#that the same hands that are used to destroy

[onceuponaoneshotfanfic]

I'll Be There, and I'll Cover You

Roy Kent x Reader

0.5k words

Warnings: Language, mentions of Roy's grandfather

“What’s this then?” Roy turned to you with a furrowed brow, gesturing towards the package on the coffee table.

You shrugged nonchalantly, barely taking your eyes off the telly. “Package for you,” you answered plainly.

Comical confusion remained on Roy’s face. “I didn’t order shit,” he huffed, finally picking up the brown box, staring at it like there was a bomb in it. He squinted at the label. “Fuck’s this return address?”

“Opening it will probably answer some of your questions,” you hummed, sipping the beer you’d opened just before Roy got home. “Just a thought.”

After shooting you a dirty look, Roy plopped down on the couch next to you, still gingerly holding the mystery box. “Has anyone ever told you it’s cute when you’re a smartass? Because it’s not that fucking cute.”

All you could do was smirk at the man you loved. “Just open the damn box, Roy.”

Despite the way he narrowed his eyes at you, Roy did as he was told. It was comical, the way he tore the box open, not at all careful the way you typically were. Honestly, the box would probably be more intact if the man had used his teeth to rip it open. His rampage paused when he glimpsed the object inside the box. He reached in and pulled it out, letting the destroyed cardboard fall to the floor.

“Blankie.”

Roy gazed down at the beige material, shaking his head as he turned it over and over in his hands. He swallowed hard, blinking rapidly. After what felt like an eternity, he finally turned to look at you, a deep frown on that handsome face.

“How the fuck-?”

“I called your mum,” you explained quickly. “She sent me every photo she could find of Blankie. I went onto this online chatroom for people who track down things like stuffed animals or childhood toys. They sent me to this eBay listing of the same blanket and…” You trailed off, trying to read that stoic expression you usually loved so much. “And if it was the wrong thing to do, please, please tell me, because it was supposed to be a nice gesture, and if it upset you at all-”

“I love it.”

You blinked at the still somber expression on his face. “You-”

He nodded, his grip on the blanket tightening. “I fucking love it," he rasped. Blanket still in hand, he leaned over to wrap his arms around you, tugging you close enough that you could feel his heartbeat against your chest. “I fucking love you.” He kissed your cheek tenderly before pulling back, allowing you to see the tears that had formed in those brown eyes. “This-” He squeezed the blanket. “-might be the most fucking amazing thing anyone has ever done for me, babe.” He shook his head with a soft chuckle. “What the fuck inspired you to do this?”

“When you told me about what happened to Blankie,” you said slowly, “you said it was the hardest thing you’d ever done.” You reached out and touched his leg gently. “Roy, you do so much for everyone. For me, for Pheebs, for your sister. Everything you do for the team. And you do it all without expecting anything in return. I just thought… you deserve this.”

The sight of Roy’s wide smile made the hours you’d spent scouring online for this exact blanket worth it. “Thank you,” he murmured, hugging the blanket close, looking like the child that had been dropped off at Sunderland all those years ago. “Thank you so fucking much, babe.”

[corruptedcaps]

Turn Coat: Part One

This is for @misseviehyde as a part of story swap. Hope she and everyone else like it!

-

Tina stepped through the front door of her parent's opulent mansion, her best friend, Mallory, close behind. The sight of the house alone made Tina’s shoulders slump and shiver. She missed her old modest house, when it was just her and her dad. Before Vivian, her now bitchy step mom, entered her life.

She thanked god she had someone like Mallory in her life, someone who was ever the the optimist, who insisted on accompanying her as moral support to her parents house. Mallory was more of a mother to Tina than Vivian ever was.

“You’re stronger than she is, Tina.” Mallory said softly, placing a comforting hand on her friend’s shoulder. “She’s just… bitter. Don’t let her get to you. We just get in, get some of your things and then we're out and back at our dorm room in no time.”

Tina managed a weak smile. “Thanks, Mallory. I don’t know what I’d do without you.” She said hugging her.

Before Mallory could respond, a sharp, icy voice cut through the air. “Oh, how touching. The little loser and her equally pathetic friend.”

Tina’s stepmother, Vivian, stood at the top of the grand staircase, her perfectly manicured nails resting on the railing. She was dressed, as always, in a lush fur coat. Beneath it she wore a sleek, black body suit that hugged her figure, her raven black hair cascading over her shoulders like a waterfall of silk. Her lips, painted a pale red, curled into a sneer as she descended the stairs.

“Why are you always so mean to Tina, she's your daughter!” Mallory said standing up for her best friend.

Vivian’s eyes gleamed with malice as she reached the bottom of the stairs. In her arms, she carried a fur coat. It was almost identical to the one she wore, only not as long. The air around it seemed to hum with a dark energy, and Tina felt an inexplicable pull toward it, as if it were calling to her.

“Her? My daughter? I don't think so. Not yet anyway.” Vivian purred, her voice dripping with false sweetness. “I've tried to break her down so I could rebuild her in my image but you were always there to pick up the pieces of her fragile mind and cobble her back together again like the annoying gnat that you are."

"Come on Tina, we don't have to take this." Mallory said grabbing Tina's hand. Mallory started to walk away but Tina wouldn't budge, her eyes locked on the fur coat.

"Oh I'm afraid Tina is much to busy fantasizing about putting on this coat aren't you dear?" Vivian said with a smirk that sent a shiver down Mallory's spine. "She's imaging how hawt and mean she would be with it on, how much everyone would fear and love her."

"What the hell are you talking about you maniac?" Mallory said as she tried to unroot Tina from her spot.

"Right now Tina is feeling the same pull that I felt years ago when I got my magical fur coat." Vivian said almost wistful. "Oh it was wonderful. It stripped away the loser I was, the bookish librarian I used to be and remade me as this perfect goddess. Once Tina puts this on, one I specially made for her, she'll finally be the daughter I deserve. Go ahead my dear, take it."

Tina’s eyes drank in the coat with desire. It was true, she was imagining herself walking around the college campus with an entourage of vapid bitches who hung on her every word. She would snap her perfectly manicured fingers and they would do whatever she asked.

At night she would bed only the most attractive men, assuming their bank account was equally as impressive. It was an intoxicating fantasy and one that was hard to deny. And yet in the background of her imagination was Mallory, shouting at her, urging her to destroy the coat. Her eyes widened, and she took a step back. “I… I don’t want it.”

“Oh, don’t be ridiculous. Of course you want it.” Vivian snapped, her tone hardening. “You’ve always been weak, Tina. Pathetic. But this? This will fix you. It will make you better.”

Mallory stepped forward, her eyes blazing with defiance. “Leave her alone! She doesn’t need your twisted idea of ‘better.’ She’s perfect just the way she is.”

Vivian’s lips twisted into a cruel smile. “Perfect? Look at her. She’s a mess. A nobody. But with this coat, she’ll finally be worthy of the life I’ve given her. Beautiful. Powerful. Untouchable. Put it on.”

“Tina, don’t.” Mallory pleaded, squeezing her friend’s hand. “Fight it. You’re stronger than this.”

For a moment, Tina hesitated. She could feel the coat’s pull, but Mallory’s voice grounded her. She shook her head, taking a deep breath. “No. I won’t do it. I won't become like you!”

Vivian’s smile vanished, replaced by a look of pure fury. “Fine. If you won’t do it willingly, I’ll do it for you.”

Before Tina could react, Vivian lunged forward, pushing Mallory to the floor and shoving the coat onto Tina. Tina gasped as the fur wrapped around her, clinging to her body like a second skin. A wave of warmth spread through her, followed by an intense, almost overwhelming pleasure. She moaned, her knees growing weak as the changes began.

Tina’s body began to shift, her modest curves swelling as her breasts grew larger and fuller. She clutched at her chest, her eyes wide with shock. “Oh, what’s happening to me?” She groaned, her voice trembling. “This… this feels so… mmmm good.”

The warmth intensified, spreading through Tina’s limbs like liquid fire. Her lips plumped, turning a seductive pink, and her hair lengthened, transforming into sleek, platinum locks that cascaded down her back. She ran her fingers through her new hair, her initial fear giving way to curiosity. “Mmm, yesss perfect bratty blonde hair.” She purred, a small smile playing on her lips. “I could get used to this!”

"It's only the beginning my dear." Vivian smirked in satisfaction.

Mallory’s voice trembled as she stepped closer, her hands outstretched as if to try and pull the coat off Tina. “Tina, no! Take it off! This isn’t you!”

But Tina barely heard her. Her waist cinched in, her hips flaring out, and her skin took on a soft, sun-kissed glow. She turned to the nearest mirror, her breath catching as she saw her reflection. The girl staring back at her was unrecognizable. Stunning, yes, but with a cold, calculating edge to her beauty.

“Oh fuck yes!” Tina whispered, her voice tinged with bratty confidence. “I'm gorgeous.” She ran her hands over her new body, her initial hesitation melting away. “Don’t stop! Make me more of a bitch! This is what I’ve always wanted. This is what I've always deserved!”

Mallory turned to Vivian, her voice rising in desperation. “You’re turning her into a monster! Stop this!”

Vivian’s laugh was sharp and dismissive. “A monster? No, dear. I’m turning her into a queen. Just like me. She’ll see. She’ll understand.”

As Tina admired herself, a deeper change began to take hold of her mind. The shy awkwardness that had once defined her started to fade, replaced by a growing sense of superiority. She felt her baggy shirt and old denim jeans morph into a figure hugging crop top with a sleek black leather pair of pants.

Tina's nails grew long, painted a glossy pink, and her eyes sparkled bright blue, taking on a predatory glint. She felt a surge of power coursing through her veins, intoxicating and irresistible. The last remnants of Tina’s goodness vanished, replaced by a cold, calculating narcissism.

"Mmmmm now that's more like it. What a fucking loser I used to be." Tina said with a look of disgust remembering her former self. This look then naturally transferred in the direction of Mallory as Tina's once-warm eyes became cold and dismissive.

“Ugh why are you still here?” Tina asked, her tone sharp.

Mallory’s eyes filled with tears. “Tina, please! This isn’t you! Fight it!”

But Tina only laughed, a cruel, mocking sound. “Fight it? Why would I fight this? I’m finally who I was meant to be. Beautiful. Powerful. Untouchable.”

Vivian clapped her hands together, her smile triumphant. “Oh, darling, you’re perfect. Just like me.”

Tina turned to her stepmother, her smirk widening. “You’re right, Mommy. I am better now. I’m Valentina. And you?” She glanced at Mallory, her sneer deepening. “You’re nothing.”

“Get out bitch.” Valentina snapped, her tone final. “Before I make you.”

Mallory stumbled back, her heart breaking as she realized her best friend was gone. She turned and fled, tears streaming down her face.

Vivian wrapped an arm around Valentina’s shoulders, her smile triumphant. “Now you’re truly my daughter. You’re going to love the new you.”

Valentina laughed, a cold, cruel sound that echoed through the mansion. She didn’t need Mallory. She didn’t need anyone but her mother and her coat. She was perfect now. And nothing, and no one, would ever stand in her way again.

To be continued...

[princessmaeee]

All for Us Part VI _ Final Part Part I Part II Part III Part IV Part V

Hello Sweeties ! So as I saw in the votes, you asked for this L A S T par of this story, so there it is ! It's not that long cause I didn't had much to say. I just wanted to do a beautiful and simple end cause I think both deserve it. It wasn't a long Story, but it was long compare to everything I wrote in the last years and I'm proud of myself ! I realised later than the title is kinda bad cause I just made a bad translation from the french but the good title should be '' Everything for Us '' but I will let it like it is cause, Why not. My first Fanfiction in years, my first fanfiction I finishied since my highschool years ( 11 years at least ) and my first published Smut in Years too. Overall I'm proud of myself and I wish I will do more other stories and I hope to be able to finish them all. Thanks to everyone who followed and Love this story. I hope to see you again for other ones !

Tags : @private-vampire - @rafesbunniebby - @ultracoolnobody @chxrrybomb22

You didn't remember what happened after you voted to go home. It was the majority of you. You remembered Thanos voting X too, but after the light off, everything was fuggy. When you opened your eyes, you were on the dirty ground where you were picked when you joined the game. You had a blindfold, well you guessed it was it, who had felt it on your neck. Your feets and wrists were tied up and you could feel the cold breeze of the night. Those bastards let you in underwear in the middle of a street. Luckily for you, You noticed your clothes close to you and after a moment, trying to untie your wrist, you quickly do the same for your legs before putting on your clothes. 

Your phone was in the pocket of your sweater and of course, it ran out of energy. Your apartment keys were still in your jean’s pocket. 

You felt tired and durty. A good bath and 24h hours of sleep is going to be well deserved, but first, you need to check on something.

You go to the nearest convenient store and put your card in the ATM to take a look at your account. Your heart was racing in your chest. What if it was just a dream ? What if they lied ? 

Even if you didn't felt right to be happy, you couldn't stop smiling when you noticed the big amount of money you had in your account. Tears of joy appeared in your eyes, slowly cascading on your cheeks. Finally, The suffering and anxiety will be over. A hand on your stomach, you smiled at it.

«-I promise, You gonna have a beautiful Life…»

Once you got home, as you expected, the door locks were smashed. The guys who were chasing you for money probably entered the apartment while you weren't there.

Stressed, you opened the door and you felt sad to notice how everything was destroyed. This didn't look nice anymore, but you still have to stay there, at least until you could join Thanos or even that guy who messed up your apartment to give him the money. 

Plugging your phone to the charger, you start to clean around as much as you can. 

