#the one that is built on trust and respect

[stanley-the-coolest]

I wrote a 1k word fic in about two days, realistically if I didn't take a break it would've taken me at hour at most.

It is sad to think that people can't write a 600 word essay without using an ai tool.

In fact, right now, let me write you a 600 word essay on how much I fucking hate ai.

I strongly dislike AI for many reasons, the AI 'art', the writing, the impact on our world socially, economically and to the average Joe. Ai is likely to take thousands if not millions of creative jobs even if it is soulless, uncreative, artificial slop. Why? Because people in today's society no longer respect the hard work of artists, poets, novelists, musical composers, or anything along the lines. They no longer respect research, books, literally anything of the sort.

People would rather be bluntly lied to by a robot that has been fed information from even the most disgusting, vomit inducing posts on the internet than open a book to page nineteen and read for five minutes. The worst, the absolute worst part about this is that these people are somehow succeeding in life because they make their job that is fake and incomplete take five seconds with no cost unlike someone who will breathe life into their research that might take fifteen minutes but their work is correct and complete. It is genuinely obtuse to believe that AI can do a research paper for you without a mistake, yes you may also make a mistake but making mistakes is human. No one should get mad at you for making a mistake but immediately trusting information is true because the same little robot that scrolls through racist reddit posts is 'okay'.

We as a society need to do better than this. Here's some research that I did with true information on how shitty AI is. 'And there are further, non-physical ways AI can harm humans if not carefully regulated. AI could cause issues with digital safety (causing defamation or libel), financial safety (this could be misuse of AI in financial recommendations, credit checks, or the opposite, such as complex schemes that steals or exploits financial information), or equity (biases built into AI that can cause unfair rejections or acceptances in a multitude of programs).' from www.tableau.com/data-insights/ai/risks and thats one source here's another with a list! Automation-spurred job loss Deepfakes Privacy violations Algorithmic bias caused by bad data Socioeconomic inequality Market volatility Weapons automatization Uncontrollable self-aware AI

Thats eight out of fourteen reasons they listed! https://builtin.com/artificial-intelligence/risks-of-artificial-intelligence for the love of god we are a little more than halfway done and I haven't even bitched about the fucking ai jesus videos!

Before we get into that heres one more chunk of text I wanna paraphrase. 'The excitement surrounding potential benefits of generative AI, from improving worker productivity to advancing scientific research, is hard to ignore. While the explosive growth of this new technology has enabled rapid deployment of powerful models in many industries, the environmental consequences of this generative AI “gold rush” remain difficult to pin down, let alone mitigate.

The computational power required to train generative AI models that often have billions of parameters, such as OpenAI’s GPT-4, can demand a staggering amount of electricity, which leads to increased carbon dioxide emissions and pressures on the electric grid.

Furthermore, deploying these models in real-world applications, enabling millions to use generative AI in their daily lives, and then fine-tuning the models to improve their performance draws large amounts of energy long after a model has been developed.

Beyond electricity demands, a great deal of water is needed to cool the hardware used for training, deploying, and fine-tuning generative AI models, which can strain municipal water supplies and disrupt local ecosystems. The increasing number of generative AI applications has also spurred demand for high-performance computing hardware, adding indirect environmental impacts from its manufacture and transport.' Wow isn't that fucking crazy that AI takes so much energy to run that we are literally actively worsening our carbon emissions and killing the planet faster! https://news.mit.edu/2025/explained-generative-ai-environmental-impact-0117

Okay remember those ai jesus videos? I know you have the attention span of a goldfish and your eyes are drifting but give me one more minute of your sanity mkay?

Fucking radical christains are using AI JESUS VIDEOS TO FARM ENGAGMENT AND SCARE YOUR GRANDMA INTO GIVING THEM MONEY.

Okay, I'm done!

im still losing it over the "how did high schoolers write 600 word essays before chatgpt" post. 600 words. that is nothing. that is so few words what do you mean you can't write 600 words. 600 words. this post right here is 45 words.

[theskywithin]

Birth Chart Breakdown: Planets in The Tenth House

☉ Sun in the Tenth House You want to matter. Deeply. Quietly. Eternally. You don’t need applause, you need to know you’re becoming someone worthy of your own light. The world sees your drive, but it doesn’t see the pressure beneath it. The fear of fading. The fear of never fully rising. You chase your own potential like a moving horizon, and even when your legs are tired, you keep going, because something inside you refuses to settle for a life that doesn’t feel earned.

☽ Moon in the Tenth House You want success, but you also want to feel held in it. You need to know that what you're building doesn't just impress others, it nourishes you. You crave emotional fulfillment in what the world sees of you. But the spotlight is hard when your heart is this soft. Still, you rise. You offer your tenderness to a world that rarely returns it, hoping that someone, somewhere, will look at what you've made and feel something real.

☿ Mercury in the Tenth House You want your thoughts to ripple. You want your voice to matter. You carry ideas like offerings and hope the world listens. But every time you speak, there’s a silent question underneath: Is this enough? Am I enough? You don’t just want to be heard, you want to be remembered. You want your words to build something that outlives the moment they were spoken.

♀ Venus in the Tenth House You long to be admired, not for perfection, but for the grace you carry through your evolution. You want your becoming to be beautiful. You want to be respected for your choices, loved for your growth, seen for the way you make effort look effortless. But beneath the charm is someone who wants more than recognition, someone who wants to be chosen in public, not just in private. Someone who wants to leave beauty behind as proof they were here.

♂ Mars in the Tenth House You’re here to climb. To conquer. To rise, even if the path is steep and no one’s cheering. You burn for impact. For achievement that doesn’t just prove your worth, it transforms it. But no one sees the anger behind your ambition. The rage at being underestimated. The hunger to prove that you were never average. You don’t just want a seat at the table. You want to build the damn table, and decide who gets to sit beside you.

♃ Jupiter in the Tenth House You want your life to lift others. To inspire. To give more than it takes. Your dreams are wide, generous, un-contained, and you believe the world is big enough to hold them. You don’t chase success for its own sake. You chase it because you want your story to mean something. You want your name to carry light. To offer hope. To say, “If I made it through, you can too.”

♄ Saturn in the Tenth House You were born carrying the weight of becoming. Every step forward feels like a test, and you measure yourself by results, not hopes. You fear failure more than anything, not because you crave praise, but because you fear being nothing at all. But your strength is built in the silence. In the effort no one sees. And when you do rise, when you finally allow yourself to arrive, no one can take it from you. Because you earned every inch.

♅ Uranus in the Tenth House You don’t want a role, you want to rewrite the whole script. You rebel against every “should” the world throws at you. You crave a path that is yours and yours alone. You’re not afraid to stand out, you’re afraid of disappearing into someone else’s definition of success. What you’re building isn’t a brand, it’s a revolution. Even if no one understands it yet.

♆ Neptune in the Tenth House You dream of becoming something that heals, that uplifts, that softens the edges of the world. You don’t want power, you want purpose. You want the life you build to feel poetic, transcendent. But the path is blurry. Some days you drift. Some days you doubt if your vision will ever take shape. And still, you reach. You trust the dream is worth chasing, even if it’s not yet clear.

♇ Pluto in the Tenth House You don’t just want to succeed, you want to be remembered. You want to change things, shake foundations, leave marks that can’t be erased. You carry a pressure most people couldn’t survive, to become someone who can’t be ignored. And though the climb is lonely, though power comes with cost, you’re not here to stay small. You’re here to rise, to rule, and to resurrect a version of yourself that no one, not even you, saw coming.

[planetmimi]

PROLOGUE: Between Worlds

wc: 892

context: tamaranean-kryptonian reader x mark grayson cw: none, for now

Tamaran

26 years ago, a Kryptonian scientist named Val-Ren left his home in search of something his people could never offer him-understanding. He left Krypton as his desire to understand how life develops on other planets became too strong. He was looked down on by the scientific community, his desire to see energy as a living force, seemed futile on Krypton, useless. But he could not rid his mind of one question, what could Krypton become if we learned from others. That desire, that question, led him to Tamaran.

His plan was to study life on Tamaran for a decade and then head back to Krypton, using what he learned and discovered on Tamaran to make Kryptonian biology better. But four years after he arrived on Tamaran, his home planet was destroyed. It was abrupt, there was no warning, no goodbye. No survivors. Just silence.

When he landed on Tamaran, the king had died several years prior. Leaving Queen Luadn’r as sole ruler until one of her two daughters were ready to inherit the throne. When Val-Ren met the Queen her beauty captivated him, and she was by his purpose. She wondered, what could Kryptonian technology do for Tamaran?

The Queen, along with her council, decided to allow him to continue his scientific work under the watchful eyes of Tamarans most trusted scientists. The walls were built high, and trust had to be earned.

Over the years the kryptonian, gained not only the trust and respect of Queen Luadn’r, but the love as well. He found her intoxicating. Her wisdom, her strength, her unyielding love for her people. In turn Luadn’r was drawn to his intellect, curiosity, and his mind. Where most wanted to conquer and squander, Val-Ren wanted to understand, to learn.

It was not a whirlwind romance, it was slow, gradual, yet steady. A love based on a foundation of respect and understanding. When they officially started to court each other, Queen Luadn’r made sure to not hide it from the people of Tamaran. Their wedding was a public affair. The people of Tamaran were divided, ones who celebrated the couple and ones who disliked that their royal family would now include a Kryptonian.

It took time, but the public learned to accept the relationship.

After 10 years of being on Tamaran, Val-Ren and the Queen had their one and only child, Princess Kaelynd’r. A baby girl, a perfect mixture of Tamaranean and Kryptonian- fierce, bright, radiant. But most of all, she was a little girl who was love. Her older sisters Komand’r and Koriand’r adored her.

Komand’r, as the eldest, took it upon herself to make sure that Kaelynd’r would never be weak. She taught Kael to always speak her mind, to not be afraid to be different. They bonded over the fact that both looked different from the other Tamaraneans, it allowed both to feel as though they belonged. Even if some would say otherwise. She often spared with her sister, taking pride in being the one to teach the younger girl about their energy beams and how to move without a sound. Komand’r would train her at night, work on Kael’s stealth by having her sneak from her room all the way to Komand’rs room, while not alerting any guards. When Kael would succeed, Komand’r would take her flying through the night sky. Under the twin moons of Tamaran, the sisters would fly and train with each other, a secret between the two, a bond like no other.

Koriand’r, on the other hand, was the big sister ever child dreams about, was extremely kind and always wanted to play with Kaelynd’r. While Komand’r taught Kael to be bold, strong, and unapologetically herself, Kori taught Kael to be kind and appreciative of all things. The two youngest would often sneak off from their teachings to go to the lake together to swim and play in the water, they would play dolls and make traditional Tamaranean sweets together. Once Kori spent an entire evening helping Kael put on a show for their family, they played music, danced, and dressed up as different characters in a play that Kael created. Kori allowed Kael to feel free, to be a kid, to be creative.

Kori and Komand’r were the perfect balance. Komand’r was her courage, Kori was her joy. Both girls helped shape who Kael is and wanted to be, until the Gordanians arrived.

The Gordanians invaded Tamaran with a haste that could not have been predicted. Their purpose- take the planet by any means. Crush any resistance and wipe out the royal bloodline.Kaelynd’rs life was turned upside down at only 15 years old.

At 16, to keep the royal bloodline from going extinct, to protect her. Kaelynd’r had to be sent off world. Far from the Vegan solar system. The goodbye was rushed, secret, harsh, but necessary. Her mother, cried for the first time in front of her. She kissed her daughter on the forehead and told her her to be strong, to fight. Her father held her hand until the cryo chamber sealed.

Kaelynd’r was placed into cryostasis to buy her time. To allow her the chance to have a life wherever she landed.

A chance that is near.

One year ago, her pod crash landed on a world universes way. A world called Earth.

And her pod, is finally starting to open.

a/n : This prologue is basically the same for the Dick Grayson version of this story. The Dick Grayson story is following Young Justice while this, obviously, follows Invincible. But i just wanted to get this out. I’ll probably have the first chapter out in a week or so.

If you read this and you think you’d enjoy the story leave a comment and let me know if youd like to be on the taglist

taglist: @astrelz @burdened-locus @deleted-1-800 @hali-k-issy @raventtelov3r

[riddlesrizzler]

𝙛𝙧𝙖𝙩 𝙗𝙧𝙤! 𝙢𝙖𝙩𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙤

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

⟡ ݁₊ .Mattheo Riddle, Sigma Nu’s enigmatic president, is the kind of person who commands attention without saying a word. His presence is a paradox-a mix of calculated coldness and quiet charisma. With his sharp, angular features, dark eyes that seem to see straight through people, and a perpetual air of composure, he exudes authority. But behind the walls he’s built is someone who deeply values loyalty, respect, and the power of the unspoken bond between his brothers. Whether he’s in a suit at a formal event or lounging in his hoodie, Mattheo always carries himself with a quiet intensity, his gaze often distant, as though he’s constantly watching, analyzing, and weighing every situation.

