#why weight loss is easy for men?

[wreckedandpolemic]

white and gold - matty healy

(mdni) in which you become both entangled and enamoured with your father's boss. 13007 words.

warnings (buckle up): 18+, problematic age gap, masturbation, corruption kink, slight exhibitionism, praise, degradation, heavy daddy kink, slight dumbification, unprotected sex, oral (f and m receiving), filth filth filth filth filth!

Your heels click against the tiled floor as you stroll across the lobby of your father’s office, giving a winning smile to the familiar security guard as he waves you through. Humming along to the song that plays over your headphones as the lift rises, you wonder idly why your father wanted to have lunch with you today; he had been oddly insistent that morning. The doors ding open and you step out into the office, fairly quiet at lunch hour. Men in suits mill around, their gazes catching on you and darting away so they can pretend their lurid thoughts aren’t painted plain as day on their faces.

Scanning the room, you don’t immediately spot the man you’re looking for. On a closer look, your father’s thinning hair and crisp suit are nowhere to be seen. Strange, again; he’s always here to meet you when he wants to take you out for lunch. Your searching gaze lands on a man heading for the lift, the sight of him arresting, practically rooting you to the spot. Greying curls haloed around a sharp, handsome face, lips plush red. A silver hoop shines in one of his ears, standing out against his dark hair. The designer sunglasses that sit across the bridge of his nose should be obnoxious, but he wears them louche and rakishly charming. He’s younger than your father, but not by much; probably nearing twice your age. You don’t recognise him — you know everyone who works for your father practically inside and out, and you’d never forget a face like his.  

Suddenly, he’s in front of you, and you’re blinking dumbly at the material of his expensive suit. “Are you lost?” he asks, his voice low and alluring, wrapping around you like a caress. The sunglasses block your view of his eyes, leaving you unfairly unable to tell whether he’s reacting to you the way you are to him.

You swallow thickly, fighting to find your voice. “No,” you say confidently. “Well… kinda, I guess?” you add with a laugh. “I’m looking for my dad.” You offer his name, and he nods in recognition.

“Ah— My fault, that. Sorry, love,” he says, voice softening on the final syllable in a way that has you biting the inside of your cheek to get your racing heartbeat under control. “Kept him late in a meeting.” You nod absently, distracted as his tongue flickers out to wet his lips and leaves them pink and glossy. Hopefully you aren’t wearing your thoughts too obviously on your face. “Matty,” he offers, holding out a hand.

You take it politely, surprised at the calluses scraping against your palm. He doesn’t look the type for hard work, the very shape of him insouciant, privilege scented on him under the smell of cigarettes and expensive cologne. The weight of his hand in yours as Matty holds your gaze for just a split-second too long feels charged, tension welling between you. After a beat, you give your name and Matty quirks an enigmatic half-smile that you just can’t get a read on. You wonder what kind of picture you’re painting for him; ribbons in your hair, skirt short enough to tease without any promise, socks biting into the flesh of your thighs. Your soft pastels boast innocence, a clean sweetness begging to be ruined where the sharp lines of him are rough around the edges, something dark tightly controlled under his easy smile. The pair of you are incongruous, yet symmetrical somehow, an artist’s rendition of impropriety.

The coolness in your palm when he lets go feels like a physical loss, your entranced gaze lingering on his face for another brief moment. Then he gives a cursory nod and strolls off, the spell breaking and leaving you stock-still as if you’ve been doused with a bucket of cold water. His name rolls around your head as you pick your way to your father’s office; Matty, Matty, Matty, like a litany, the concurrent chime of warning bells going unheard, or maybe just ignored.

Your father smiles up at you when you enter his office, getting up as if to hug you and stopping awkwardly short. He doesn’t know how to act around you, a consequence of the years of long hours and late nights that afford you your lifestyle but cost you a family. You make clumsy small-talk on the drive; he asks you how uni is going, you ask about work, he forgets the names of your friends, you remember the names of his. The same circles you always talk in. It’s never unpleasant, but always stiff, artificial.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t there to meet you,” he says once you’re seated in a quiet corner of your favourite restaurant. He remembered that about you, at least. “I was in a meeting that ran long.”

You try not to visibly perk up at the reminder of possibly the most gorgeous man you’ve ever met. “Oh, yeah,” you say, feigned casualness layered over your tone. “I met the guy you were with on his way out. Who was he? I don’t think I’ve seen him before.” Your father pauses briefly, and you wonder if you’ve laid it on too thick, showed too much interest. But you know your father couldn’t reconcile the idea of you being interested in one of his coworkers with the image he holds of you as his little girl.

He sits up straighter, adjusting his tie in the way he does because he thinks it’ll lend more gravity to his next words. “It was actually a very important meeting, or I wouldn’t have let it run as long as it did. It was with the VP of the company, Matthew Healy.” He nods self-importantly. “Very nice chap, honestly. I convinced him to allocate us more budget next quarter, which means that…”

You tune out the rest of his corporate jargon, letting the new information you’ve gleaned rattle around your brain. Vice fucking President. The scandal you’d cause selfishly thrills you more, because who could gainsay it, really? Sure, your father would have some choice words, but he’d keep them to himself in public for the sake of his job. You almost giggle picturing the vein that would throb in his forehead, and then remember yourself and focus back into the conversation right as your father finishes talking.

The waiter who has been hovering a tasteful distance away seizes the gap in conversation to take your order. You order without looking at the price, leaning casually back in the booth as you rattle off the name of the dish in perfect Italian. A few minutes later, the smooth, dark flavour of an espresso martini on your tongue, your father finally gets to the point.

He says your name seriously, levelling you with a look that’s laden with meaning over his drink. “I wanted to meet with you today to talk about something.” You nod uncertainly, unable to track where this is going. “Your last year at university is starting in September, and I’d like to know you have somewhere to go when you’re finished. Other people studying your course have been making industry connections and networking for years, and I’m concerned that you’ll be behind when you’re trying to get into work.”

You let him talk, even as you mentally roll your eyes. He’s showing care in one of the only ways he knows how, and you can’t really begrudge him that. Never mind that the idea of trudging to the office every day in a dull grey pantsuit and attending mergers and meetings for the rest of your life gives you the shivers. You open your mouth to bring this up, but pause when he continues. “I know you aren’t sure about using your degree, but there’s a dinner this weekend that I’d like you to come to. Just to see how everything works, show your face, start making yourself a name, hm?”

The refusal sits on the tip of your tongue, balancing there on instinct, but then you consider that this might be your only chance to see Matty again. Of course, he might not even be there, but it’s a risk you’re willing to take. Your thoughts haven’t strayed from him for more than five minutes since you met, he’s a nagging itch under your skin that you just can’t scratch, and you need him. “Okay,” you say, cutting your father off. He goes silent mid-spiel, having anticipated you taking more convincing than that. “Is it black-tie?”

Your father watches you curiously as you sip demurely at your cocktail. “Yes. I’m very happy you agreed,” he adds, the implicit question hanging heavy in the air between you.

With an airy shrug, you set down your glass. “Like you said, I’m not committing to anything. I just get to have a free fancy dinner, basically.” It’s a casual excuse, characteristic enough of you that your father couldn’t even begin to guess at your real motivation. The same waiter suddenly materialises with your food, and you dig in happily.

Over the course of your meal, your father explains the most important figures who’ll be attending, and Matty is among them, thank God. You try, subtly, to pry into his personal life, but come up fairly short; you can’t find a tasteful way to ask if he’s married, although it’s not unlikely, with a face like his. Once your father’s free hour has dried up, he drops you home and you slink off to your room and fall into your bed.

