautiful strong wings to gift them bounties of food and water and riches. Other stories tell of not so kind encounters, where The Child witnesses an injustice - typically against women or children - and again reveals his true form, one with clawed hands and a mouth dripping with blood. Scholars argue what the wings looked like, but whichever All-Caste member annotated it before has compared their likeness to either a Robin or a Shrike.

There's also The Ghost, He appears young at first glance, but his hair is wirey and gray, his eyes milky and unseeing, in bloodied armor he greets the souls of the damned as they're delivered to him, and with scarred hands he wipes the tears of children taken too soon. Accounts of this face are few and far between, but all of them are entrenched in sorrow.

Finally there is The Soldier, scarred and still smoking from the ruins of battle he emerges, giving voice to the weak and resources to the needy. He champions revolutionaries and philosophers first, a strategist who delights in the liberation of the people from corrupt systems. Accounts of him usually come from times of famine and war, and he was particularly popular with poor villages, who would mark the graves of their dead with the symbol of his sword as offerings. For some reason or other, he got particularly popular with the youth, girls and boys both seemed to pray for him and leave him offerings.

The way these manifest on Jason is subtle at first. I could go the body horror route, but I won't. Yet. Instead I think his splinters show up as reflections, shadows, imprints. The faint echo of bell-like laughter when Jason does a move he learned as Robin, the image of a younger him with longer hair and unblinking eyes staring at him in the mirror. It gets worse when he gets the blades, the white streaks his hair, the swirling mark covers more of his skin every time he uses them, he trails the scent of smoke and blood behind him like a signature. His scars...they should disappear. They have for everyone else who used the pit, but instead his skin starts cracking. Any place he's ever been scarred glowing cracks break up his skin. He can't feel them, but he's always aware of them, the meaning behind them, the divinity literally leaking through his body. His eyes aren't brown anymore. They aren't even green. He looks in the mirror and they are copper, molten and burning. He tries his best to keep his mask on.

What do you think of when you imagine the word divinity? Probably something like Tara. Something with skin carved from stone, with moss and fungus crawling up her legs and snow laden shoulders. They say her hair is made of swirling clouds and the sun and moon are her eyes.

Some say she's a nymph although no one knows what kind. You're just as likely to see her name among the naiads as the dryads. Whether flowers bloom where she dances or waves crash when she sings, she's known to be more vicious towards suitors than her sisters.

Others have said she's a faerie, who takes the faces of lost daughters and lovers, slipping into their places seamlessly, forcing unruly men to pay their dues. Others say she's a shifter of a different sort, with a shawl of feathers and a crown of twine and gems. Stories range from men trying to steal her coat (and paying dearly) to lost children returned safely home on the back of a swan.

Tara doesn't think about it at first, the way gravity tends to cede to her, she doesn't notice how sunflowers turn their faces towards her instead of the sun. She doesn't notice the way her face...shifts. it's imperceptible really, and it's not like she looks in the mirror all that often. But everyone around her notices it, on some level, the way her expressions are off. A little too exaggerated. The way her limbs bend just a little too oddly. The way she never looks quite the same as she did the day before, the way she picks up features from the people around her the way she picks up rocks from ground to add to her collection. Clay molded subtly into the image of those she loves, a museum of everyone she's ever met. She does notice when her hair starts going white at the ends, the strange way her hair starts to curl unnaturally, almost floating. She's not so upset about her eyes, the deep blue of her father that has glared down at her day after day, she has changed her hair, her face, her language but she could not change her eyes. It seems she didn't have to, when she wakes up with one a little too silver to be gray and one a little too gold to be brown. And then her skin starts splitting, a cavern made from a broken rib and ravines made by the slashing of knives. She doesn't even bleed anymore, they never scab over. They crystallize, amber like ambrosia, like ichor. Her body a geode waiting to be cracked open to let the thing within finally break free.

They know the least about Grant, whatever he used to be. Half written scrolls, torn or burnt or simply stopped abruptly, illegible journal entries with symbols never recorded in any known language, half finished sketches where the details are never quite clear. A few things are usually consistent though, signs that he's been there, usually from hunters down on their luck or the particularly old and sickly. First, the howling. Like a wolf or a storm, although later accounts would add that it occasionally sounds like a mechanical whirring. Then the rabbits, dead and gutted, but not a trace of blood. Piles of them left in heaps on doorsteps or windowsills. Some have reported knocking at strange hours or finding teeth in their homes, a mix of human and animal. There is one photo on record, the most recent thing in the archive most likely, of claw marks on the side of a barn, too big and oddly serrated, certainly not from anything native to the area. Elderly that report these phenomena typically pass from heart problems within the week, according to some of the old medical files.

Grant came back wrong. Physically, at least. He knows that he's still himself for the most part, dying didn't make him a selfish asshole he did that all on his own, but...but something is wrong with him. It's the way lightbulbs flicker when he's mad and how cameras, no matter the quality, never quite get a clear shot of him. The way Joey can't ever grasp his features, not fully, the details slipping from his mind like water. The way eyes on his face slide right past, unable to look directly at him. It's in the gray spreading from his roots and his eyes too wide and dark to belong to something human. It's the way death clings to him like a second skin, sickly and pallid turning the tips of his fingers gray. His teeth are starting to feel too sharp for his mouth, and he hears things no one else does, whispers of voices that Are Not and Can't Be. The worst part is the orange, liquid candlelight under his skin, lighting up all of his veins and scars, webbing together like the world's worst game of connect the dots. No, there is no mistaking him for something human, so there is no reason to try. If this is his fate then he will take it, because he is not a sheep and he will not be a wolf, he is a hunter, and he is hungry.

[fountainpenguin]

One very specific thing I find funny is that prior Hermitcraft Season 10, I'd drafted some worldbuilding for a Life series fanfic where there's a mail system based on phantoms (who are fast, and as a nod to Impulse's phantom sanctuary from Season 8 because I thought it was cute).

But the mail system was regularly disrupted by Etho because he was on Red life. He'd just torture and kill phantoms for their membranes because it's useful material, but mostly because he hated people checking up on him after he cut them off. He HATED mail.

So it's funny to see him play postman in Hermitcraft... Redeemed.

Also, here are some images of Impulse's phantom sanctuary because it's a fun / inspiring build to me:

He worked hard to catch those guys, did the job while they screamed at him, and redesigned the roof three times so they could see outside without burning in the sun. Not only that, but it's a decent size enclosure for a mob display (compared to Grian's magical menagerie, which is a pet shop so it's a different vibe).

The sanctuary is one of my main inspirations when I think about worldbuilding for mobs in 'fic, just because I think it's cute to have a big, pretty building for something so violent. It makes me laugh that Impulse tried to give the tour while being "hugged" and screamed at by the phantoms.

Looking forward to Scar's zoo in Season 10. I'm sure he'll build many lovely enclosures! <- Me, who is also a Planet Zoo watcher and loves seeing animals thrive in an environment designed for them :)

[yuriyuruandyuraart]

what do you think fem!cross's fav pet would be >>

dogs. without any hesitation.

specifically a bernese mountain dog or an australien shepherd (a Samoyed or an Alaskan malamute being my second best guess)

i mean i always headcanon cross to be a punctual and athletic person in general, so walking (or more accurately, running with) a large breed dog, feeding and playing with them shouldn't be a difficult routine for her to maintain really

she teaches the big guy so many tricks and takes such good care of the fluffy fella waghgh it's literally SUCH a fit for her ngl<3333

[calicohyde]

i can't wait to make something with the devil in it and make him extremely southern and love country and folk music

[timey-fandom-stuff]

... I really gotta stop coming up with wildly ambitious AU ideas.

[aloeverawrites]

Wait but aren't alligators dangerous predators though like this doesn't feel like a good look for whatever group they're defending lol. Like that's why people are scared of them/unprepared to deal with them. It can be dangerous for people who are prepared to deal with alligators too-

Not all of them will hurt a person but some will.

So yeah I don't think this is a good analogy for groups that can't change, that are like a demographic, and are seen as scary because they're oppressed.

And this isn't a good analogy for groups that chose to form based on beliefs that might be harmful and that's why people fear them. Alligators are an important part of their environment as also they didn't choose to be alligators. They can't stop being alligators. There will always be alligators but there won't always be people who believe in "x idea". Those people choose to believe things that can harm other people. And you know what, standing up to them can stop their groups from getting bigger.

"And the vast majority of them will never ever hurt any swimmers!" And you can't tell which ones those are because they're camouflaged by the rest. Nope not liking this metaphor at all-

I've received asks on the topic a few times so I think I'd like to address the subject as clearly as I can

Okay, so like. You're on vacation, right? And you decide you want to go swimming. And you could go to a pool, or a lake, or the ocean, or the river. Wherever you want. And you see on the map that there's this one place called The Alligator Hole.

So you go there, and there's a sign on the shore that says "WARNING: ALLIGATORS", right? And you decide to go in. And when you get there, there's alligators. So you get out!

But then you go back in, with a stick, and you start hitting the alligators.

Because you don't want alligators where you're swimming!

And the impulse is understandable, because lots of people don't like swimming with alligators. Alligators are scary. Being in the water with alligators can be very stressful and damaging for people who aren't prepared to deal with alligators.

But at the same time, you must understand- there will probably always *be* alligators. Hitting a few with a stick probably won't eradicate them from the planet. There are SO MANY alligators! All over the world! And the vast majority of them will never ever hurt any swimmers!