After a moment, when your house was clean enough for the energy you had, you go back to your phone and noticed a lot of unread messages from the guy who landed you money. Unsure, you text him back a simple ; I have your money. Let meet up Tomorrow.

You also get a Message, well, many, from Thanos. He seemed anxious about you and the baby.

“-Had you made it home yet ? ��� -23h07 “-You can come to my place if you want “ 23h12 “-Or I can come over “ -23h13 “-Princess Are you all right ?” -23h20 “-I Got the money from the game. I can send you some if you want. “ -23h22 “-I know your debts are all my fault anyway…”-23h22 “-Seniorita Please answer me. Are you alright ? Is the baby’s fine ??!! ”-23h25 “-If I don't get an answer I'm going to show up at your place ! “-23h33 “-Okey I'm coming !! ” -23h45

You looked at the time : 23h55.  You smiled and answered him 

“-I'm fine, my phone Ran out of power. No need to come over. Go at your place and rest “ - 23h56 “-I want to rest with You. Gonna bring snack. What do you want ? Ice Cream and Pinault butter ?”-23h58 “-Im Fine!! And of course Not, I don't have  any weird pregnancy cravings. “-00h00 “-Not Yet ;) Anyway, still on my way…with snacks”-00h08

Your smile never left your face. Thanos was always really caring with you but somehow you feel like it was different this time, like he really made an effort and it made you happy.

When he arrived, he opened the door as you were still cleaning up the apartment. He looked around, visibly confused by all the mess around.

«-What happened here ? »

You explained to him the problems you got cause of your debts who’s also his or cause of him. Thanos felt bad you had to go traught all this cause of his addiction and helped you to clean as much as possible. Once everything was less messy, you both enjoyed some Snacks he bring and that’s when you realised how hungry you were. He bought you some of your favorite Ramen, chips and little cake. 

He also gave you an envelope with money. It was the exact amount you need to give to the guy you will meet tomorrow. He apologized and insisted you keep it. You felt touched by this and accepted his money.

«-I really want you to keep the money you get from the game for our child. And for Yourself, of course.  -What about your own debts ? -I will figure it out. And I still have some left so don’t worry about me. I want to go back to music and earn money of my own. I want to make you and our child proud. And for something else… -Something else ? Like what ? A home ? It's pretty expensive. -Well, not for a home, but it could be a plan for later. The other thing dépend more on your decision. -which is ? »

You both were sitting on your bed and Thanos got up  to kneel in front of you, gently taking your hand in his. You looked at him, breathtaking. Your heart stops beating for a second before it starts to beat faster. You could feel your eyes feeling with water.

«- Y/N would you accept to be my wife ? »

You were too shocked to answer. Tears flowing from your eyes as you just quickly nod  your head. It wasn't the romantic scene you always dream of, but coming from Su Bong it was the most romantic thing he ever did. Even if you were both exhausted, still in debts and even if you didn’t have a Ring for you, yet, this moment felt the happiest of your life. You throw yourself in his arms, still crying as you repeat ‘’ Yes ! ‘’ Again and again. Su Bong smiled and held you close, gently caressing your hair.

«-My dear and Beautifull Wife, He said before kissing you. »

This relationship with him was a total rollercoaster of emotion, but your love for each other was just too strong to let you away from each other. Faith does good things, sometimes.

The next day goes well, you got rid of your debts, Thanos started to go to therapy to avoid touching drugs again, so did you.

You moved In together, he worked on new music, new songs, starting to slowly go back on stage while you went back to school. You dropped one year ago but you chose an option you really like. It wasn’t easy with the pregnancy and Had to do a lot of school classes and take more time.

Life with your Now, fiancé wasn’t alway easy. When he felt the side effect of always being sober you fighted a lot, but at the end He apologies and you were understanding considering all the efforts he did for you, the baby and your relationship. Sometime, you fucked to avoid fighting or when Su bon needed a big high. He said you were his new addiction and even dedicated you to a song where He talks about how much He loves you and how you changed his life.

Eventually, you gave birth to a beautiful Daughter. Su bon said once he really would like to have a boy, but when He hold his little baby daughter in his arms for the first time, he almost cried and didn't let go of her. He quickly became over protective with her. He also wrote a song about her and it became a great hit. That’s how He were able to afford your engagement ring.

Your life goes back on track and you feel happy despite what you had been taught with the game. You and Su Bong got a matching tattoo with the number you were during the game as a sort of memorial for the ones who died in there but also as a reminder to yourself to be careful with your money and every decision you will take, cause you never want to live an experience like that ever again.

[valentinebugzee]

Fanfic: Sonic BOOM! Stone Au chapter. 1

Sticks and stone

(No warnings needed!! A baby can read this)

 "Is it just me or have Meh Burger toys been very random lately?"

Sonic complained as he pulled out a pair of knitting needles from the Meh Burger paper bag, he walked alongside his team through the village's streets.

They'd just come back from Meh Burger before any of them had finished their lunch, an annoying kid's birthday party two tables over spoiled their whole meal, two of the kids were fighting over a bowl of ice cream, fruitlessly, because it ended up flying in the air and ending up in Sonic and his team's food.

Of course, Dave didn't clean up or replace their food.

Tails caught up to Sonic. "More importantly, that's a very dangerous choking hazard," he points a claw at the "toy".

"Why did you order the kid's meal anyway?" Amy asked.

"I didn't. They got my order wrong, again, and I didn't feel like fighting Dave the intern...again." Sonic exhaled and looked around as if to figure out where he should put his newly acquired knitting needles, his eyes landed on Knuckles.

"Hey, Knucks, want these?" he extends his hand to the echidna.

"No, thanks, I don't like Asian food that much." he held up his hand in protest.

"Knuckles these are for yarn."

"I don't like eating yarn either."

"I think we should all start eating healthy food and start cutting off junk food, if you could even call Meh Burger food." the pink hedgehog muttered the last sentence, "I think some homemade meals and vegetables are in order if we want to maintain our health."

"yeah sure, but you're the only one of us that knows how to cook, and I don't have a stove." Sticks half-shrugged.

"Let me guess because the flames are actually chemicals that release pheromones that aliens can track from their home planet?" Tails asks the badger, unamused.

Sticks threw her hands up. "No! That's crazy! It's because the stove's gas would blow my cover and the underground serpents can sense it and find me!" the girl argued with her much more reasonable theory.

Sonic rolls his eyes, "Besides, who has the time to cook every single meal every day?"

Amy hums. "Yeah, I wish there was at least somewhere we could eat proper food at, for brunch or breakfast," she brought her hands together and sighed dreamily. "Somewhere classy! with a homey feeling and decor."

"Too bad Meh Burger is the only restaurant in this village," Knuckles scratches his head, "why is that anyway?"

"Well, our village isn't exactly the most...uh..." the fox trails off, trying to find the right word.

"Welcoming? Pleasant? Well known? Safe?" Sticks laid out those words, they're all accurate.

"Yeah, all of those."

"I don't think they got the memo." Sonic stops in his tracks and points at a building right between the hardware store and the laundromat, it was modern with a "classy" look as Amy wished a moment ago, right above its glass doors was a sign with a coffee bean drawing on it and the words "The Mean Bean"

They all looked intrigued at the new building, they stood there and stared, briefly blocking the road and annoying the passerbys, seriously guys move..

"Woah, that place looks nice! looks like that restaurant Amy ran for one day before it got destroyed by Eggman's robots."  Knuckles said in awe at the place.

However, the badger's ears went back and her snout scrunched up, her eyes narrowed in suspicion.

"I have a bad feeling about this place I'm telling ya!" 

"You said the same thing yesterday about a bathroom." Sonic sassed. 

"This is different! How could a shop just appear out of thin air like that!?"

"I was wondering the same thing, actually; I don't think a coffee shop that intricate could be built overnight." Tails added, putting a finger on his chin.

"Maybe the show creators don't have the budget for a construction montage." Amy thought out loud.

"I thought this was a fanfiction." knuckles chimed in.

Sticks groaned and growled, "I'm telling ya guys, it's a trap, and the government is behind it!" she waved her arms around manically, not helping her case at all.

"yeah how about we go inspect this "trap" and their coffee? Y'know to make sure nothing illegal is going on." Sonic suggested calmly, completely dismissing Sticks's concerns.

That would sound mean but this is another "the boy that cried "wolf"" situation, if they listen to every single insane accusation Sticks made up they'd all end up living in the stone age, then who would be the tech wizz? who would dox jerks on the internet?

You can decide who the last sentence applies to.

"I thought you didn't like coffee." The inventor tilted his head at his older brother.

He pats his younger brother's head. "Yeah, but I'm down to try anything new, besides, I'm sick of Meh Burger's radioactive soda."

"I don't think our legal team can handle more Meh Burger slander." worried Amy to herself.

After much banter, the team finally approached the shining glass doors of The Mean Bean coffee shop.

With Sticks being dragged by Knuckles.

Standing there wiping at the counter with a damp cloth was a man, ...a human, he had brown skin, probably middle aged, he had a name tag on his apron that said "Stone", he greeted them with a warm smile and a wave, he put the cloth away and stood straight behind the counter, waiting for the team to walk up to him and order.

The red hero leaned over to whisper in Sonic's ear "Dude, that guy's a human.", "yeah? so?" "I thought Eggman was the only human around."

Sonic scratched the back of his head "Well, not anymore, he looks very different from Eggman."

Amy leans over to whisper to Sonic as well "Not all humans look the same, Sonic."

"I know that but I mean he just looks so.. normal... nothing like eggman, he looks like just a guy."

"Just a guy? really Sonic, this again?"

"What? No! ugh nevermind, sorry Amy." He quickly shut himself up, not wanting any more lectures or classes about being sensitive.

"He kinda has a point though." Tails agreed, "But it is nice to meet a new human that doesn't plan on destroying us."

"That's what he wants you to think." Sticks growled, making direct eye contact with the barista.

The barista who can very clearly tell they were talking smack about him, his eyes kept going back and forth between them, the wall, the counter, and the very enraged boomerang wielding hero.

Kind of resembling a dog when someone is trying to record it.

Finally, the banter came to halt when Amy noticed how rude they were being, first impressions are very important after all.

"Hello! welcome to The Mean Bean coffee cafe, how may I help you?" Said the barista.

"Well firstly I'd like to point out out how beautiful your cafe is, Mr. Stone." Amy chirped, "um this is your cafe right?"

Stone nodded and his eyes crinkled "Yes it is, that's nice of you to say..Ms. Amy rose isn't it?"

Her eyebrow raised, "Yeah, you know me?"

"But of course, you're Hedgehog village's most beloved heroes."

"it's only heroes." Sonic smirked.

"You're sonic I'm assuming?"

The blue one puffed out his chest with pride, "The one and only."

"And you're Knuckles," he points at the echidna, "Tails," he points to the two-tailed fox,

"And.. Sticks." he hesitated a little to point at the brown and cocoa colored badger, in all honesty he was worried she'd she'd bite his finger right off, her scowl showed off her canines that would make that action easy.

Of course he knew who these people were, he knew everything he needed to about this village.

Everything.

"Of course you know all of our names.." Sticks grumbled, "And I bet that that's not all you know."

Stone's expression faltered for a moment, but quickly shook off the girl's comment.

"Say, I've heard of this "Eggman" fellow a lot, but I haven't seen him once.."

Sticks gripped her arm at the comment, why does he wanna see Eggman?!

"Not that I want to see him or anything.. just to be cautious." Stone stammered when he saw Sticks's death grip.

He needs to be more careful.

"Oh, Egghead? Yeah don't worry about it, knowing him he's probably planning an attack right now." Sonic grabbed a menu and started looking through it, "Geez, I didn't know there were that many kinds of coffee."

"Yeah...hey why does this bean shop smell like coffee?" puzzled knuckles.

".. because this is a coffee shop." replied Stone in disbelief at how ridiculous that question was.

Maybe his job here wasn't going to be that hard.

Not the barista job at least.

Tails gasped "woah these look so good." he said putting his hands on the clean glass.

That irked Stone a little, but no worries, the fox too cute to be mad at.

The other two joined Sonic in reading the menu, Sticks remained in her place, still glaring.

"So... would you like to order anything?" 

"Hmm.. what's in this stuff you call coffee, "Stone"" She does air quotations while saying the humans name.

"Well, Ms."Sticks"," The barista mimicked her air quotations with humor, "Each coffee is made differently, but to answer your question: Milk, coffee, water and sometimes sugar."

Sticks rubbed her chin, her glare didn't waver a one bit.

Everything was still for a moment, the badger kept glaring and the human accepted the challenge.

They remained like that for a moment because she stomped her foot and pointed an accusing claw at the man.

"I know what you are!" Sticks shrieked, freaking out her friend and Stone, and some of the other customers.

"Sticks!" Amy scolded, "Leave him alone, I know you're paranoid but this is no excuse to accuse an innocent man of...what are you even accusing him of!?"

"He's a government agent! look at him!" 

Stone stood there like a deer in the headlights, he mustered up the most innocent expression he could.

"He's planning on taking control over the village! mark my words, this man is a government agent and he's here to control our minds!" the badger waved her arms around emphasizing her point.

All of her friends just stared.

unamused.

uncaring.

Then went back to what they were doing before Sticks's outburst.

Next up was a loud scream, and Sticks ran out the the restaurant as furious as ever.

 

She ran and ran, until her stamina ran out and she reached the forest.

"What now?..." she exhaled and sat and a nearby rock with her head in her hands. "I can't let that guy hurt my friends..."

She thought to herself, she couldn't let that guy roam around and putting other's lives in danger.