Guiltily, you pull up a private browsing tab on your phone and search matthew healy wife. A grin spreads as you find no results, wider when girlfriend turns up nothing but a string of articles about his latest breakup. Switching to image searching, you scroll through dozens of photographs of him, posed and smiling, this time missing the sunglasses and letting you admire his sweet brown eyes. Then you come across a photo of him giving the camera the eyes, your thighs clenching as he smoulders in a way that feels directed to you, a twin of the look he gave you earlier.

You let your eyes fall closed, your phone thudding against the pillow as your hand creeps under your waistband. The first brush at your clit buzzes bright up your spine, a pleased whine falling from your lips. Instinctively, you dig under your pillow for your vibrator, your other hand tugging your skirt and panties down your legs. You lay in just your blouse and socks, the barest hint of wetness beginning to pool between your thighs.

The sudden pulse of heat as you press the vibrator to your clit is almost too much, your body tensing at the sensation. Your hazy mind conjures up an image of Matty, his spectre watching you touch yourself for him. He’s on you in seconds, the ghost of his kiss almost tangible against your lips, the idea of his calloused fingers running over your skin so real they almost feel like a memory. Rocking your hips, you chase the pleasure that rolls over you, coiling low in your belly. You can almost hear Matty murmuring encouragement in your ear, telling you how pretty and good you are for him.

Body writhing against the sheets, a whimper of his name spills from your bitten lips, pleading as you rub tight circles into your clit. Molten pleasure drips down your spine, sticking in your lungs and melting against your ribs. The phantasm of Matty’s touch trails over you, his hands replacing yours as you thumb over your nipples, moaning at the soft spark of pleasure that flickers under your skin.

It’s not enough.

Your hands are too delicate, too far from the memory of thick veins and scraping callouses that your body craves. Still, you work diligently at yourself, falling into a familiar rhythm. Your motions are perfunctory now, an aside to the fantasy building behind your closed lids. You picture Matty’s sleazy smirk, heat in his gaze as he rubs at you, working you closer and closer, filthy words pouring from his lips. Pleasure burns under your skin, close and electric under the sheets.

The coil in your belly winds tighter and tighter until it finally snaps, ecstasy rippling through your limbs as you bite down hard to keep a scream at bay. Rolling your hips, you ride out your orgasm, chest heaving as you gasp for breath and twist your fingers in your sheets.

Your face begins to flame as the afterglow wanes, the image of Matty fading and leaving a column of mortification in its place. God, how are you supposed to look him in the eyes after this? Flinging your covers off with a groan, you corral your thoughts into shape and march into the shower. Hot water pounds between your shoulder blades and you scrub at your skin until it’s pink and tender; you still don’t feel clean. It feels, suddenly, like you’re wearing a scarlet letter, like the evidence of your depravity is scrawled over your body in bold, dripping ink.

Still, you can’t stand under the shower spray forever, and the endless slog of summer reading you have to do won’t wait for your sudden crisis to be over. Taking a seat at your desk, you crack open a textbook and force yourself to stare at it until the words stop swimming in front of your eyes and you can process their meaning. You type up notes with practised ease, almost automatic and scarcely retaining the information. A chill grips you as you remember that this might be the rest of your life. 

A self-indulgent fantasy drifts across your mind, and you snatch at it greedily, rewarding yourself for your work with an unjustified distraction. Is it so much to ask that you want a life of ease? To be spoiled and showered in affection, to have no expectations on you? Maybe that makes you a lazy brat, a typical, self-absorbed princess, but you’ve worked damn hard the last three years. At graduation, you’d have your pick of droning, selfsame corporations if that was what you wanted; you’d have no difficulty following your father’s footsteps, letting your own daughter trace yours.

Truthfully, your private desire is much harder. Men that run in your circles want a woman like you, superficially — from the same stock, with your own family money, barely old enough to know who you are. Under the surface, though, you know women like that. They’re your aunts, the mothers of friends and old boyfriends. Unfulfilled, wearing dead-eyed Stepfordian smiles, finding their only pinched joy in passing snide insults dressed up as compliments, laughing behind their hands when their victim du jour takes the bait. No, being one of those wives would be the only fate worse than spending your decades as a spinning cog.

Without your notice, the sun has sunk beyond the horizon, a moonbeam slanting through your curtains when you switch your desk lamp off. You slip between your sheets, clad in a thin nightdress and low-waisted underwear, the thoughts that circle your brain winding slower and slower until they slip away like a whirlpool draining from the sink.

The next morning, you really are planning on taking school seriously, in line at a coffee shop with scholarly intent before 9:30. Impossibly, though, a familiar head of curls is waiting in the queue only feet ahead of you. Your heartbeat speeds as you debate whether to speak to him, hands clammy with nerves at the sight of him. You step up to the counter to order, and Matty’s head whips around at the sound of your voice.

“Oh! Hello, love,” he grins, and you smile back, hoping you don’t look as nervous as you feel. “Hey, no, I got it,” he says as you pull out your phone to pay. Matty taps his card before you can even react, then leans forward to address the barista. “Can I get mine for here instead? Is that okay? Thanks,” he flashes a winning smile and your heart flutters.

“Thank you,” you say shyly, toying anxiously with the buttons of your cardigan. 

He waves a hand, his smile almost dizzying as he looks down at you. There’s a faint dusting of stubble over his jaw, and you have to force yourself not to get distracted by thoughts of it scraping over your skin. “Don’t worry about it. Always happy to do a pretty girl a favour.” Your knees almost buckle, heat flooding your cheeks as you swallow thickly. Thankfully, the barista calls your orders and Matty goes to collect them, giving you a second to catch your breath. “Is it okay if I come sit with you? Just realised I never asked.” He grins sheepishly, and you practically melt into a puddle. “Don’t wanna distract you if you’ve got work to do, or something.”

“God, no, of course,” you say, suddenly a little panicked at the idea of him leaving. “Feel free. I mean, if you have time,” you add, a last-ditch attempt to feign casualness as you slide into a booth.

Matty sits opposite, observing you with an inscrutable look on his face before he speaks. “I’ve got time. I’m the boss, darling, they can wait.”

Your thighs clench, the casual reminder of his status sending a shudder up your spine as you smile blithely. Neither of you speaks for a moment, both taking in the sight of each other, testing the boundaries of this thing blooming between you. “Do you make a habit of taking time out of your busy day to have coffee with girls?” you say, tone teasing to conceal that you’re truly curious about the answer.

He grins. “Like I said, I do whatever I like,” he says with a shrug. “If I wanted to, I don’t know, spend my morning having coffee with a pretty girl, well. Nobody would be surprised, let’s say.” It’s a non-answer, and you swallow down the jealousy that starts to rise in your throat.

“You keep calling me pretty…” you remark idly, pausing to sip delicately at your coffee before you speak. “I’m starting to think you might have an ulterior motive, Mr. Healy.” You tack on the title with a smirk, leaning forward in challenge.

Matty swallows, slightly unnerved for the first time. “I think you’re pretty,” he says simply. “Don’t have to have any motives. Unless you want me to,” he adds with a smirk.

“And if I do? What’s that say about you, sir? Chasing after a twenty-year-old girl? Quite inappropriate, wouldn’t you say?”

He chuckles softly, eyes darkening. A shock of heat sparks under your skin as he takes your hand, gaze searching. “Very,” Matty agrees lowly. “Good, sweet young girl like you shouldn’t be getting mixed up with me, angel.” Something in you flutters at the nickname, the way it rolls thoughtlessly off his tongue.

“I don’t have to be good,” you say, deliberately widening your eyes and biting your lip in a show of innocence. “I can be naughty. If you want.” You lean back and deliberately pop a button on your blouse, a hint of pink lace peeking out from the gap in your shirt.

Matty tips his head back, nostrils flaring as he inhales deeply, eyes closed and trying to compose himself. “What am I going to do with you?” he mutters, more to himself, unable to drag his gaze up from the sliver of exposed skin.