And at the end of the day, nobody pushed you into The Alligator Hole, right? You saw a place literally called The Alligator Hole and decided that you wanted to go in there, and then you made life miserable for all the alligators.

Sure, there are places you like to swim where alligators probably shouldn't be- like suddenly, in your bathtub, uninvited and unwelcome, in the middle of the night- but alligators have to go *somewhere*, you know?

So if there are going to be alligators, no matter what, and we don't want to be surprised by them, then isn't it nice that we have places like The Alligator Hole

[chaserainbows]

Boss Battle for Sidney, Mindy, and May (or just one of the three if that’s too much)

Send me “Boss Battle”, and I’ll post the music that plays when your muse fights mine as a boss.

Sidney vs. Agni, the battle of goths and gamers

Mindy vs. Agni, the scammer appears and she's ready to scam

May vs. Agni, if Agni wins May will give them One friendship bracelet

[shidoukanae]

also now realizing there's a heavy possibility that the unknown event Daniel references where he asks Lyla "how are you going to find your happiness?" is the same event Helene references when she tells Lyla that Lyla "betrayed" her.

Coincidentally, that's probably the same event that allowed Helene to be manipulated by the Empress into turning against Lyla and might have been the cause of Daniel leaving Lyla (probably to find out how to awaken as a dragon so he could gain the power to take her away from her family faster? maybe even going so far as to try and compete w/ Paris for the throne if it means protecting Lyla?)

There's also a suspicious gap of time from when Helene was poisoned to when she told Lyla to get away from her that has been omitted. And considering baby Lyla cries about Helene not wanting to be with her anymore...and that same baby Lyla is seen hugging Daniel in the unexplored scene...Lyla what the fuck did you do to Helene to embitter her like this?

[lizziesangel]

thinking about rafe cameron getting reader her job back…

rafe spotted you as you stepped out of the diner, still wearing your uniform and clutching your bag tightly. you didn’t notice him at first, leaning against his car, arms crossed casually. his smirk grew as he watched you, but it faded when he noticed how your shoulders sagged, the way your head was down.

“yo, y/n,” he called out, his voice carrying over the quiet of the parking lot. “rough day? you’re giving off serious ‘spit in someone’s food’ vibes.”

you froze for a second, then started walking past him without so much as a glance. “not now, rafe.”

his brows shot up. you usually rolled your eyes at his teasing or snapped back with some sarcastic comment, but now? you brushed him off completely. that wasn’t like you.

rafe pushed off the car, his smirk replaced with confusion. “what, no comeback? did someone finally manage to piss you off more than i do?”

“go away, rafe,” you muttered, keeping your pace brisk.

he frowned, stepping in your path. “okay, hold up. what happened?”

“nothing,” you snapped, trying to sidestep him. but he moved with you, his blue eyes narrowing as he studied your face.

“doens’t look like ‘nothing,’” he said, his tone softer now, the teasing edge gone. “talk to me.”

you exhaled sharply, looking anywhere but at him. “if you really need to know, my boss fired me. happy now?”

rafe blinked, his brows furrowing. “fired you? why?”

“because some kook came crying to him about something stupid,” you said bitterly. “she made a scene, and he decided it was easier to blame me than deal with it. so, now i’m unemployed. satisfied?”

he stared at you, his jaw tightening. “that’s the dumbest thing i’ve ever heard. you’re the only reason that place doesn’t completely suck.”

you laughed bitterly, shaking your head. “well, apparently, that doesn’t matter.”

rafe’s eyes darkened, a dangerous edge slipping into his voice. “what’s this guy’s name?”

“don’t even think about it,” you said quickly, pointing a finger at him. “i don’t need you getting involved, rafe.”

his lips parted to protest, but something in your tired expression stopped him. instead, he rubbed the back of his neck, glancing away. “that’s seriously messed up,” he muttered. “you didn’t deserve that.”

“yah, well, life isn’t fair.” you shrugged, but your voice wavered. “anyway, i just want to go home.”

rafe nodded slowly, his chest tightening at how defeated you looked. “you need a ride or something? i don’t mind.”

you blinked at him, surprised by the gentleness in his tone. “no. i’m fine.”

“okay,” he said softly, watching as you walked off toward your house.

that night, rafe couldn’t stop thinking about you. the way your voice broke when you talked about getting fired, the way you’d tried to hide how upset you were. it gnawed at him, and the longer he sat with it, the angrier he got.

grabbing his phone, he called his father, pacing his room as the phone rang.

“rafe,” his dad said tiredly. “what is it now?”

“i need $500,000,” rafe said, not bothering with any pleasantries.

there was a long silence. “excuse me?”

“you heard me,” rafe said, his tone firm. “i need $500,000.”

“for what?” ward asked, his patience clearly wearing thin.

“i’m buying the diner, the one by the lake,” rafe said simply, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

ward’s laugh was sharp and incredulous. “why the hell would you do that?”

“because the guy who owns it is a prick,” rafe snapped. “he fired someone who actually cares about that place just to save his own ass. so, i’m buying it. end of story.”

ward was silent for a moment. “this wouldn’t have anything to do with that girl you’ve been sniffing around, would it?”

rafe rolled his eyes, though his heart raced at the mention of you. “whatever. just send me the money.”

“fine,” ward sighed. “but don’t come crying to me when this blows up in your face.”

the next day, you got a call from the diner’s owner, informing you that there had been a “change in management.” you were being offered your job back—along with a raise.

confused, you walked back into the diner later that afternoon, only to find rafe leaning against the counter, looking far too pleased with himself.

“what are you doing here?” you asked warily.

he grinned, holding up a set of keys. “oh, you know. just checking on my new investment.”

your jaw dropped. “what do you mean, ‘new investment’?”

“i mean i bought the place,” he said casually, like it was no big deal. “figured someone needed to fix the mess your old boss made. starting with giving you your job back.”

you stared at him, completely floored. “you bought the diner?”

rafe shrugged, shoving his hands in his pockets. “i mean, it’s not that big of a deal. but… yeah. you deserve better, y/n.”

“you’re worth it, okay? so don’t argue with me.”

you blinked, nodding slowly. “thanks, rafe.”

“anytime,” he said, his smile turning into something softer. “now, go ahead and take the rest of the day off. boss’s orders.”

MASTERLIST

[sinful-mind-joyful-thoughts]

ᴜɴᴅᴇʀ ᴀ ғᴀʟsᴇ ᴀʟᴛᴇʀ

⤷ Credits: Pinterest

Marcus Acacius x F!reader | WC : 8.5k | Proof read : YES | Navigation | Notifications | series masterlist

Summary : Your father is fed up with your shenanigans, so he arranges a marriage to Rome's famous general and gladiator, Marcus Acacius.

Warnings: DUB-CON (Forced/Arranged marriage) SMUT, LOSS OF VIRGINITY, unprotected pinv (wrap it before you tap it), Oral F and M, Implied age gap, Scars, Misogyny, Spitting, both give switch vibes,

A/n : I put a dub-con warning just because it is a forced/arranged marriage also ty and enjoy @multiversed-daydreamer for listening to me yap about this all day luv ya 💕

The table was set, lit, and ready for a feast. Grapes, wine, cheese, and meats lined the table. Being the daughter of a powerful general had its perks, not that you liked the kind of life you had. You understood you were privileged, your place in society clear. You knew that if it weren't for your father's position, you would probably be a slave to the hierarchy. But it didn't mean you had to like your life.

You were 18 and shockingly unmarried—not that you cared. You had more fun sneaking away to the parties that would happen late at night. You were happy for the fact you weren't tied down yet. The thrill of escaping your father's watchful eye and diving into the forbidden world of Rome's underground festivities made your heart race.

You had a reputation, one that was far from ladylike. Wild child, they called you, and you wore it like a badge of honor. You knew what sex was, what things happened in the dark corners of those parties, but you were still a virgin. Your knowledge came from observation, whispers, and the daring escapades you had witnessed, but you hadn't crossed that final threshold. Not yet.

Your father, a stern and formidable general, was a man who worked with gladiators and other powerful figures in Rome. His influence was vast, and his expectations were high. He had grown increasingly frustrated with you lately, and you couldn't quite understand why. His annoyance with your antics was palpable, but there was something more, something beneath the surface that gnawed at him.

As you sat there, wine goblet in hand, you sipped slowly, savoring the taste. You knew he would tell you to only have a single glass, a rule you delighted in bending. The door to the grand hall burst open, and there he was, your father, his expression a storm of irritation and something deeper, something darker.

"What are you doing?" he demanded, his voice echoing through the hall. "Drinking again?"

You looked up at him, feigning innocence. "Just a single glass, Father, as you always insist."

His eyes narrowed, and he crossed the room with swift, purposeful strides. "You think I don't know what you get up to, do you? Sneaking out, causing trouble. Do you have any idea how this reflects on me? On our family?"

You sighed, placing the goblet down. "I know, Father. But you can't keep me locked away forever. I'm not a child anymore."

He stood before you, the tension between you crackling like a live wire. "You're my daughter, and you will behave with the dignity and decorum befitting your station."

You met his gaze, unflinching. "And what if I don't want that life? What if I want to be free, to make my own choices?"

His frustration seemed to boil over, and for a moment, you thought he might explode. But then, he took a deep breath, his shoulders sagging slightly. "You don't understand the dangers out there. The people I deal with—the gladiators, the politicians—they're not like the ones at your little parties. They're dangerous."