But at the same time she couldn't investigate him all on her own, if the agent's patience ran out he might kidnap her and make her work in a secret underground trees-that-are-actually-spy-cameras factory! 

Then their would be no one to keep an eye on the village, and her friends are all probably already mind controlled by the microchips in "Stone"'s food and coffee.

She'll need a sidekick.

Just at that moment a black and red bird flew into a nest on branch, the bird shimmied until it settled it's bed.

"I know just the guy.."

_____________________

I hope u guys enjoyed this! writing isn't really my strong point so I appreciate constructive criticism, also Stone's characterisation is gonna be tough... sorry this was about sticks more than stone LOL the next one will be stone centric (with stobotnik obviously)

[didthisformemes]

New chapter spoilers!

We finally found out what happened with Shima. I was right and he did get so scared he passed out and Yamantaka took control lol. He still needs to train more tho cause he fainted in the air and landed on Bon.

The water king also now has joined their side. I'm wondering what they want to ask Lucifer but I'm pretty sure it's if Lucifer was using them.

We also get to see the twins again and find out Shemi's mother died. Amaimon then takes off cause he doesn't see Shemi on the same level as her mother. I'm pretty sure we'll see him again. I just wonder if it'll be by his choice or someone dragging him back.

After that the ground gets destroyed because of the torch so they get on a tree Shemi made but Satan fights back. Something hits Rin as he reaches for Shemi and she let's go of his hand because Something is ripping on Rin

Shes not going to die yet at least but I'm thinking she'll land somewhere where she has to fight more on her own.

[inkedbydave]

A sneak peak from the KitTy fanfic I'm working on, enjoy babes!

English is not my first language and I've never wrote anything similar before (I'm more used to poems and essays) so constructive criticism is more than welcome!

***

Kit stood by the window, his gaze aimed at nothing in particular. The room felt far too small, as if the walls were inching closer with every passing second. Ty’s presence was something he couldn’t quite escape, even if he was doing his best to act indifferent. He hadn’t wanted to meet up with Ty at all, but here they were, in Berlin, in the same hotel room, once again stuck in this weird, complicated tension.

Ty, of course, didn’t make it easier. He had a way of being completely unaware of the effect he had on people, or maybe he just didn’t care. Kit suspected it was the latter.

"Did you know your heart rate synchronizes with the person you’re closest to?" Ty’s voice broke through Kit’s thoughts, smooth and steady.

Kit blinked, looking over his shoulder. "What?"

Ty had moved closer without Kit realizing, his fingers already brushing lightly over Kit's wrist. "If you care about someone, your heartbeat matches theirs. I wanted to see if it works." His voice was soft, but there was a playful glint in his eyes - those damn eyes that always made Kit feel like he was both burning up and freezing at the same time.

The color of storms, or the edge of a dagger, one Kit Herondale wouldn't really mind being destroyed or killed by.

Kit’s pulse sped up at the light touch, despite every instinct in him telling him to pull away. "Ty, you can’t just do that to people-" He gasped.

Ty tilted his head, the smallest smile pulling at the corner of his lips. "I thought it was interesting."

Kit’s breath caught in his throat. Ty wasn’t just touching his wrist anymore. He was tracing his fingers so lightly, - reverently - that Kit could feel every single movement, almost as if Ty had memorized how to make his heart race without even trying.

Internally, Kit was spiraling.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck

He could feel his pulse in his ears now, pounding louder with every second. This wasn’t supposed to happen. Not after everything. Not after the way things had fallen apart between them.

But Ty, as always, was too calm. Too unaffected. Or at least, that's how it seemed like.

Ty’s fingers slid from Kit’s wrist, over the back of his hand, until he gently took hold of it, guiding it toward his own chest. Kit’s body went stiff, his breath hitching as Ty placed his hand right over his heart.

"Can you feel it?" Ty asked, his voice barely above a whisper. His eyes never left Kit’s. There was something in his gaze, a quiet intensity that only made Kit feel more exposed, like he was under a magnifying glass. Like he was being stripped bare.

Kit’s mind went blank, the warmth of Ty’s chest under his hand distracting him from everything else. And then, the undeniable thump of Ty’s heartbeat beneath his palm hit him like a wave. It was fast. Really fast.

It was... perfect.

Kit swallowed hard, struggling to maintain his composure. "Ty," he started, voice thick, but the words didn’t come out the way he wanted. His heart was hammering against his ribs now, and it had nothing to do with Ty’s proximity or the heat of the moment. It was just Ty. Ty and the way he always had this effect on him, the way he seemed to have an effortless hold on Kit’s emotions even when the boy was trying so damn hard to be distant and cold.

"Yeah?" Ty asked, his voice a low murmur, that almost teasing smile still present. He wasn’t even out of breath. Was Ty even aware of how much Kit was spiraling?

Kit suspected he, in fact, was.

Kit quickly pulled his hand back, shoving it into his pocket, unable to meet Ty’s eyes. "You shouldn’t do that," he muttered, trying to sound angry, but it came out more breathless than he intended.

Ty looked sad. It wasn't too obvious. Not to anyone who didn't know him well. But Kit could see it in the way his brows furrowed just the slightest bit, the way his breathing became uneven, just a tiny bit off, the way he crinkled his eyes. "Why? Because it works?"

Kit’s chest tightened. He was so damn tired of this - of Ty always finding a way to make him feel like he was the one who was losing control, when all he wanted was to be left alone. He didn’t want to care anymore. He didn’t want to feel like this, like everything about Ty was a constant pull, a force he couldn’t resist no matter how hard he tried.

But no matter how cold he acted, no matter how many walls he put up, Ty always found a way through. And he was damn good at it.

[chosaraki]

Miniature Force.

—————————————————————————

It was a quiet afternoon at Gun Park's house. The sun gently beat through the window, illuminating the room where Gun was sitting on a sofa, with his eyes fixed on a small notebook about his combat strategies. His countenance was serious, as always, and the atmosphere around seemed to carry the weight of the experience of a man who had already lived more than most.

But, that day, there was an unusual distraction. Sitting on the floor in front of him, his baby daughter—only two years old, but with the determination of an experienced soldier—looked at him with an expression of pure concentration. She was holding a plastic toy, but instead of playing innocently, like any other child, she was evaluating the object with narrow eyes, as if it were an enemy to be defeated.

Gun watched everything in silence, the corner of his mouth slightly curved in a discreet smile, something almost imperceptible on his stiff face.

- Are you going to hit it until it breaks? - he asked, his voice low and serious, but with a touch of curiosity.

Her daughter, without taking her eyes off the toy, nodded her head, as if she were taking her mission as something of extreme importance.

- Yes... - she replied, without emotion, as if she were explaining the obvious.

Gun leaned back on the couch, his arms crossed over his chest. He knew that, despite the appearance of an innocent child, his daughter had an unusual strength. He had seen this in his daily interactions, such as when she hit the toys hard or when she refused to get away from a cracked wall that she had tried to destroy, one of her several unfinished "missions".

- You know you can't destroy everything you see, right? - Gun asked, always keeping the tone of command. - You have to use this strength for important things. It's not just for fun.

She lifted the toy and looked at it even more seriously, as if she weighed her options.

- Destroying things is important. - She said, with the same conviction as always. - If the wall doesn't move, we break it and make it obey.

Gun took a deep breath, looking at his daughter with a difficult expression to read. The combination of his childish innocence and his immeasurable strength was... something complicated. He never imagined that he would be a father, much less of a child with this energy and determination. But somehow, he felt a silent pride in her. She was growing in her own way, following her own line of reasoning, without giving in to external pressures.

- You know a wall won't obey, don't you? - Gun asked, more to himself than to her. He was beginning to question himself about the approach of his own fatherhood, something he never imagined having to do.

She looked at him, her eyes small, but full of intention.

- It will break, it will. Dad does that. - She replied, pointing at him with the toy still in her hands. And, with a heavy sigh, she got up and walked to the nearest wall, determined to follow her own path.

Gun watched with a neutral expression as his daughter prepared to attack. There was no hesitation. She raised her small fists and, with a direct punch, the wall gave way, cracking in a frightening way.

- There... - She said with satisfaction, as if she had done something totally routine.

Gun raised an eyebrow, not surprised, but definitely impressed. She had the same determination as him, and sooner or later, this would lead her to great things. Or to even bigger problems, he thought, looking at the now destroyed wall.

He calmly got up from the couch and walked up to her, putting a hand on her head and smiling slightly, without letting the seriousness of his face disappear completely.

- You're getting strong, little one. But remember that you can't go out breaking everything out there. This may end up attracting the attention of people who would not like to have you as an enemy. - He said, his voice low and firm.

She looked at him, seemed to consider his words for a moment, but then shrugged and made a face.

- I'm not anyone's enemy. - She declared, with the same confidence as always. - Only those who try to stop me from doing things.

Gun can't help but let out a muffled laugh. He was beginning to see how his daughter could be an incredibly determined and capable person. In many ways, she was already shaping her own worldview, and although he was worried about the implications of this, there was something charming about her posture.

- Be careful, little one. You have the power, but you also need to learn how to use it wisely. Not only to knock down, but to protect as well. - He said, looking at the destroyed wall once again.

She looked at the open space in front of her, with a mischievous smile.

- I can knock anything down, Dad. - She said, her eyes shining with a fierce confidence.

Gun watched her, unable to avoid a genuine smile, although small. Yes, she was definitely your daughter.

—————————————————————————

In the stillness of the house, Gun observes his daughter, a small baby-shaped willpower, with serious eyes and fists ready to break the world around her. Without fear, she defies limits, breaking walls and dreams, with the same ruthless determination as her father. He smiles silently, aware that, even in her innocence, she carries the weight of strength, ready to conquer the impossible, as he once did.

—————————————————————————

[monument-of-anxiety]

"Actually PRODUCTIVE and MEANINGFUL anarchy isn't violent or mean or loud or scawy I did an anarchy recently when my professors were repeatedly abusive to my fellow students so instead of organizing a walkout or protesting in any way I made flyers and slipped them under their doors asking them to pweaz be nice to us uwu"

I'm gonna hold your hand when I say this. Anarchy and revolution and change is not pretty or peaceful. It has consequences, and people's lives are changed if not ended completely by it. You do it anyway. In the post I'm talking about, which you have probably seen given its tens of thousands of notes, OP insinuates that violent anarchy is not realistic and doesn't actually change much. This is the perfect example of someone who loves the aesthetic of anarchy with absolutely zero commitment to the actual idea.

So you and your fellow students are being overworked and abused by faculty, and you anonymously make flyers with suggestions on how they can be nicer. Allegedly, this was received well by most professors. But let me ask you, what does this change in the long-term? What does this "anarchy" (Jesus fucking Christ) do to affect the written laws of your institution to ensure better treatment for students after you have graduated and your professors are retired? You've fawned and made yourself temporarily comfortable and called it fucking anarchy.

Anarchists kill. Anarchists die. Anarchists destroy. Anarchists rebuild. We organize we protest we confront we create and most importantly we make ourselves known. Do not let the word "anarchy" become bastardized in the same way that this country bastardized "liberty." Liberty went from a word that encapsulated the freedoms won in a revolutionary war to a word that nurses the enslaved, impoverished, and uneducated into thinking that they live in a country that cares. Anarchy is ugly, don't say it if you won't paint yourself with it.

[justinspoliticalcorner]

Thom Hartmann at The Hartmann Report:

The author of the Declaration of Independence went to great lengths, on numerous occasions (as I detail in What Would Jefferson Do?), to point out that when he and his colleagues started the United States of America they were explicitly rejecting — in favor of democracy — the men (they were all men back then) who drove the “three historic tyrannies”: kings/autocrats, theocrats/popes, and morbidly rich oligarchs. For two thousand years before Jefferson, Washington, Hamilton, Paine, Adams, Revere, and their colleagues created our checks-and-balances system of republican democracy, every country in the world was ruled by one of those three. Today, of the 167 countries on Earth, only 74 are democracies, and only 24 of those are “fully democratic.”

And now, because of the GOP, America stands on the verge of losing that status.

— Theocrats have seized control of our Supreme Court, gutting the rights of women and religious/racial/gender minorities. — Members of the House and Senate are so terrified of oligarchs funding primary challenges against them that it’s been over 40 years since any major legislation has passed fulfilling the wishes of the majority of Americans. (And now, many say they are worried about physical violence against themselves and their families if they fight Trump.) — And our White House is today occupied by a billionaire who believes himself to be a king.

Trump’s attack on our democracy is an old story, played out repeatedly in various countries by every generation during the past two centuries. It follows an absolutely predictable pattern: You could call it a playbook.

In a democracy, there are four main elements involved in governance: Legislative, Executive, Judicial, and the Press (the Fourth Estate).

While Democrats over the past 50 years or so have focused their efforts on winning elections (Legislative and Executive), the billionaires who own the GOP have directed their attention to using massive amounts of cash to seize control of the unelected branches (Judiciary and Press), a job that can be done with money but doesn’t always require winning elections.

This is a pattern that’s been duplicated in multiple nations that have lost their democracies. Trump and Musk are simply following their instruction manual.

When Viktor Orbán took over Hungary in 2010, he first set out to seize control of the judiciary and the media. He lowered the retirement age for judges, immediately forcing out 57 justices who he replaced with loyalists (an echo of Mitch McConnell’s stealing two Supreme Court seats for Trump).

Then, following the strategy announced last week by Trump and FCC Chair Carr, he sued multiple independent media outlets and attacked the funding of Hungary’s public broadcasting system, shifting control over both into the hands of friendly oligarchs. With dissenting voices silenced in the media and judges willing to overlook his blatant violations of Hungarian election laws (purging voters, gerrymandering, challenging the votes in opposition-friendly districts), Orbán was able to win every election since. Vladimir Putin followed a similar script a few years earlier; once he had control of the judiciary and Russia’s media, he was able to stomp all over that country’s new and fragile democratic institutions and intimidate the Russian parliament (the Duma).