“You’ll just have to keep playing and find out,” you smirk, purposefully leaning forward as you stand to give him a deliberate eyeful. “Have a nice day, Mr. Healy. Thank you for the coffee.” His gaze burns hot into your back as you walk away, and you make a conscious effort not to look back. You’re slightly annoyed as you wander down the street — that cafe is your favourite study spot, and you’ve effectively handed it away. You’ll never be able to set foot in there without remembering Matty’s smirk, his heavy gaze, the feeling of his hand over yours.

So, despite your best intentions, you find yourself spending the morning dipping in and out of stores instead, smiling blithely as your bank account dwindles. In the end, your evening winds up the same as yesterday, mindlessly copying up text without absorbing any of the information. You’re gonna kick yourself so hard when you have to use these notes to take an exam. Giving up, you shower and get into bed, shutting your phone off to sleep at around midnight.

When you stir, you know acutely that you’re dreaming. The bed is your own, the man sharing it is not. “Morning,” Matty says, in a low, sleep-thick voice that seems so real you can scarcely believe your mind conjured it up. He kisses your nose, your cheek, the hollow of your throat, but never your lips, as if your subconscious is saving the memory for the real thing.

“Hi,” you giggle, savouring the heat of his body against yours, willing yourself still for fear of the barest shift ruining your dreamscape. Matty’s hands run over you, one taking a firm hold of your ass, the other pinching gently at your nipple.

You whimper, and he gives a mocking pout. “Needy, hm?” You nod, eyes wide and pleading, and he cups your pussy, your hips rolling as you chase your pleasure against his hand. Arousal drips out of you, soaking your panties as Matty grinds the heel of his palm against your clit. Your head swims in pleasure, distracted and flailing as the dream blurs around you. Whining, you try desperately to grasp onto the vestiges, convinced that one last touch would have brought you there.

Eyes twitching open, morning light slants through the crack in your curtains, a gentle kiss over your sweat-slick skin. Embarrassingly, like you’re a hormonal adolescent again, there’s a throw pillow wedged between your legs, desire soaking into it through your ruined panties. An experimental thrust of your hips sends a scattered, delicious burst of pleasure up your spine, but you refuse to indulge yourself, already humiliated without feeling that sudden, crushing guilt again.

Once again, you force yourself under a punishingly hot shower, and once again, you can’t scrub yourself free of the sin. It becomes something of a routine; three more nights you dream of him, and three more mornings you try your hardest to melt the flesh off your bones in an effort to forget. The fourth night, the day before you’ll see him again, your sleep is mercifully dreamless, though you still wake with him on your mind. You stand in front of your wardrobe, hands balanced on your hips as your gaze darts between two dresses.

You need to be stunning, fuckable in a way that caters to Matty’s tastes perfectly. The amount of time you’ve spent scrolling through pictures of him with old girlfriends would surely be impressive if it wasn’t embarrassing, but it’s helped you narrow your choices down to two options. There’s a wine-red number, the thigh slit so high it practically bares your ass and the neckline plunging almost to indecency — it’s reminiscent of how his last girlfriend dressed, simple, dark elegance, deep hues paired with bold, striking makeup. Then, there’s a floor-length, pastel-pink silk gown, evidence of the virtue you’ll pretend to possess until you can show him just how dirty you can be.

The second dress speaks to you, more similar both to your own style and that of the youngest girl he’s ever dated. She was still older than you, though, you think wryly, four years ago twenty-three to his thirty. That being said, you wouldn’t be surprised to find he’d fucked every college girl from here to Edinburgh whose father had so much looked at her askance once. The thought sends a ripple of jealousy through you and you shudder, picturing dozens of faceless girls under him until you want to tear your hair out. The man practically has you in a chokehold, and you’ve met him once.

Your rational brain knows it’s crazy, that the idealised version of him built up in your mind means he’ll only disappoint, but you’re almost sure you’ll get a good fuck out of it at the very least. More, if you play your cards well enough.

With ribbons in your hair, silk gloves over your hands and a string of pearls at your throat, you pose in the mirror, practising your teasing pout, your innocent smile, the eyes that say please, sir, let me make you feel good. Your mother shouts your name, and you follow the sound down the stairs and across the foyer, smiling blithely at your parents as they take in the sight of you.

Okay, maybe you’ve laid on the innocence too thick, your makeup subtly widening your eyes and faintly flushing your cheeks. But there’s nothing technically wrong with your outfit, so your mother simply heaves a sigh and leads you out to the car. You arrive perfectly, politely on time, pose quickly for the few cameras and take your seats. Wait staff linger discreetly around, filling champagne flutes thanklessly, as if they exist on a plane below the guests’ notice.

You have to bite back a grin when the placard beside the empty seat at your table reads Matthew Healy; by some magnanimous twist of fate, he’ll be directly across from you, giving you an excuse to gaze at him as long as you like. He’s late, but only fashionably so, smirking and doling out insincere apologies as he saunters to the table. You don’t stand until everyone else has, playing clueless as Matty greets everyone around the table politely.

When he reaches you, his eyes flicker over you in a way that has your knees threatening to buckle, and you finally let yourself take him in properly. He looks fucking gorgeous, dressed in another expensive suit, his curls gelled back with that same smell of cigarettes and cologne seeping from his pores. He leans forward, brushing his lips against the apple of your cheek, and you almost moan at the contact your body has been craving for days. “You look stunning, darling,” he murmurs, so quiet that you could almost be convinced you’d imagined it, if not for the dark look in his eyes when he pulls back. 

A half smile pulls at your lips as he sits down, one of the ubiquitous, black-clad waiters coming forward to fill his glass. The conversation quickly turns to business you couldn’t care less about, giving the automated, reflex responses to questions you’ve heard hundreds of times. You pay attention only when Matty speaks, the low timbre of his voice addictive even when he’s not addressing you. Emboldened by his heavy gaze and the significant looks he fixes you with each time his eyes land on yours, you slip a stockinged foot out of your shoe and trace it across his calf. His eyes widen a fraction, and he raises his glass and an eyebrow in your direction, his gaze laden with promise.

There’s still time before any food gets brought out, and after a few minutes, Matty offers to take you on a spin, introduce you to some of the more important people in suits that are clustered around the room. Your father preens, convinced you’ve made such an impression in the bare moments you’ve held your own in conversation that he wants to mentor you, or something. You accept gratefully, his proprietary hold on your arm falling low to your waist as soon as you’re out of your father’s sight, the heat of his palm splayed over your hip hard to believe. “Let me get you a drink,” he says, steering you to the bar. The crowd parts around him, conversations going quiet like he’s some kind of divine figure, taking a nod and a brief greeting like a blessing from on high. “You’ll need one to deal with this lot,” he adds, jerking a thumb at the gathered crowd, still murmuring awed in his wake.

Smiling, you take a seat at the bar, letting Matty flag down the bartender before you speak. “What’ll you have, darling?”

“Surprise me,” you grin, batting your eyelashes teasingly at him. “So, you hate this stuff, huh?”

Matty huffs a surprised laugh as the bartender pours him a glass of top-shelf red and hands you an Aperol spritz. “Is it that obvious?”

You take a long, slow sip of your drink, watching the way his eyes fall to your lips, pursed around the straw. “I don’t think so. Not to anyone here, anyway. They’re all too worried about what everyone else thinks of them to worry about what anyone else is thinking.”

Something shifts in his expression as he takes in your words, suddenly appraising you critically as a person with thoughts, rather than just a pretty face he wants to take to bed. And he does. Want to take you to bed, that is. His eyes are wide, dilated, his tongue unconsciously wetting his lips more often, his gaze trained on your face so it doesn’t fall further. “Beautiful and smart,” he says finally, leaning back in his chair, all at once dropping the intensity and sinking easily back into irreverence.