⟡ ݁₊ . Despite his aloof, almost intimidating aura, there’s a tenderness that only a select few get to witness-something reserved for those who earn his trust. He’s fiercely protective, not just of the fraternity but of the people he cares about, especially sweetheart! reader. With a hand on the reins of the house and a deep sense of duty to uphold tradition, Mattheo is known for his sharp intellect and unwavering determination. Yet, when it comes to the ones he holds close, he’s softer, more human, even if he’d never admit it aloud. His loyalty isn’t given lightly, but once it’s earned, he’s the type to go to any lengths to protect what matters most.

[jukeboxsweethearttt]

Never Get Tired (Of Loving You)

JJ Maybank x Fem!Reader/ Rafe Cameron x Fem!Reader

Synopsis: Even when you left JJ never got over you

an: I wrote this for @starfxkrinc in honor of her never watching the notebook everyone enjoys !

There was never a time when JJ Maybank didn’t love you. Not really. Not since that hot summer in sixth grade when you called him a loser with your hands on your hips and a watermelon Jolly Rancher in your mouth. Even then, when your curls were wild and your mouth was even wilder, you were it for him.

You knew it too.

By eighth grade, you were sneaking out your bedroom window to meet him at the dock, legs dangling over the water, arms brushing, kisses soft and clumsy under the stars. “M’sorry I don’t got money like your daddy,” he’d mumble every time he held you too close. But you’d just shove his shoulder and say, “I don’t want money, J. I want you.”

Still, by freshman year, he’d started dreaming. Big. Big enough for both of you.

“I’m gonna build you a house someday,” he told you on the back of his dirt bike one night after a fight with his dad. “Not some tiny ass shack, either. Real big. Porch swing. Garden in the back. A bathtub with jets.”

You giggled into his neck, “How’re you gonna do that?”

“I’ll figure it out.”

That’s what he always said. And somehow, you always believed him.

By senior year, you two were inseparable. JJ had started apprenticing with a contractor, working weekends and after school, saving every cent. “For the house,” he’d whisper against your collarbone. “For our kids. For everything.”

But your parents had other ideas. They always looked down on JJ, sneered at his busted up boots and the old truck he fixed up with Pope. “He’s not your future,” your mama would say while she flat-ironed your hair for college interviews. “He’s a phase.”

You didn’t think so. Until they made you choose.

A full ride to Magnolia & Whittemore University some fancy ass Southern school nobody ever heard of unless they had money. They put pressure on you. Threatened to cut you off. Told you JJ would never amount to anything.

And when you refused to listen, they set you up with Rafe Cameron.

You laughed when they suggested it. Rafe? The cokehead trust fund baby with the creepy eyes and the daddy issues? No thank you.

But then he cleaned up. Transferred schools. Became respectable. Started opening doors, saying the right things. And you were so lonely so damn angry at JJ for not fighting harder that eventually, you let Rafe take you to dinner.

Then to a weekend getaway in Charleston.

Then to meet his dad.

Then. he proposed.

And you said yes.

It wasn’t the love you had with JJ. That fire, that storm, that deep down I’d die for you shit. But it was something stable. Safe. Rafe had money, plans, his own company. You could breathe with him.

Except you always felt like something was missing.

JJ never stopped building the house.

It took him seven years. He bought the land in cash. Took side jobs, worked through hurricanes, slept in his truck some nights. Learned how to pour concrete and hang drywall and install plumbing.

All for you.

Even when you stopped writing. Even when you blocked his number. Even when Cleo told him you were living with Rafe now in a damn condo with granite counters and his and hers sinks.

He still built the damn house.

Three bedrooms. Huge porch. White trim. Clawfoot tub. Big windows so you could grow plants. A nursery painted yellow. Just in case.

He didn’t know why he was still doing it.

Until he saw you again.

You were in town visiting your parents. It was supposed to be a quick weekend trip dinner, a little shopping, then back to the bubble of Rafe’s world. But that day, it rained. Hard. The kind of storm that made the sky crack open and pour out every ounce of sadness it’d been holding in.

You were driving down old roads, heart full and confused after another fight with Rafe this time about your future, about what you’d give up for his dream.

You didn’t mean to drive past the lot. You hadn’t even known it was finished.

And then there it was.

Your house.

Not a dream anymore. Real. Solid. Standing.

And there he was.

JJ Maybank.

Shirt soaked to his chest, jeans clinging to his thighs, hair dripping. Standing on the porch with a paintbrush in one hand, staring out into the rain like he was waiting on a ghost.

Your breath caught. Your whole body stilled. The windshield blurred with water, and still, you couldn’t look away.

Your hands trembled as you parked and stepped out into the storm.

JJ didn’t notice you at first.

But you walked through the rain anyway, slow, cautious like if you moved too fast, it’d all vanish.

Finally, you called out over the thunder. “You actually built it.”

He turned.

And the second his eyes met yours, it was like the world stopped spinning.

Rain ran down his face like tears, but his expression didn’t change. Not at first. Just stunned. Still. Like he couldn’t believe you were real.

You were soaked by the time you reached the porch steps. He didn’t move. Neither did you.

The rain thundered on the roof.

“Why’re you here?” he asked, voice low, wrecked.

“I don’t know.”

“Is he with you?”

You shook your head. “No.”

He stared at you for a long time. His eyes searched your face like it held every answer to every question he’d ever been too afraid to ask.

Finally, “You happy?”

Your voice cracked. “I don’t know that either.”

He laughed then, bitter and wet and broken. Looked down at the porch boards he’d laid with his own hands.

“You didn’t even say goodbye.”

You swallowed. Rain clung to your lashes. “You didn’t ask me to stay.”

“I didn’t have to, baby. You were mine.”

He said it like a promise he never stopped keeping.

You were shaking now cold from the storm, dizzy from the past catching up all at once. “Do you hate me?”

His eyes locked with yours. “I’ll never hate you. I just.. I’ve waited so long to stop loving you. And I can’t.”

Lightning flashed above you.

And in the next heartbeat, he was pulling you to him like gravity, like fate, like he’d waited seven years for that one single moment.

His lips crashed into yours. It wasn’t sweet. It was desperate. It was rain-soaked agony and heaven all at once.

Your fingers tangled in his wet hair. His hands found your back, your face, your waist like he needed to memorize you again.

“I built it for you,” he whispered against your mouth. “All of it.”

And in that storm, in his arms, in your house you remembered everything you ever needed to.

You didn’t go back to Rafe.

Not that night. Not the next.

You stayed in your house. The one JJ built.

And slowly, piece by piece, the life he promised you started to bloom.

You got married in the backyard barefoot, with daisies in your hair.

You had two kids girls with curly hair and wild grins.

You planted a garden.

You rocked on the porch swing every night with JJ, your hands always intertwined.

And when people asked you how long you’d been in love, you smiled and said, “Since we were twelve. He just had to build a house and wait in the rain to remind me.”

[charliedawn]

A SERVANT’S DUTY Part IV Emperor Geta x Reader

(Also, there is a surprise because I couldn’t write a Gladiator fanfic without writing about my favourite ex-general Acacius who I want to add because he is simply awesome…)

The air in the dungeon was thick with the stench of mildew and damp stone. The walls, cracked and cold, seemed to swallow sound, the only noise being the distant drip of water echoing through the corridor. You walked through the low-lit passage, each step purposeful, as you approached the solitary cell where Macrinus was confined. His name had become little more than a whisper among the palace halls, a faded memory of ambition thwarted, of plans undone. Yet here you were, standing before the door that separated you from the man who had once tried to grasp the reins of power.

The guard unlocked the door, his expression neutral. You stepped inside, feeling the weight of the moment settle upon you. There, sitting on a small cot in the corner of the cell, Macrinus looked more like a shadow of the man he once was. His eyes were sharp, though, like a predator waiting for the right moment to strike. When he saw you, a slow smile stretched across his lips.

"Well, well," he drawled, leaning back on his cot, arms crossed. "The woman who foiled all my plans. To what do I owe the honor of this visit ?"

You stepped closer, not letting his mockery affect you or distract you from your goal. "I wanted your opinion."

His eyes narrowed, amusement flickering. "My opinion ? You come seeking advice from the man you helped ruin, the one whose schemes you so thoroughly dismantled ?" He chuckled darkly, almost bitter as he shook his head in disbelief. "You know, I thought you were cleverer than that. You disappoint me."

You stood silent for a moment, letting his words hang in the air. The flickering light of the torch cast a glow on his face, and you saw how he had changed. His once-strong posture now sagged with time, but there was still a sharpness to him, a sense of self-preservation. You didn’t approach him as an enemy. Not anymore.

"You’ve been in this cell for some time," you said, taking a seat across from him, folding your hands. "But I’m not here to gloat, Macrinus. I’m here because you’ve seen the inner workings of power. You’ve schemed and plotted. I want to know what you would do differently now."

He studied you, his eyes flicking up and down your figure, noting the way you carried yourself now—the difference from the woman who had first entered the palace, the one who cleaned floors and tended to the needs of others. The woman before him now was a far cry from that.

Macrinus leaned forward, his smirk widening. "What I would do differently ? You want the thoughts of a man who had the world within his grasp, only to lose it all ? Who’s now rotting in a cell, a mockery of his former self ?"

You hummed.

"You’re not a mockery," you said, meeting his gaze squarely. "You’re a cautionary tale."

He scoffed, but the flicker of respect in his eyes didn’t go unnoticed. "Well, there you have it. I suppose, in a way, you’re right. But you can’t escape the truth of it. You came to me for advice, but why would you trust a failure ? The path you’re walking now ? It’s one I tried to walk, and look where it’s gotten me." He gestured around his cell, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

You held his gaze. "Because you failed, it doesn’t mean I will. I learned from your mistakes."

Macrinus leaned back, the faintest trace of curiosity flickering in his eyes. "Is that so ? And what, pray tell, have you learned ? That every throne is built on betrayal, that power is always a game of who can outlast who ? You cannot change the rules of the game, girl. You can only play it."

You tilted your head.

"Perhaps," you admitted quietly. "But I have learned that power isn’t always taken with the blade or the coin. Sometimes it is given. And right now, I have been given the trust of an emperor who is learning as well. So, I will ask you again—you who has been where I am right now. What would you do, if you had another chance ?"

He seemed to think about it before he chuckled softly, but there was no malice in it. "Another chance ? With the world watching ? With a senate that will do anything to rip power from you ?" He paused. "What would I do ? I would take it—take everything. Gain the Emperor’s trust once more and bide my time to act. With a softer touch, perhaps. But I would still take it—take everything that I know I deserve and maybe even more."

You stood up and your eyes met briefly. "Thank you," you finally said. "I think I’ve learned enough."

As you turned to leave, Macrinus’s voice followed you. "Just remember one thing, girl," he called out, his tone shifting slightly, the sharp edge of his previous mockery gone. "Power doesn’t come from the people you save—it comes from the people you break."

You paused, then turned back slightly to face him. "And when they rise again ?"

Macrinus was quiet for a long moment. Then, finally, he spoke, his voice barely above a whisper as he demonstrated the full extent of power’s cruel truth. "Then you crush them before they have a chance to stand."

Your eyes widened momentarily in shock before you nodded, the weight of his words hanging in the air as you left the cell behind. There was no malice in your heart for Macrinus. He had once sought the throne—he had been consumed by the same hunger for power that you now wrestled with. But unlike him, you would not be consumed. You had learned his lesson, and you would find another way. As you walked away, the flicker of a plan began to take shape—one that was not built on destruction, but on subtlety, trust, and the strength of the people who had been left behind. Macrinus said that power doesn’t come from the people you save ? Well…You guessed you would have to prove him wrong.

…

You found Geta in his chambers, hunched over yet another pile of reports, his brow furrowed in concentration. His exhaustion was palpable, the weight of his duties pressing down on him. It was moments like these when he looked more like the young emperor he was, not the ruler people hoped he would become. Your heart squeezed in your chest. His workload had been momentarily reduced—but to take care of an entire Empire on one’s own was a Herculean task. You stood in the doorway for a moment, watching him. When he finally looked up, his face softened just slightly at the sight of you. But there was a familiar weariness in his eyes.

"I thought you were going to rest ?" you asked.

His voice was thick with fatigue as he replied. "The Empire doesn’t wait for sleep."