[...]

However, there are two countries of note — and possible examples for America — that tried to go down this path but had it interrupted, throwing them back into democracy: Poland and South Korea.

In Poland, Andrzej Duda’s Law and Justice Party failed to destroy the independent media, even though they’d succeeded in seizing the judiciary and rigged election rules to their favor. Because roughly 70% of Poland’s media stayed in independent hands, his party lost power in the 2023 elections and Poland is now returning to democracy. Similarly, in South Korea their President Yoon Suk Yeol tried to declare a state of emergency and outlaw his opposition Democratic Party. He’d failed, however, to first seize control of South Korea’s independent media, so people showed up in the streets demanding his arrest; he sits in prison today.

Love this column from Thom Hartmann .

[alittlegiraffe]

Title: "Not Letting Go"

The house looked the same. The porch light flickered the way it always had, the paint on the door was chipped in the same places, and the flowers you had planted last spring were still hanging on despite the colder weather. But it didn’t feel the same.

Marshall’s fingers clenched around the steering wheel as he sat in his car, parked in front of the place he used to call home. His stomach twisted with nerves, his palms damp with sweat. This wasn’t just any visit—this was the visit. The one where he either won you back or walked away knowing he had lost you for good.

He had no one to blame but himself.

The late nights, the slurred words, the empty promises—all fueled by the pills, the fog that had wrapped around his mind and body for years. He had told himself he was in control, that he wasn’t hurting anyone but himself. But he had been so wrong.

The moment you had slid those divorce papers across the table, your hands shaking but your voice steady, something inside him had snapped. He had begged, pleaded, told you he would change—but you had just shaken your head, pain swimming in your eyes.

"I can’t do this anymore, Marshall," you had whispered. "I love you, but I can’t keep watching you destroy yourself."

It had taken losing you to finally open his eyes.

And now, six months clean, his mind clear for the first time in years, he was standing on your doorstep, heart pounding harder than it ever had before.

Would you even want to see him?

Would you even believe him?

He exhaled sharply, running a hand down his face before knocking.

For a few moments, nothing happened.

Then the door creaked open, and there you were.

You looked… good. Tired, maybe, but still so you. The sight of you knocked the air from his lungs. You weren’t wearing your wedding ring anymore. The realization hit him like a gut punch, but he swallowed the pain.

"Marshall," you said cautiously, gripping the doorframe like you weren’t sure whether to slam the door or step outside.

"Hey," he said, voice hoarse.

Silence stretched between you, thick and heavy with everything unsaid.

Finally, you sighed. "What are you doing here?"

Marshall ran a hand over his buzzed hair, exhaling before meeting your gaze head-on. "I had to see you. I had to tell you in person."

"Tell me what?" Your voice was guarded, like you were bracing yourself for another excuse, another empty apology.

"I got clean." The words felt heavy in the air, real in a way they hadn’t been before. "Six months. No pills, no nothing. I—I had to. I had to, (Y/N), because I was losing everything. I was losing you."

You blinked, shock flickering across your face before something else—something softer—settled in your expression. But it wasn’t relief. It wasn’t forgiveness.

"Marshall, that’s—" You hesitated, exhaling shakily. "That’s really good. I am proud of you."

His chest tightened at the careful way you said it, like you didn’t want to give him too much hope. Like you were afraid to believe it.

"I know I messed up," he continued, his voice thick with emotion. "I know I hurt you in ways I can’t take back. And I’m not here to beg or force you to change your mind, but I am here to tell you—I’m fighting for you. For us."

You closed your eyes for a moment, pressing your lips together. "Marshall…"

"I know I don’t deserve you back just because I finally got my shit together," he cut in, his voice raw. "I know it doesn’t work that way. But I needed you to know that I’m not the same man I was when you left. I don’t want to be that man again. I don’t want to lose you."

Tears welled in your eyes, and it killed him to see it, to know he was the reason for them. "Do you know how many times I wanted to believe you’d change?" Your voice wavered. "How many nights I spent hoping you'd wake up and realize what you were doing to yourself? To us?"

"I know," he murmured, voice thick. "And I hate that it took losing you to finally get my head on straight. But I did it, baby. And I’m gonna keep doing it. Whether you take me back or not—I’m staying clean. But I want you back. I just… I need you to know that I’m not giving up on us. Not without a fight."

A tear slipped down your cheek, and you quickly wiped it away. His hands itched to reach for you, to pull you into him, to prove that he was different. But he didn’t. Not yet.

"I don’t know if I can just… let everything go," you whispered.

"You don’t have to," he said quickly. "I don’t expect that. I just—I just want a chance to prove to you that I’m not the man you walked away from. Let me earn you back."

You looked at him then, really looked at him. His eyes were clearer than they had been in years. His shoulders, once hunched with exhaustion and addiction, stood strong again. He was Marshall again—the man you had fallen in love with before the drugs had taken him away.

"I don’t know if I’m ready," you admitted.

"Then I’ll wait," he said without hesitation. "For as long as it takes."

The air between you felt charged, fragile.

Finally, you sighed, stepping back just a little. "Do you… want to come in?"

It wasn’t a promise. It wasn’t a guarantee. But it was something.

Marshall let out a shaky breath, nodding. "Yeah. I’d really like that."

And as you stepped aside to let him in, he swore he’d never take this second chance for granted.

[kissesz]

𝐢𝐬𝐧'𝐭 𝐠𝐨𝐥𝐝, 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐚𝐦𝐞

caitlyn kiramman x f!reader

warnings: see above. mdni. angst. f!sub!reader. dom!caitlyn. mean!caitlyn, just briefly. cunnilingus. tribbing. vaginal sex. non-sexual intimacy. read: kissing. a lot of it. sapphic debauchery at its finest. arguing. emotional hurt/comfort. mentions of injuries & blood but not too graphic.

notes: (can be read as a standalone, part II of 'all that glitters') a oneshot—which, clearly, it isn’t anymore. i may have made a promise about making up. unfortunately, the dialogue is subpar at best, perhaps because i genuinely dread writing anything involving communication (which is why i attempted—only half-successfully—to compensate with overly long descriptions). on top of that, i’ve rewritten this at least a thousand times, meaning six and a half hours were spent agonizing over every single paragraph. i digress. i love you all, dearly.

Aged whiskey scorched a trail down your throat, amber liquid catching glimmers of the kaleidoscopic hues painting Piltover for Progress Day—sapphire hues of hextech glinting off effervescent fireworks, swirling and bleeding like watercolors through the fractured prism of your mind.

Or perhaps that was the alcohol, settling leaden in your veins as you draped yourself against the balcony railing. 

Revelry echoed distant and muted from the streets below, laughter filtering through as if from ripples underwater. Each scintillating burst a reminder of her, salt in wounds unhealed—nights of bare skin illuminated by those same lights, susurrous promises you'd been foolish enough to believe. Skin and sweat and lies, impermanent.

So naive.

The crystal tumbler in your hand caught light, throwing fractured rainbows across your fingers. Watching them dance, you tried (and failed) to focus on anything but the ache that had made its home in your ribcage months ago, a persistent throb that no amount of liquor could numb.

Then, a knock cleaved through the silence like a gunshot.

Your heart seized—a pavlovian response so violent it stole the breath from your lungs, leaving you gasping. Two strikes against solid wood, precise, just like the woman behind them. 

"Don't you fucking dare," you hissed to the empty air, fingers tightening around the railing until your knuckles blanched white against the dark metal. After months of absence, after countless nights spent aching and alone, after everything—she had the audacity to return?

The knock came again, more insistent this time, the sound like a second heartbeat, out of sync with your own yet impossible to ignore.

"Open the door." Caitlyn's voice, muffled yet unmistakable in its authority. That voice that had once whispered such honeyed poison against your skin now felt like sandpaper against raw nerves, abrasive and unrelenting. "Please."

Your laugh spilled out bitter, a broken sound for a broken moment. "Or what, Officer? You'll break it down? Add that to your litany of things you've destroyed?"

Silence stretched between you—taut and ready to snap. Then: "I'll wait all night if I have to."

"Go ahead." The drink seared going down, a familiar burn doing nothing to thaw the frost in your veins. "You're good at that, aren't you? Waiting until the perfect moment to walk away?"

More silence followed, heavy and sticky as molasses. For a moment, you thought she'd left, until you heard it—the soft thud of something solid against wood. Her forehead, perhaps, resting against your door as if she couldn't support her own weight anymore, as if the burden of her choices had finally become too much to bear.

"I deserve that," she said quietly, her voice carrying a of vulnerability you'd never heard before. A hairline fracture in her usually impenetrable facade. "I deserve all of it. But please... let me explain."

"Explain what?" The words clawed their way from your throat, each word tasting of copper and acrimony. "How you used me? How you'd come to me in the dead of night, take what you wanted, then vanish like I meant nothing?"

"You were never—" Her voice splintered on ‘never’, the sound slitting something in your chest, a fissure spreading through the walls you'd built to keep her out. "You were everything to me. That was the problem."

The crystal glass shattered in your grip, a startling crack that echoed the something rupturing inside you. Shards scattered across marble tiles like fallen stars, blood and alcohol—you couldn't tell which—dripping from your trembling fingers. The pain felt distant, secondary to the storm of emotions threatening to rend you apart.

Your feet carried you to the door of their own volition, possessed by a desperate momentum that overrode any semblance of self-preservation. The handle felt unfamiliar against your palm as you wrenched it open.

And there she stood.

Caitlyn Kiramman, in your foyer, like a washed out black and white photo of a deceased relative you couldn't bring yourself to look at. Her uniform was spotless as always, every button polished, every crease perfect—but her eyes—her eyes told a different story. They widened at the sight of your bleeding hand, that familiar concern suffusing her features before she could conceal it.

"You're hurt–" She reached for you, her fingers extending with such tender intent that it made your chest constrict, your heart stuttering behind the cage of your ribs.

You recoiled as if scorched, spine colliding with the wall behind you with a dull thud. "Don't." Your voice emerged raw, stripped of all pretense. "Don't you dare pretend to care now."

"Do you hear yourself? How ridiculous you sound?" She advanced, her presence flooding your space like smoke, cloying and suffocating. The scent of her, vanilla and gunpowder, so achingly familiar, made your head reel. Or maybe that was the blood loss. The whiskey. Turning everything soft at the edges except for her, sharp and impossible to ignore. "Not once, for a single second, did I stop caring. I left because I cared too much, because it was destroying me. Every time I chose you over my duty, every time I let my heart overrule my head, we were—"

"Oh, spare me the noble sacrifice bullshit, Caitlyn. Your precious integrity, right? Let me remind you of what you said: 'You know where I am if you need me.' Do you remember that? How you kissed me goodbye like it wasn't the last fucking time?" A dismissive sound tore from your lips, acrid.

"Enlighten me," you continued, voice quavering in a way that made you want to claw the weakness from your throat, "in all those months, all those nights I spent alone, where exactly were you? Because I needed you. Gods, I needed you every single day! And you were nowhere to be found!"

"It wasn't—" she started, but you cut her off, unwilling to hear whatever justification she'd made up for her absence.

"Shut up." Your palm struck her chest, leaving behind a bloody handprint stark against her pristine uniform. The fabric drank it in like it had been starved for it, marring perfection with your pain. Some bitter part of you relished it, wanted her to wear your anguish for once.

Hands caught your wrists then, a grip gentle but resolute, like you were something fragile, something invaluable she was afraid to break.

The calluses on her palms, from her rifle, from years of relentless training rasped against your pulse points. "You think it was easy?" Her voice trembled, her composure fracturing like a teacup on the verge of shattering. "You think I wanted to walk away? To lie awake every night remembering how you taste, how you feel, how you cry out my name when you—"

"Stop." You tried to wrench away but her hold was unbreakable, fingers branding your skin with unspoken apologies, with pleas for absolution. Your heart battered against your ribcage, that traitorous organ that still raced at her proximity, even after everything.

"Why?" She surged forward, and suddenly you were pinned between the heat of her body and the unyielding wall, nowhere to run, nowhere to hide. 

Her breath ghosted across your face, expensive brandy chasing crisp mint—she'd been drinking too. She'd been drinking too, and that realization struck you like a knife to the sternum, twisting viciously. "Because it hurts? Because despite everything, you still remember? How I'd touch you, how I'd make you beg, how you'd unravel for me like you were made for it?"

"Fuck you," you spat, even as your body responded to her, muscle memory overriding reason.

"You did, darling." The endearment dripped from her lips, sweet and searing like honey on a spoon. Her face was a hairsbreadth from yours, close enough to count the individual flecks of navy in her eyes, to feel the heat of her breath mingling with your own. "Countless times. And I remember every single one. Every sound, every sigh, every way you fell apart beneath my hands."

Your breath hitched, catching on a breath suspiciously similar to a sob. "I hate you."

You did, truly.

Hating her felt natural, instinctual.

"No." Her thumb skated over your bottom lip, coming away stained with the smear of your lipstick. The tenderness of the gesture was devastating, a brutal reminder of everything you'd lost. "You wish you did. Just like I wish I could stop loving you."

The confession hung between you like a noose, tightening with each shallow breath.

"Why now?" Your voice cracked, splintering, jagged and razor-edged. "Why come back after all this time?"