“I try,” you say with an artfully careless shrug, letting one of the thin straps of your dress fall from your shoulder, enjoying the way Matty’s eyes trace the movement. There’s a dance in this, a skill; overt flirting between the pair of you, a casual, if laden, conversation to an observer.

“I want to do bad things to you in that dress,” Matty says, low and sudden, a bolt of arousal striking you at your core.

You match his tone. “Like what?”

“The kind of things a man like me shouldn’t be thinking about doing to a girl like you.”

“So, why don’t you?” you challenge, a flicker of carefully masked surprise crossing his face as you drop your facade of naïveté. “There’s always somewhere private at a party like this,” you say, implication heavy in your tone, spreading your legs slightly and licking your lips.

A muscle jumps in Matty’s jaw, jealousy and lust warring in his expression as he pictures you crowded up against a bathroom sink, mouth parted and eyes glassy. “S’that what you’re used to? A quick fuck in a bathroom with some pathetic boy?” He leans close, delivering his next words slow and quiet. “I’m not going to do that, princess,” he says with a disparaging scoff, the sobriquet sending heat pooling between your legs. “Have you ever fucked a man, angel?”

Swallowing your moan, your thighs clench as you whisper, “No.”

“Good. Means I get to show you how it should really feel. Because when I fuck you for the first time, I’m going to make you fall apart for me. Piece by pretty, perfect piece. Shall we?” he adds, standing and offering you a hand without giving you any time to process his words.

You swallow thickly, accepting his hand and standing on unsteady legs. True to his word, he introduces you to what feels like an endless string of people. Their faces all blur together, your body working on autopilot to churn out pleasantries as your mind turns over Matty’s words, spinning them over and over like a coin set on its edge.

“Stay right here,” you whisper to him as he starts to head back to your table, and you’re pleased to find when you return from the bathroom that he’s obeyed. As discreetly as possible, you press the scrap of lace you peeled off from under your dress into his hand. The sound of his choked-off inhale is infinitely gratifying, and you savour his gaze at your back as you stride away, a deliberate sway in your hips.

 By the time you’re back at the table, a thick wedge of business cards is tucked neatly into your purse to be left there and forgotten about until you shake them onto the floor the next time you need the bag. All but the one sitting on the very top, with Matty’s personal number scrawled on the back. He doesn’t take his eyes off you all through dinner, his hand dipping into his pocket at every free moment, the knowledge that his fingers are running over your panties driving you wild. Your legs cross so you don’t start dripping on the seat as you throw pleading glances at Matty every chance you get.

You practically chase him to the bar as dinner winds down, draping yourself over him as much as you dare. “I need you,” you whine, pressing a hand to his inner thigh, feeling the heat of him through his suit trousers. “I can’t wait anymore,” you plead, as close to begging as you can get without prostrating yourself on the floor in front of him.

Matty laughs, condescending. “Needy girl,” he pouts, crooking a finger under your chin. “If you were anyone else, I’d take you home right now, fuck all of these people. But we can’t have that, can we?” he teases. “Because you’re a good girl, yeah? And what would people think, good girl like you all spread out for a dirty old man like me?”

A pathetic whine slips from your lips, lust overtaking you even as the gears start to turn in your mind. “Take me home,” you beg, pulse hammering in your throat at the very prospect. “I can make an excuse, say I’m meeting friends or something. I’m a big girl, they won’t care as long as they don’t know where I actually am. Please?” you pout, leaning so close that your breath kisses across his lips. “I’ll be so good for you, I promise.”

And Matty is only a man, with a man’s self-control. He’s had a few more years to refine it, but he’ll never be immune. “Go on, then, sweetheart. Make your excuses and meet me out front, yeah?” He gives your ass a firm slap as you stand, the brief flash of pain melting into sticky desire that hums under your skin.

You spin a lie to your parents, some story that your friends are in a bar a few streets away, and surely they don’t mind if you slip away just a few minutes early? Honestly, they’re ecstatic you stayed as long as you did, waving you off with unsuspecting smiles. Then, before you know it, you’re in a taxi with Matty, your thigh pressed against his, one of his hands tracing a pattern into your skin. You crowd closer to him, struggling to breathe as lust swallows all the air between you.

He stays teasingly out of your reach, tutting softly when you chase his lips. “You promised to be good for me, princess,” he admonishes, trailing his hand further up your thigh. You obey, squirming as you fall back into your seat, his fingers cruelly close to where you need them. “Good girl. You want me to touch you?” Matty murmurs, leaning in to breathe the words against the shell of your ear, a shudder rolling up your spine at his closeness. You nod, bating your breath as his fingers find the wetness between your legs. “Nice and still for me, yeah, darling?”

Pleasure floods you when the pad of his finger finds your clit, the gentle scrape over your sensitive nerves somehow blinding, your hips rolling as you chase the sensation. “Matty, please,” you moan, pouting pathetically when he takes his hand away.

“You’re not being very good, love. Still, remember? You can sit and keep your hands to yourself until we get home, understand?” You nod, sinking back in your seat and sulking. “Don’t be a brat, princess,” Matty chides, closing his lips around his wet fingers, sucking your arousal off them with an exaggerated moan. “Just a few more minutes and I’ll give you what you need, yeah? Sweet, needy girl.”

You flush at the praise, at the way he can switch from gentle to commanding and back in a second. Your blood is thick with desire, heart working in overdrive to pump it through your body. Then, with no ceremony, the end of the most agonising minutes of your life is signalled by the crunching of gravel under tyres. Matty leads you into the house, his control on a tight leash until the door clicks shut behind you.

He all but slams you against it, crowding into your space, his breath hot on your lips. His smell of cigarettes and cologne envelops you, fills your lungs, dizzying and intoxicating. “Please?” you whine, and he finally, gloriously obliges. Your lips crash together, a messy slide of spit and teeth and tongue that leaves you bruised and begging.

Matty’s hands fall to your ass, squeezing hard at the soft flesh, pliant under his touch as his nails bite crescent-moons of desire into your skin. “Can you jump for me, baby?” he asks, breaking away from you just long enough to breathe the words against your lips. Your legs wrap instinctively around his waist, your dress hiked up so far that it bares your cunt as Matty grips you by the thighs.

Pleasure spreads slowly through you as you grind yourself against him, his lips falling to your neck as he carries you up the stairs, a squeal escaping you as he tosses you on the bed. He stands at the foot of the bed, breathing hard, greedily drinking in the sight of you. “Take that dress off. Now.” His tone leaves no room for argument, practically puppeteering you, expensive silk crumpled on the floor before you can even react. “Gorgeous,” Matty murmurs, one hand coming up to unbutton his shirt. “Can you touch yourself for me? Wanna see how to make you feel good.”

“Uh-huh,” you murmur, eyes fixed on the inches of skin being revealed, a covering dragged off a masterpiece. Dark ink peeks from the V of his shirt, dissonant from the toned, marble skin surrounding it. Impatient, you dip two fingers into yourself, the familiar stretch sending heat shooting up your spine. Gasping, you pinch at your clit, rolling it between two fingers, hips rocking as you moan wantonly up at him.

“Good girl. Does that feel good, princess?”

“Not as good as you,” you pout, fucking yourself desperately on your fingers. “Daddy,” you add, watching that final thread break, Matty’s eyes going dark as he collapses on the bed above you. He kicks off his trousers ungracefully, tugging your hand up to his lips.

His warm mouth closes around your fingers, sucking the taste of your desire off them with a moan. “Such a dirty little girl, dressed up all innocent like that when you just wanna be ruined by your fuckin’ Daddy.” His clothed cock grinds against your aching, soaked core, the contact achingly close to what you need, and yet agonisingly far. “You taste so good, angel. Want me to eat that sweet little pussy of yours?”