You stepped inside, closing the door gently behind you. "No," you replied, your voice steady, "but it does need something else if it is to last."

He gave a small, tired smile, raising an eyebrow. "Oh really ? And what’s that ?"

You moved closer, feeling the tension in your shoulders ease slightly as you spoke. "Trust."

His brow furrowed. "Trust ?" he echoed, his gaze intense. "That’s a tall order, especially when the Senate refuses to listen, when they still seek power at every turn."

You met his gaze, unflinching. "Yes. Trust. If the Empire is to be built, it must rest upon that foundation. But it cannot be a trust that is only given to those with power or wealth. It must be a trust extended to all people—men and women of every class, every trade, every family."

Geta sat back in his chair, hands steepled in thought. He said nothing, but the quiet tension between you both grew. You continued.

"If the Senate is to represent the people, then it must be open to them. True representation is more than just a collection of noble faces, more than just those who hold power in their hands or gold in their pockets. It’s the voice of every citizen who breathes this Empire’s air, who eats its bread, who bleeds its blood. We cannot afford to let the voices of the common people fall silent any longer."

Geta looked at you, the weariness in his eyes replaced by a flicker of something else—curiosity, perhaps, or a growing understanding. "You know the Senate will not accept such a thing," he said softly. "They will see it as a threat, as a way of undermining their power."

You nodded.

"Maybe they will," you admitted with a small sigh. "But power must be earned, not seized. If you wish for the people to trust you as their ruler, as their Emperor, then you must give them a voice. Not just the senators, but the farmers, the soldiers, the merchants, the artisans—everyone. If we are to rebuild this Empire, we need more than just a few nobles making decisions in gilded halls. We need the strength of the people."

You leaned against the desk, your voice growing more resolute. "What is a kingdom if it is built on the backs of the poor and the weak, yet they have no say in how it’s run ? The people are the true heart of the Empire, Emperor Geta. And if you cannot win their trust, if you cannot show them that their voices matter, then everything will crumble."

He was silent for a long moment, his eyes unfocused as he looked at the scattered papers. He seemed to be lost in thought, processing your words, weighing them against the responsibilities and burdens of his crown. Finally, his voice broke the silence. "And how would you suggest we do that ?" His tone was soft, cautious, as though he was afraid of the answer. "How do we open the Senate to the people without tearing the Empire apart ?"

You straightened, meeting his gaze fully. "We start with the towns and the provinces. We invite their voices into the halls of power—not as petitioners, but as true representatives. Let them bring their grievances, their hopes, and their needs. We’ll establish councils that can represent the people—no longer just the wealthy, the influential, but the working, the struggling, the ones who keep the wheels of this Empire turning. We bring them to the table. And we listen."

"Even the ones who still whisper rebellion ?" Geta asked, his voice a quiet challenge.

"Even them," you confirmed, your gaze unwavering. "Because if they are heard, they won’t need to rise in rebellion. If we truly hear the people, we can guide them. It is only in silence, only in neglect, that rebellion breeds. We must show them that their concerns are not beneath us."

Geta leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. "And what about the Senate ? How do we bring them into this plan ? They will not like being challenged."

You smiled softly, the corner of your lips turning up slightly. "The Senate is built on old traditions, on wealth and power. But traditions can change, and the powerful can fall. The question is not whether they will like it, but whether they will resist what is right. And when they see the Empire flourishing with the voice of its people, they will follow."

He met your gaze, a long silence hanging between you both. Then, with a slow nod, he sighed. "Perhaps…perhaps it is time for change."

You nodded back. "It is. And it must come from the top, not just from the people. But you, Geta—if you are to be Emperor, it will be because you lead not with the crown, but with your ears and your heart. Let the Senate watch as you extend your trust to them. Let them see what true leadership is."

He rose from his chair slowly, the weight of your words settling in his posture. His gaze held yours, a silent promise in his eyes.

"Then I suppose we have work to do," he declared, the first spark of resolve returning to his voice.

You smiled, the glimmer of hope in your heart stronger than before. "Yes. We do."

…

The proposal had been set before the Senate, as bold as it was necessary. Representatives from each level of society—farmers, soldiers, merchants, artisans, and the like—should be allowed not only to petition but also to sit at the table during votes and hearings, to ensure that the voice of the people was truly heard. It was a radical idea, one that had not been entertained in this gilded chamber for generations. Still, you had made your case to Emperor Geta, and now, the proposal was before the Senators.

You stood at the center of the Senate hall, the weight of the moment pressing down on you like a physical force. The room was filled with the murmurs of the gathered Senators, each one eyeing you with suspicion, each one sensing the shift in the winds. Their eyes were sharp, their gestures subtle as they traded looks of doubt. Geta had stood by you in this, his hand resting lightly on the back of your chair. Though he was present, his presence was almost invisible to the Senators. It was clear they were looking to you as the architect of this new idea—not their Emperor.

Senator Lucius, one of the more outspoken and wealthy members, stood first, his voice booming in the silence of the chamber. "This is madness," he declared, shaking his head in disbelief. "To allow the common rabble into the sacred halls of the Senate ? To have them sit beside us, where they have no business ? It would be the end of order. The end of our civilization."

A chorus of murmurs followed, with several Senators nodding in agreement, their faces twisted in disapproval.

Senator Lucius’s voice echoed through the chamber, a call to arms for the status quo. "Do you think we could simply let peasants, merchants, soldiers—those who know nothing of governance—join us in our deliberations ?" He paused, letting his words sink into the room. "It would be chaos. We would lose control, lose all authority. The Empire would fall into anarchy."

You remained calm, standing tall at the center of the chamber, eyes sweeping across the room, meeting the gazes of the Senators who were clearly opposed. The weight of their words fell on you, but you did not flinch. In your mind, the heart of the Empire was with its people, not the narrow circle of elites that sought to control it for their own gain.

"Senator Lucius," you began, your voice steady, cutting through the murmurs. "With all due respect, what you describe is not an Empire—it is a monarchy of convenience, where only a select few benefit from the labor of those beneath them. You fear chaos because it threatens your control. But let me ask you—what do you fear more ? A little disorder, or the collapse of trust between the Senate and the very people who sustain this Empire ?"

The room fell into an uneasy silence, all eyes on you now. Even Geta, standing by your side, shifted his weight slightly as though he was bracing himself for the next wave of opposition. Lucius opened his mouth to retort, but you continued before he could speak, your gaze hardening, unwavering.

"An Empire where only those with power can speak will never endure. You speak of chaos, but it is the lack of representation, the lack of a shared voice, that will breed the true disorder. When the people realize they are nothing more than pawns in the game of a few, they will turn their backs on the Empire. They will stop building, stop working, and stop fighting."

There was a brief pause as the Senators processed your words. Some remained stoic, others fidgeted. Lucius’ face reddened with barely contained anger, his fists clenched at his sides.

"Are you suggesting that the Senators are the problem here ? That we, who have given our lives to the Empire, should simply bow to the will of those who know nothing of governance ?" he spat, his voice low and dangerous—filled with venom at the challenge.

"Not bow," you replied, your tone cutting through the tension like a blade. "Listen. Listen to the voice of the people, and you will find the strength of the Empire restored. An Empire divided—between the powerful few and the many who serve—will never endure. It is not the citizens who have failed this Empire. It is you, the rulers. You have failed to see that power is not something to hoard, but to share. If we do not learn to govern for all, we will have nothing to govern at all."

You could feel the weight of the Senate’s gaze on you, but you stood your ground. You knew that this fight was bigger than the immediate room, bigger than the backlash you were certain to face. Finally, one of the quieter Senators, a man with silvered hair and piercing green eyes, spoke up. "What you propose is…unorthodox," he said, his voice cool and measured. "But perhaps, just perhaps, it is worth considering. The common folk are the lifeblood of the Empire, after all. Without them, none of us would sit here today."

You recognised him as the voice who had defended you when you had been made Emperor Geta’s advisor. An ally—you assumed.

Lucius however shot him a withering look. "Do not stand alongside such foolishness, Senator Cassius. This will be the end of all that we have worked for."

The murmurs returned, louder this time, swirling through the room. Some seemed to lean toward your argument, while others remained staunchly against it. The division was obvious in the room.

"Senators," you called them, "if we do not change, we are as good as dead. The world is changing. The people are changing. You know of the uprising that almost ended up in chaos outside the palace. The only question is: will we acknowledge it and change with the people, or will we stand in the way and risk watching everything burn ?"

For a moment, there was only silence. Then, Senator Lucius stood again, his expression hardening.

"We vote," he declared, his voice dripping with finality. "Those in favor of this…ridiculous proposal, raise your hands."

One by one, a handful of Senators—less than you had hoped for, but still a start—raised their hands in a show of support. But the majority remained silent, unmoving.

Lucius smirked. "The proposal is rejected. We shall continue to govern as we always have. You will find that the people do not need more than we give them."

He sat down with an air of superiority that left your blood boiling in your seat, the room buzzing with murmurs of approval from his supporters. You stood still, fighting the anger that swelled within you. But as you glanced towards Emperor Geta, you saw that his eyes were focused, intent, and determined. His hand rested lightly on the back of your chair, and his chin was tilted upward, a subtle sign of defiance against the overwhelming majority. He would not let this moment pass so easily.

"Senators," Emperor Geta spoke up, his voice steady and strong, "you may have rejected this proposal today, but this is not the end. The Empire is changing, and so too must the way we govern. What has been decided here today is not set in stone."

The Senators fell into an uneasy silence once again. Many of them exchanged wary glances. Lucius sneered, but even he could not deny the Emperor’s presence, the quiet weight of his words.

"We will find another way," Emperor Geta continued, his gaze sweeping across the room. "The Empire will move forward. And so will the voices of its people."

With that, he turned and left the chamber, and you followed, feeling the stirrings of a battle yet to come. Though the Senate had voted against change today, you knew this was only the beginning. The people were waiting. And soon, they would have their say.

…

You returned to the dimly lit cell where Macrinus was kept. The air was damp, thick with the scent of stone and must. The torchlight flickered along the narrow walls, casting long shadows across the cold stone floor. You paused at the door, your hand resting lightly on the iron bars, staring into the darkened corner where he sat. Macrinus looked up as you approached, his eyes narrowing in surprise. His once sharp features now seemed dull, though his sharpness—his mind—was far from dulled by his confinement. His eyes carried the same glint they had when he had first plotted against the twins. But now, that same cunning seemed more resigned, as if waiting for something—waiting for you.

"Back again ?" he told you with a knowing smirk, his voice a low rasp, though there was still a trace of mockery beneath the words. "Come to ask for more advice from the man you foiled all plans for ? I assume you haven’t grown bored of this game yet."

You let out a soft breath and looked him in the eye. "I do not need advice for myself," you explained. "I need it for the Empire."

Macrinus tilted his head, a knowing smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. "Isn’t that rich ? You want advice from me on how to guide an Empire you have helped steer into chaos ?"

You took a step closer, not flinching at the bite in his tone. "I do not believe in chaos. I believe in change. And that is what we need. A new structure. A way to balance power, to share it."

Macrinus snorted, leaning back against the stone wall. "So, what is it you seek from me now, then ? I failed. You succeeded. Why come back ? Perhaps you seek to ensure I stay silent in my prison—an easy move to keep the dog leashed, but ultimately futile, wouldn’t you say ?"

You didn’t answer him immediately. Instead, you paced a few steps in the dim light, feeling the weight of his gaze on you. "The Senate ? They are not going to open themselves to the people. They think they know best, but they only know how to protect their own interests. So I need a way to make them listen—to force them into acknowledging the people who built this Empire."

Macrinus’ eyes gleamed in the shadows. "Ah. I see," he said, his voice a bit colder now. "You are playing a different game, aren’t you ? Not the one of noble ideals, but the one where you make your enemies think they are still in control while you pull the strings. You need to make them believe the people are behind them—make them believe that they will lose everything if they do not heed your words."

You stopped pacing and turned back toward him. "And how do I do that ?"

Macrinus chuckled ominously.

"Do not ask for their permission. Show them it is already happening—without them. Use your power to make it clear that the people have already spoken. Let the merchants and the soldiers see that they are no longer dependent on the Senate to have a voice. And then, let them see their own seats—those same seats of power—begin to feel fragile. Let them feel the shift, even if they cannot control it."

You narrowed your eyes, considering his words. "And you think they will just fall into line because of that ?"