You softened slightly, sensing the genuine worry behind his anger. "Then tell me, Father. Explain why you're so frustrated lately. What aren't you telling me?"

He hesitated, the walls he had built around himself momentarily crumbling. "It's complicated," he finally said, his voice quieter. "There are threats... to our family, to our position. I'm trying to protect you, even if it doesn't seem like it."

You reached out, touching his arm. "I want to understand. Help me see what you see."

He looked down at your hand, then back at your face, a mixture of anger and sorrow in his eyes. "Maybe it's time you did," he said, his voice resigned. "But you must promise me, you'll be careful. This world is not as kind as you think."

You nodded, determination filling your chest. "I promise, Father. I'll be careful. But I won't be caged."

Your father's expression hardened once more, and the momentary softness disappeared. He sat down at the table, grabbing a handful of grapes and popping one into his mouth. "Enough. This isn't up for discussion," he snapped. "You are to be married."

Your heart plummeted. "Married? To whom?"

His eyes were cold as steel. "To a man who can protect you, who can secure our family's future."

You jumped to your feet, the chair scraping harshly against the floor. "No! I don't want to be married off like some piece of property. I won't do it!"

He towered over you, his presence suffocating. "You have no choice. This is for your own good."

"Who is it then?" you demanded, your voice rising in defiance. "Is it Lucius? That lecherous old man who can't keep his hands to himself?"

Your father shook his head, his jaw clenched. "No, not Lucius."

"Is it Gaius, then?" you asked, pacing around the table, barely noticing your father grabbing a slice of cheese and eating it with deliberate calmness. "The pompous fool who thinks he's the smartest man in Rome but can't even string a coherent sentence together without tripping over his own ego?"

"Not Gaius."

"Then it must be Quintus! The brute who only knows how to solve problems with his fists, who would treat me like a possession rather than a person."

"No, it isn't Quintus either," your father snapped, his patience wearing thin. He took a deep drink from his own goblet, trying to steady himself.

"Who then? Who could possibly be suitable in your eyes?" you spat, your desperation clear.

Your father took a deep breath, his eyes never leaving yours. "It's Marcus Acacius."

The name sent a jolt through you, and you took an involuntary step back. Marcus Acacius, a name whispered in both awe and fear throughout Rome. A man known for his prowess in the arena and his cunning outside it. A man with a reputation as cold and unyielding as stone.

"Marcus Acacius?" you echoed, disbelief coloring your tone. "You can't be serious. He's a gladiator, a killer."

"He's more than that," your father insisted. "He's powerful, respected, and capable of protecting you from the dangers you don't even know exist."

You shook your head, your mind reeling. "No, Father. You can't do this to me. I won't marry him."

"You will," he said firmly. "And you will do it for our family, for our future."

You felt the walls closing in, the life you had known slipping away. You slumped back into your chair, staring at the untouched food before you. "What if... what if I've already been with someone else?" you blurted out, hoping to find some way out of this nightmare.

Your father's eyes narrowed. He leaned forward, his hands gripping the edge of the table. "Have you been taken by another lover?"

You hesitated, the lie heavy on your tongue, but the fear of his wrath kept you silent. "No," you finally admitted, defeated.

"Then it's settled," he said, the finality in his voice chilling. "You will marry Marcus Acacius, and you will do so with dignity."

Tears of frustration and anger welled in your eyes, but you refused to let them fall. "I won't be happy, Father. Not with him, not with this life."

He reached out, a rare gesture of tenderness, and touched your cheek. "Happiness is a luxury we can't afford," he said softly. "But safety, security—that is something I can give you."

You pulled away, the weight of his decision crushing your spirit. "I don't want to be safe. I want to be free."

His hand fell to his side, and his eyes hardened once more. "Freedom is an illusion, my daughter. And you will learn that soon enough."

With that, he turned and walked away, leaving you standing alone in the grand hall, the weight of your impending marriage pressing down on you like a vice.

Rage bubbled up inside you, a seething mass of frustration and helplessness. The weight of your father's words pressed down on you like a heavy shroud, suffocating your spirit. With a sudden, violent motion, you swept your arm across the dining table, sending grapes, cheese, and meats crashing to the floor. The wine goblet toppled, spilling dark red liquid like blood across the pristine tablecloth.

Breathing heavily, you glared at the mess you had created, but it did nothing to alleviate the fury burning within you. Without another word, you turned on your heel and stormed out of the grand hall, your footsteps echoing through the marble corridors.

You reached your room, slamming the door behind you. The silence was oppressive, the walls closing in as your mind raced. You had to get out. You couldn't marry Marcus Acacius. You couldn't be trapped in a life you didn't choose, a life that would suffocate the very essence of who you were.

You paced the room, the dim light from the oil lamps casting flickering shadows on the walls. Your eyes darted around, searching for a solution, a way out of this nightmare. Your thoughts turned to your mother, a fleeting glimmer of hope piercing through the darkness.

Your mother had been sent to the countryside years ago, a decision made by your father to keep her safe from the political intrigue and danger that plagued Rome. She lived a quiet, secluded life on the family estate, far from the city's chaos. You hadn't seen her in years, but you knew she would help you if you could reach her.

Rage bubbled up inside you, a seething mass of frustration and helplessness. The weight of your father's words pressed down on you like a heavy shroud, suffocating your spirit. With a sudden, violent motion, you swept your arm across the dining table, sending grapes, cheese, and meats crashing to the floor. The wine goblet toppled, spilling dark red liquid like blood across the pristine tablecloth.

Breathing heavily, you glared at the mess you had created, but it did nothing to alleviate the fury burning within you. Without another word, you turned on your heel and stormed out of the grand hall, your footsteps echoing through the marble corridors.

You reached your room, slamming the door behind you. The silence was oppressive, the walls closing in as your mind raced. You had to get out. You couldn't marry Marcus Acacius. You couldn't be trapped in a life you didn't choose, a life that would suffocate the very essence of who you were.

You paced the room, the dim light from the oil lamps casting flickering shadows on the walls. Your eyes darted around, searching for a solution, a way out of this nightmare. Your thoughts turned to your mother, a fleeting glimmer of hope piercing through the darkness.

Your mother had been sent to the countryside years ago, a decision made by your father to keep her safe from the political intrigue and danger that plagued Rome. She lived a quiet, secluded life on the family estate, far from the city's chaos. You hadn't seen her in years, but you knew she would help you if you could reach her.

It had been a month of plotting and planning, each day dragging on as your impending fate loomed ever closer. Today was your wedding day, the day your life would be sealed into a destiny you hadn’t chosen. Final preparations had been completed yesterday, and now you were meant to step into the role of a dutiful daughter and bride. You had woken up earlier than your maids would have roused you, knowing your father would want you to rest more so you appeared extra fresh for Marcus. Instead, your nerves had kept you up all night, the shadows on the walls morphing into ominous shapes as you thought of your future.

The first light of dawn crept through the narrow window, and you knew you couldn’t waste any more time. Your small bag, packed with bread, a few pieces of jewelry to sell, and the spending money your father occasionally gave you, lay hidden under the covers of your bed. The plan was simple: catch the slightest bit of rest before your handmaid came in to wake you, then escape before anyone noticed.

The door creaked open, and Lucia, your handmaid, entered with her usual gentle and serene presence. She glided to the window, pulling back the heavy curtains. Sunlight flooded the room, casting a warm glow that felt almost mocking given your circumstances. You sat up in bed, the light highlighting the bags under your eyes from a sleepless night.

"Good morning, my lady," she said dreamily, her voice like a lullaby. "The sun is shining so beautifully today. It's a perfect day for a wedding." She moved to your side, her hands deftly beginning to arrange your hair with practiced ease. You watched her reflection in the mirror, feeling a pang of guilt for the deception you were about to execute.

"Your dress is so beautiful, my lady. It's like a dream come true. You'll look like a goddess, a vision of perfection," Lucia continued, her words meant to comfort but only adding to your anxiety. The dress she spoke of hung in the corner, a symbol of the life you were being forced into.

You let her continue, her words a soothing balm against your churning thoughts. As she began to apply a light makeup, using berries to tint your lips and cheeks, you couldn't help but feel a sense of finality creeping in. "You'll be the envy of every woman in Rome," she continued, her voice full of admiration. "Marcus Acacius is a powerful man. You'll be safe with him."

Safe. The word echoed in your mind, tinged with bitterness. Safety was a cage, and you longed for freedom. Suddenly, you sat up, startling Lucia. "I need your dress," you blurted out, your voice urgent.

She looked at you, shocked and confused. "My dress, my lady? Why would you want my dress?" she asked, her hands frozen in mid-motion.

You gave her a reassuring smile, reaching under your bed to pull out a dress you had kept for a long time. It was a simple yet elegant gown, one she had always admired. "I have something for you," you said, handing her the dress. "I've seen how much you like it. Today, I want you to wear it and have fun. I just... I want to feel normal before the wedding."

Her eyes widened, and a smile of pure joy spread across her face. "Thank you, my lady. Thank you so much!" She looked at the dress, then back at you. "But what about you? Where will you be?"

You hesitated for a moment, crafting a believable lie. "I'll be eating breakfast with the soldiers. I need a moment to myself before the chaos begins."