Your mind swims at the thought, his skilled, clever tongue buried between your legs, your hands tight in his curls as he devours you. But that isn’t what you need. You shake your head. “Want you to fuck me,” you say, the simmering well of desire endless in the pit of your stomach. “I need it. Please?”

“Oh, sweet girl,” Matty croons, shoving his boxers down his legs. You watch his cock spring free, thudding hot and sticky against his belly. “You want my fingers first, or can you take me all by yourself?”

The subtle condescension sets you on fire, liquefying your brain and sending it flooding down your spine, dripping out of you onto the mattress. You reach down, wrap your hand around him and pump slowly, swallowing his quiet hiss against your mouth. “I can take it, Daddy,” you promise, wide, innocent eyes turned on him.

The stretch when he enters you burns gloriously, your mouth falling open in a perfect, round ‘O’ of ecstasy. Matty fills you slowly, burying himself to the hilt, so deep that you can practically feel him rearranging your insides. “Such a good girl, takin’ all of me like this,” he praises. Discomposed, his accent thickens, rounding the vowels and blurring the ends of his words. Matty rocks his hips one shallow thrust striking a spot inside you that has your vision whiting out, ecstasy buzzing in your heavy limbs. “That felt good, huh? Yeah. I know, I know,” he soothes, swallowing your whines with wet, deliberate kisses, tongue sweeping every corner of your mouth and teeth grazing your lips.

Matty pulls almost all the way out of you, your body crying out at the loss, then slams his hips against yours so hard you see stars. “M-Matty, fuck,” you whimper, back arching desperately as he fucks you into the mattress, hard and fast, the obscene sound of skin meeting ringing out around you.

“Ah-ah. That’s not my name tonight, princess.”

His hips still, the waves of pleasure subsiding in punishment. “‘M sorry, Daddy,” you whine, bringing your hand down to rub at your clit, bright heat bursting between your legs.

“That’s it, angel,” Matty murmurs, pinching softly at your nipple with one calloused hand. “So beautiful all fucked out for me. I’m the only one who can get you like this, huh?”

Subtle jealousy hums in his tone, his kiss turning possessive as you writhe under him. “Yeah,” you whimper breathily. “Never had it this good before.” It’s not a lie. Your body feels at once wound into a coil and loose on your bones, the point where your hips meet your only anchor to your physical form.

Matty scoffs. “That’s because you’ve only fucked boys, princess.  Never had a man before, have you?”

“N-no, Daddy,” you whine, rubbing frantically at your clit, Matty’s rhythmic groans warm against your lips.

His lips fall to your neck, kissing and biting against your tender skin, the scrape of teeth a flash of pain undercutting your desire but gentle enough not to bruise. “That’s right, baby. ‘M your fuckin’ Daddy. Wanna be my girl, huh? Could have you like this whenever you want, never let you worry about anything, ‘cept staying all pretty and cockdrunk for me.”

Oh, God. How does he know? Involuntarily, your legs wrap around his waist, the new angle rapturous as his thrusts continue, long and so deep you practically choke on them. “Mm-hmm. Yeah. Could just be your little toy, never think unless you told me to. Want that so bad, Daddy.”

Matty’s eyes light up, wide and liquid with desire, your heartbeat hammering in your cunt as it throbs around him. “Oh, baby,” he murmurs. “Sweet girl. You wanna be my dumb little slut, huh? Want Daddy to fuck you stupid, turn you into my pretty fucktoy?” The words turn you to liquid, dripping and sticky under his skilled hands. “Yeah, you do,” he grins, arrogant and cocksure, your mind melting into fantasies of being Matty’s kept girl, of bending over with a smile whenever he liked, of spending your days keeping yourself pretty for him, and your nights split open like this. “I can feel how bad you want that, your pretty cunt keeps squeezing me so fuckin’ tight, angel.”

“‘M close,” you whimper, the words choked from your closing throat, desire clamping down on your body like a vice.

“Good girl,” Matty whispers, one of his hands joining yours at your clit, the pressure suddenly dramatically intense, every nerve in your body firing as one. “Cum for me, angel,” he orders, and your body obeys.

You come unglued from yourself, feel it in your whole body, euphoria crushing the air from your lungs. Your cunt pulses, thumping a sick rhythm in tune with Matty’s thrusts into you. Barely conscious, you feel amorphous, a messy string of liquid desire more than a corporeal girl. WIth a final, low groan, Matty spills inside of you, painting your insides white.

A whine escapes you as he pulls out, the loss tangible in your heavy limbs. “Oh, I know, baby, I know,” he soothes, falling beside you and cupping your jaw to kiss you tenderly.

“Thank you, Daddy,” you murmur shakily, and a soft smile brushes at his lips.

“So polite,” he says reverently. “Such a good girl.”

You pout at him and drag two fingers through your slick, messy cunt, sucking the taste of both of you off your fingers. Matty gasps, eyes wide, and you smile around your wet fingers. “You want more, darling?”

You nod frantically, the fire under your skin still raging, ferocious and uncontrollable. Weakly, you lift your head, transfixed to where his cum trickles out of you, pooling white on the mattress. “We taste so good together,” you tell him, without taking your eyes off your ruined core. “Looks so good, your cum dripping out of me. Want you to finger it out of me. Please?” you add, pouting until he kisses you gently, breaking away to smile against your lips. 

“Whatever you want, you’ll get, princess.” His fingers find your hole, teasing at you for a moment before toying with your sensitive clit, a stab of pleasure-pain winding sharply through you. “S’that sore, darling?”

“A bit,” you say, your body lax as he plays with you gently. All the urgency is gone now you’ve both come, the air honey-thick, your breathing slow and deliberate. “Feels good, though.”

Matty’s fingers are broad and thick as he pushes two of them inside you, your soaked cunt accepting him easily. He crooks his fingers, brushing that sweet spot that sets your nerves alight, and begins a slow rhythm. Lewd, wet sounds echo off the walls as you both watch his fingers disappear where you take him, cum leaking out around them.

An orgasm builds slowly at the base of your spine, your body jolting as Matty’s thumb comes up to circle over your clit. He swallows your sudden moan, languid kisses that have your eyes fluttering closed and let you fall into a daydream as he brings you closer.

“Mmm, can I cum again? Please?” you moan, hips rolling down to meet him. Pleasure swims hazy through your head, your blood syrup-thick and heavy with it.

“Can you hold it for a minute, baby? For me? Just wanna watch that pretty cunt of yours taking my fingers a little longer.” You whimper as he curls his long fingers inside of you, trembling with the effort of holding your orgasm at bay. “You make such pretty sounds, princess. Tell me who you belong to and I’ll let you cum, okay?”

“‘M yours, Daddy. Your good little girl,” you promise, words coming out slurred, your tongue too thick in your mouth.

“That’s right, baby,” Matty says, encouraging, grasping possessively at your hip. “All mine, yeah? Go on, princess. Cum,” he instructs, curling his fingers against your g-spot and rubbing a harsh circle into your clit in the same, breathless moment.

All the air crushes out of your lungs, white-hot pleasure melting your brain into liquid. Matty croons reassurances as you writhe under him, the thickness of his fingers visceral where you clench around him. You moan his name over and over in a litany, tasting something divine where the word spills from your lips.

You float back down to Earth, blissed-out and smiling, adoration in Matty’s gaze as he watches you. “There you are, sweet girl,” he grins, warm hand stroking gently up and down your side. “How do you feel?”

“God, incredible,” you answer, stretching back and luxuriating against his pillows. “Best fuck I’ve ever had,” you grin, watching his jaw clench at the reminder that you’ve fucked other people.