Macrinus leaned forward slightly, his eyes gleaming with dangerous intent. "No. They will fight it, of course. But the more they fight, the more they show the people how out of touch they are with the reality of things. Push them hard enough, and they will have no choice but to bend. After all, you’ve already seen the cracks in their armor, haven’t you ? The senators will resist, but even they know—eventually, they must adapt or be swept aside. There’s nothing worse than being out of touch with those who have the power to pull the rug from under you."

You stood still, the weight of his words sinking into your mind like a stone dropped into a still pond. His plan wasn’t clean—it wasn’t neat. But then again, neither was history.

You let out a quiet breath. "I am not trying to sweep anyone aside. I am trying to build something that lasts."

Macrinus chuckled, the sound dry and humorless. "Good luck with that. But you have already taken the first step—you have shown them that you are not afraid to change the rules. You are an anomaly in their carefully crafted design of power. A servant—friends with an emperor. What remains is making them believe it is a change they cannot resist."

You studied him for a moment, the silence thick between you. Finally, you nodded. "Thank you. For the clarity. Even if it comes at the cost of your own plans."

His lips twisted into a smile—more like a sneer, but still sharp. "Plans change. The question is whether you are prepared to see yours through."

As you turned to leave, you hesitated at the door. You could feel his gaze on you, his words hanging in the air like an unspoken challenge.

"You will find, in the end," Macrinus added, his voice softer now, almost a whisper, "that no one ever truly wins in this game. They only survive long enough to play the next round."

You didn’t reply. Instead, you exited the cell, your footsteps echoing down the hall. The weight of Macrinus’ words clung to you, but it was the path you’d chosen. There was no turning back now.

…

The Senate chamber was abuzz with the usual quiet clatter of whispered conversations, the shuffle of sandals against marble, and the rustling of parchment. You had entered the room in your usual way, poised but unassuming, though this time you did not take your usual seat at the table. Instead, you stood at the back, far from the eyes of the Senators who were still absorbed in their endless debates, their voices heavy with rhetoric and well-practiced tones.

Today, you said nothing.

You simply observed.

Geta sat at the head of the chamber, his fingers lightly tapping against the surface of the polished table, the weight of the crown heavier on his head than ever before. He watched the Senators with an unreadable expression, as if waiting for something to break. The grand speech you had prepared, the arguments and fervor of your proposal, were now still within you, resting in the corners of your mind. Today, you weren’t there to push an idea or challenge an opinion. Today, you were there to watch how things unfolded without you.

It didn’t take long before the tensions in the room began to rise, small sparks igniting in the conversation. Senator Lucius was the first to speak, his words sharp enough to cut through the thick air.

"We cannot allow this farce to continue," he said, his hand slamming against the table, eyes scanning the room. "The people—peasants, merchants, soldiers—will not dictate our decisions. We have been appointed to serve the Empire, not cater to the whims of those who have no understanding of governance."

The murmurs from the other Senators were quick to follow, some agreeing with him, others too cautious to speak too loudly. There were always those who resisted change, who fought tooth and nail to preserve the power they had. It was clear that your proposal had struck a nerve.

You studied Geta’s face closely. His jaw tightened, but his eyes remained calm, as if waiting for the moment to unfold. This was a test—his first real test as Emperor. Would he let the Senate have its way, or would he finally show them the strength of his resolve ? The eyes of the Senators shifted, glancing back and forth, trying to read him. It was a game of control. And in the midst of this carefully orchestrated chaos, you stood silently, letting the tension grow.

After a moment, Emperor Geta stood. The room grew silent.

"Senators," he called them and it carried a weight that silenced even the most outspoken among them. "We have all heard the words of Senator Lucius. And I know that many of you share his sentiments. But I must remind you all that an Empire is not built on the strength of a few, but on the trust of many."

You watched his eyes sweep the room, his gaze meeting those of the Senators, one by one. He was not the boy who had stumbled in fear before Macrinus a few weeks ago. He was the Emperor, and for the first time in this room, his presence commanded respect—not because of his title, but because of the quiet strength that radiated from him now.

"The people are not our enemies," he continued, his voice firm but not unkind. "They are our foundation. Without them, we are nothing. And so, I will not stand by while we ignore their needs, their voices, and their rights. If we are to govern, it must be for all—regardless of their class or station."

He looked toward you, and though no words were spoken, there was an understanding between you. The unspoken bond that had been formed in the quiet moments outside the Senate chamber—the trust you had built together. Emperor Geta was not simply speaking for you now. He was speaking for the future, for the change that was already underway. The Senators were silent, unsure how to respond. They had not expected this from him. They had expected more hesitation, more diplomatic avoidance. Instead, Geta was holding his ground.

But still, the resistance remained.

"Your Highness," Senator Lucius finally spoke up again, his voice tinged with disdain, "you are a young Emperor, and perhaps you do not fully understand the weight of what you propose. The Empire is built on order, on structure. Allowing the common people to sit at the table with us would undermine everything we have worked to preserve."

Emperor Geta’s gaze hardened, but his voice remained calm. "The people are the Empire, Senator Lucius. Without them, your order is meaningless. And I am not just a young Emperor—I am YOUR Emperor. And I decide what needs to be done or changed in order to save MY Empire."

And with that, the room fell into a heavy silence. You could feel the shift—the moment when everything seemed to hang in the balance. Would the Senate bend, or would they fight back with all the strength they had ? Would Geta’s resolve be enough to win the day ? You didn’t speak. You didn’t need to. You simply watched. The stage had been set, and now it was up to those who would play their parts. Would they resist, or would they recognize the change that was coming ?

In the end, it was no longer about politics—it was about trust. And that was the foundation you had been trying to build since your sudden rise is status. Then…Emperor Geta surprised everyone—including you. "That is why I have decided to add one senator to this assembly…"

Geta looked straight at you.

The room fell into an almost oppressive silence as Emperor Geta’s words hung in the air, their weight settling heavily on the gathered Senators. All eyes turned toward him, but it was you who felt the shift most keenly. You hadn’t expected this—no one had.

Geta’s gaze held steady on you, unwavering, as he continued, "A representative not of the old ways, but of the new."

You felt the eyes of the Senate bore into you. Some were skeptical, others intrigued, but all were watching.

What was this ? What was Emperor Geta doing ?

He turned slightly, the subtle shift of his posture signaling a quiet command to the room. "I believe it is time for a new voice. One that has the strength to advocate for those who have long been ignored. For those who will never sit in these seats unless we make space for them."

It took a moment for the words to register fully. He was choosing you. You, the one who had stood quietly, observed, and planned without ever stepping forward to take the limelight all along the meeting. The one who had worked from the shadows, never seeking glory, but driven by something deeper.

"I am nominating Y/N," Emperor Geta said, the words slipping out without hesitation. "To represent the people. To ensure that the voices of those who have long been silenced will finally be heard. Step forward, Senator."

A gasp rippled through the room. The Senators, once sure of their positions, suddenly felt the ground shift beneath them. Their eyes flickered between you and Geta, as though the Emperor had struck them with an unexpected blow. To see you standing there, not as a mere observer, but as the very embodiment of the change they had fought to avoid—it was almost too much to comprehend. You stood, your heart pounding in your chest, but you did not move. You did not speak. The weight of this unexpected responsibility pressed down on you, but there was no room for hesitation. This was a moment you could not—would not—waste.

"Your Highness," Senator Lucius sneered, "You would put a woman, a commoner, among us ? What will that accomplish except chaos and disorder ?"

You could feel the temperature in the room drop as others murmured in agreement. The resistance was already rising, and they would not take this challenge lying down.

But Geta was unmoved. "It is precisely because we have been living in order without purpose, in governance without the people’s trust, that we must act. I trust Senator Y/N. I believe in her vision for this Empire."

His eyes, steady and unwavering, found yours again, and this time, there was no hesitation in your heart. There was only the resolve that had been building within you, a quiet certainty that now, finally, you could make a difference.

You took a step forward, your voice strong and clear as you addressed the assembly, "If I am to sit at this table, I will do so not as a token, but as a representative. If I am to serve, I will serve the people, not the status quo. If the Senate is to truly represent the Empire, then it must open its doors to all classes of society—not just the few who have always sat comfortably in these seats."

You glanced at Geta, and in that moment, everything seemed to align. The path ahead would not be easy, but you were not alone. He was with you. And together, you would face the resistance, the critics, and those who would seek to stop this change before it even began.

The room grew quiet again, as if holding its breath, waiting for the next move. Would they fight back ? Or would they accept this challenge, this new future ? The answer, you realized, was no longer in the hands of the Senators.

It was in yours.

As your first decision as a Senator, you decided to organise meetings between the different parts of society to vote a representative for each faction of society. The amphitheater carved into the side of the hill buzzed with anticipation. Beneath arched colonnades, representatives of every walk of life had gathered—merchants with ink-stained hands, farmers with dirt under their nails, artisans in smudged robes, physicians, fishermen, midwives. Weeks of deliberations, of gathering names and votes, had led to this moment.

Each class had chosen a representative—a voice to speak on their behalf in the new advisory council tied to the Senate. Geta had approved each appointment with a composed nod, pride glinting beneath his measured expression. The Empire had not seen such a thing in centuries.

But the final delegation arrived with a tremor.

The soldiers, garrisoned across the provinces and even here in the capital, had submitted their choice.

General Marcus Acacius.

A murmur of unrest spread like wildfire the moment the name was read aloud. Emperor Geta visibly stiffened where he stood beside you, a subtle tick in his jaw betraying his surprise—no, not surprise. Disbelief. He looked at you and you could see the rage in his eyes. Acacius had once been among Rome’s finest. A man of iron will, beloved by the legions, a tactician and field general who had carved peace from chaos. But during the turmoil following the deaths of Geta’s predecessors, Acacius had chosen a side—and not Geta’s. He’d rallied troops in the East, threatened to seize power, and was eventually captured before a full civil war could erupt.

The Senate had labeled him a traitor. He had been imprisoned in silence, without public trial. Now, his name was back. Chanted by soldiers who had not forgotten him.

You stepped closer to Geta as he scanned the parchment again, as if the name might change if he looked long enough.

"…They’ve chosen him," he muttered, his hold on the paper wrinkling it as he forced himself not to rip it to shreds…Those military traitors. Remembering his name of all names…He looked at you, the ghost of tension behind his eyes. "They’re forcing my hand."

You shrugged. "They’re asking to be heard. And they know Acacius is one who always cared about his men."

Emperor Geta sighed in defeat. "The soldiers have spoken." His words rolled out carefully, like boulders down a slope. "They have chosen Marcus Acacius as their representative."

Geta turned to you, his voice softer now, meant for your ears alone. "You know what the Senate will say. That I have allowed a traitor to sit in council. That I have surrendered to the army. That I have lost control."

You tilted your head. "Or they’ll say you’re the emperor who listened to those he commands. Who had the strength to sit at a table with those who once stood against him…so that they might never need to again."

He looked at you for a long time. And slowly—very slowly—he nodded.

The order was sent.

Marcus Acacius, the traitor-general, was to become the representative of the soldiers of Rome. The name still echoed through the vaulted chamber.

Marcus Acacius.

A hush had fallen like fog across the gathering. No one spoke. No one dared.

Geta stared at the scroll in his hand as though it might catch fire. His expression didn’t change—no fury, no surprise. But you knew him well enough by now to see the flicker in his eyes. A wound reopened.

Acacius had not merely chosen the wrong side during the succession crisis—he had led the movement to dethrone both twins. Had his plan succeeded, Geta and his brother would have been cast aside, exiled, or worse. Acacius had rallied senators, governors, military cohorts—all under the promise of a ‘new Rome.’ It had failed, barely. And Empeor Geta had not forgotten.

He folded the scroll bearing his official seal with deliberate care and handed it off. Then turned his eyes to you.

"They’ve chosen a man who tried to destroy everything—to destroy me."

You were silent for a breath. "They’ve chosen a man they believe still speaks for them."

He hesitated. "Marcus Acacius will not be freed. His crimes remain. He will not sit among senators. But—" That word held the room still. "But he will be permitted to attend the meetings of this new council. In chains, under guard, behind no veil of power. He will be present. He will be heard."

Gasps rippled. A senator stood, outraged. "Your Majesty, this is a disgrace ! You would bring a traitor into this sacred—!"

"—Into a space meant for the voices of all," Emperor Geta interrupted, cold and precise. "That includes the voices we do not necessarily want to hear."

He looked at you then. And you knew—this wasn’t surrender. This was strategy. Control.

"I have spoken. And Marcus Acacius will therefore by the voice of the sword."

The vote stood. The representatives were confirmed.

The torchlight flickered across the damp stone walls as the guard descended into the depths of the prison. Chains clinked with every step. The door to Marcus Acacius’s cell groaned as it opened.