She nodded, believing your words, and quickly changed into the dress you had given her. You watched as her usual plain attire was replaced by the elegant gown, the transformation bringing a genuine smile to your face despite the turmoil in your heart. "You look beautiful," you said, forcing a smile. "Now go, enjoy yourself."

Lucia beamed, her happiness palpable. "Thank you, my lady. I'll remember this day forever." She gave a small curtsy and hurried out, eager to enjoy the brief taste of luxury you had gifted her.

As soon as the door closed behind her, you sprang into action. Your heart pounded as you grabbed your small bag from under the covers and moved swiftly towards the door. The corridors of the castle were quiet, the early hour ensuring most were still in their beds. You moved with purpose, your sandals barely making a sound on the stone floors.

Every step you took was filled with a mixture of fear and exhilaration. You had never been so bold, and the risk was immense. If you were caught, the consequences would be severe, but you couldn't live a life that wasn't yours. The thought of being trapped in a loveless marriage with Marcus Acacius spurred you on.

You reached the courtyard, the cool morning air filling your lungs as you dashed towards the farthest end where the horse stables were located. The sound of hooves and the scent of hay greeted you as you approached, your eyes scanning for a suitable mount. Freedom was within reach, and your heart soared with the possibility.

But then, a familiar, stern voice cut through the morning air. "Where do you think you're going?"

You sprinted, your sandals slapping against the cobblestones as the guards closed in. Heart pounding, you reached the barn, your fingers fumbling with the latch. The sound of pursuing footsteps fueled your frantic efforts, and finally, the door swung open. You dashed inside, the scent of hay and horses enveloping you. There was no time to lose.

Without wasting a moment, you chose the newest and fastest horse, a powerful chestnut stallion that had always intimidated you with its raw strength. It was your only chance. Your hands shook as you grabbed its mane, your heart hammering in your chest. The stallion snorted, sensing your urgency. You took a deep breath, steeling yourself.

"Hyah!" you urged, kicking your heels against its sides. The stallion reared, its powerful muscles tensing beneath you, then surged forward, galloping towards the gates. The wind whipped through your hair, the thundering of hooves drowning out the shouts behind you.

The gate loomed ahead, freedom tantalizingly close. You leaned forward, urging the horse faster. As you rode, you navigated the narrow alleys and sharp turns of the castle grounds, the stallion's speed making every twist and turn feel like a life-or-death gamble. The guards were not far behind, their yells growing louder, but you kept pushing, your eyes fixed on the gate.

You had run from the guards before, slipping through their grasp with quick wits and nimble feet, but this was different. The stakes were higher, the danger more palpable. The horse beneath you was your only hope, its powerful strides eating up the distance between you and the gate. But it was also a wild, untamed force, difficult to control.

As you neared the gate, you saw it beginning to close. Panic surged through you. With a desperate cry, you urged the stallion faster. The ground seemed to blur beneath you, the world a whirl of motion and sound. The horse’s breath came in powerful snorts, its muscles straining with effort.

Just as you thought you might make it, the stallion stumbled on a loose cobblestone. You were flung from its back, the world spinning around you as you hit the ground hard. Pain shot through your body, your vision swimming with stars.

When you opened your eyes, the sky above was a brilliant blue, and the scent of earth and grass filled your nostrils. You groaned, trying to sit up, but a gentle hand on your shoulder stopped you.

"Easy there," a deep, soothing voice said. You turned your head and found yourself staring into the concerned eyes of a stranger, his face handsome and strong, framed by dark curls. He knelt beside you, his touch gentle but firm.

"Are you all right?" he asked, his brow furrowed with worry.

You blinked, trying to focus through the haze of pain and confusion. "Who... who are you?"

A small, enigmatic smile played on his lips. "My name is Marcus Acacius. And you must be my bride."

The revelation hit you like a bolt of lightning. This was the man you were meant to marry, the man you were running from. But as you looked into his eyes, you saw not the tyrant you had imagined, but a man filled with genuine concern and curiosity.

"You shouldn't be out here alone," Marcus continued his voice a mix of authority and kindness. "It's dangerous. Let me help you."

The irony of the situation was almost too much to bear. You had been fleeing from your fate, only to run straight into its arms. As Marcus helped you to your feet, his hands strong and reassuring, you couldn't help but wonder if perhaps your destiny was more complex than you had believed.

Marcus's strong arms guided you inside, each step a reluctant surrender to the fate you had been trying to escape. The castle's grand corridors, usually bustling with servants and courtiers, were eerily quiet in the early morning light. You were disoriented, the pain from your fall mingling with the turmoil of your thoughts.

As you entered your bedchamber, a familiar and unwelcome face greeted you. Aurelia, one of your father's maids and his well-known mistress, stood there with a smug expression. Her presence was a bitter reminder of your father's indiscretions and the fractured state of your family.

"Well, well," Aurelia purred, her voice dripping with condescension. "What a surprise to see you here, my lady. Running away on your wedding day? How very unbecoming of you."

You shot her a withering glare, your temper flaring. "Spare me your lectures, Aurelia. I'm not in the mood for your sanctimonious drivel."

Aurelia's smile widened, enjoying your discomfort. "You should be grateful for the match your father has arranged. Marcus Acacius is a powerful man. You could do far worse."

You clenched your fists, your anger barely contained. "Is that what you tell yourself to justify spreading your legs for my father? That you're doing it for power and security?"

Her eyes flashed with anger, but she maintained her composure. "Watch your tongue, girl. You may not like me, but I'm here to make sure you fulfill your duty. Now sit down and let me get you ready."

Reluctantly, you sat down, feeling trapped and helpless. As Aurelia worked on your hair and makeup, her touch was firm and unyielding. Her presence was suffocating, her every word a reminder of the life you were being forced into.

"You think you can escape your destiny?" Aurelia continued, her tone dripping with disdain. "You're just a foolish girl. This marriage is your only chance at a future."

You bit back a retort, knowing it would only fuel her smug superiority. Instead, you focused on the mirror in front of you, watching as she applied the final touches to your appearance. The reflection staring back at you was almost unrecognizable—a vision of beauty and elegance, but one that felt like a mask hiding your true self.

Once Aurelia finished, she stepped back, admiring her handiwork. "There," she said, a note of satisfaction in her voice. "You look perfect. Ready to be a proper bride."

You stood, your heart heavy with dread. The grand hall awaited, filled with guests and the weight of expectation. As you made your way towards it, you felt the walls closing in, your fate sealed with every step.

The hall was decorated with lavish flowers and banners, the scent of incense filling the air. Guests whispered and watched as you entered, their eyes following your every move. At the far end, Marcus Acacius stood, his gaze fixed on you with an intensity that made your pulse quicken.

The ceremony began with the priest’s voice, resonant and solemn, echoing through the hall. The guests fell into an expectant silence, the only sounds being the faint rustling of their silk garments and the distant clinking of goblets. The hall, lavishly adorned with ivy and flowers, seemed to shimmer with an almost otherworldly glow, casting shadows that danced like phantoms along the walls.

You stood at the altar, your heart pounding against your ribs like a trapped bird. The priest’s words, though intended to be a comfort, were like a dark incantation, each syllable wrapping around you tighter, dragging you deeper into the abyss of your fate. Your eyes flickered over to Marcus, standing with his back straight, his gaze unwavering. He looked every bit the powerful man he was rumored to be—tall, imposing, with a presence that commanded the room.

You recalled the whispers you had heard over the past months—the stories of Marcus Acacius. The tales were rife with speculation and fear, his name often mentioned in hushed tones. They spoke of a man whose ambition knew no bounds, whose cruelty was whispered about in every corner of Rome. Some said his eyes held a darkness that could see through to the soul, while others claimed he had a penchant for the macabre, often indulging in extravagant displays of power.

As the priest began the traditional vows, his voice a monotone murmur, you tried to focus, but the words blurred into a cacophony. "Do you, Marcus Acacius, take this woman to be your lawfully wedded wife, to have and to hold, in sickness and in health, for richer or poorer, until death do you part?"

Marcus’s voice was steady, unwavering. "I do," he said, his tone deep and commanding, sending shivers down your spine.

When it was your turn, the words caught in your throat, your voice barely a whisper. "I... I do," you managed, the words tasting bitter on your tongue, the weight of your submission crushing your spirit.

The priest nodded, a satisfied smile curling his lips. "Then by the power vested in me, I now pronounce you husband and wife."

As the priest declared you bound by law and faith, the room erupted into applause, the sound a thunderclap that seemed to echo off the very stones of the castle. Marcus took your hand, his grip firm and unyielding, leading you down the aisle. The guests showered you with petals, their faces a blur of congratulations and forced smiles. You felt like a puppet, each step you took dictated by an invisible string.

The reception hall was a whirlwind of opulence, the air thick with the scent of spiced wine and roasting meats. Long tables groaned under the weight of sumptuous feasts, while musicians played melodies that mingled with the laughter and chatter of the guests. The hall’s high ceilings seemed to stretch into eternity, adorned with golden chandeliers that sparkled like stars.

You clung to the edge of the hall, the laughter and music a distant hum, your mind wandering back to the dark tales you had heard of Marcus. The rumors were impossible to ignore: they spoke of his ruthless ambition, his cold demeanor, and his unsettling fascination with power. Some said his parties were a mask for darker pursuits, where the line between pleasure and pain blurred into obscurity.