“Ruined you for other men, have I?” he says, smug smirk pulling at his lips.

“Other boys,” you correct airily. “Men like you know what they’re doing. Maybe you’ve given me a taste for it. Maybe I’ll fuck my way through the office, get all those men you see every day eating out of my hand.”

Matty practically snarls, silencing you with a harsh kiss. “Those fucking pricks couldn’t make you cum if their lives depended on it. Believe me, darling, I’m the best you’ll ever have,” he promises, and you give a quiet giggle. Your eyes are heavy even as electricity still buzzes under your skin, and you yawn, catlike, and settle against his bare chest. “Tired, angel?” he says, a hint of humour in his tone.

“Right shattered me, haven’t you?” you complain, swatting playfully at him. “Can I stay?”

“‘Course, darling. Long as you like,” Matty says, like it’s the easiest thing in the world. “Want me to make you something to eat? Can’t have my girl going hungry after I’ve worn her out like that.” The casualness with which he flings the words my girl sends your heart racing, one of his hands coming up to cup your jaw then trailing up to play with your hair. It’s all so sickeningly domestic, more intimate than when he had you split open and dizzy under him.

“Sounds nice,” you say sleepily, but whine when he moves to get up.

You pout when Matty tugs on his discarded boxers, and he chuckles softly. “What?” he adds as your frown deepens, watching him pull on a pair of grey joggers.

“Was looking at you,” you say sulkily. “You have a cute ass.”

His head tips back as he laughs, baring the sloping column of his neck gorgeously, his curls bouncing with the movement. “Are you objectifying me?” he grins, mock-affronted.

“Yes,” you say immediately, sitting up and tracing your gaze deliberately over his chest, muscles rippling as he breathes. Your attention falls to the tattoo at his hip, half-hidden by his joggers, and the sudden need to taste the skin there overtakes you. “What else is a big, strong man like you good for? Fucking me right and cooking me dinner, and looking gorgeous doing it,” you tease, sucking in a sharp breath when he crosses the room in two strides and catches your jaw in a harsh grip.

“Don’t be a brat, princess. ‘Cause then I’ll have to show you what I’m fucking good for.”

“Okay,” you breathe against his lips, trailing your hand down his chest and thumbing over the tattoo, savouring the way Matty shudders under your touch.

The air under your hand goes cold as he steps away. “Needy girl,” he grins. “Food first, yeah? You want me to bring it up here? Serve my princess dinner in bed?” There’s that my again, one tiny, thoughtless syllable sending a thousand fantasies flickering behind your eyes. “Or do you wanna come down with me?”

You slip out from under the covers and set your feet on the floor, only for your knees to buckle when you try to stand. “Fucked me so good my legs don’t work,” you say with a weak laugh, smiling softly when Matty comes to fuss over you. “Can you carry me downstairs?”

“Here,” Matty says, handing you a shirt and boxers that are probably too small for him; they dwarf you, the shirt swallowing you while the boxers hang indecently low on your hips. At the sight of you in his clothes, he stops still, closing his eyes and inhaling deeply for a long moment. “Look fucking gorgeous wearing my clothes, darling. C’mere, I can carry you if you want,” he offers, scooping you into his arms.

Nestled happy against his warm, bare chest, you notice for the first time how fucking big his house is. It’s almost brutalist, but still homey, evidently lived-in. Framed photographs and prints litter the walls, slightly wilted flowers sitting in a vase atop a gorgeous upright piano.

“D’you play?” Matty asks, catching you admiring it.

“Since I was a kid. Do you?”

He huffs out a laugh above you. “You think I’d have a fifty grand piano sitting around that I don’t play?”

You shrug as best you can, still wrapped in his arms. “My parents have a baby grand that nobody played until I came along. It’s like a status symbol, or something, I dunno.”

“Yes, I play. The guitar too,” he adds, slowly strolling in the direction of the kitchen.

The realisation dawns on you, and your mouth drops in an ‘O’ of understanding. “So that’s why your hands are like that. I don’t know why I didn’t put that together. You’re hardly the type for hard labour.”

Matty laughs, setting you down on the kitchen counter. “You don’t know,” he teases, pressing a featherlight kiss against your cheek. “I could’ve been a mechanic in a past life.”

The thought of him, sweaty and dripping in grease, bending you over the hood of a car, makes your head spin, and he smirks as your jaw goes slack. “I wish,” you grin as he retrieves a pan from an upper cabinet, flexing the muscles in his back gratuitously with the movement. ement.

“What are you feeling like? Eggs? Pasta?” he offers, setting the pan on the stove.

You mull it over for a moment. “Can you make me French toast?”

“‘Course I can, baby.” You watch his hands as he cracks two eggs in a bowl, whisking them together with cinnamon and sugar. He steps between your legs as the bread sizzles in the pan with a healthy spoonful of melted butter, kissing at your neck and jaw. In the light, the fading hickeys scattered over your skin are visible, and he prods jealously at them. “Who gave you these?” he says, gravel in his voice.

Shrugging airily, you smirk up at him. “Some boy,” you tease, Matty’s nostrils flaring as he fights to control his reaction.

“Did he make you cum?” he asks, nails biting possessively into your hips.

“We didn’t get that far. Just made out on the couch. He was a good kisser, though.” At that, Matty captures your lips, kissing you slow and deep, the lingering taste of red wine filling your mouth. The kiss is hard, almost aggressive, like he’s trying to forcibly erase the memory of any kiss you’ve ever had. He bites gently at your lower lip as he pulls away, not hard enough to sting, but enough for you to read the message in the action. “Careful. Don’t burn my toast.”

A mumbled fuck makes you giggle, and he turns to flip the bread in the pan. “Don’t worry, angel. Still perfect.” He watches you as he speaks, wide brown eyes liquid and luminous, framed by delicate lashes.

Still, if he gets to be jealous, so do you. “Do you make midnight snacks for all the girls?” you ask, swinging your legs back and forth off the counter.

“Can’t say I do, darling.”

The implication of his words thuds hard in your chest, a warm flicker of hope striking to life like a match under your skin. “What’s so special about me?”

“Good girl like you deserves the princess treatment. ‘Specially from a dirty old man like me,” he grins, sliding your toast onto a plate. The sudden reminder of your age gap, of the scandal you’d cause if even a whisper of this got out, sends a shuddering thrill up your spine. Matty hands you the plate, topped with icing sugar and drizzled with syrup, and you tuck in eagerly. 

He picks up a pack of cigarettes from the counter, eyebrows going up when you go to reach for one. “What? I’m not always a good girl.”

“Oh, I know, love,” Matty smirks, lit cigarette dangling indecently from his lips. “Can’t have you ruining your pretty lungs, though. Here,” he says, pulling deeply on the cigarette and then pressing his open mouth to yours. Grey smoke curls from your parted lips as you suck in the smoke greedily. He shotguns you half the cigarette, your head light as the nicotine buzz hits.

You drink in the sight of him as you eat, taking advantage of the light to appreciate the finer details of him. The gentle glow of the cigarette where it sits between his plush, pink lips, the joggers obscenely low on his hips, the V of muscle that points tantalisingly down, a light trail of hair disappearing into his waistband.

“You wanna go back to bed, angel?” Matty smirks, the air between you shifting as he meets your gaze, eyes darkened.

You scoff. “Bed’s boring. You have this whole fucking house, and you wanna take me back to bed?”

Matty crowds close to you, stealing a kiss and dropping to his knees. “Alright, princess.” His fingers dig into your hips as he eases his boxers off you, dipping his head to kiss at your bare thighs. A filthy smirk spreads wide across his lips as he looks up at you. “You’ve eaten. Now it’s my turn,” he promises, and your giggle turns to a moan when his tongue meets your centre.