He looked up from where he sat on the low bench. His armor was long gone, his hair longer now, touched with grey. But his posture—straight-backed, still—held the discipline of a soldier. He didn’t rise. Only studied the guard with the wary calm of someone used to waiting.

"You’re wanted," the guard informed him. "In the upper chambers. You are to attend the council meetings."

Marcus blinked. The stillness of his face cracked just slightly, a furrow forming between his brows.

"…Attend council meetings ?" he repeated—surprised by the sudden offer.

The guard grunted and shrugged. "Not my idea."

Marcus slowly stood, not in defiance but in disbelief. "And who…decided this ?"

There was a pause. Then the guard spoke, almost reluctant: "The Emperor. And…his new senator."

A quiet, thoughtful frown appeared on his face. As if trying to see a pattern he hadn’t considered before. He nodded once, slowly.

"I see," he finally said and looked up. "Then Rome may not be completely lost after all."

…

That night

The chamber was dim, lit only by the pale light of the moon slipping through the high arches. The scent of parchment and ink still lingered in the air from the hours Emperor Geta had spent poring over reports, sealed letters, and Senate disputes. The weight of the day clung to him like smoke—every decision, every defiance, every ripple from the stone he’d cast into still imperial waters.

He sat alone now, shoulders hunched, tunic loosened at the throat, a half-empty goblet of wine forgotten on the table beside him. His crown rested nearby—too heavy for a man who hadn’t yet turned thirty.

The door creaked softly open.

She entered with a quiet grace, her steps muffled by the thick rugs underfoot. The guards had been dismissed before she arrived. No name had been asked for. She wasn’t there to be known. Just to serve.

Geta didn’t look up at first.

"Were you sent ?" he asked.

"No," she replied. "I was invited."

He let out a breath that might’ve been a laugh—or a sigh. "That makes two of us."

She didn’t speak again. Only came to kneel beside his chair, not touching him yet. Her presence was gentle, patient, nothing like the hungry hands of courtiers or the sharp stares of senators.

After a long silence, he spoke. "Do you know what happens when you give power to the people ?"

She tilted her head. "They remember they’ve always had it ?"

He looked at her finally. The moonlight caught his eyes—tired, but no longer clouded. "You are wiser than most men I have met this week."

She smiled faintly. "I am honoured, Your Majesty."

He didn’t pull her into his lap. Didn’t press his face into her neck. He only let his head drop slightly, shoulders relaxing just enough for her to gently lean against his side, hand resting on his arm.

And in the stillness, he breathed again.

It wasn’t lust he had summoned tonight. It was peace. Or some soft echo of it, from someone who expected nothing from him.

And for the first time in days, Geta allowed himself to close his eyes.

She was warm, skilled, careful in every movement—but it wasn’t her lips that lingered in his thoughts. It was a pair of lips chapped by time and a sharp tongue that could rival the wittiest of strategists.

It was yours.

At first, he tried to push the thought aside. A mistake of memory, he told himself. A side effect of exhaustion, of blurred emotions and a hundred decisions piling atop each other like stones in his chest. But the more she touched him, the clearer you became. Not in lust, but in presence. Your voice. Your frown when you were deep in thought. The determined calm in your eyes when you stood before the Senate like a storm barely held in check.

And then—your smile.

That fleeting curve of your mouth, never quite for show. The kind you gave only when you truly meant it. Not out of politeness. Not out of duty. No. The one he liked to think he was the sole witness…He sighed.

That smile had ruined him.

Because now, even as the woman before him pressed a kiss to his collarbone, his heart stuttered—for the wrong reason. Her hands seemed so cold, her touch unwanted, her voice the annoying buzz of a fly in the background. His eyes opened. He wasn’t here.

He was there. In the council chamber. In the corridors. At your side.

"Stop," he murmured suddenly.

The woman paused, surprised. "Is something wrong, Emperor Geta ?"

He sat up slowly, pulling his tunic back over his chest, not meeting her gaze. "No. You’ve done nothing wrong."

She tilted her head, sensing something deeper. But she said nothing. Only rose quietly and gave him a small, respectful nod. "If you need anything else—"

"No. You will be paid," he dismissed her before adding. "Thank you."

She seemed taken aback, but left nonetheless and the door shut gently behind her. Alone once more, Geta leaned forward, elbows on his knees, face in his hands. He wasn’t foolish. He knew what this meant. He hadn’t just summoned someone for comfort tonight. He’d summoned someone to erase something else—someone else.

And failed.

Because it was you he longed for. To build with. To trust. To carry this impossible world alongside.

He sighed and looked up at the ceiling.

She must know the impact she had on him. Was it a plan of hers ? To get close to the Emperor and gain his affections ? To make him a pawn in her rise to the stratosphere ? He closed his eyes and chuckled to himself. The worse part was ? He wouldn’t mind. Because he liked the way she played…She was a player unlike any he had ever encountered. She was a player that gave as much as she received.

She thought she was smart—and she truly was.

However, she underestimated his ability to learn from past mistakes. He had been betrayed three times by the people closest to him. He would not be made a fool ever again. He knew her every move, her every step…He knew about her secret visits to Macrinus. He knew exactly what they were talking about. He knew she was learning. But, she was also unpredictable and authentic—a flower in a garden of thorns. Her every word, action and thought were for the benefit of Rome and himself. But he could never truly anticipate what she would do next—it was thrilling. Such dedication…Such pride.

He smirked.

Finally. A friend worthy of an emperor’s love.

[teddybarebones]

I like shipping Obi-wan with basically any adult (especially male) character ever...so here is a non-exhausted list of characters I ship him with and why. (inspired by @grumpy-tooka 's post)

Quinlan Vos: They are friends with benefits, they started fooling around in their teens, and meet up whenever they are both between missions to hang out (and maybe fuck, if both their padawans are out). They are extremely loyal to each other, Quinlan lets Obi-wan help when he's drifting to the dark side, and Obi-wan trusts him to get help when he needs it.

Cody: They share something on the emotional level, two people who are always in charge of the situation, and struggle to rely on others for their personal issues. They would both put their own loyalties above their relationship with each other, and that works for them. They both hold the hope that when the war is over, they will discuss their unspoken (but known) feelings for each other.

Satine Kryze: A shared kiss here and there, oung love, two people who's loyalties to their own people would make them incompatible in the long run. They enjoy bickering, but can't last longer than a few weeks before they'd get tired of each other. There is still affection between them, but they both know that they wouldn't have worked.

Dexter Jetsetter: They fucked like once ten years ago, when they were both in a tight situation. I imagine that they happened to both be hiding from someone, and had to rely on one another to escape. The adrenaline and tension led to a quickie or something, and they became great friends. Nowadays all they do is flirt, but they are always happy to help each other out.

Jango Fett: Their tension on Kamino was CRAZY. I think there was some serious attraction between them, but neither would feel comfortable enough to actually fuck about it. They would both struggle with feeling comfortable around someone who is tied to the murder of a number of their people (some more than others).

Bail Organa: Bail and Breha have a loving and open relationship. Bail's interest in Obi-wan has lasted since they first met, and he has no shame in reminding Obi-wan that he and Breha would be delighted to share some time together (both in the bed, and out of it). They hold extreme amounts of respect for each other for their loyalty to their people and their dedication to do what is right.

Cad Bane: I think they had tension during the Rako Hardeen arc, that tense alliance between bounty hunters with trust issues is the perfect space for sexual tension. While I don't think they fucked, they definitely COULD have, and they know it.

Darth Maul: Maul's obsession with Obi-wan bleeds into all aspects of his life, including sexually. Neither of them would truly act on it. Obi-wan can see that Maul is attractive, but he is not interested in him sexually (too traumatized by his actions to think of him like that).

Asajj Ventress: Just flirting between them, their interest in each other is actually 95% platonic, they're just really weird about it. There is a decent amount of respect between them, as well as annoyance, resentment, and yearning for connection.

Kit Fisto: Sparring buddies, rare friends with benefits, very casual about it.

Alpha-17: Their time on Zygerria built a LOT of trust between them, they fucked once, and their interest in each other is now purely professional.

Cerasi + Nield: The three of them were codependant as fuck, it was more platonic than anything else, but they cuddled at night and were extremely loyal to one another.

Rex: They could bond over the headache that is Anakin, and later, over the betrayal that led to the enslavement and annihilation of their people. There is a connection there, that they would likely never act on, they are both instead consumed by guilt together.

Fox: They both hate politicians and dealing with the senate, they'd both love to be able to kill Palpatine, maybe they'd fuck about it?

Bruck Chun: The bullying could have been caused by both jealousy, AND a romantic interest. Obviously nothing ever happened about it, but Bruck had a little crush, and Obi-wan only realized later as an adult.

Hondo Ohnaka: They COULD fuck, but they mostly flirt for the fun of it, it makes everyone around them uncomfortable (and they think it's funny)

There are many MANY more ...but these are the ones I can think of off the top of my head...

[soft-boi-eli]

Sylus x cane user reader

Tw. Not proof read. You scare sylus. You do fall but you good.

Ok sylus is definitely will take care of you. No ands ifs or buts. He has the money and the power.

And even though people view you as a nuisance or a faker because your so young he seea you as one of the most powerful people he met.

Hes just like you mean you go through this shit, the pain, the comments, and even the harassment and you are still living dispite all of it. He fuckin respects you.

His house is now accessible completely. He had stairs yes but now there is an elevator. Nothing is put too low or too high the shelves up high were too high for you to reach anyways.

The bathroom? Theres a built in shower chair with a second shower head for easy reach, cant have you falling. Also mephisto is always with you. Be it in his house, in the bathroom, anywhere he is there. Cant have you hurting yourself.

Im rambling. Uhmm uhh. Here a scenario that has happened. Warning you do fall. Your ok with a new big bruise on you booty but ok. Sylus is however very overwhelmingly concerned.

You wanted a shower and apprently that was a crime of your body. Today you were doing ok. The pain was minimal and you trusted yourself. It was a day of stupid mistakes. And your dumbass decided to forgo the built in shower chair. You call yourself a dumbass for a reason. In the middle of you rinsing your hair out your leg gives out. The loud thud was heard through the base. And you just sat there, more stunned then hurt. You landed ass first onto the river rock floor.

And you sat there blinking and digesting what had happened. However you didnt have long to take it in because the door was opened violently. And in came your hulking boyfriend. He hadnt even turned off the shower. He was in there with you soaking his expensive clothes. Looking over you for broken bones. And to top everything off with a cherry and bow you had started your period. The scent of blood had him fretting more and more. "Sylus. SYLUS!" His eyes landed onto yours. And your hands went to his face. "Im ok. Im on my period and i fell. My ego and butt may be briused but im ok." He was quick to bundle you in one of his black towels and help you slip on a pair of underwear. "Well kitten you are going to have to let me determine if you are fully ok."

He had carried you to the bed, he didnt care for his sopping wet clothes, setting you down with your cane next to the bed. He had stripped off his wet shirt, pants, and left only his boxers.

He had flipped you to lay on your stomach, gently running his hands over your back feeling every bone and each muscle. He stopped when his hand reached your lower back and hip. He looked into ypur eyes waiting for your nod before he gently pulled your undies down to expose your butt. The area red and a small amount of purple already exposed itself.

His fingers were soft and his lips gently met with the bruised flesh. "Sylus! Dont kiss my butt cheek!" He looked up meeting your firey gaze. His ruby eyes glinted with a bit of humor. Sprinkling more gentle kisses over the flesh. His hands were just a suggestion on him holding your hips. His heart lighten at the giggles that escaped you. The thought of you in pain faded.

"My kitten is definitely not broken. But there is quite a bit of a bruise there." He rested his face into the small of your back. Having pulled up the fabric of your panties. His breath soft against your skin. His wet hair left water drops everywhere.

"My big bad dragon oh so scared over a small fall." He stared into your eyes a glare. "Kitten. It sounded like you fell and broke everything in the shower. Luke and kerian heard it from the garage." Your face flushed. Embarressment flooded you as your face found home in a pillow. He slowly ran his hands up your back, fingers swirling and lossening knots of muscle.

"Now kitten. When you shower i would feel comfortable if i showered with you for a little bit." With his fingers breaking any tension in your body you could only hum in agreeance. "Even if that means i have to strap you to that damn chair kitten. Its installed there for you." His voice went stern. "I felt good today. I thought i could stand." He places a kiss to your shoulder blade. "I know kitten but sometimes even if you feel like you're able to it might be safest to just use the aide." You pouted at him. Anger slightly sparking. "I dont mean tjat you cant shower or do things without them. I just think its safer." He slowly pressed his body onto yours hands now back to holding your hips.