As Marcus moved through the crowd, his demeanor was that of a king—gracious yet commanding, his laughter rich and resonant. He was surrounded by his closest allies, men whose eyes gleamed with greed and ambition. They raised their goblets in his honor, their voices melding into a chorus of congratulatory toasts.

You stood near a heavy oak door, the cool stone beneath your fingers a reminder of the stark reality you now faced. The night was growing darker, the moonlight streaming through the tall windows casting an eerie glow on the festivities.

Suddenly, a hand gripped your arm, pulling you away from the door. It was one of the guards, his expression grave. "My lady, you mustn't go near that door. Your father has given strict orders. Any guard who aids your escape will be put to death."

You stared at him, a chill running down your spine. "What do you mean? You can’t be serious. There’s no way out of here. You’re all trapped too."

The guard’s eyes flickered with a mix of pity and resolve. "It’s true, my lady. Your father’s command is ironclad. He has spies everywhere. If you try to leave, he will know. And the consequences for anyone who helps you are severe."

A knot of fear and frustration tightened in your chest. "What do you expect me to do? Just stand here and pretend everything’s fine?"

He hesitated, his grip on your arm softening. "No, my lady. But perhaps you could find a way to make the best of this night. Try to speak to him, learn his intentions. There may be more to him than the rumors say."

Taking a deep breath, you nodded, your mind spinning with the guard’s words. With a determined stride, you made your way through the crowd towards Marcus, who was leaning casually against a pillar, a goblet of wine in his hand. His eyes were slightly glazed from the alcohol, but his gaze sharpened as he saw you approaching.

"Marcus," you began, your voice steady despite the turmoil inside you. "I wanted to thank you for your help earlier today. I... I appreciate it."

He raised an eyebrow, a slow smile spreading across his face. "You mean when you tried to flee?" His tone was teasing, but there was an edge to it. "You have spirit, I'll give you that."

You forced a smile, trying to gauge his true nature. "I only wished for a moment of freedom. But I suppose that is behind us now."

Marcus took a sip of his wine, his eyes never leaving yours. "Freedom is a fleeting thing, my dear. But power... power is eternal. And together, we shall wield it."

Your stomach churned at his words, the rumors about him echoing in your mind. "Is that all you care about? Power?" you asked, unable to keep the bitterness from your voice.

His smile faded, replaced by a more serious expression. "You misunderstand me. Power is not an end, but a means. It ensures safety, prosperity, and control over one's destiny. Is that so terrible?"

You struggled to see past the image you had built of him. "I’ve heard things about you, Marcus. Dark things."

He chuckled softly, a sound that sent chills down your spine. "People fear what they do not understand. Let them talk. What matters is that I have the means to protect those I care about."

His words, though seemingly sincere, did little to quell your doubts. You opened your mouth to respond, but before you could, your father’s voice boomed across the hall.

"Honored guests!" he called out, drawing everyone’s attention. "The hour grows late, and it is time for my daughter and her new husband to retire to their bedchamber."

A murmur of approval and knowing smiles rippled through the crowd. Your heart raced, a mixture of dread and resignation filling you. Marcus extended his hand to you, his grip firm and possessive as he led you through the throng of guests towards the grand staircase.

As you ascended the stairs, the weight of your future bore down on you. You glanced back once, seeing the guests' faces fade into the distance, their laughter and conversations becoming a dull roar. When you reached the door of the bedchamber, Marcus paused, turning to face you.

"This is just the beginning," he said, his voice low and intense. "We have much to learn about each other."

You swallowed hard, forcing a nod. "Yes, we do."

He opened the door, and you stepped inside, the room lit by the soft glow of candlelight. The bed, draped in rich fabrics, seemed to loom ominously in the center. Marcus closed the door behind you, the click of the latch sounding like a final seal on your fate.

As he moved closer, you felt a mix of fear and curiosity. This was the man you were now bound to, and despite the darkness that surrounded him, there was a part of you that longed to understand him, to find the truth beneath the rumors.

"Let's start anew," he said, his hand gently brushing your cheek. "Whatever you have heard, whatever you fear, put it aside. We are bound by more than words and vows. Let’s see where this path takes us."

You recoiled from his touch, your anger bubbling to the surface. "I'd rather fuck a pig than you," you spat, your voice dripping with venom. The shock on his face quickly morphed into a cold, calculating expression.

"You need to learn your place," Marcus hissed, his grip tightening on your arm. "You should consider yourself lucky to have me, especially with your reputation."

You glared at him, your temper flaring. "Lucky? Is that what you think this is? A blessing? I know what people say about you, Marcus. They call you ruthless, a monster. I'd rather die than be your plaything."

He leaned in closer, his breath hot against your ear. "You speak so boldly for someone in such a precarious position. But let me make something clear: you are mine now. And I will do whatever it takes to keep you in line."

Your heart pounded in your chest, a mixture of fear and defiance. "You can't control me. I'll never submit to you."

A slow, dangerous smile spread across his face. "Is that so? Tell me, my bride, are you truly a virgin, or have your wild antics already sullied you?"

The question caught you off guard, your cheeks burning with a mix of embarrassment and anger. "How dare you—"

"Answer me," he demanded, his eyes boring into yours. "Are you a virgin?"

You clenched your fists, refusing to be cowed. "Yes, I am," you snapped, your voice trembling with rage. "Not that it's any of your business."

He seemed taken aback for a moment, his eyes narrowing as he studied your face. "So, you are pure, despite everything. Interesting."

"You think you can just claim me like some prize?" you retorted, your voice rising. "I won't be your obedient little wife. I won't be another notch on your belt."

Marcus's expression hardened, his grip on your arm like iron. "You will be my wife, and you will learn to respect me. You don't know the first thing about power or survival. But you will."

"You don't scare me," you lied, your voice faltering slightly.

"Don't I?" he whispered, his lips dangerously close to yours. "You should be scared. But perhaps you're just too stubborn to realize it."

"Stubborn?" you scoffed. "Is that what you call it when someone refuses to bow to a tyrant?"

His eyes flashed with anger, and for a moment, you thought he might strike you. But instead, he did something even more unexpected. He leaned in and kissed you, his lips crashing against yours with a fierce, passionate intensity.

You froze, your mind racing as his kiss deepened. There was a raw, undeniable heat between you, a clash of wills and desires. Your initial shock gave way to a whirlwind of emotions—anger, fear, curiosity, and something else you couldn't quite name.

As his hands moved to your waist, pulling you closer, you found yourself responding, your body betraying your mind. The kiss was a battle, each of you struggling for dominance, neither willing to yield.

When he finally pulled away, you were breathless, your heart racing. His eyes were dark and intense, a storm of emotions swirling within them. You stared back at him, defiance and confusion mingling in your gaze, unsure of what to say or do next.

"I'm sorry," Marcus said, his voice unexpectedly soft. "I shouldn't have forced myself on you like that."

His words, so out of character, only fueled your anger further. "Sorry?" you scoffed, pushing him back slightly. "You think a simple apology will make up for everything? For the way you've treated me, for the way you think you can just claim me?"

His jaw clenched, but he didn't back down. "I know I can't make up for it. But perhaps... perhaps we can find a way to understand each other."

You were silent for a moment, then your eyes narrowed. "Understand each other?" you echoed, your voice dripping with sarcasm. "Is that what this is about? Understanding?"

A dark, reckless impulse surged within you. You grabbed him by the front of his tunic, pulling him closer. "You think you can control me?" you whispered, your breath hot against his ear. "You think you can just take what you want?"

Before he could respond, you pressed your lips to his again, this time with even more intensity. The kiss was fierce, a clash of wills and desires. You could feel the tension between you, the thin line between hate and something far more dangerous.

Marcus responded in kind, his hands gripping your waist with bruising force. The room seemed to spin as you lost yourself in the raw heat of the moment, your anger and frustration boiling over into something wild and unrestrained.

You broke the kiss, your breathing ragged. "You want me?" you demanded, your voice a low, challenging whisper. "Then take me."

His eyes blazed with desire and a hint of confusion. "Are you sure?" he asked, his voice rough.

"Shut up," you snapped, pulling him closer. "No more talking. Just... take me."

With a growl, Marcus responded, his hands tearing at your clothes with a desperate urgency. You mirrored his actions, your fingers fumbling with the fastenings of his tunic. The fabric fell away, and you pressed your bodies together, the heat of his skin igniting a fire within you.

"You're infuriating," he muttered, his lips trailing down your neck.

"And you," you retorted, your hands exploring the hard planes of his chest, "are a tyrant."

He paused for a moment, his breath hot against your skin. "Then why are you doing this?"

"Because," you said, your voice trembling with a mix of anger and desire, "I hate you. And I need to feel something other than this... this helplessness."

He captured your lips again, his kiss searing and demanding. "I hate you too," he whispered against your mouth, his hands roaming your body. "But I can't resist you."

The world outside ceased to exist as you gave in to the storm between you. Clothes fell away, and you were left exposed, vulnerable yet defiant. You pushed him onto the bed, straddling him, your eyes locked in a battle of wills.

"You think you can control me?" you challenged, your voice breathless.

"I don't need to control you," Marcus replied, his hands gripping your hips. "I just need you."

Marcus brought his thumb to circle your clit, his rough touch sending jolts of pleasure through your body. You moaned slightly, your head falling back in bliss. His voice teased you, dripping with arrogance. "What, haven’t you touched yourself before?"