He devours you like he’s been starved, lapping at your still-soaked cunt in a toe-curling rhythm. A sudden flash of pleasure-pain strikes sharply where his teeth scrape at the tender flesh of your thigh, sucking and biting hard enough to bruise. A quiet moan tumbles from your lips, and you squeeze your thighs around his head to urge him back to your cunt. Obediently, he wraps his lips around your clit, the pressure at your sensitive bundle of nerves making your head spin. “C’mon, princess. You make such pretty sounds, I know you can be louder than that.”

Matty sets a dizzying pace, tongue-fucking you with fervour. Burying your hands in his hair, you shift so you can rest your legs over his shoulders, the new angle letting him drive his tongue even deeper inside you. Heat roils in your belly, winding around your organs, entangling sweetly with your veins. “Fuck,” you whimper, rolling your hips against his face wantonly. “Feels s’good, Daddy,” you moan out, gasping as Matty curls his tongue perfectly inside you, white-hot pleasure buzzing up your spine.

“Gorgeous,” he murmurs and tilts his head up to look at you, his lips and chin practically dripping with your slick. He sucks another bruise into your sensitive skin, kissing over the mark apologetically. Your skin is on fire, tension pulling tight in all your limbs at once. “Taste so fucking good,” he moans, kissing softly at your cunt, his laugh ghosting over your skin as you flutter needily in response. “Could spend the rest of my fuckin’ life between these pretty thighs, darling.”

Your head is hazy, barely coherent thoughts drifting in and out, an incomprehensible plea falling from your lips. Matty won’t let you get complacent with a rhythm, switching between broad, flat strokes over your cunt, deep thrusts into you and sucking on your clit so fast it deliriates you. “‘M close,” you whine, tugging hard on his curls as ecstasy builds at the base of your spine. “Wanna cum for you,” you add, a hint of begging in your tone.

“Say please, darling.” The words vibrate gloriously in your cunt, a shock of pleasure rolling over you.

“Please, Daddy, I wanna cum. Need it so bad,” you plead, whimpering when he scrapes his teeth over your clit, fighting to hold your orgasm at bay until he gives you permission.

“Go on, princess. Cum for Daddy, yeah?” The words are all you need, a string of obscenities interspersed with breathless moans of his name tumbling from your lips as pure euphoria overtakes you. Hot pleasure cascades over you, racing down your spine and along every nerve in your body. You writhe against Matty’s mouth, half-convinced you’ve left your body behind, made of pure sensation.

Boneless, you slump backward, sure you could fall asleep on the cool granite of Matty’s kitchen counter. He catches you, steadying, and gathers you back into his arms. “Thank you, Daddy,” you smile up at him, curling into his chest.

The thump of his heartbeat is soothing as he picks you up again. “Such a good girl,” he murmurs fondly. “Now do you want me to take you back to bed?” he adds, grinning teasingly. He carries you back to his room, laying you softly against the pillows and pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead. “Just need you awake for a few more minutes, sweetheart. Need to get you cleaned up, then you can sleep, yeah?” He’s so tender, speaking softly and petting your hair for a moment before he fetches a damp cloth. Running it softly over you, he makes soothing sounds at your pained whimpers. “I know, baby, I know. ‘M sorry. Just a little more, okay?”

You’re half-asleep by the time Matty climbs into bed with you, sweeping your hair off the back of your neck and kissing softly at the skin there. An arm drapes over your waist, the pressure warm and soothing. “I wanna be your girl,” you mumble, more than half-asleep, barely conscious of the words as they slip unbidden from your lips. You’re unconscious before you hear his reply.

You’re sore in the morning, momentarily disoriented by the weight of a body in bed with you, before last night comes flooding back and you smile to yourself. “Morning, princess,” Matty murmurs, voice low and sleep-thick in your ear.

“Good morning,” you smile, stretching out your muscles and arching your back. Matty hisses as your ass meets his hips, his hardness pressing against you. “Oh, very good morning, hm?” Turning to face him, you reach down, slipping your hand under his waistband to palm his cock. He twitches under your touch, a sleepy moan falling from his lips as he rolls his hips into your hand. “Wanna suck your cock,” you murmur, his reaction visceral in your palm.

“Such a sweet girl,” he says, sliding his boxers off as you climb over him. You kiss his neck, the hollow of his throat, working your way down his chest. Indulgently, you bite a bruise into his chest, a twin to the ones that litter your thighs. You trace your tongue over the tattoo at his hip, his body shuddering at the sensation. His cock twitches against your lips as you press a kiss to the head, the taste of salt filling your mouth when you lick your lips.

You mouth at him teasingly for a moment, needy whines filling the air above you. Having power over him this time is intoxicating, and you hold his hips down as he tries to thrust into your mouth. “Not so fast,” you grin. “Keep still and hands to yourself, remember?” Matty swears softly as you repeat his words back to him, hands fisting in the sheets.

Teasing him for a few more moments, you kiss at his lower belly, smirking as he trembles under your lips, cock drooling. The moan Matty lets out when you wrap your lips around the head of his cock is obscene, low and keening, and you dip your head to take him in deeper. “That’s it,” he murmurs, threading a hand gently in your hair. “C’mon, sweet girl, just a little further. I know you can take it, angel.” The encouragement sends a shudder through you, liquid pleasure pooling between your thighs.

Obediently, you relax your throat, sinking further until your nose meets his skin. “Good girl,” Matty says. “Good fucking girl, takin’ me so well. So fuckin’ pretty all stretched out around my cock.” Saliva pools under your tongue, dripping helplessly from the corners of your mouth. “Fuck,” he groans, thrusting gently into your mouth. “Such a pretty slut, fuckin’ drooling on my cock.”

You pull off him, a string of saliva connecting your skin for a split-second. “‘M your slut, Daddy. Can go harder, if you want,” you say, wrapping your hand around his cock, spit-soaked and dripping, and pump slowly. You lave at him for a moment, licking messy stripes over his cock before taking him all the way in one motion.

Matty groans, bucking his hips. “You want me to fuck your pretty mouth, huh, angel?” His hand tightens in your hair as he thrusts into your mouth, the stretch in the corners of your mouth gorgeous.

“You can do better than that,” you murmur. “Want it hard. I won’t break. Unless you want me to,” you add with a grin, moaning around his cock as you swallow him back down. Finally, gloriously, Matty fucks into your mouth, sets a deep, punishing pace. He pulls you by your hair, the sting in your scalp divine as he uses you; you let yourself slip out of your body, sinking into the warm, fuzzy feeling of being his toy.

“That’s right, baby. Fucking made to take my cock, yeah? Good little girl just wants to be Daddy’s cocksleeve.” The filthy words wash over you, thighs clenching as arousal thrums low in your belly. Wetness pools between your legs and you slip a hand down your body to rub at your clit. The soft spark of pleasure grants you the briefest relief, and you moan around his cock. He’s losing control, the movement of his hips turning sloppy as your throat burns raw. “Fuck,” Matty hisses. “Gonna cum, angel.”

“You wanna cum in my mouth?” He nods, transfixed by your flushed skin and spit-slick lips. “Say please, Daddy.”

He moans, long and low, as you take him back in your mouth, swallowing around him. “C’mon, princess, I wanna cum in that pretty mouth of yours. Fuck, I need it.” He fucks your throat wildly, heat firing through your body, sensation cascading over you. “Please?” The word sounds delicious falling from his lips, sliding sweetly across your brain as you moan around him. With a final groan, he spills in your mouth, a cry of your name tearing from his throat. His cock pulses in your throat, the salt of him filling your mouth as you swallow obediently. “That’s it, take it all. Such a good little cumdump for me, princess.”