"Sylus! Your heavy!" He hummed as his body slowly relaxed letting your body get use to it. "Sorry kitten. You scared me and now i want to be as close as i can." Your eyes soften, all anger you had was gone. You werent alone here. You forgot that. If you had a fall at your apartment it was just you and finding if you were ok yourself. But here? With sylus. You had other people that would worry or get scared.

His face was nuzzled into your neck, so leaning your head onto his was easy. "Sorry sy. Use to livin alone." He hums arms now wrapped around your waist. "I know kitten. I dont blame you though." You let your body relax under his weight. You knew he was scared for you. You knew he cared so much. And he knew that you being stubborn and wanted to do things your way was something that he loved about you. He would never change you or even want to. Even if it seemed you were able to scare him to death most of the time.

[sv3t1ana]

<< Master list ⋮ Next chapter >>

SYNOPSIS ᯓ A Bonnie and Clyde-esque, high-stakes, multi-chapter smut romance that follows a deadly criminal duo whose intense, chaotic love becomes as dangerous as the heists they pull off. Trust forged in blood, bonds built on risk.

PAIRING ᯓ Criminal! Sukuna x Criminal! Fem. Reader

WARNINGS ᯓ criminal activity, first heist, mentions of weapons, covert operations, moral ambiguity, tension heavy/high stress

WORD COUNT ᯓ 3.2k

Chapter 5.

You wake up in the dark, still wrestling with the sheets after yet another miserable night of sleep. The remnants of uneasy dreams cling to your skin even though you didn’t remember them. Your body, trained to precise awareness even in the throws of debilitating exhaustion, feels the shift before your eyes open fully.

There’s an unmarked box at the foot of the mattress, staring back at you in its simplicity.

You sit up, movements lagging through the fog of sleep, as you reach over, cardboard smooth under your fingertips.

Corporate attire. Everything sleek, polished. A black pencil skirt, crisp white button-up, a tailored blazer designed to fit you like a second skin. A pair of fake glasses rest neatly on top, complementing the deception. Beneath them, makeup carefully selected to highlight without exaggeration, heels engineered to click with confidence.

You run a hand over the fabric, it feels alien. You were far from the reckless girl who used to chase chaos without a second thought, dancing with the high of risk like it was a lover meant to be bitten. That girl was reckless, sloppy almost. She gambled for the sake of gambling, mistaking impulse for mastery.

Now you were someone precise. A partner in something grander than a mere stunt. No wasted movement or unnecessary risks. Everything was a calculation, a plan sharpened down to its finest edge.

Yesterday you spent hours dissecting the floor plan of the office building, memorizing its bones like an architect. Every security camera mapped, their blind spots marked and saved in the back of your mind. The fire exits cataloged, the elevators and stairwells traced over until they felt etched into the back of your skull.

A short window of time to exploit the security system, you pinpointed the lock needing to be picked, now slipping the necessary tools into the lace cup of your push-up bra with the kind of delicate care reserved for deadly things.

You always knew how to play with danger. Now you learned to control it.

You pull your hair into a tight bun, every stand secured, the tautness mirroring the cold focus settling over your body. Your reflection stares back at you, someone honed, disciplined, different.

Sukuna had taught you that, how to care for yourself like you were an instrument of purpose rather than a body merely surviving. He carved the recklessness out of you, piece by piece, leaving behind something sharper, something meant for the craft.

The woman in the mirror wasn’t the clean-cut professional she was dressed to be. But something better.

Devoted.

“Baby steps,” you murmur, words slipping like a promise. You push off the counter, leaving behind your reflection and stepping into the role waiting for you.

Sukuna is waiting in the living room. A bag slung over his muscular shoulders, filled with weapons you pray won’t need to see the light of day today. His presence alone commands the respect, an unspoken force as he leans against the wall, long fingers idly curled around one of the straps.

He doesn’t speak, just letting his eyes drag over you, reading every inch of preparation with the efficiency of a man who expects nothing less than perfection. There’s no smirk or teasing remark, just a brief nod, the weight of it heavy with understanding.

His white van is parked outside, delivered by the client this morning, sterile, nondescript, the kind of vehicle that no one gives a second glance. You slip into the passenger seat with Sukuna beside you, adjusting his sunglasses with an unreadable expression under the low brim of his hat. A high-visibility construction vest drapes over his broad frame, the bright color incongruous against the numerous tattoos on his face.

A mix of danger and anticipation hums between you, mirrored in the low purr of the engine as his hands steady on the wheel. His fingers tap idly, the motion betraying none of the lethal efficiency that simmers beneath his skin. He doesn’t look at you when he speaks.

“I trust you’ve done your homework.” His voice is low, reminding you of the trust he places in you. A warning not to fuck it up.

“I’ll get it done. Just stay out of the way and let me work.” Your response sharp, measured, but there’s a thrill underlining it. Something in you likes when he tests you, when you get to prove you belong in this world just as much as he does.

The drive is quiet but charged, the city swallowing you both whole, towering skyscrapers looming like glass monoliths. Your pulse quickens, the stakes feel higher and it’s not just the job itself, but doing it in front of him.

The office building appears ahead, an untouchable fortress of mirrored glass and steel. The kind of place that houses lousy businesses who believe themselves beyond consequence, their crimes hidden behind polished boardrooms and offshore accounts. Sukuna pulls the van into a narrow gap near the dumpsters, the white of the vehicle blending seamlessly with the others parked along the back.

The interior of the vehicle is already set up. Multiple monitors lining the empty back, their digital reflections across his face as he shuts the car off and climbs into the back. You unbuckle your seatbelt and reach for the binder, an empty prop meant to lend legitimacy to your intrusion. Your purse lands over your shoulder, the weight of hidden weapons pressing against your hip.

You smooth out your skirt as you stand, straightening the fabric with careful precision. Sukuna watches from the back, his arms resting lazily around the seats. He leans forward slightly, a smirk ghosting across his lips.

“Try not to make me regret bringing you in, yeah?”

You meet his gaze, giving a curt nod before turning on your heel. The door clicks shut behind you.

The company occupies the 21st through the 26th floors, its front a luxury real estate firm that sells illusions to the wealthy. Inside the polished veneer, something festers, illicit money funneled through a labyrinth of accounts, concealed in the folds of legitimate business. A third-party crime syndicate wants it exposed, so they hired Sukuna, who in turn, handed it to you.

The lobby of the building is designed to blend in, all clean lines and muted colors, the perfect environment engineered specifically for efficiency not comfort. Workers pass through in a steady stream, sharp suits and cold expressions. You cut through like a ghost, pressing the elevator button with steady fingers. The 25th floor, the financial department, the managers office, the heart of their deception.

As the elevator ascends, you keep your posture relaxed, binder tucked under your arm, the label, “Reports” a silent affirmation of your forged presence. Another worker steps in beside you, barely sparing you a glance. You return the favor, offering a polite smile before looking away. The key to invisibility is not to shrink, rather belong.

The doors glide and you step out without hesitation, hallway stretching before you, pristine and quiet. Here, people move with their heads down, eyes on screens, hands on sleek desks. The glass-walled offices to your left reveal employees hunched over their work, oblivious.

Your path is set, taking a right, then another right, then a left. At the end of the hall, nestled beyond a sea of empty cubicles, is the restricted section. The door is locked, as expected. No one is here, your timing perfect. Lunch break leaving the place abandoned, the absence of bodies making the air feel sterile. You set the security cameras to loop for the next hour, giving the monitors in Sukuna’s van the only real feed.

Then the rush hits, winding through your limbs making you feel weightless. You feel it in the quickening of your pulse, the anticipation a living thing, a beast stirring in your blood. You glance just once at the security camera mounted in the right corner. The barest flicker of movement, but just enough.

Sukuna sees it, and outside the world moves at his command.

Sirens wail in the distance, a fake diversion good enough to lure office guards away, lessening the obstacle between you and what you came for.

You reach into your bra, fingers brushing against the cold metal. The lock picks are like an extension of your body, their familiar weight grounding. Squatting low, you bring them to the lock, slipping the tension wrench into place before working the first pick inside.

Your breath slows, eyes narrow as you let your world shrink to the metal between your fingers, the invisible mechanics hidden within the door. One by one, you find the tumblers. Every shift, every slight movement sending a pulse of electricity down your spine.

Click.

The first pin falls.

Click.

The second, the third.

Sweat prickles at the nape of your neck. A slow exhale, hands steady despite the tremor rolling through your limbs. The familiar intoxication flooding through the neurons in your brain, the way you can feel the lock yielding to you, the way-

Something sticks.

Your stomach clenches. A fraction of pressure too much, and the lock seizes.

Then- footsteps.

They round the corner, shoes sharp against carpeted floors.

The world tilts, heartbeat hammering against your ribs, a steady mantra forming in your head, focus focus focus. In. Out. Breathe. The lock isn’t moving, footsteps getting closer.

You force a low exhale, fingers curling around the picks before you try again. Gentle. Precise. The pin shifts, treads near, closing in, the weight of time pressing down on you like a vice.

And then-

Click.

The lock gives in, door swinging open.

You scan the room, eyes locking onto the desk where an arrogant, gold-lettered plaque declared MANAGER. The title sits so smugly, its weightless authority carved in polished wood.

You cross the room, eyes flicking over the details that shape a life. Papers scattered across the surface, ink bleeding confessions of ledgers. Framed photos places with casual reverence, a family. A wife, three kids, a golden retriever, the kind of life that exists in Instagram posts and suburban streets. A weight curls in your stomach. You’re about to tear apart an entire world, unraveling the fabric of a man’s carefully constructed empire. But he’s a fucking scumbag, so you shake your head and lean over the desk.

The computer hums under your touch, the glow of the screen flickering awake. You dig in your purse, fingers closing around the payload USB, custom-built, ruthless in function. You jam it into the tower placed beneath the desk.

A command prompt window opens, black screen bleeding white text. Code scrolls in rapid succession, the silent symphony of intrusion. The script is hungry, searching, sniffing out stored passwords and exploiting security flaws left festering in the system. You glance over your shoulder, pressure in your chest tangible, pupils blown wide. The seconds stretch, each tick of the analog clock amplified by the war-drum tempo of your heartbeat.

Bingo.

You copy over the scrambled hash string in another command window.

hashcat -m 1000 -a hash.txt gotyou.txt

A beat, a pause as it unscrambles.

Got it.

“Dense bastard didn’t even use a special character,” you murmur, voice laced with breathless relief. Your fingers shake as you key it in.

Login successful.

The server unfolds before you, navigating it with efficiency, weaving through digital corridors until, there. Offshore accounts. Shell companies. Wire transfers. The entire framework laid bare.

Your hands move faster, dragging, dropping, copying. But you’re not just taking, because that would be too simple. You’re burning the whole damn thing down in real time.

A secure email client flares, one you prepared yesterday, bouncing through proxies like a ghost flickering through the ether. You type in the burner email.

whistleblowerforum@google.com

Subject: Smile for the Headlines!

You attach everything. Spreadsheets, transaction logs, confidential emails scraped from the desktop. Every dirty secret, every rotten thread pulled from the seams on this empire. And with a surgical cruelty, you widen the blast radius, adding the nark contacts you memorized.

High-profile investigative journalists. An anti-corruption bureau. Every department within the company itself, just to let them know. Let them all watch as the walls come down.

Your fingers hover over send.

A deep breath.

Click.

And it’s done.

Your eyes take in one last look before you depart. Quickly making your way down the hall, your pulse a war drum in your ears. Every breath tastes like static on your tongue, fluorescent lights above flickering with the erratic rhythm of your heart. Everything feels sharper, hyperreal. The click of your shoes barely registering to your ears as you enter the floor lobby, waiting for the elevator’s return. You smile as you step inside, stomach twisting with anticipation as you think about the employees, no, the entire company, as they receive the email. The chaos unfolding in real-time, the empire they built unraveling in their hands.

And as the elevator descends, you feel weightless. No longer walking, but floating, thrumming with an intoxicating, untouchable energy. You turn the corner of the building, pace quickening as you reach closer to the van. Your fingers curl around the handle of the passenger door-

The van jolts sharply from the back.

Before you can react, a rough hand seizes your wrist, yanking you inside. A gasp barely leaves your lips before your back his the cold metal floor, breath stolen, senses snapping.

And then- Sukuna’s mouth is on yours.

The kiss is nothing short of hungry, consuming, bruising. His lips crash against yours with a force that sends shockwaves through your body. One hand wraps around the nape of your neck, the other pressing against the dip of your waist. The van door rattles as he kicks it shut, sealing you both in this feverish moment, where nothing exists but the heat between you. Your pulse pounds, adrenaline thick in your veins as you claw at his shirt, pulling him down, needing more.