You gasped, grinding down against the hard length of his cock straddled between your legs. His smirk faltered at your audacity. "Of course I have," you retorted, your voice edged with defiance, a spark of rebellion lighting your eyes.

Marcus gripped your hips, lifting you off him with ease before moving to sit back against the headboard, his arms casually behind his head in a display of smug dominance. "You want the virgin to do all the work?" you taunted, your eyes narrowing in displeasure as you crawled closer.

His smirk returned, darker this time. "The virgin, huh? That's what I get to call you now?" He paused, watching you with an intensity that made your pulse quicken. "You're the one who's on me like a dog in heat."

You looked at him with a dark expression, sitting back on your thighs, your chest heaving with frustration and desire. With one hand, you began to caress his upper thigh, mimicking the movements you'd seen from the sex workers in your father's employ. Though inexperienced, you weren't ignorant; you'd read secret novels and asked questions of your father's mistresses. But nothing had prepared you for the raw reality of this moment.

"You know what to do?" he questioned a challenge in his eyes, his voice a low growl.

You didn't answer with words. Instead, you leaned forward, your tongue darting out to lick from the base of his cock to the tip, tasting the salty pre-cum on your tongue. The taste was oddly addictive. You wrapped your hand around his thick length, marveling at how it almost didn't fit in your grip. Steadying him, you licked the tip, eliciting a deep groan from him.

"Don't be shy," he patted your head condescendingly, his fingers tangling in your hair. Despite your nerves, you collected spit in your mouth and let it fall onto the tip of his cock, watching as he rubbed it around with a satisfied smirk.

You took the tip into your mouth, savoring the taste of his pre-cum, and groaned at the flavor. He moaned deeply as you sucked gently, guiding your head with his hand. You gagged slightly as you tried to take more of him in, your hand still gripping the base, your eyes watering with the effort.

"Spit on it," he commanded. You did as he asked, letting more saliva dribble onto his length. He patted your head again, a gesture both condescending and encouraging, and you resumed sucking, taking him deeper into your mouth. You gagged again, but he didn't let go, enjoying the sight of you struggling to accommodate his size.

"Come on," he urged, pulling you up to straddle his hips once more. You thought he was finally ready to take your virginity, the moment you'd both been building towards, but he surprised you. Gripping your hips with firm hands, he moved you so his face was between your thighs.

"What are you—" you began, but he cut you off, his lips attacking your clit with a fervor that stole your breath. He completed the arc with his tongue, taking your bud between his lips and sucking hard. You almost screamed, the pleasure overwhelming you. "Oh God," you moaned, your hands flying to his hair to steady yourself.

He paused for a moment, his dark eyes meeting yours with a predatory glint. "Marcus, baby… Marcus," you whimpered, your voice trembling with need and desperation.

He resumed his assault, his tongue and lips working in tandem to drive you wild. You began to grind against his mouth, the sensation too much to bear, yet not nearly enough. The tension built rapidly, your orgasm approaching with a force that took you by surprise.

"Marcus!" you cried out, your fingers gripping his hair tightly as your body tensed and then shattered into a million pieces. He held your hips firmly to his face, lapping up every drop of your release as you rode out your orgasm on his tongue.

You fell back onto the bed, spent and trembling, and he crawled over you, his face slick with your essence. "Well, well," he said, a wicked grin spreading across his features as he rubbed his cock against your still-sensitive pussy. "Are you all fucked out already?"

You managed a weak glare, but it melted into a moan as he pushed into you. The stretch was intense, making you claw at his shoulders for support. He kissed your neck, his lips and teeth leaving a trail of fire as he pulled out slowly before thrusting back in deeply. You moaned at the sensation, your body arching to meet his every movement.

"You hear that?" His gruff voice asked, pulling you back to the present as his cock dragged from your cunt, pushing back in slowly. The squelch of him pushing deep inside you was loud, the sound of your arousal undeniable. You threw your head back, moaning his name.

"Yeah, you do," he muttered, his breath hot against your neck. His teeth grazed your delicate skin, sending shivers down your spine. "Hear how wet you are?"

You opened your eyes slowly, your vision filled with the sight of him. His beautiful, sweat-covered face was close to yours, every scar and wrinkle telling a story, the grey in his beard adding to his rugged appeal. His eyes burned with an intensity that made your heart race.

A moan escaped your lips as his thrusts grew more desperate, more hungry. He caught your wrists together in one of his big hands, pressing them down into the mattress with a grip that left no room for escape. Your thighs were splayed wide, almost uncomfortably so, pressed down by the width of his hips. His cock was splitting you open, and you were so impossibly wet that you could hear it every time he pushed back into you, a lewd squelching sound that only seemed to spur him on.

He grinned wildly, his teeth flashing in the dim light. "You like that, don’t you?" he taunted, his voice dripping with smug satisfaction. "Only I can make you this wet, make you submit so completely."

You could only moan in response, your body arching beneath him, every nerve ending on fire. "Marcus," you whimpered, the intense pleasure making you delirious. Your mind was a haze of sensation, every thrust sending you spiraling further into a world where only he existed.

His grin softened slightly, a hint of something almost tender in his eyes as he looked down at you. "That's right," he murmured, his voice a low growl. His thrusts were deep and relentless, each one driving home his dominance. "You're mine now."

You wanted to hate him, to deny the truth of his words, but with your body quivering beneath his, you knew he was right. You were his. Every thrust, every touch, every whispered word claimed you, bound you to him in ways you had never imagined.

His pace quickened, his hips snapping against yours with a ferocity that left you breathless. The room was filled with the sounds of your combined moans, the slap of skin against skin, and the wet, obscene noises of your coupling. His free hand roamed over your body, caressing and squeezing, leaving trails of fire in its wake.

"You're so fucking beautiful," he muttered, his lips brushing against your ear. "I can't get enough of you."

Your response was a garbled moan, your head thrown back in ecstasy. His words, his touch, everything about him overwhelmed you. You felt yourself teetering on the edge, the coil of pleasure tightening in your belly, ready to snap.

He seemed to sense your impending release, his movements becoming even more deliberate, his thrusts hitting that perfect spot inside you over and over again. "Come for me," he demanded, his voice rough with his own need. "Let go. I want to feel you."

The command sent you over the edge. Your orgasm crashed over you with the force of a tidal wave, your body convulsing beneath him. You cried out his name, the sound echoing in the room, a testament to your surrender.

His weight pressed you into the mattress, his skin hot and slick against yours. You felt every throb of his heartbeat, every shudder of his breath. It was an intimacy you had never experienced before, raw and all-consuming.

As the waves of your shared climax ebbed, you lay there, wrapped in the warmth of his body. For a moment, the world outside ceased to exist. It was just the two of you, tangled together in the aftermath of passion.

As he lifted his head, his eyes met yours, filled with a complex mix of emotions. The intensity of his gaze made your heart flutter, but the softness in his expression was unexpected, almost tender.

"Well," he murmured, his voice low and taunting, "I guess the rumors were wrong. You're not a virgin after all." He paused, a smirk playing at the corners of his lips. "Well, not anymore."

You felt a flush of anger rise within you. "And what if I wasn't? What difference would it make to you?"

He smirked, the familiar arrogance returning. "Just proves you're not as innocent as you pretend to be."

You pushed against his chest, forcing him to roll onto his side. "You're insufferable," you snapped, your breath still coming in short gasps. "You think you know everything, but you don't."

He chuckled, a sound that sent shivers down your spine. "Maybe not everything. But I know enough."

You glared at him, the heat between you not entirely dissipated. "You don't know anything about me."

His hand moved to your cheek, thumb brushing over your flushed skin. "I know you're stronger than you think. And I know you feel something for me, whether you want to admit it or not."

You scoffed, turning your head away. "You're delusional."

"Am I?" He leaned in, his lips ghosting over your ear. "Or are you just afraid to admit it?"

Your body reacted before your mind could catch up, a shiver running down your spine. "Get over yourself," you muttered, trying to sound indifferent.

He laughed, a low, rumbling sound that made your insides twist. "I could say the same to you."

You pushed at him again, trying to create distance, but he caught your wrists, holding them against the mattress. "Let go," you demanded, struggling against his grip.

"Not until you admit it," he said, his voice soft but firm.

"Admit what?" you hissed, your anger flaring again.

"That you feel something for me," he said, his eyes boring into yours.

You glared at him, refusing to give in. "You're impossible."

He sighed, releasing your wrists and rolling onto his back. "Maybe I am. But so are you."

You lay there in silence for a moment, the tension between you thick and palpable. Despite everything, you couldn't deny the magnetic pull you felt towards him, the strange mix of hatred and desire that left you breathless and confused.

Finally, exhaustion began to creep in, your body heavy with the aftermath of your intense encounter. "This doesn't change anything," you said, your voice softer now, almost resigned.

"Maybe not," he agreed, his tone equally soft. "But it's a start."

You turned your head to look at him, finding his eyes already on you. "What do you want from me, Marcus?" you asked, the question hanging heavily in the air.

He reached out, his fingers brushing a stray lock of hair from your face. "I don't know," he admitted, his voice a whisper. "But I want to find out."

You closed your eyes, a sigh escaping your lips. "I'm too tired to argue with you."

He chuckled softly, the sound surprisingly comforting. "Then don't. Just sleep."