"Because I'm tired," she breathed, resting her forehead against yours, the contact like a livewire against your skin. Her skin burned feverish against your own, her breaths labored. "Tired of pretending I don't need you. Tired of walking past your building every night, aching to come up but telling myself I shouldn't. Tired of being half a person without you."

Closing your eyes, the nearness of her was overwhelming, intoxicating; it made you dizzy, memories crashing over you in waves—lips on your throat, hands on your hips, her voice in your ear whispering vows she couldn't keep, oaths she'd shattered like porcelain against stone.

"You broke me." Words falling from your numb lips, more honest than you'd allowed yourself to be since she left, since she carved out your heart and took it with her.

"I know." Her lips brushed your temple, a benediction and a curse. A tear—yours or hers, you couldn't say—slid between your pressed skin, salt and sorrow. "Let me put you back together. Let me try."

"How?" You opened your eyes, meeting her gaze, stripped of all pretense. Your fingers itched to trace the circles beneath her eyes, proof that maybe she'd been haunted by your absence just as viscerally as you'd been ravaged by hers. "How can I ever trust you again?"

In lieu of an answer, she kissed you.

Not like before—not with the practiced restraint of Officer Kiramman, the consummate professional. No, this kiss was desperate, woozy and salty of mingled tears. Her hands cupped your face like you were something hallowed, her thumbs sweeping away the evidence of your shared misery, your shared sin.

Kissing her back, it bordered on violence, every shred of hurt and longing poured into the crush of your mouths. Your fingers knotted in her hair, yanking hard enough to sting, needing her to feel even a fraction of the agony you'd endured in her absence. Silken strands twined around your fingers like they'd been waiting for your touch, like they remembered every time you'd gripped them in ecstasy rather than anguish.

She gasped into your mouth, the sound caught between a moan and a whimper, apology and plea tangled on her tongue. "I'm sorry," she murmured between bruising kisses, each word a fervent promise falling from kiss-swollen lips. "I'm so sorry. I love you. I never stopped. Please..."

You bit down on her bottom lip, hard enough to taste blood of her own, the metallic sting a twisted sort of penance. "Prove it."

Her eyes met yours, understanding dawning like the sun cresting the horizon. With deliberate, measured movements, she began to strip away her armor. Her utility belt hit the floor with a leaden thud, bullets rattling in their clips. Her badge followed, the metal making a mournful sound as it clattered against marble. Then her uniform jacket, each button slipping free of its mooring until the garment slid from her shoulders like a remnant of a past she was shedding, a chrysalis giving way to something raw and new.

Each piece of her fell away until only Caitlyn remained.

The woman behind the title, the beating heart beneath the badge. She stood before you in her crisp white undershirt, more vulnerable than you'd ever seen her, her chest rising and falling with unsteady breaths, her eyes wide and shining in the low light.

"I'm yours," she said softly, her voice replaced by something fragile and aching. "Just me, loving you, for as long as you'll have me."

You stared at her, this woman who could command an entire city with a single look yet now trembled beneath the weight of your gaze. Who could stare down the barrel of a gun without flinching yet now looked at you like you held the power to destroy her. Who had walked away from you once yet now stood before you offering her heart, her future, her everything.

"If you leave again..." you started, the words tasting like rust on your tongue, sharp and metallic.

"I won't." She stepped closer, her hands finding the dip of your waist, the swell of your hips, relearning curves and planes she'd once mapped in the dark, in stolen moments that now felt like lifetimes ago. Her touch sparked wildfires in its wake, your skin remembering her, craving her, even as your mind screamed for self-preservation. "I can't. Losing you... it nearly killed me. Let me spend the rest of my life making it right. Making us right."

You knew you should’ve resisted, should’ve made her work harder for your forgiveness, for a second chance at the heart she'd so carelessly shattered. But then her lips found that spot just below your ear, the one that made your knees buckle and your breath hitch, and all rational thought fled, replaced by an all-consuming need, a hunger that had gone unsated for far too long.

Her hands relearned your body with admiration that bordered on worshipful—each touch an act of contrition. Her fingers caught on scars she'd never seen before, on new edges and angles wrought in the crucible of her absence, but she didn't shy away. Instead, she traced each one like a devotee tracing the lines of a sacred text, committing them to memory, etching them onto her heart.

"I missed you," she breathed against your throat, her voice cracking on the admission. "Missed this. The way you melt for me, the way your pulse flutters beneath my lips." To illustrate her point, she pressed a lingering kiss to the hammering beat at the base of your throat, smiling against your skin as you failed to bite back a whimper.

Her name fell from your lips like a benediction, like a curse, like an invocation of something bigger than both of you. "Caitlyn..."

She pulled back just far enough to meet your eyes, and the naked adoration in her gaze stole the breath from your lungs. 

Gone was the stoic persona, the enforcer of the law. In her place was a woman laid bare, stripped of all pretense. A woman whose eyes shone with unshed tears and unspoken promises, whose hands shook with the force of her need, her longing.

"I love you," she said simply, the words rusty from disuse but no less true for it. "I love your fire, your strength, the way you never once made it easy for me. I love the way you see me, all of me, even the parts I try to hide. I love—"

You swallowed the rest of her words with a searing kiss, your hands fisting in the fabric of her shirt, dragging her closer until you could feel her heartbeat against your own, a desperate staccato that echoed the racing of your pulse. 

She caught you as you swayed, strong arms banding around your waist, holding you up, anchoring you to her as she'd always done, even when you insisted you didn't need it, didn't want it. "Let me take care of you," she murmured against your lips, the words akin to a plea. "Let me show you how much I've missed you, how sorry I am, how I—"

"Show me," you demanded, the words scraping your throat raw with their urgency. "Make me believe you."

The sound she made was part growl, part whimper, animal and anguished. Her hands glided down your sides to grip the backs of your thighs, fingers sinking into yielding flesh, and then you were airborne, your back hitting the wall with enough force to rattle the abstract art piece hanging beside your head. Your legs locked around her waist on instinct, muscle memory overriding the part of you still screaming for restraint.

"I'll spend forever making you believe," she vowed, punctuating each word with a press of her lips—to your jaw, the edge of your lips, the sensitive spot where neck meets shoulder. "Forever proving that you're it for me, that I'm done hiding from this, from us."

As she carried you to the bedroom, her steps never faltering despite the tremors wracking her frame, you realized with startling, terrifying clarity that you wanted to let her. Wanted to give her the chance to piece back together the remnants of you, to rebuild from the rubble and ashes she'd left behind. 

A tangle of limbs and discarded silks draped upon the edge of your bed held nothing new, freshly washed sheets tousling as she haphazardly lowered you into their embrace. 

And then, she was on you, her hand sliding up the apex of your thigh, teasing.

Finally, finally, her tongue met the barrier of your underwear, the fabric the only thing separating you from the heat and wetness that promised heaven. She took her time, tracing every inch of you, biting and nipping, until you were writhing beneath her, begging for more. And then she pulled them down, your hips lifting off the bed to accommodate her, exposing you completely to the cool air and the burning heat of her gaze.

Her mouth followed the path of your underwear, leaving a damp trail of kisses as she descended. She hovered above your clit for a moment, her eyes searching yours for permission, for reassurance. You gave it with a nod, and she took it as the invitation it was, her tongue flicking out to taste you, to show you without words how much she'd missed this, missed you. 

The sensation was foreign in its familiarity, your entire body tensing before relaxing into the bliss she’d coaxed from you, licking and suckling, driving you closer to the edge with every pass.

And then, with a lingering kiss, she pulled away, leaving you panting and desperate. Deja vu, perhaps? "Take these off," she ordered, her voice thick with desire, gesturing to her own pants. You obeyed, your fingers fumbling with the zipper, eager to feel her bare skin against yours. When she was finally naked, she straddled you, the wetness between her thighs pressing against your stomach, leaving a damp heat that sent a shiver of anticipation down your spine.

Her hands roamed your body, touching, everywhere, and you watched her, breathless, feeling your desire for her swell until it was a living, pulsing thing between you. 

When she reached your breasts, her caresses were feather-light at first, teasing your already-sensitized nipples until they were hard points of pleasure-pain that had you gasping. Then, she took one into her mouth, her tongue flicking against the sensitive flesh, her teeth grazing the tight bud, sending skitters of desire straight to your core.

As she worked you over with her mouth and hands, each touch, each kiss, each lick brought you closer to the precipice. Your hips bucked against her, seeking more, seeking everything she had to give, needing to be filled, to be claimed by her again. You reached down to guide her, impatient (if it were another time, she’d make a show of rolling her eyes), fingers curling around hers, to show her where you needed her most, and she took the hint, sliding down your body, aligning herself with your aching sex.

Her hips rolled against yours, the friction building until you were both heaving and desperate. The world narrowed to just the two of you, the slick slide of skin on skin, the gasps and murmurs of pleasure. You felt her love in every stroke, every touch, every shudder of her body as she took you higher, until you were both teetering on the brink of oblivion.

The feeling of her was exquisite, the pressure just right—coiling tighter and tighter, until you were both ready to shatter. Your nails raked down her back, leaving red streaks on her skin, and she groaned into your neck. The sound sent you over the edge, your body convulsing with the force of your climax, waves of pleasure crashing through you like a storm at sea. She followed, her hips stuttering against yours, her own release a hot, wet rush that mingled with yours, until you were both spent, limp and trembling in each other's arms.

Perhaps there would be no gold at the end of this, no sunset-fade and happily ever after. Perhaps you'd end up right back here again someday, bleeding out on memories gone septic with neglect. Perhaps you'd lose as much as you'd gain, in the end.

But what a thing it was—to be shattered and scattered, to cut yourself open on the fractured pieces and trust that the other person would help you staunch the flow of injuries after. To hold your own heart in your hands and decide that theirs was worth the risk anyway, every time.

So you sealed your mouth to hers and poured yourself into the spaces between, the cracks and scars and fault-lines cobwebbing you both. Let her lick the hurt from your teeth, suck apologies purple-dark into your skin until you couldn't tell her contrition from your clemency.

And later, when you laid tangled up in sheets that smelled of sex and forgiveness, her head pillowed on your chest and the ghosts of your names still ringing in the rafters, you thought that maybe this was a new breed of faith.

To believe, against all evidence, that you could piece each other back together. To know that you'd never be what you were before, untarnished and golden all the way through—but that maybe, just maybe, there was something rawer and realer and infinitely more precious to be found in those broken places.

To reach your hand between each other's ribs and hold tight to whatever you found there, battered and bloodied but beating still. Whispering: I love you, I love you, I love you.

I love you enough to stay.

I love you enough to bleed.

I love you in ways only the shattered know how to love.

I love you, and all your splintered edges.

I love you, and the way you carve yourself into me.

I love you, and I'll spend every breath I have left proving it.

I love you, and that's the best and worst thing I know how to do.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

©️ kissesz

tags for the lovely sweethearts who requested a continuation: @prettyyyy-girl & @hiroklaiz

[heliosunny]

I saw you do the Fyodor sh thing and now I'm curious. What if they just said "do it" with no hesitation to his threat?

[previous]

You regretted your words the second they left your lips.

“Do it.”

You dare challenge him?

For a moment, Fyodor paused.

Something flickered behind his violet gaze. His fingers, still pressed against your wrist, did not tighten, nor did they loosen.

With frightening ease, he pinned you down.

His hand was cold against your throat, not squeezing—just resting. Enough to make you feel the weight of it. Enough to remind you that he could, at any moment, crush the air from your lungs.

“So eager to be ruined” he murmured, tilting his head. “And yet… I wonder...do you truly understand what you’re asking for?”

Your pulse thundered beneath his palm.

“Tell me, my love.” His grip didn’t change, but his voice did. “Shall I break you properly? Shall I take something that cannot be undone?”

That is a warning. A threat disguised as a question.

He put in more pressure. Not enough to hurt. But enough to scare.

You gasped. “W-Wait—”

His lips curled—mocking.

“Ah.” He tilted his head, almost in amusement. “So you do fear pain after all.”

The weight vanished.

You barely had time to process it before he stood, adjusting his coat as if nothing had happened. As if he hadn’t just proven how close he could bring you to the edge.

“You have two choices, darling.”

His voice was calm again.

“You will stop this—willingly, or I will stop it for you.”

Then came a pause. His gaze lowered.

“And if you force my hand again… I will take something you cannot afford to lose.”

And with that—he left.

But the story did not end there. It had only just begun.

You thought he would leave you alone.

You thought the warning was the end of it.

Days passed, filled with silence. Until one evening—you heard it.

A sharp, sudden gasp from the next room. The unmistakable sound of something breaking.

Your heart lurched. “Fyodor?”

No answer.

You pushed open the door and froze.

He was there. Standing by the table, his coat discarded, his glove-clad hand stained red.

And before you could fully understand what you were seeing, he did it again. A slow, deliberate drag of a blade against his own forearm. The cut was shallow, but the message was not.

Your breath caught. “What the hell are you doing?!”

He didn’t answer at first.

Instead, he simply watched as red welled against pale skin, tilting his head in that same, infuriatingly calm way.

“Oh?” he mused. “You seem disturbed.”

Disturbed?

“Strange” he continued, voice too measured. “You seemed unbothered when it was yourself, my dear.

No, no, this was different.

“You—this isn’t...” Words tangled in your throat. “You’re not supposed to-”

He sighed. “Ah. There it is.”

With eerie precision, he set the blade down, letting the blood trail slowly down his wrist.

Then, he turned to you. “Do you understand now?” His voice was softer. “Does it feel good to watch me do this? Does it bring you comfort?”

No, it didn’t. You felt sick.

“Fyodor, stop.” Your voice was barely a whisper.