You don’t care about the risk. Don’t care about the random sirens passing. Don’t care that you can barely catch your breath.

He pulls back, just enough for you to see his wide pupils, swallowing the red of his irises. His breath is ragged, and you’ve never seen him like this before.

“Fuck,” he rasps, thumb dragging along your jaw. “Fuckin’ knew you had it in you.”

Heat swarms your core at the way he says it, the weight behind his words, how they carry something so raw, so real. Before you can respond, he’s on you again, kissing more deliberately, as if he wants to taste every last drop of your adrenaline. When he finally tears away, his lips barely ghost over yours, a smirk twisting the corners of his mouth.

“Bet those fuckers are choking on their salads right now,” he murmurs, voice low and thick with amusement.

A breathy laugh escapes you, still drunk on the rush. “Hope they had dressing on it.”

That’s all it takes, just one insolent comment from you before he’s on you again.

He slots himself between your legs, teeth grazing over your lower lip. His hands travel, one cupping your breast over your shirt and squeezing, the other gripping your bare thigh where your skirt has ridden up. The van is stifling, suffocating, but you don’t care. Don’t care that you’re sitting ducks in the back of a getaway vehicle. Don’t care that every second wasted is a second closer to getting caught.

But then, reality shoves itself between you.

You tip your head back against the floor, panting. “We need to go.” Your voice is hoarse.

He huffs a laugh, thick fingers digging into your hip like he’s seconds away from ignoring you entirely. But after a beat, he pushes up, running a hand through his hair.

“Yeah,” he mutters, eyes burning as they rake over your now disheveled state. “Let’s get the fuck outta here.”

He drove for what felt like an hour outside the city until you reached a warehouse. It was a monolith of rust and forgotten industry. The air thick with the scent of old cardboard and motor oil. You were perched on a mismatched folding chair, one leg curled under you, the cool glass of the rum bottle rolling idly between your fingers. Across from you, Sukuna sat sprawled, legs stretched out, head tipped back as he took a lazy sip.

The hum of the city was long gone. Out here, there was only the faint chirring of distant insects and the occasional creak of the corrugated metal rook settling under the weight of the night. This place was so different yet so similar to the house you stayed with him last.

The door groaned open. The payment guy was here.

Fushiguro Toji, built like a predator, smirk on his scarred lips, a duffel bag in one hand. He stepped into the dim light, dark eyes sweeping over the both of you before tossing the bag toward Sukuna with an easy flick.

“You two sure know how to keep it casual, huh? Not the usual rush of a job well done.” His voice was deep, edged with amusement as he let his gaze linger on you.

Sukuna said nothing, already ripping open the bag and thumbing through the stacks of bills, counting with the methodical ease of someone who had done this a thousand times before.

Toji chuckled, shifting his weight. “I’d say the show’s worth the price of admission. Bet she’s as good with her hands as she is with computers.”

Sukuna stilled, just for a second. You caught it, the faintest shift in his posture, the tightening of his fingers around the band of cash. Your own breath stayed level, eyes flicking between them, watching the subtle tension coil between their frames like a wire ready to snap.

Sukuna didn’t look up, voice slow and deliberate. “Careful what ya’ say.”

Toji smirked, rolling his shoulders, feigning nonchalance. “Relax, man. Just sayin’ I bet she knows how to handle more than just tech.”

Sukuna stood, expression unreadable. He walked up to Toji, stopping just short of colliding, their heights nearly the same.

He tilted his head, “maybe I need a lil’ extra for the trouble, yeah?” Sukuna’s voice casual.

Toji scoffed, bravado barely masking the unease in his eyes. “Extra? For what, the girl?”

Sukuna’s lips pressed into a flat line, his eyes dark and unblinking. “Need me to break some fuckin’ teeth? Or are you gonna keep talkin’?”

Toji exhaled sharply through his nose, a muscle in his jaw ticking before rolling his eyes. “You’re a fucking dick, Sukuna.”

But he reached into his other bag anyway, pulling out another stack of $20,000 and tossing it to the floor like it was a scrap for a dog. “There. There’s your extra. 360 thousand total.”

Sukuna grinned, slow and knowing, bending down to pick up the loose cash before tossing it in your direction without a second glance. He pushed another pile of $170,000 your way, the majority your cut.

Your breath caught. The extra. He’d given you the extra.

You swallowed, fingers curling around the crisp bills. “You didn’t have to do that.”

Sukuna paused, eyes narrowing as he watched you. “It’s just business. Don’t get used to me being generous.”

It was as if the moment never happened. He turned, tossing bedrolls onto the cold warehouse floor, rolling out his own with the lazy carelessness of someone who had slept in far worse places.

But as you settled down for yet another night of terrible sleep, you hear it, almost too quiet to catch.

“But you did good.”

Something in your chest went tight. You exhaled, shutting your eyes.

The money felt heavier in your hands than it should have.

taglist: @cutesytwt, @tojis-ball-sack, @gojoscumslut, @sukubusss, @vicravluv, @newasskid, @grignardsreagent

[nemo-of-house-hamartia]

Please, someone stop me from listening to Josh Groban, because otherwise I will end up DRAWING ANOTHER "MOTTIE AT BED" ARTWORK.

Like seriously, I cannot.

When I hear him sing "You have no idea" all I can hear is Mathias singing to Dorothea AND MY HEART CANNOT TAKE IT.

IT'S EXPLODING WITH SOFT TENDERNESS.

(and I have become the joke of my own household, because my husband, loving Josh as much as I do, now DOES IT ON PURPOSE OF PUTTING HIM ON OUR SPEAKERS, especially when he sees that I am busy working on something not Mottie-related. He knows how my brain works. HE KNOWS IT. So if sometimes you see me derailing, IT'S MR. NEMO'S FAULT AS WELL).

[veveisveryuncool]

havent drawn them in a while

[ccbatman]

woe. bruce and dinah friendship be upon ye:

"Someone has to have our backs. Keep us honest. That's why I'm here." / "Batman needs a conscience? Okay, I'll bite."

{ The Brave and the Bold (1980) #166 • JLI (1987) #13 • Batgirl Year One (2003) #7 • JLI (1987) #6 • JLI (1987) #7 • JLA: Incarnations (2001) #4 • Green Arrow/Black Canary (2007) #1 • Injustice 2 (2017) #4 • JLI (1987) #13 • JLI (1987) #11 • Justice League of America (1960) #84 • Justice League of America: Rebirth (2017) }

[florence-welch-enthusiast]

even before i started supernatural whenever destiel lost/loses a ship poll a piece of me dies inside

[theaawalker]

Steps to Write a Genuine Platonic Relationship

1. Establish the Foundation

Define Their Connection: Decide what brings these characters together—shared history, common interests, or a deep emotional understanding.

Set Boundaries: Clarify from the start that their relationship is non-romantic, avoiding any lingering tension that could be misread as attraction.

Give Them Complementary Strengths: Show how they support and challenge each other without romantic implications, emphasizing mutual respect.

2. Shape Their Role in the Story

Decide Their Impact: Determine how their bond influences the plot—do they solve problems together, serve as each other’s moral compass, or push each other toward growth?

Avoid Romantic Clichés: Refrain from using traditional romantic tropes like longing glances, accidental physical tension, or excessive jealousy.

Show Their Value Beyond Love: Let their relationship be crucial to the story in a way that isn’t reliant on romance or tension.

3. Build Their Dynamic

Use Natural Banter: Let them have inside jokes, tease each other, or share moments of camaraderie without any romantic undertones.

Create Moments of Deep Understanding: Show how they confide in one another in ways they wouldn’t with others, reinforcing their trust and emotional closeness.

Let Them Have Other Romantic Interests: This solidifies that their bond isn’t about unspoken attraction, making it clear that romance isn’t lurking in the background.

4. Define Their Chemistry

Make Their Interactions Unique: Ensure they have a specific energy that distinguishes their bond from romantic connections in the story.

Emphasize Loyalty Over Possessiveness: They can care deeply about each other without feelings of possessiveness or unresolved tension.

Show Physical Comfort Without Romance: Casual, platonic touch like a ruffling of hair, a side hug, or a reassuring pat on the back can reinforce their connection without romantic connotations.

5. Demonstrate Their Impact on Each Other

Let Them Grow Together: Show how they influence each other’s decisions, ambitions, or emotional development without needing romance as a motivator.

Create High-Stakes Moments: Put them in situations where they rely on each other, proving their bond is just as deep as any romantic relationship.

Allow Conflicts Without Romantic Resolution: If they fight, let their reconciliation stem from their friendship and values rather than an underlying romantic interest.

6. Develop a Satisfying Arc

Decide Their Long-Term Dynamic: Whether they remain lifelong friends, drift apart naturally, or take different paths, ensure their bond leaves a lasting impact.

Showcase Their Relationship’s Meaning: Highlight how their connection was vital to their growth, reinforcing the importance of strong, platonic love.

Avoid Unnecessary Romantic Subtext: Let them stand as proof that deep, meaningful relationships don’t need romance to be powerful.

Examples of Strong Platonic Relationships

1. Film/TV Examples

Frodo & Sam (The Lord of the Rings): A loyal, emotional bond built on trust and shared hardship.

Robin & Steve (Stranger Things): A brother-sister-like friendship that develops beyond a possible hetero-romance.

Steve Rogers & Bucky Barnes (Captain America): Sibling-like love based on support, teasing, and mutual admiration.

2. Literature Examples

Duke the Guarder & Dawn Demiss (The Guardians of Camoria series): A deep friendship based on emotional intellect, trust, and shared insecurities.

Jo March & Laurie (Little Women, after rejection): A lifelong friendship that remains strong despite romantic expectations.

Harry Potter & Hermione Granger (Harry Potter series): A close friendship built on trust, emotional support, and respect without romantic tension.

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[starsofang]

Single Dad!Simon who vowed to never trust another woman again after his failed past. He was locked up with the key thrown away, permanently off of the market.

At least that’s what he’d told himself for years. Now, he was beginning to have cold feet.

Simon needed a nanny, one that he could trust completely. He didn’t play about his child, and he’d be damned if he got set up with someone of ill intentions.

But, he was desperate.

Price needed him back periodically, even after his retirement, and he agreed. After all, money was tight when he parented on his own with a growing child.

That was when you came in. Soap had been a pal and recommended an old family friend, somebody he knew Simon could trust with his kid. Simon was skeptical, of course, but Soap had never done him wrong. Reluctantly, he agreed.

Simon wanted to have a trial period to see if you were truly built for the task. He wouldn’t let you off easily. His child was his world, and women weren’t exactly in his deck of cards when it came to trust.

You were as sweet as honey upon the first meeting with a smile that could outdo the sun. Your voice was soft as rain, flowing out of you like a summer song. You spoke to him with the upmost respect, and even more so with his child.

Simon knew he could trust Soap in guaranteeing somebody safe. You were the perfect candidate. He just didn’t know it would lead into him feeling emotions he’d buried a long, long time ago.

Attraction. Interest. A crush, dare he say, like he was a stupid high school kid that just saw the prettiest girl in class and fell head over heels.

He had a silly crush on his child’s nanny when he fully intended to keep it short and professional. That was the way he operated. He was like a working machine, and you had undone his mechanics so easily to the point he struggled to function.

Seeing you with his child only caused his attraction to fester deeper. His child became attached to your hip, smiling more than they had ever done, rambling nonsense to him every time he returned home and you left to go to yours.

It was becoming hard to deny it. You opened an old wound of Simon’s, awakening that deep and dreadful loneliness he felt every passing day. Every smile, every laugh, every Mr. Riley even though you were close in age, all of it had him on the edge of his seat.

He wanted more. He was tired of denying himself happiness. The idea of pushing away every woman was still very vivid in his mind, but denying you just seemed criminal the more time passed.

“I never got to thank you for allowing me in to your home, Mr. Riley,” you told him one day, ever so sweet.

“Thought I told you to call me Simon,” he grunted, avoiding your eyes as the two of you stood in the doorway.

“Right. Simon,” you corrected with a radiant smile. “You have quite the kid, I’ll tell you that. I always look forward to coming over. It makes my day seeing the two of you.”

Simon could feel his heart pattering against his ribcage. His hands were sweaty, and he prayed you didn’t notice him swipe them along his jeans.

“Both of us?” he hummed.

“Of course. You’re just as exciting to see, too, Mr. Ri- Simon.”

Simon’s lips quirked up the slightest bit, but his heart was in his ass. For the first time in a long time, a woman was making him shy and nervous, and it didn’t feel as bad as it did before.

“You’re always free to come over for dinner,” he offered.