You turned onto your side, your back to him, trying to create some semblance of space. The room was silent, the only sound the soft rustle of sheets and the faint crackle of the dying fire in the hearth. You closed your eyes, willing sleep to come, but your mind was a whirlwind of thoughts and emotions.

Despite your best efforts to maintain distance, you couldn't ignore the warmth radiating from Marcus's body, the solid presence of him beside you. There was a strange sense of comfort in his nearness, an unexpected feeling of safety that contrasted sharply with the chaos of your emotions.

As you lay there, the exhaustion from the night's events slowly began to overtake you. Your muscles relaxed, and your breathing grew steady and slow. You felt the mattress shift slightly as Marcus moved closer, his arm draping over your waist in a possessive yet gentle gesture.

For a moment, you considered shrugging him off, but the weariness was too much. Instead, you let yourself sink into the feeling of his arm around you, the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest against your back. It was oddly soothing, a stark reminder that despite the tumultuous start to your union, there was a potential for something more, something deeper.

"Goodnight," Marcus murmured softly, his breath warm against your ear.

You hesitated before responding, the word barely a whisper. "Goodnight."

PART 2

[wcnderlnds]

funhouse | choi su-bong (thanos)

・❥・ summary: you're just as crazy as he is which instantly catches his attention ・❥・word count: 1.1k ・❥・warnings: mentions of death, blood, sexual innuendos, thanos got his pills. ・❥・ authors note: there will definitely be a second part to this because him vibing with someone just as crazy is so fun!! thank u to anon for the request.

Money made the world go round and it was no different for you. Unfortunately, you managed to land yourself in a crap ton of debt so when some shady looking salesman approached you offering you a way to win some money, you took it. Was it the smartest thing you’d ever done? Nope but when times were hard, people got desperate. Desperation made people do ridiculous things. That’s how you’d found yourself in this weird place with hundreds of other people who apparently all had debts to pay off. Some of them over ten billion. At least your own was only around one. All you had to do was get that money and your life would be back on track. All you had to do was play some stupid games and that cash would be yours. How hard could it really be?

As you stood there ready to take your photo, one of the pink guards watching you carefully, you heard a commotion from the other side of the small wall. Peering around, you saw a bunch of people gathering around a guy with purple hair. ‘Losers’, you thought as you went back to happily take your picture. Of course you just had to give it the finger, raising both of your middle fingers as the camera flashed.

The guards led you into a big room filled with sand, your feet scuffing against the grainy substance. Curious eyes around as you noticed the weird doll, the colourful walls giving an eerie feeling. With hands on your hips, you listened as the rules were echoed out through the speakers. The boy with the purple hair stood next to you, his arms crossed across his chest as he listened, too. 

Then, the game began. Red Light, Green Light – one of the easiest games imaginable. As you were about to start running, player 456 began spewing something about people getting shot if they moved. “Pfft, he’s lost his mind already.”

“Tell me about it,” the deep voice next to you replied. You’d mostly been talking to yourself not expecting anyone to hear you. His dark eyes scanned your body, unabashedly checking you out. “Ay, Senorita, what’s a girl like you doing in a place like this?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” you grinned, turning back to face forward. Ignoring everything around you, the second the song started, you began to skip forward without a care in the world. Player 456 was still going on and on but his words weren’t even registering in your head as you once again began to skip forward, hands swinging by your side with a smile on your face.

The first shot sounded out and, admittedly, it made you almost jump back but you held still. So, that guy wasn’t just crazy. He was telling the truth. If you moved, you died. Oh, well. That just added more stakes to the game and what was life without a little bit of danger anyway? Again, it’s not like it was a hard game. All you had to do was make sure you stood still before the red light came on. Your eyes glanced to your left to see the purple haired guy who had been standing behind the girl who had unfortunately taken the first shot. Blood splattered across his face, his eyes wide almost as if in shock. Fair, you were sure if you had someone’s blood across your face you’d be a little shook up. At the next green light you skipped forward again, throwinging a little twirl in there. As you twirled around the red light sounded and you noticed purple hair had a cross in his hand. You couldn’t quite see what he had in it but as the green light flashed once again, he popped something into his mouth. Whatever, it was none of your business.

The game continued but it was starting to get a little boring. Everyone was listening to that Player 456 so mostly everyone was still in the game. Now, you definitely weren’t one for anyone getting hurt but… a little chaos was always needed. So, as the red light sounded out you end up learning forward, arms stretched out as you pushed the person in front of you forward. It was like a domino effect as they stumbled forward into another player each of them falling to the ground. A laugh from your side sounded out and as you decided to look, you noticed that purple hair had the same idea as you – he’d pushed people to the ground.

“Great minds think alike, huh?” He wiggled his brows cheekily.

“Sure do,” you smirked, skipping backwards to continue talking to him as the running started again. “You haven’t told me your name yet.”

“Thanos. Remember it because you’ll be screaming it later.”

“Ha! Good one.” You cackled, throwing your head back. It was polite to tell him your name too, right? You did even though you knew for damn sure Thanos wasn’t his real name but you could probably worm his real one of him somehow. He seemed like someone that could easily be persuaded by charm and a pretty face.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

Back in the main holding area, you sat on the stairs between the bunks, humming a song to yourself. Your foot tapped against the metal, palms stretched behind you leaning backwards. It was like you were right at home, not caring about the disaster going on around you. Maybe if you thought too much about it then you would be terrified but that wouldn’t help. The money was the only thing you needed right now and nothing could get in the way of that. Lost in your own thoughts, you heard someone sit down next to you thanks to their footsteps echoing off the cool metal.

“Senoritaaaaa,” he sang out, knocking his knee against yours. “I see you survived.”

“Mhm! Can’t get rid of me that easily now, Thanos,” you winked at him resting a hand on his shoulder as you leaned on him, fluttering your eyelashes. “I like you, you seem fun.”

“I can show you how much fun I can be,” his deep voice a seductive purr as he leaned into your ear. “Stick with me, baby. We’ll survive this shithole, get our cash then I can show you a good time.”

You tilted your head to the side, eyes looking at him in assessment. Yeah, there was no way you could trust this guy but he was handsome and having someone by your side protecting you in here seemed like a good idea so you clapped your hands together excitedly. “Okay! Deal.”

taglist: @angelofbooksworld @taivantaylor @sherlocke3d @djarindroid @justsisse @ldydeath @sassyyoyo @lillyysgirlblog @mysatnin

[astrow1zar6]

Venus in the houses Ovservation 8-12

Venus in the 8th house: these people are so magnetic it’s insane. They have a dark beauty to them that’s truly captivating. They remind me of Tim Burton characters. But being so magnetic causes a lot of people to become obsessed with them. They attract a lot of stalkers and creepy people. They tend to get sexualized constantly( people make such gross comments to them it’s shocking). I’ve seen these people get catcalled and lustful stares and comments about their body even if they aren’t wearing anything revealing. Even I’ve seen family members make inappropriate comments to these natives, things like “if you weren’t my daughter I’d….” You get the picture 🤮 (8th house ruling taboo attraction ) one of my close friends had to deal with that in her family. They may have been shamed for wearing revealing clothing of too much makeup because it’s seen as “overly sexy” or “hoochie”. People could’ve thought they were sluts even if they never had sex too it’s sad. They can get a lot of hate from people for no reason as well they may be used to people (mostly women) giving them dirty looks or ignoring them/purposely being mean to them. Their presence has such an intense affect on the people around them. Their relationships are also intense as well they attract a lot of people with a dangerous/edgy type vibe to them (junkies, drug dealers, people with a record ect). They have a provocative vibe to them so they can attract some very questionable partners at time. I’ve seen too that they are into gory kinda art or disturbing art pieces/ photography. They are also very proud of their bodies & usually embrace their sexuality. I’ve seen a lot get into nude modeling or just take a lot of pictures of their bodies. They’re more comfortable being nude than most (also this can be a big sugar baby placement as well like Venus in the 2nd).

Venus in 9th house: have such a unique glow to them. They have smiles that can light up a room and their laugh reminds me of wind chimes. I haven’t met a lot of people with this placement but the ones I met I notice they are so intelligent and well spoken. So many people are drawn to them just to hear what they have to talk about. It makes them amazing teachers/gurus. They just always seem like they know what they’re talking about so many describe them as being wise beyond their years (they usually have pretty high IQs as well, Marylin Monroe had this placement) They tend to find spouses while traveling or they can travel a lot with their partner. Their partner might’ve come from a very diverse cultural background or ethnicity. On the negative side these people can be very overly indulgent and sometimes believe that they are always right and their words are law. They can have a big god complex if negatively aspected.

Venus in the 10th house: give superstar vibes. These people put a lot of effort into their career and public image. Most big celebrities/ big politicians I notice have this placement. This can be a big trendsetter placement as well, you’ll notice that many people will admire you and try to copy you a lot! Whether it be you mannerisms, fashion, art style ect. For example Billie Eilish has this placement and everyone went crazy over her baggy clothes style. You have more of an opportunity to make your mark in the world more than the rest of the Venus signs. If afflicted however you can become too obsessed with recognition and status to the point where you abandon important things and people in your life to attain your goals, this can cause someone who has sorta tunnel vision when negatively aspected. It’s important to not get so wrapped up in others image of you so you don’t burn yourself out trying to please everyone (they can be extremely sensitive to criticism & be harsh on themselves to perform perfectly). You can also have a habit of putting your work/career before relationships. You may not settle down till later in life.