He tilted his head. “Ah. But when I asked you the same, you did not listen.”

The implication hit you like a punch.

This—this was for you.

A demonstration. A mirror.

“If you wish to destroy yourself,” he said, stepping closer, “then allow me to do the same. After all…”

His lips curled, something terrible in the motion.

“…what use is a shepherd without his lamb?”

You couldn’t breathe. This wasn’t like before. This wasn’t manipulation. This wasn’t a threat. This was genuine.

And it was so much worse.

“Stop it.” Your hands trembled. “Fyodor, I—”

His uninjured hand cupped your face.

“Then promise me.”

His thumb traced slow circles against your cheek.

“Promise me you will never do this again.”

Your throat tightened.

You couldn’t look away from him.

From the blood still dripping down his arm. From the way his eyes searched yours, calm, patient, utterly unwavering.

And for the first time…

You felt the weight of what you had done.

What he had been enduring.

“Promise me, my love.”

His forehead pressed against yours. His breath was warm.

“Or next time, I will not stop at myself.”

[del-stars]

Frat bro james potter is unfortunately my type can i have more? (For normal reasons)

frat bro james potter in another universe we could've been so happy together.... here are some random hcs

would DIE for their college football team. would literally die for them. he's hosting the tailgate in the nyasssssstiest college branded golf shirt and the tightest shortest little chubbies youve ever seen. he's destroying a brother in cornhole & also is the grillmaster (this directly contrasts with my belief that this takes place at a small liberal arts college but i digress)

plays intramural volleyball mostly bc he likes attention... the sorority girls come to every game

borg

always in charge of the jungle juice and it is pure SHIT every time. but he swears he has a special secret recipe (it's taaka)

notorious for diving off the house balcony into the pool

GOD at pong. and he does not fucking play around. he has the house rules memorized and will penalize you for breaking them

multi-story beer bong

he made barstool one time and he still pulls up the post at parties

3 posts on instagram and 2 of them are from high school (prom post + graduation post). same stance in all of them (wide stance, chin tilted up, hands clasped in the front) and two of them are captioned 'saturdays are for the boys'

he's majoring in smth dumb like. business. starts off doing okay then grades dip bad sophomore + junior year so he has to start doing tutoring towards the end of junior year

moves into the frat house sophomore year and thinks it's the best thing ever, meanwhile it is the most insane + grossest house you've ever been in. but he does organize a chore chart

becomes frat president and makes hazing just really funny and silly. purely harmless goofiness. like the pledges have to publicly serenade someone to ask them to a date party, they have to wear full suits to class every friday, or for a party the only mixer they can use is prune juice. silly shit like that

his fav bar is the dirtiest nastiest sports bar you have ever been to. but their corn dogs are absolutely stellar and he often wakes up after a night out with the sticks on his pillow

[pythagoras180]

Why the Kagami sentimonster reveal is better than the Adrien sentimonster reveal

And by "better" I mean it at least does the bare minimum of not damaging the character.

Adrien and Kagami are both sentimonsters, they can both be mind-controlled by certain rings, and they both have a controlling and overbearing parent. But there's a simple reason why this fact does not damage Kagami's character, unlike Adrien. It's the fact that Kagami owned her Amok ring the entire series.

Look, you can love Kagami or hate her, I don't care, but the fact is that you can at least attribute Kagami's decisions to her as a character. Her loyalty and compliance to her mother's demands tell us who she is as a character. Even though she can be mind-controlled, there's nothing to indicate that she ever actually was. But with Adrien, it's the opposite. His Amok ring was in the hands of his father for 99% of the series, and it's clearly implied that this is the reason for his obedience. Therefore, it's basically impossible to determine which of Adrien's actions can be attributed to him, and which are just due to mind-control. This is one of the worst things that can possibly be done to a character, since it muddies their characterization.

So in conclusion, despite having basically the same reveal in both characters, the sentimonster twist for Kagami was executed a million times better, and the twist for Adrien destroyed what little character he had.

[painted-flag]

TENDER, part 3/3 - Marcus Acacius

₊˚⊹♡ your father leaves on a campaign to germania, entrusting you under the care of his good friend marcus acacius. ₊˚⊹ marcus acacius x fem!reader ₊˚⊹ warnings: MDNI 18+ age gap, smut, oral (f!receiving), fingering, PiV. ₊˚⊹ part one | part two | part three | ₊˚⊹ masterlist.

Marcus prided himself on being an honest, hardworking man. 

It was his virtue. The last vestige that he clung to after facing insurmountable feats of violence in his tenure as a soldier. He was strong in his decisions, steadfast in loyalty, and always adhered to promises and oaths given, especially towards friends. It took decades to build and maintain – and only a single night to be torn down. 

He was never a fan of parties, preferring to stay on the sidelines as much as he could. However, when the invitation came from a man he considered a good close friend, Marcus could not deny it. 

How was he to know that night would change everything?

For the first time in his life, he found himself wishing to throw away the vow he swore to his friend to watch over his daughter as a guardian. He could not do it anymore; acting as those your movements, your presence was not what he wished to follow. 

Marcus had found himself hopelessly wrapped up in you. 

When you walked, he walked. When you spoke, he listened. Everything you did under his roof was like being graced with warmth. Your smile was the balm he needed and your voice was the water he stumbled to in the hot desert of his life. 

Marcus was a fool, but he did not care. He ached on those days when Lucan would visit and be the recipient of your attention. Marcus wanted you to look at him, not Lucan. Those days were torture, but he stood behind and watched as a silent sentry; making sure you would always be safe. 

Now, he felt like he had broken a personal promise. He stood outside your door, nervous and unsure. He felt beyond a duty to protect you, rather it had become a simple fact of his life. However, he was unable to shield you from the horrors of the world. 

It had been a week since that night he kissed you. Marcus did not entirely know why he did it. Well, he knew why; he loved you. It was not planned. That day he had come home frustrated after training the new recruits only to be given the knowledge that Lucan was visiting, unplanned, and not monitored by him. 

The moment he spotted that necklace adoring your figure as a gift from Lucan, something inside of him snapped. It was the very real tangible showing that you were not his, would never be his, and were handed off to another man. Marcus was a calm man, but he had his limits. 

He had kicked himself all night afterwards. He kissed you and then rejected you. Nothing that embarrassing had ever happened in his life. The truth was, Marcus was terrified. This was an area he was not used to. War, strategy, and surviving the depravity of Rome, were his skills. Loving a woman? That was entirely new. Sure, he had his fair share of women in the past, but this time he was unprepared. 

Marcus raised a fist to your door but froze. He could no longer hear your sobs through the carved wood. The morning you had come down to eat after the kiss, he had been given the news that splintered his heart. Yet he knew that same news would destroy yours. 

He vowed that you would be safe under his care, but he had to watch your face crumble at the news of your father’s murder. Slain in battle by a German. You had denied it at first, voice breathless and shaky until it finally dawned on you. 

It was only a minute after that you descended into an inconsolable state. He remembered holding you as you sank to the floor. If he closed his eyes, Marcus could still feel your face tucked into the crook of his neck as your sobs reverberated through his body. You had cried for hours and by the end had fallen asleep. 

Marcus had carried you to your room and laid you down on your bed, vowing then and there he would do whatever it took to bring that smile back onto your face. The light within you, that graceful smile that made his home come alive, would be seen again. 

Now, over a week later, he was outside your room with a bowl of food in hand. Your condition changed quickly. No longer had you cried, but instead stared silently outside the windows of your room. He had tried getting you to talk, but you would only ever respond in short one-worded answers – dead of all emotion. At night, he would sit outside your door, unable to sleep and constantly worried, and hear soft weeps coming from behind the wood. 

He knocked to announce his presence and waited. After a few beats, Marcus opened the door and walked in. He saw the back of your head as you sat in a chair facing one of the windows. There you were, a light, wasting away. 

Marcus approached softly, setting the food down on a small table next to your chair. He walked in front of you, kneeling on the floor. His calloused hands reached out to touch yours and he saw you jolt suddenly at the unexpected warmth. Your eyes zeroed in on his and he could see the redness around them and the empty expanse within. There was no glint, nor hint of mischief that he had learned to love. 

“Sweetheart,” Marcus’ voice was soft as he rubbed soothing motions onto your knuckles, “You’re going to eat and then we will take a walk in the gardens.” 

It was not lost on him that you refused to leave the room since the news broke. Marcus was determined, out of all the things he would accomplish that day, that he would get you up and out of this room. 

You turned back to look out of the window, ignoring his presence and unwilling to go out. Marcus had become tired of your refusal. He had given you grace over the last week, but now understood he must be firm if you were ever able to get out of this stasis of mourning. If you sink too far, there may come a time when you will never be able to get out. 

His fingers delicately gripped your chin, turning your gaze back to him, “You don’t have to eat all of it, just a little. I only wish for a moment of your time in the garden. Ten at most and then you can come back.” Marcus bargained.

You thought for a moment before giving a silent nod. Marcus held back a smile, “Thank you, sweetheart, truly,” He moved away so you could eat, willing to give you space and privacy. 

He nervously fiddled with his hands, a habit he did not know he was prone to until recently, while he waited for you to be ready.

The transition was slow, but you could feel yourself gradually shifting into the light. The darkness that had swept over you, consumed your room and buried itself into your bones waned with each passing day. 

Marcus had been a relentless force in getting you to leave your room every day. What started as a short walk in the gardens, no longer than ten minutes, ended up being longer each day. You did not speak as much, but Marcus filled the silence with his own stories. Normally, you would be the one talking constantly, him being more reserved. Though it seemed the roles had reversed, but you found comfort in his stories and the timbre of his voice. 

Gradually, with the passage of time, you found yourself getting better. There were moments when you would leave your room without Marcus’ presence. Your laughter had not come back, but there was even a moment when you smiled. It lasted only a moment, yet you could remember the shine of light that reflected off of Marcus’s eyes when he saw it. 

Thanks to Marcus’ unwavering determination and insistence in your life, the light had begun to return. The summer warmth that you noted in his eyes upon meeting him was not an illusion, but rather reflected in the way he treated others around him. 

On this day, he had been busy at all hours and came back later. However, he was not going to miss a day of walking the gardens with you. Marcus filled you in on what he did and in return, you spoke of your day, admittedly less eventful than him, but still retained his rapt attention. The cool breeze of the night brushed over you and your hold on Marcus’ arm felt warm compared to the rest of your body. 

He saw it and steered you back towards his home and into the warm halls. The two of you made your way to your room. Suddenly, a feeling of melancholy came over you at the thought of ending the night. Then, you realize that you would prefer to spend the whole night to walk the gardens with him.  

Now outside your door, you turned to Marcus to find him already watching you. The help you had received from him was a kindness no other person had ever given you. His patience with you, despite not needing to help at all, warmed your heart greatly. 

“Marcus,” You spoke, “Thank you,” By the look on his face, you could tell he understood the real meaning of your words. It was not gratitude for the walk, but rather the vast expanse of aid he never failed to provide. 

He was a good provider and you felt safe in his presence. 

“Always,” Marcus nodded to you, leaned down, and left a chaste kiss on your hairline, “Goodnight, sweetheart,” He opened your door for you and you went in, too stunned to really respond. He closed it and you could hear his retreating footsteps down the hall. 

Each moment he stepped further, you realized how deep you were in. It was too late. You loved him, truly. 

And it terrified you. 

There was a part of your heart that felt that it was betraying your father. His friend. But would he not want you to be safe? He trusted Marcus with caring for you, would it be so horrible to allow yourself to have something good in this life?  

This had gone too far. You wanted him and there was realistically nothing in the way, but you were scared. To be so vulnerable with someone so as to share a life with them… was overwhelming. While you did not care for his age, it did worry you slightly. Would the gods take him from you soon? He, like your father, is a General. Fate can be cruel. Could your heart handle that?

You sat down on the edge of your bed and stared at the wall across from you. Already, you knew the rest of the night would be spent in a careful, tiresome, debate with your mind.

The morning meal was quiet. You sat at one head of the table and Marcus at the other. The only sound you could hear was cutlery against the silver plates. There was an underlying fear coursing through your body. 

You had to tell him. 

You could not stay here. 

“Marcus,” You got his attention and he watched you closely, “I would like to request some extra hands to help me with my belongings.” 

“Your belongings?” Marcus question. He placed his cutlery down and rested his elbows on the table. 

“It will take about a day to move back home, but the time would go quicker if I had more servants.” You picked up a cup and drank some water, the cool liquid erasing the scratching feeling in your throat. 

Marcus tensed up, “Why would you go back to your estate?” 

You let out a gentle laugh to cover up the sound of the ache in your heart. If you acted like you were alright, maybe you could eventually truly feel that way. 

“I must manage my father’s estate now, organize funeral processions, take account what was lost in the campaign… countless other tasks as well. Of course, I will need to find a husband to transfer the assets to before I lose them.” You had begun to ramble, the almost insurmountable work that needs to get done had begun to push down on you. All the while, you were oblivious to the darkening humour of Marcus. 

“A husband?” Marcus shifted in his seat. 

“Well, yes,” You responded as though it was an obvious answer, “A husband or tutor has to acquire my assets, as I cannot keep them to my name.” You hated it, but it was Roman law. As a woman, you could either have a husband or a tutor – a legal protector – to take charge of your belongings. 

It was then that you hesitated for a moment, unsure of if you should tell him but relented, “This morning I sent word for Lucan. My mourning period is over, it would be acceptable to move forward with him now.” 

Marcus let out a loud, sudden sigh. He rubbed his hands over his face and you tried not to think about how oddly attractive it was. He had made it clear when he kissed you that he did not wish for this. Why now does he seem so irritated at your actions? You could see his mouth move as he muttered to himself, but you could not hear what it was. 