“That sounds great, I’d love to have dinner with the two of you!” you exclaimed, beaming.

He didn’t understand how you could be so bright yet so oblivious at the same time.

Simon cleared his throat, shifting uncomfortably on the balls of his feet. “I meant, the two of us.”

You stared at him like he’d grown two heads, and he nearly slammed the door in your face from the sheer anxiety that spiked in him. He couldn’t read your mind or what you were feeling, and Simon wished he had never said anything to begin with.

“That sounds wonderful,” you said instead. Now it was Simon’s turn to stare at you crazy. “I’d love that.”

Simon realized he was staring too long, so he cleared his throat once again, giving you a brief nod and looking away. “Alright. I’ll text you a day and have Soap pick up the little monster for the night.”

When you agreed and left with the smile that made his heart ache, he didn’t waste a second in texting Soap, telling him he’d be on nanny duty for one night that week.

Soap was quick to agree, but not without a little “You’re welcome ;)” text back.

[purifiedclitoris69]

Statements

Pairings: Natasha Romanoff x Shield agent!reader

Summary: Assumptions are made about the relationship you have with Natasha, so you took it upon yourself to make a statement :)

Your relationship with Natasha is built on years of trust, mutual respect, and an unspoken understanding that comes from living in the shadows of espionage. You met when she first joined SHIELD, and while she was still finding her footing within the organization, you were already established as a specialist sniper—someone who worked alone, took the impossible shots, and disappeared before anyone even knew you were there.

At first, your relationship was purely professional. You recognized each other as dangerous and highly capable, but there was always a quiet pull between you. Over time, through shared missions, late-night debriefs, and the rare moments of quiet in a world full of chaos, that pull became something more. It wasn’t dramatic or rushed—it was a slow burn, a natural evolution of two people who understood each other better than most and yearned to show one another a genuine love.

Now, after almost 3 years together, your bond is unshakable. While the Avengers see you around the compound, they don’t truly know the depth of what you and Natasha have. They assume your relationship is casual, just a convenience in a life full of uncertainty. But in reality, Natasha loves you fiercely, and you love her just as much. You’re her safe place, the person she trusts with the parts of herself she doesn’t show anyone else. When the world feels too heavy, she turns to you—not for protection, because she doesn’t need it, but for the rare comfort of knowing she’s not alone.

You don’t need grand gestures or constant declarations. Your love is in the quiet moments—the way she always finds her way to you after a mission, the way you instinctively reach for her hand under the table, the way she relaxes against you when no one is watching. To the outside world, you might just be another agent who occasionally lingers at the compound. But to Natasha, you’re home.

—————————-———

Wanda was the first to recognize the depth of your relationship.

It was early—early enough that most of the team was still asleep or barely functioning. The compound was quiet, save for the soft hum of the coffee machine in the kitchen. You stood by the counter, leaning against it, eyes still heavy with sleep as you waited for the coffee to finish brewing.

Natasha, still in her sleep shorts and one of your old SHIELD t-shirts, wandered in with a yawn, her hair slightly tousled from sleep. She didn’t say anything as she approached—you felt her presence before you saw her. Without hesitation, she walked straight into your space, wrapping her arms around your waist and burying her face into your chest.

"Mm. Too early," she mumbled against you.

You huffed a quiet laugh, your hand instinctively coming up to rub slow, soothing circles on her back. "You say that every morning, but you’re always up before me."

She hummed but didn’t respond, just tightening her grip around you as if she could steal some of your warmth. You didn’t mind. In fact, moments like this were your favorite—the ones where she let her guard down, where she wasn’t the Black Widow or an Avenger, just Natasha, just yours.

Neither of you noticed Wanda standing by the doorway, frozen mid-step. She had come in for coffee but stopped in her tracks at the sight of Natasha—fierce, guarded Natasha—melted completely against you.

Wanda had always assumed your relationship was casual. Everyone had. You weren’t around often, and Natasha never entertained deep conversations about her personal life. But standing there, watching the way she clung to you, the way your hand moved over her back with the kind of practiced ease that spoke of years of familiarity, Wanda realized they had all been wrong.

This wasn’t casual. This was love—deep, unwavering, and so achingly real.

She wasn’t sure how long she stood there, but eventually, Natasha stirred, tilting her head up to look at you. "Coffee ready?"

"Almost," you murmured, brushing a strand of hair out of her face. The gesture was so gentle, so natural, that Wanda almost felt like she was intruding.

Before Natasha could move away, you leaned down, pressing a slow, lingering kiss to her forehead. "Go sit. I’ll bring you a cup."

Natasha didn’t argue, just gave you a sleepy, content smile before releasing you and making her way to the kitchen table.

Wanda finally decided to make her presence known, clearing her throat as she stepped fully into the kitchen. "Morning," she greeted, a knowing smirk tugging at her lips as she grabbed a mug and you unpromptedly filled it for her greeting her with a kind smile and filling Nat’s next, starting another pot for anyone else who might want it.

Natasha, already seated, just raised an eyebrow. "What?"

Wanda glanced between the two of you, then just shook her head, her smirk widening. "Nothing. Just... you two are cute," she blew on her coffee.

Natasha rolled her eyes, but there was no real heat behind it. Meanwhile, you simply handed Natasha her coffee before grabbing your own along with d the morning crossword, completely unfazed.

Wanda took a sip of her drink, still smiling to herself. Maybe the rest of the team had been blind to it, but now she knew the truth—Natasha Romanoff was hopelessly, completely in love.

—————————-———

The next person was Steve. You had gone on another lengthy mission; it had kept you away for weeks longer than either of you liked. You had kept in touch when you could, brief calls and cryptic messages, but it wasn’t the same. And now, finally, you were back.

Steve wasn’t looking for either of you when he entered the common room. He had just been passing through, planning to grab something from the kitchen before heading to the gym. But as soon as he stepped in, he stopped in his tracks.

The lights were dim, the soft crackle of the old record player filling the space. An oldie—something slow, something familiar. And in the center of the room, barely swaying to the rhythm, was you and Natasha.

She was pressed against you, arms loosely wrapped around your shoulders, her fingers idly playing with the hairs at the back of your neck. Your hands rested on her waist, holding her close as if you needed to feel her warmth to believe this moment had finally come after weeks of waiting.

Neither of you spoke. There was no need. The way Natasha clung to you, the way you held her like she was the only thing in the world that mattered, it said everything.

Steve had never seen her like this. Sure, he had seen her care about people, had seen her protect and fight for those she loved. But this? This was different. This was Natasha Romanoff, the Black Widow, completely at peace. Safe. Home.

He felt like he was intruding on something sacred, so he took a quiet step back, turning to leave—only to nearly bump into Bucky.

“what’s with the face?” Bucky asked, raising an eyebrow at the look on Steve’s face.

Steve exhaled, shaking his head with a slight chuckle. “Nothing, just—” He glanced over his shoulder, then looked back at Bucky. “You and Sam better stop checking Nat out so much.”

Bucky scoffed. “What? We don’t—”

Steve gave him a knowing look.

Bucky shifted. “Alright, maybe Sam does. I just—y’know, appreciate a good—”

Steve cut him off. “Don’t.”

Bucky smirked. “Okay, but why the sudden warning?”

Steve shook his head again, that small smile still lingering. “Because they’re in love. Like, really in love.”

Bucky frowned. “I mean, yeah, I figured they were serious, but—”

“No,” Steve interrupted. “Not just serious. Not just together. In love.”

Bucky studied him for a second, something unreadable passing over his expression before he nodded. “Alright,” he said simply.

Steve gave him a final glance before clapping him on the shoulder and walking off, leaving Bucky standing there, a little quieter than usual.

Because if what Steve was saying was true, then it wasn’t just Natasha they had underestimated. It was you.

—————————-———

The true statement was made in the compound gym.

The gym was alive with movement—punching bags swinging, the clatter of weights, and the rhythmic sound of fists meeting training dummies. You had just finished some shooting drills when you decided to swing by, knowing exactly where Natasha would be.

Sure enough, there she was, moving like a force of nature. Every strike was precise, every kick sharp. She was a sight to behold—dangerous, powerful, and effortlessly graceful.

Apparently, you weren’t the only one who thought so.

You noticed Sam and Bucky standing off to the side, arms crossed, observing her with a little too much focus. Eyes tracked her every movement, and while you weren’t necessarily the jealous type, and were well aware how gorgeous Natasha is; people couldn't help but be enamoured by her, however weren’t about to let this slide.

You strolled up beside them, tilting your head. "Enjoying the view?"

Bucky, to his credit, immediately raised his hands in surrender. "Hey, don’t look at me. I was admiring the technique, alright?" He nodded toward Natasha. "She’s one of the best fighters I’ve ever seen."

You eyed him for a second before nodding, accepting the explanation. Bucky was a lot of things, but he wasn’t dumb enough to cross that line.

Sam, however—

"Look, I’m just saying," Sam started, his eyes still trailing Natasha as she wiped sweat off her forehead. "It’s not my fault she moves like that. That’s a distraction."

You raised an eyebrow. "Oh?"

Sam glanced at you, then seemed to realize way too late that he had just said that to the one person who could make him regret it. "Uh—"

"You know what?" You rolled your shoulders, tossing your towel aside. "I feel like I haven’t sparred in a while. What do you say, Wilson? A little one-on-one?"

Sam hesitated, looking between you and Bucky, who just took a step back, clearly enjoying the fact that he wasn’t involved.

"You sure you wanna do this?" Sam asked, crossing his arms. "I mean, no offense, but I’ve got wings, I’ve fought aliens—"

"You’re standing here watching my girlfriend train. I just want to see how you train too." you cut in, smirking.

The room went silent for half a beat before Bucky let out a low chuckle. "Oh, this is gonna be good."

Clint grinned, nudging Wanda. "Five bucks says Sam regrets this immediately."

Natasha, who had been too focused on training to notice the exchange earlier, finally turned toward the group, eyebrow raised. "What’s going on?"

Wanda smirked. "Your sniper just challenged Sam to a sparring match because he got caught staring at you."

Natasha let out a small laugh, tossing a towel over her shoulder as she walked closer. "Oh, I have to see this."

Sam exhaled, shaking his head. "Y’all are ridiculous. But fine. Let’s do this."

You stepped onto the mat, rolling your shoulders as Sam joined you. He gave a cocky smirk. "You sure you wanna do this? I am pretty fast, you know."

You just smirked back. "We’ll see."

Steve, ever the responsible one, clapped his hands. "Alright, keep it clean."

The second Steve gave the go-ahead, you moved—fast.

Sam barely had time to react before you were already in his space, effortlessly dodging his first strike. You didn’t just block—you controlled. Every punch he threw was sidestepped. Every kick, redirected. You weren’t just fighting Sam. You were toying with him.

The smirk on his face started fading as frustration crept in. "Damn," he muttered, throwing another punch. You caught his wrist, twisting him off-balance before sweeping his legs out from under him.

Sam hit the mat with a grunt.

From the sidelines, Bucky let out a whistle. "That looked like it hurt."

Clint was grinning beside Nat.

Wanda shook her head in amusement. "He walked right into that one."

Sam groaned but pushed himself back up. "Alright, alright—lucky shot."

You didn’t respond. You just motioned for him to try again.

This time, he put more effort into his attacks, but it didn’t make a difference. Every move he made, you were already three steps ahead. You parried, countered, redirected—all with ease.

After a few more humiliating takedowns, Sam finally dropped to the mat, breathing hard, lying flat on his back. "Damn. Alright. Message received."

You crouched down beside him, grinning. "Good. Maybe next time, you’ll keep your eyes to yourself playboy"

Sam exhaled, closing his eyes. "Noted."

You stood up, offering him a hand. He took it, groaning as he got to his feet. "You really don’t like people looking at her, huh?"

You shrugged, "I know she can handle herself, I just felt like making a statement today," you smiled stepping off the mat and walking to Nat

"Possessive looks good on you," Natasha said with her signature smirk

Without a second thought, you grabbed her by the waist and kissed her—really kissed her—right in front of everyone. It was slow, deep, and left no room for doubt. Natasha, normally composed, melted into you, gripping your bicep to steady herself.

When you pulled back, she was a little breathless, a rare blush dusting her cheeks.

You smirked. "See you at dinner, love."

And with that, you walked off, leaving Natasha still catching her breath.

Clint let out a low whistle. "Damn."

Wanda smirked. "That was a statement,” Natasha throwing a towel at her, mumbling out a whatever and heading to the lockers

Bucky clapped Sam on the shoulder. "So, you still gonna stare?"

Sam rolled his eyes taking a tired seat on the bench "I hate you all."