Venus in the 11th house: I notice similar to Venus in Aqua that they are really big on friends before lovers typa thing. They don’t really jump into relationships fast without becoming their friend first.( which can be a little annoying to more fast paced types) at first you can make your partner feel friend zoned but the ones who are patient enough to let you open up usually win your heart. They usually put a big emphasis on friends in general and could have a lot of them. If you date someone with this placement it may feel like you’re dating their friends too😭 they’re a very big part of their life. People with this placement usually have many support systems which can help them through life and show them to new opportunities(especially business opportunities). On the flip side I’ve seen these people become too detached with their relationships and treat them like friends rather than lovers which can cause their partner to feel neglected. They tend to find lovey dovey expressions a little awkward (if immature) which can cause them to become aloof when things get a little too close, they may start playing hot and cold. Might need a longer time to mature romantically than most. I’ve seen a lot of influencer and people with popular social media blogs have this placement. They’re very tech savvy & usually own the latest technology.

Venus in 12th house: these people I feel mostly live in their fantasy worlds in terms of love and romance. They are hopeless romantics at heart and have this beautiful vision of how they want their love to look and feel like. However it’s usually difficult for them to find this perfect love in such an imperfect world so they usually end up romanticizing the most mentally ill mfs into like a Prince Charming image lmao. This is why they usually attract a lot of unstable/ emotionally unavailable partners. I’ve seen these people remain celibate for long periods of time as well until they find that perfect love. Most of the time though unfortunately love feels a lot better in their imagination. I’ve read somewhere before that they go through such an ordeal in love because in a past life they chose lovers over loving themselves so a big lesson in this lifetime is to love yourself before you let anyone in. I also read they could’ve lost their soulmate in another life which caused this extreme longing for love in this life. These people usually find self love through spiritual practices such as religion, meditation, crystal work, tarot ect.

[the-massive-simp]

Question! Of! The! Day! 🍑🍓

Which Genshin Men have the biggest dicks 👀

Ohhhh~ I like the way you think 👀 I left out hybrid/dragon/non human characters because it would have been unfair🤭 (and too obvius)

♡ Childe

He might be rather skinny and lean, but it doesn't match his dick at all. And I'd bet on the fact he wears those grey trousers just to make you stare at his dickprint all the time. And just like he gets you everything you look at in shops, he also gives it to you every time he catches you staring. Get ready to be sore. Big dick + the highest sex drive on this list is a dangerous combo.

♡ Diluc

The headcanon that he's beefy (leaning toward dad bod in the years to come😋) lives rent free in my head so of course his dick is going to be as thick as him. And it comes paired with the nicest breeder balls, so heavy and aching to fill you with his seed <3 It doesn't really matter to him if you can have his kids or not, he is going to stuff you full of his dick and cum. And his cock is just so big that it can reach so far inside of you, making sure none of his seed goes wasted, pumping it deep inside.

♡ Wriothesley

Biggest dick in this post. I know it. You know it. Everyone knows it. He knows it, and always makes sure to tease you when you start whining about how he's "Too big" and "Won't fit". He'll make it fit<3 Could spend literal hours fingering you or eating you out, but usually he tries to get you nice and ready as quickly as possible because he can't wait to feel you around his cock. It's physically impossible to look at this man and don't associate him with one of the thickest dicks ever. Every single inch of his body gives off that vibe.

[buckyalpine]

i feel like bucky definitely gives off like horny teenage vibes but times that by ten. like maybe y/n and bucky finally get together after the whole “will they won’t situation” and the minute bucky sleeps with y/n i feel like since he’s been so touched starved for like 70+ years that he’s like the most insatiable, kinkiest man y/n has ever been with , he’s touchy, he’s needy (in the best way possible) and all of the avengers are like “i’m glad you’re happy bro but put your dick away and get your hands out of your pants” and then he’s like “no”

18+ All the incoming smut. I need a cold shower wtf, this is so hot, is this even allowed? The answer is YES. yes it is. Bucky gives 10000% horny teenage energy and with that serum in his veins?

The will they won't they situation drives Bucky insane because it's gone on for long enough. He's been pining after you, too shy to actually spit it out, taking what he can get in those feeling moments you share. Lingering touches during training. Longing stares across the room. Late night talks where you're both too close to be just friends but you're not quite anything more either.

Bucky airs on the side of caution when it comes to you until he sees another man trying to get your attention from where he's seated at the bar. He's spent enough nights alone with his hand between his legs, tugging and pawing at his cock for some type of relief, surges of jealousy absolutely crush those feelings of shyness he had. By the end of the night, he has you naked in bed and he's ready to take you apart every which way but you're just too fucking pretty and he realizes he needs to be touched more than ever.

Bucky is the neediest baby on the planet, he's greedy, trying to touch every bit of you all at once. He doesn't have time to feel shame, to try and act like this is something he does on the regular. Honestly, he doesn't care that he's practically humping you like a little puppy, his hips rocking against your bare cunt, cock perfectly slotted between your folds.

"It's so fuckin' hard, angel" He moans against your neck, one hand squeezing your waist, the other reaching up you to tug your nipples. "My cock is so fuckin' hard cause of you"

He hasn't felt anything this soft in years and he's putty in your hands. He feels so sensitive all over, letting you push him onto his back so you can kneel between his thighs, your mouth so dangerously close to where he needed you so bad.

"Wait-wai-oh God, fuckkk meee" Bucky's head is thrown back with the deepest groan when you take his flushed tip into your mouth, dribbles of precum wetting your already silky tongue. He nearly shoots when you pull off with a pop and dip down to play with his sac, your warm mouth so much different from his hand.

"Oh my god my balls are so fuckin' heavy, yeah just like that baby, never had em' sucked before, fuck I- m'cumming!" His back arches and he has to careful not to clamp his legs shut as he starts to cum without warning. His hips thrust up against the air and his hands rush down to hold onto your head as he practically rubs his balls against you.

"Let's empty your cock, baby" You coo when his orgasm starts to slow, your hand coming up to wrap around his now semi hard cock. Your slow strokes cause spurts to dribble out and he starts to get harder against your palm.

"Shit, m'getting hard again baby, put it in your pussy, c'mon please angel, wanna feel it, it's been so long" Bucky's always considered himself a dominant man but that was until it came to you. He was definitely going to redeem himself but not tonight. Tonight he was just a needy slut for you and he was going to own every bit of it.

He spreads apart his thighs more for you to see how big and hard he is, not like you didn't know. He's pouting with those flushed cheeks, pupils blown, pawing at your body to get on top.

"Can I suck your boobs, wanna suck em' so bad, fuck-c'mere, put your nipples in my mouth angel, feed me those perfect breasts with my cock in you"

"Ready Jamie?-

"Yeah, yeah please, m'ready I promise, I'll be good, my balls are full again, feel them, please, wanna empty my cock" You hush his needy whines, reaching behind and cupping his sack with a smirk on your face.

"S'full again baby?"

"So full" He nods, his jaw falling slack when you start to sink down on him, chest heaving, how the fuck was he already ready to blow, there was no way-

"FUCKKKK" He cried out, shoving his hips up so he was stuffed all the way, pulling you down and rolling over, giving you sloppy thrusts while cum spilled from his sensitive head.

"Don't even think I came this fast the first time I touched myself" Bucky mumbles against your neck, practically purring while basking in the best post orgasm haze he's ever felt. He loves the smell of raw sex filling the room, your combined arousal the best thing on the planet. He's not ashamed from cumming multiple times, hardly lasting, making such a sticky mess on the bed.

He's too busy getting in all his needy cuddles while you baby him like he deserves, kissing his forehead and rubbing his back, cooing at the way he hugs you extra tight.

But it doesn't stop there.

Bucky is insatiable and after finally getting a taste, he's not going to stop now.

"For fucks sake Barnes" Sam shakes his head seeing Bucky make out with you while your perched on the kitchen island, the sight sort of wholesome except he can see the way the soldier is slotted between your thighs. Your legs wrap around him and Bucky's hips are rutting against your core, shamelessly trying to hump you, barely muffled groans slipping past his lips. If rubbing his dick on you was all he could get, then he'd fuckin' take it without a question.

It wouldn't be the first time.

You'd been caught more than once in the middle of missions. Bucky knew he was down bad when he was injured once and forced to just keep surveillance over a mission you were leading. He was watching everything on a large screen, lasting all of 5 minutes watching you in combat unless he couldn't handle the ache between his legs anymore. At first he hid what he was doing pretty well.

Then you sliced someone's neck and-

"Oh fuck me!"

"You better be shot, stabbed or missing an eyeball" Sam hissed through the coms while Tony's cackled crackled through, everyone's frequency synced to keep in contact.

"Sounds like he's the one whose about to shoot-

"FUCK BOTH OF YOU"

"MMPH" Bucky didn't bother responding, continuing to jerk his cock off while watching his gorgeous girlfriend.

"I know you're happy with y/n, and I'm happy for you both, trust me, but for the love of God can you please get your hand out of your pants?!"

The muffled groan that follows has Sam contemplating letting his wings fall off mid flight. Steve nearly gets stabbed with how distracted he is.

-

"Does Barnes every put his dick away?" Clint snorts hearing the muffled sounds of the bed hitting the wall from Bucky's room and seeing as you're nowhere to be found, it's clear what's happening.

"No. No he does not"

[lith-myathar]

.