“Must we have this conversation again…” He mumbled. Marcus leaned back in his chair before speaking up, “I’ll be your tutor.” 

“You what?” You nearly doubled over in your chair. 

“The assets will be in my name, legally, but completely under your control. I know you do not care for Lucan in the manner a wife should, and I’ll not watch you waste away like that. I… I will leave you to your own devices should you wish.” The final sentence was said so unsurely. 

It was an incredible offer; one you wanted to take so desperately. While he feigned control, the power would be in your hands and you could live a quite life of solitude. However, you needed time to think. Your silence must have signalled to Marcus a bought of uncertainty. 

“You can remain living in your home. We would only need to be seen at courtly events or meet over any proceedings. I mean it when I say you will control all of it. You will have full say and I will sign off on whatever you wish for the courts.” Marcus reassured. 

“Why?” You would say you were shocked by his kindness, but you had already become familiar with its hold on you. 

“I promised your father I would look after you.” He spoke. 

“Is that really why?” You questioned. Inside, you were screaming. All it would take is one simple answer. It did not even have to be direct. A simple hint that the kiss you two shared meant something, anything, would suffice. Marucs though, did not respond. His eyes held yours with feelings you could not recognize. 

“I…” The room had begun to feel stifling. You shoved your chair back and stood abruptly, “Thank you, General, for the offer.”

The doors to leave could not be any more welcoming to you as you left the dining chamber. It was only by the time you reached your room and sat down that you realized something. 

You had not given him a proper answer.

There was something so jarring in the way that the sun glared down through the small slivers of linen canopy that stretched across the patio of Marcus’ home. You were sitting uncomfortably in a chair by a table as Lucan sat across from you. 

He had responded to your summons almost immediately, arriving with flowers and jewelry. It was what led you to sit outside with him, pretending to listen in on his words. You felt Marcus' heated gaze as he stood away to watch, as was expected of him. He was further than he would normally be and you wondered if he even wanted to be here at all. 

“... normal to be so gone at the moment.” You finally tuned into the tail end of Lucan’s tangent, “I do not wish to rush if that is not wanted by you.” 

You nodded at his words, pretending to have listened to what he said. At this moment, feeling the warm stare coming from Marcus, you felt more uncomfortable than ever. Birds flew through the planted trees nearby while a cool breeze managed to make you feel some relief. 

“Rush?” You questioned. 

Lucan took a sip of wine, “I hope I did not read your summons wrong… You do wish to proceed with our marriage?” He seemed eager, but also nervous. The period of mourning you had was spent with no contact, though you did receive flowers every day from him. He must be worried there were no feelings there anymore; it made you feel worse knowing there were never feelings on your part to begin with. 

“Ah, yes, marriage,” Your voice rose higher and you shifted in your seat. Your eyes shifted behind Lucan to see Marcus at a distance and maintained eye contact. It was like he heard what you said and turned to look away. Only a second later did Marcus leave, ignoring the rules of propriety to leave you alone. Looking at his back, you felt a million emotions rain down on your body. 

“My lady?” Lucan asked. 

The focus you were lost in disappeared and you realized you had been silent. Looking back at Lucan, you knew you could not continue this ruse anymore. In your attempt at a decent life, you hurt Lucan and Marcus, as well as yourself, with this ruse. 

“Lucan–” 

“It’s him, isn’t it?” His face was crestfallen and he struggled to maintain eye contact. You gave him a look of question, but he continued, “I am not naive. I… I had hoped it was something fleeting, that you would come to me eventually.”

“I do not understand.” 

“But you do. Those looks you give Marcus. The way he watches you as well. I saw it, but chose to ignore it.” Lucan shuffled out of his chair, standing up and blocking some of the sun’s glare, “I will ask this now. I may not receive your love, but you can receive mine. I can give you a good life, and stability, should you wish. If you choose, I will be a dutiful husband. But answer me this one question. Could you live with yourself if you did?” 

You sat in your chair, frozen and unable to answer. Your mouth opened and closed, but nothing came out other than some strangled breaths. Lucan nodded in a way that was both painful and sure – an official declaration of surrender in the war between him and Marcus. 

“I hope he treats you well, my lady.” He nodded to you gracefully before retreating in a different direction than Marcus left – towards the front courtyard to the horses that waited. 

There was a haze that came over you, where all of the events of the last few months compounded. It was like you were looking through a tunnel, fixated on key moments. You did not realize just how often you would look at Marcus when spending time with Lucan. How many times did you tune out Lucan’s words? How often did you hover closer to Marcus? Why did you not see this sooner? 

It must have been a long time of reflection because when you were brought out of your reverie, the sun was setting. 

Marcus.

You had to speak to Marcus. 

You flung from your seat, nearly knocking it to the ground as you stormed back into the villa and down the winding hallways. Some servants were walking the hallway but backed off when they saw your look of determination. It was like you were going into battle, yet the only thing you had to lose was your heart – not your life. Though, you supposed it was all the same.

Making the way towards his room, you did not stop until you were right in front of the door. You pounded a few times on the wood, determined to get his attention. A few seconds later the door creaked, revealing Marcus. He was dressed in his nightclothes that was a thin red linen toga with some gold details on the ends of the short sleeves. He looked exhausted and the messy state of his hair showed that he must have gone to sleep early – or at least had been trying to sleep. 

“I assume you will want your things moved to his estate as soon as possible?” Marcus asked. He was doing the same thing he did the night he kissed you, looking anywhere but your eyes in a battle against himself. 

“There will be no moving.” Your voice was breathless, the quick movement here having tired you. 

“So after the wedding?” Marcus affirmed. 

“There will be no wedding.” You rushed out. Marcus stood there, gaze now looking at you as the fingers on his one hand holding the door open drummed against the wood. 

“Did he take it well?” He asked. You shook your head with confirmation and he hummed, “Good. I am sorry it did not work out.” Marcus understood the undertone of your woods and could recognize the look you were giving him; it was the same glint you had when he kissed you that fateful night. 

Marcus proceeded to close the door on you, causing you to back up a few paces in shock. 

“What the fuck?” You whispered. Anger tinged your mood and you moved forward. Instead of knocking politely on the door, you gripped the handle and yanked it open. Marcus was by a table with a pitcher of wine and he nearly dropped his cup at your intrusion. 

“What was that?” You questioned. At that point, your anger had built up at his attitude lately, “I did not take you as a man who runs.” The insult did not seem to bother him, as he only regarded you with warmth. 

“Neither did I.” His words nearly knocked you over. They were genuine, reflective, and went straight to your heart. Was he… scared? You sucked in a breath, knowing the hidden meaning behind his words: not until you. 

You then understood the truth; you had shaken his world just as much as he did yours. 

“Did you not hear me? I said no to Lucan.” Your voice strained. 

Marcus fiddled with the cup in his hand, “Why?” 

You scoffed gently, but not in an aggressive manner, “You know why.” His face hardened and he put the cup down. You took careful steps to get closer to him. When you were in front of him, you reached out to grab his hand but he backed away. 

“You don’t know what you’re doing darling.” Marcus’ voice was firm and something in the way that the tone hit you made heat pool in your stomach. 

“I know exactly what I am doing and exactly what this is.” Your old fear that he saw nothing in you but naivety was gone. You knew what he saw in you, and it was not some stupid little girl. The way he treated you, spoke about you, and interacted with you showed that this was not the case. You were tired of feeding into that fear. 

You were tired of fighting a losing battle. 

You reached out again, but this time Marcus did not back away. Your hand brushed against the fabric on his chest and felt the heat there. One of his hands reached up to grip yours, carefully keeping it against him and positioned over his heart. 

“Sweetheart, you do not want this.” His terms of endearment always lit a fire in your heart, but this time it spread across your body. 

“I do, Marcus.” His eyes closed and he inhaled deeply. The bump in his throat moved as he swallowed the saliva in his mouth as you spoke. “I do not know why you think otherwise.” 

“I am old. I’m rough around the edges, dark and…” He opened his eyes and you delighted in seeing the brown that you loved so much, “You are a light that I do not wish to extinguish.” 

His words, while romantic, hurt you. Marcus was a man who had experienced so much and seen the depravity of the world, yet still echoed kindness. There you were, sheltered by your father but still witty with the touch of innocence you had experienced. It was such a distinct change to what he was used to; a fundamental shift in the world he knew. 

“Is that why you avoided me? Why you left after you kissed me?” You asked. 

“Partly,” He answered, “If I was around you any longer I would not be able to resist. I am a patient man, but I also have my limits.” The fire inside your stomach was fueled with another log of cut wood, burning and smouldering. 

“You are not dark, Marcus. You have given me nothing but warmth. And old? Do you not remember our first conversation?” The last question was a bit of a tease in an attempt to brighten the conversation. However, you did manage to get closer, breaths intermingling. 

“Every second of it.” He answered. 

“Then what are you waiting for?” Your voice was only a whisper. If you moved any closer your chin would rest against his chest as you stared up at him. That seemed to be his snap, as Marcus wasted no time in leaning down to kiss you. His lips were surprisingly soft, but as warm as the arms he wrapped around your waist. Your hands rested on his chest, gripping the fabric as if to pull him closer.

This was all so new to you, but no less exciting. You relished in his strong and reassuring hold that was both protective and dominant. A dizzy feeling overcame you as you became lost in the sensation that was him. It was almost painful when he pulled away. The two of you were still close, breathes intermingling as you fought for air. 

Marcus’ eyes were scanning your face, searching for some answers within the depths. It was like he wanted to say something to you, but chose to surge forward and kiss you again instead. One of his hands rested on the small of your back, pulling you as close as possible while you other drifted to the curve of your ass. 

You let out a hum that spurred him on. He tilted his head to reach a closer angle and you could feel his nose brush your cheek. All of the pent up emotion between you two had sparked, lighting a wild fire that consumed everything around it. You happily let yourself sink into him, wishing to mold together as one in an attempt to never separate from him for as long as you lived. 

The thrumming in your chest became more intense as your hands turned sweaty. You were not skilled in this area, having only kissed an old friend on the cheek one time in your youth. A low grumble came from Marcus’ throat as he turned you around and began to back up. Only for a few seconds would he pull away until going right back to you. 

You could feel your lower back dig into one of his tables. This felt like a dream, but also exquisitely real; somewhere between the corporeal worldy lust of your body and the haze ascension of your soul. The feeling of his lips capturing yours was addicting and suddenly you cared not for strolls in the garden or trips to the markets. You only wished to stay here, in this room with him, for the rest of your life. 

He ran his tongue over your lips and you responded with more enthusiasm. Gentle, so as to not hurt you, Marcus bit down on your lower lip before he slowly pulled away. When you opened your eyes, you had trouble finding your vision in the daze you had been sent to. Marucs stared at you with an intensity you had never seen before 

You spoke with a breathless tone, “I love you.” 

Marcus froze, his chest seizing in its movements as his eyes moved across your face. He rested his forehead against yours, “I love you, carissima.” 

The two of you joined in another heated kiss, hands brushing over any inch they could reach. Marcus was feverish in his movements and you could feel the grumbles he made coarse through your body. His hands gripped your waist tightly to pick you up and place you on the table. The items on the table, mainly wax tablets and papyrus rolls, clattered to the floor. 

He continued to kiss you and pushed further until your back rested against the wood. His kisses shifted, moving to the corner of your mouth, across your jaw, and down your neck as you panted due to the heat buzzing around you. It was like all of your senses were heightened; his caresses on your sides, his heated open-mouth kisses across your skin, and the smell of sage, steel, and wood from his skin.

It was too much and not enough at the same time. 

His hands moved down to push up the fabric of your skirt. The feeling of his warm hands on the bare skin of your legs felt like the bolts of light in the sky from Jupiter. They travelled up further and suddenly a flush overcame your neck and chest. 

“M-Marcus?” Your voice was but a whisper. You propped yourself up on your elbows to watch as Marcus lifted his head from laying kisses on your covered stomach. 

“You want me to take care of you?” He questioned. You nodded as a response and he smiled, “Good. Spread your legs for me, sweetheart.”

The husky tone of his voice and the commanding nature of it had you obeying. You were not stupid to the ways of pleasure, having explored it on your own on numerous occasions. However, this was new for you. Marcus hiked up the fabric to be scrunched at your waist and you felt the cool air brush over your skin. You squirmed slightly, due to both the cold and how nervous you felt. 

Marcus continued to leave a trail of kisses down your stomach, stopping by the bunched up fabric. You could feel his lips smile before he whispered through the fabric, “My pretty girl.” 

Your breath caught in your throat when you felt his hands brush against your inner thighs, dangerously close to the area you so desperately wished him to touch. One hand moved over you, two fingers gently spreading your folds. Your back arched slightly. 

Marcus hummed in an approving tone while his fingers worked back and forth minstrations. Your legs twitched, but you could not prepare yourself for the feeling when he dived down, lips attacking like he had been doing to your neck moments ago. You gasped abruptly and the muscles in your legs tightened for a moment before relaxing. When your hips moved up, he used his free hand to hold down your stomach, pressing you into the wooden table. 

Short and quick gasps left your mouth the more he worked. The humm of his moans shook through you. You reached out to his hair, tugging the aging curls which only made him work more. 

Marcus got lost in his movements as he lapped at your juices. Was this not wrong for a man? You remembered overhearing some soldiers speak of this act before; and not in good favor. 

“Wait!” You could barely call out. He lifted his head instantly, looking at you with concern. “Is this not… wrong? I’ve heard soldiers speak of this and it was not good…” You trailed off. 

“They are not men like me. Do you want me to continue?” You nodded to his request, but he shook his head, “Words, sweetheart.” 

With a shaky voice, you respopnded with a plea, “Please.” 

“Good girl.” Marcus’ fingers went back to teasing moans from you as his mouth dove back down to feast. After a moment, you felt his fingers at your entrance and one push in slowly. While you had done it before, this was nothing compared to then. His fingers were longer and thicker. One already felt like two of yours. Your hands left his hair and you fell back against the table. While it did hurt, a part of you welcomed it mixed in with the pleasure you were feeling. 

Marcus had changed completely, having lost himself in you. From the sounds coming from his chest, it was as if this action was bringing him as much pleasure as it was for you. He was happy to stay were he was. When your voice rose in pitch, it spurred him even more. He pushed another finger in you, pulling in and out in an almost mesmerizing, dangerously slow, enchanting movement. 

You body trembeled as the pressure in your lower abdomen began to intensify. Your thighs jerked and at this point you were practically grinding against his face. The feeling of his skin caressing your walls became overwhelming as he reached a spot in you that had your back arch. It was dizzying. Your eyes struggled to stay open as the room around you became fuzzy. 

“Marcus! I… I-” A thin sheen of sweat had built over your skin to combat the heat you were feeling. He knew you were on the verge of being undone and only increased his pace slightly. It was tantilizing the way he went about it and you wanted to beg for more but found yourself unable to speak. Each movement of his hands and tongue was carefully calculated as he quickly picked up on all the little motions that made you squirm.

When Marcus would take seconds to breathe, he mumbled against you, “M’girl. Perfect.”

The buildup became stronger and inescapable. You had yet to ever feel like this, so intensely that you could feel every slight movement and touch. A loud moan ripped through your throat as you felt the damn that hid all of your feelings back. Waves crashed over you as you spasmed, but Marcus did not seem to care as he kept up with his movements and let you ride it out. 

This all felt like too much, but not enough. Marcus eventually pulled away with a coy grin on his face. You could barely lift your head up. He could see your difficulty to move because of how overwhelmed you were. Marcus moved back so that he hovered over you and pushed some of your hair behind your ear. 

“Was that good, sweetheart?” Marcus stroked your cheek. You nodded back feverishly and he smiled at your enthusiasm. “I hope you’re not tired.” 

“Why?” You asked. 

“Now that I’ve had you, I don’t think I can stop.” Marcus wasted no time in standing up and swooping you into his arms. His hands went under your knees and back, hoisting you up as though you weighed nothing. He carried you across his room, up two steps, and placed you on his bed. 

Marcus used his hands to push off your clothing. You held your arms up and let him take it off of you. The fabric pooled onto the cold stone floor, forgotten. Now you were bare in front of him and suddenly you felt embarrassed. When you moved to cover your chest, Marcus’ hands immediately stopped yours. One of them cupped your breast while his thumb swiped over your nipple, causing you to shudder. 

“Beautiful.” He mumbled. He leaned down to give you a kiss. Unlike the others, this one was calm; gentle even. It made you feel reassured and safe and you found yourself chasing his lips when he pulled away. 

Marcus worked quickly, diligently removing the clothing he wore. You were left sitting on the edge of his bed and watched. Finally, he was left wearing nothing. Your eyes trailed over the expanse of his tanned skin. Scars littered his chest and arms, ranging from tiny cuts to a few large gashes. All wounds he had sustained in his tenure as a soldier only reminded you of the work he had endured. He rose from a lowly position to a general – no family name or connections to build off of. 

There was something about it that was wildly attractive. The determination, the lethality – it returned those feelings of arousal you had before your peak. Slowly, your eyes trailed down to his cock. It was long, but girthier than many of the carved statues you had seen. Already some precum coated the head. 

You reached out and used your hand to brushed over his length, trailing up to the base and back down again. Marcus shuddered under your touch and his stance faltered. He grabbed your wrist and you looked up into his eyes. They were lidded and dark, shining with so much lust it would have knocked you onto the floor if you were not already sitting down.  

“Move back, sweetheart.” Marcus ordered. You wasted no time in following those orders. You shuffled back onto the bed, moving back until your head reached the feather pillows. He followed suit, crawling over and up your body until he caged your head in between his forearms and his knees were placed on the outside of your thighs. 

There was no time wasted as he leaned down to capture your lips in a fevered kiss. It was engulfing and managed to make you feel lightheaded. His bed was surprisingly comfortable. You had thought it would be as stiff as his persona he showed to the world, but it was not. Your hands trailed down his chest, feeling the lean muscles under his skin. 

Marcus left open-mouthed kisses wherever he could. It did not seem like he cared where he kissed; your lips, cheeks, temple, jaw, neck, and chest were displayed in front of him like a platter of food and he intended to sample his fill of each one. 

He propped himself up on one hand while the other trailed down to your core and circled your bud. You were still sensitive and you moaned into his mouth as your lips battled against one another. His hand drifted to his cock and gripped the base, pumping it a few times. While the length did intimidate you, the girth made you uneasy. If you could barely stand two of his fingers, how would you take all of him?

Marcus guided his cock to drag between your folds. It felt infinitely better than his fingers. It was more intimate, consuming, than the former though not any less pleasurable. The head gathered your slick, teasing as his hips pushed it back and forth. Your breathing got more laboured. As he dragged up again, he smoothly pushed into you. 

Your hands instandty gripped his biceps as you sucked in a large breath and your back arched up. Only the tip was in, yet you had never felt more full. A whine escaped your lips and Marcus stopped. 

“Look at me, baby,” Marcus spoke and you did, “You’re doing so well, you know that? Such a good girl.” You raised your head to kiss him again and he slowly sunk in more. Marcus was patient with you, allowing you to adjust for a moment each time he pushed further. 

When he bottomed out, a low groan rumbled from his chest. He waited while you adapted to the size. It felt like he was reaching parts of you never touched before and you welcomed the feelings and clenched your walls against him. 

It was not long before your hips squirmed, chasing any movement to feel pleasure. It still hurt, but the ache somehow felt good. You craved friction or anything that would send you into the frenzy of ecstasy you had previously experienced. 

“Fuck,” Marcus hissed as he began to pull out slowly. He stopped as the tip was almost out before pushing back in. You gasped as he began to thrust back and forth, setting a steady rhythm. Your hands trailed over his large biceps and moved to the muscles of his chest and over his ribbed abdomen as he maintained a sickeningly euphoric pace. The kisses he left behind were possessive and consuming. 

When your hands wrapped around and fingers dug into his back, a low groan emitted from the back of his throat and his hips snapped against you with a heightened fervor. You had become nothing but a mess of moans while his constant assault on your neck and chest felt like burns. Somehow, someway, you did not feel like it was enough of him. Marcus was a gentle man towards you, but his actions now started to slip into something more primal. The stretch of his cock was a good ache that spread outwords from your core and lit up your body. 

You matched his pace, pushing your hips up to meet when he would thrust in. This must have been a good choice, because the kisses Marcus placed on your collarbone faltered and his pace quickened. All you could hear in the room was skin against skin and the wanton sounds that left both of your mouths. 

Marcus lifted his head to kiss you on the lips, searing but somehow so slow and gentle compared to the frantic nature of his pace. When he pulled away, you saw a range of emotions through those summer warm eyes you had grown to adore – lust, happiness, and love. 

Your hand reached out to cup his face and suddenly you could not hold back your words anymore. 

“I love you, Marcus.” Your voice was coated in breathlessness, but he could still hear it. 

He stilled for a brief moment, as if he thought he imagined your words. He looked into your eyes and found the reassurance he needed. 

A smile broke on his face, “I love you too, sweetheart.” 

Marcus then lost himself. He resumed his steady pace, thrusting in and out with a fervor like before. You were a moaning mess, but still you coult hear his murmurs against your skin. 

“Love…” His lips trailed over a sensitive spot on your neck, “My girl…” He shifted to your collarbone, “Love you,” Marcus trailed his lips down the middle of your chest and between your breasts, “I love you.” 

Your back arched as you began to feel that same fire build up in your stomach. It was a deep pressure, threatening to break. Air was stuck in your lungs, barely making it in and out in the heat that surrounded you. At this point, Marcus was babbling words of love against your skin like a prayer, over and over. 

Marcus chased every once of pleasure he could have, but still paid attention to you. He leaned on one arm with his strength and used the other to trail down to your core. His thumb circled your bud and the added pleasure of it made you shout. His calloused finger added another texture to what you were feeling, overwhelming your senses more. 

“Thats it, sweetheart.” Marcus grunted, “Let go, good girl. I’m here.” 

You had tried to bite your lip and hold it in, but that was a futile endeavor, “Marcus I-” 

“I know, my love.” Marcus reassured you. 

As if on command, you felt yourself falling over a precipice. Your head dug back into the plush pillow below you. Marcus let you ride out your high, not changing his pace at all. His movement fumbled and before long he pulled out. You were not prepared for how empty it would feel. Only minutes ago did it feel too much, but now that it was gone you felt lost. 

Marcus grunted lowly and you could feel some strings of heat hit your lower stomach as he came. It was a shattering moment of bliss and you struggled to catch your breath. Marcus leaned back over you, his eyes screwed shut as his eyebrows furrowed. You let out a strangled laugh and he responded by lifting his head and muting your sounds with a kiss. 

Both of you were sweaty and hot, but did not seem to mind. Marcus lifted himself to reach for a washcloth placed next to a basin on one of his bedside tables and used it to clean your stomach with slow and careful movements. He was attentive and sweet as he cleaned you up and threw the cloth somewhere behind him afterwards. 

He moved to lay on his side beside you. You angled your head to see him and the back of his fingers trailed across your cheek. Despite the fact that you had exposed the most intimate parts of yourself, that little action caused you to blush and become shy. He shifted to wrap you in his arms, turning to lay on his back as your head fell to his chest. 

The calm silence of the room was a comfort as you gradually cooled off. Marcus kissed your temple, squeezing you closer to him. 

“Marcus,” You began, “What do we do now?” You were admittedly worried about everything now that a sense of clarity washed over you. 

“Between us? That is up to you. With everything else… the whole estate organizing? I will be there every step of the way.” Marcus answered. Your heart swelled and you shifted to raise your head and look at him. 

“I… I want to be with you.” You told him. Marcus had a faint smile on his face at your words and the two of you exchanged a long kiss. His head fell back against the pillow as his eyes shut. His legs stretched out and he let out a long sigh. 

“Tired already, old man?” You teased. 

One of his eyes opened to look at you, “Old man? Insults are not very ladylike.” 

“Oh?” You giggled, “I’m sorry, General.” When you addressed him by his rank, his other eye shot open and you could see his pupils expand. Marcus moved swiftly in gripping your hips and hoisting you up to straddle his waist as he sat up. The two of you were still bare, and you could feel your clit drag over his hardening length. 

It caused you to gasp lightly and he only smirked, “Tired, you said?” You had no room to laugh before his mouth was on yours, enveloping you into another round of many that night.

I <3 older men.

I'm going to be taking a short break on Gladiator works (the ones in my requests will not be forgotten) to focus on my Aegon fic. But I WILL return to Gladiator fics.

taglist: @possiblyafangirl @orcasoul @peepawispunk

[subdee]

Call it by its name: a coup.

We don't have to guess about the intentions of Elon Musk et. al.:

Musk is right there at Trump's inauguration giving a Nazi salute - twice!

The plan to dismantle the government is right there in the Project 2025 playbook: the Federal workforce will be purged and positions at every level filled by loyalists (or now, possibly, simply left vacant with "AI" filling in the gaps... somehow... and of course with the "AI" contracts going to the same Big Tech people who were on stage with Trump at the inauguration)

Musk is again on record in a public call talking about how "all government regulation" should be eliminated "by default" and "And if it turns out that we missed the mark on a regulation, we** can always add it back in”. "If it’s not possible now, it’ll never be possible. This is our shot. This is the best hand of cards we’re ever going to have. And if we don’t take advantage of this best hand of cards, it’s never going to happen, so we’re going to do it.”

**We definitely not meaning the American people through their elected representatives but just him, personally, and his cronies, by illegally hacking the computer systems; continuing the funding freeze after it was ruled unconstitutional; illegally shutting down and reshuffling US agencies; and firing everyone who has ever worked on any prosecution case against Trump.

And meantime, the attempt to control the narrative:

NASA to pause all regular work to remove mentions of women in power, indigenous people, gender from the web

HIV data, data on reaching at-risk communities scrubbed from CDC website

US Navy to pause all communications except about deportations

News outlets denied access to the Pentagon except if they're on the far-right

Every disaster blamed on "DEI hires" aka women and minorities

And way way more...

Whatever you think is happening, it's worse than that. No one is going to stop these guys once everyone who could stop them (legally) is fired.

THEN the US general populace will be at these guys' mercy as they continue to make the stupidest possible economic decisions, destroy alliances, gut worker protections, destroy the environment, privatize public assets AKA sell the US government for parts, carry out mass deportations, blame everything that goes wrong on women/minorities/gay people having any kind of say in government or business, and put the entire country at risk for another pandemic even worse than COVID.

THE UNITED STATES GOVERNMENT IS DOXXING FEDERAL WORKERS:

There are TWO ‘target’ lists out for the whole PUBLIC to see. I’m saying this so more people can have eyes on this information to make sure the people on these hit lists don’t DISAPPEAR. It is NOT an exaggeration to say that the government is trying to get these people killed.

Why? Because their job title had some word like ‘diversity’ in it (obsessively anti-DEI is the propaganda rn) or because they donated to a democrat…