You pull off him, sitting back on your heels with a grin. “Did I do good?” you ask, pouting down at him.

You’re only teasing, but when Matty meets your gaze, chest heaving and eyes lidded, and murmurs, “So good, princess.” A gush of heat floods between your sticking thighs. “Where’d my good girl learn to suck cock like that?”

Falling back onto his chest, you give him a wicked smirk. “I told you already, Daddy.” You shift your hips, grinding your soaked cunt against his cock and whining at the soft buzz of pleasure that lights under your skin. “I’m not always a good girl.”

He groans, rolling his hips against yours. “You’re gonna fuckin’ kill me, baby.”

You giggle, pressing a kiss to the tattoo in the centre of his chest. “The elderly and their weak hearts,” you scoff, hissing when he pinches the flesh of your ass.

“Oi. Be nice.” Rolling your eyes dramatically, you mime zipping your lips. His fingers wander between your legs, anticipation thrilling under your skin as he finds your clit, the rough pad of his finger scraping against your sensitive nerves. “So wet, princess. Does being my little cocksleeve turn you on, baby?”

“Mhmm,” you murmur. “Feel a bit gross right now, though. I wanna shower first.” Matty grins, a vision of you naked and dripping wet from the shower playing out so clearly on his face that you can practically see it reflected in his eyes.

You hop up on the bathroom counter as Matty runs the shower, rinsing your mouth out with mouthwash and leaning over the sink to spit it out. Matty does the same, then steps between your legs, and you cross them instinctively behind his back. He catches your lips, mint taste mingling in your breaths as you kiss open-mouthed, hot and messy. Distracted, you lose yourself in the kiss, forgetting why you’re in the bathroom at all until the air is thick and cloying with steam.

Matty breaks away from you and helps you to your feet, tugging his shirt up over your head and discarding it to the floor. He can’t resist a greedy handful of your tit, gazing down to where the flesh spills over his fingers. “Pretty girl,” he murmurs, walking you backwards until you’re stepping into the shower.

You pull him under the spray, curls sticking to his forehead as the water soaks him. His hands trail over your body, grasping at your wet flesh as you press yourself needily against him. His cock is hard against your belly, heat pooling in your core as he pulls you in for a wet kiss. Matty grips your thighs, your head spinning as his tongue sweeps your mouth. “Jump up for me, sweet girl,” he says against your lips. “I’ll catch you, don’t worry.” Something in your chest catches as he smiles earnestly down at you, and you force it down before it bubbles out of control and something incriminating slips from your lips.

Obediently, you jump up, your legs tangling around Matty’s waist as he crowds you against the shower tile, his nails biting at your thighs where he holds you in place. You moan against his mouth as you grind your hips down against his stomach, a soft buzz of pleasure growing where your skin meets his. “Daddy, please. Want your cock,” you whine, steam curling around your bodies as you grasp weakly at his wet skin.

He laughs softly against your lips, angling your hips carefully as he lines up his cock. Torturously slow, he lowers you down, pleasure rolling hot under your skin from the point where his hips meet yours. Your cunt throbs, stretched wide around him as Matty moans against your neck. “God, this fucking cunt drives me crazy. Made for this,” he groans as he bottoms out, hips flush under the warm spray of the shower.

“C’mon,” you whimper, clenching your cunt around him and rolling your hips. “Fuck me. I need it,” you beg, scraping your nails down his back.

His cock twitches inside you, the barest flicker of sensation sending a pulse of heat thrumming under your skin. “Needy girl,” he says, clicking his tongue condescendingly. 

“Please, Daddy,” you moan, writhing in his arms, the plea on your lips breaking into a whine as he pushes into you agonisingly slow. Your head thuds back against the tile as your eyes slip closed, hot pleasure coiling between your legs as you clench your cunt around him.

Matty groans as he bottoms out, your legs locked around his waist as you pant into his mouth. “God, takin’ me so well, princess. Look so beautiful while I’m fucking you like this, fuck,” he praises, his words sending heat rushing to your cheeks. His head falls to suck and bite at the flesh of your tits, pain blooming into bliss under your skin as he fucks into you slowly.

You moan desperately, scrambling for purchase against his wet skin. “More, harder, please,” you whimper, rocking your hips as arousal pools in your cunt and drips out over him. He laughs darkly, and you shudder slightly, wondering what you’ve let yourself in for.

“Harder, huh?” he murmurs into your neck. “Whatever you want, princess.” It’s the only warning you get before he lifts you and slams you down on his cock, your hips meeting hard as he strikes deep inside you. He fucks you wildly, the slick heat of his body pinning you to the wall as he mouths at your neck, his breath hot on your skin. Incoherent moans fall from your lips, your head hazy and distant, pleasure welling hot under your skin.

His lips come up to cover yours, swallowing your wanton moans greedily, the faint taste of mint on his tongue as he licks into your mouth. “God, such a good girl,” he murmurs. “Wish you could see yourself, baby. Such a pretty little cocksleeve for me.” Arousal drips between your legs, mingling with the water soaking you, your cunt throbbing at his words. “You like that, princess?” he asks with a soft laugh, subtle derision cascading down your spine. “Little slut. Wanna be Daddy’s pretty toy, yeah?”

You whine, nails digging into his shoulders. His rhythm doesn’t slow, your grip on sanity slackening with every pulse of heat in your cunt. “‘M yours, Daddy,” you manage to get out around broken moans.

“That’s right, princess.” He’s practically dragging you up and down on him, using you like you really are a toy. “Gonna be a good girl and cum for Daddy, hm?” Your legs tighten around Matty’s waist as one of his hands leaves your hip to play with your clit. The rough scrape of his calloused finger over your sensitive bundle of nerves is too much, and it barely takes another minute before your world shatters.

Your scream echoes off the tile, cunt pulsing as your blood burns with ecstasy. Heat floods every nerve in your body, bone-deep pleasure swelling under your skin, incessant gasps and whines falling from your lips. Matty’s brutal pace never slows, chasing his own pleasure, silencing your whines with his mouth as you squirm against the overstimulation. “‘M almost there, baby. Just a little more, takin’ it so well, princess,” he assures you, rhythm sloppy and faltering as he gets closer. Your name spills from his lips in a groan as he pulses inside you, ropes of cum dripping sticky down your insides. 

“Fuck,” you murmur, whining as he pulls out and gingerly setting a leg on the floor, testing whether they can hold your weight. Matty’s hands hover at your waist, ready to catch you if you slip, and you stretch up to press a grateful kiss to his lips.

Matty pulls you fully under the shower, reaching for a bottle of shower gel and soaping his hands. “Feeling good?” he says, cocky smirk playing on his lips.

“Mhmm,” you sigh happily, settling against his chest as he runs his hands slow and tender over your body. In your blissed-out state, you barely notice your next words as they slip from your lips. “Wish it could be like this all the time.”

Matty croons softly, brushing a thumb over your nipple and kneading at your tit. “Wanna be my sweet girl forever, hm? I’d love that, princess,” he murmurs, the fantasy rooting in your mind despite how obscenely ridiculous the idea is — you’ve barely known him a week, for Christ’s sake. Something about him makes you feel safe, though, secure. Like you’ve known him for years — although, maybe not, given the circumstances. A moan slips from your lips when Matty digs his thumbs into your back, working the tension free from under your skin as your eyes slip happily closed. He cleans your cunt gently, smirking at the cum stringing between his fingers and swirling down the drain. “Can I wash your hair?” he offers with a soft smile.

Your chest feels distended, bloated with an affection you know you shouldn’t be feeling as you nod, the scent of his shampoo maddeningly comforting, sickeningly familiar. Matty’s skilled fingers work over your scalp, a quiet kind of bliss rolling over you as you relax into his touch. Stepping out of the shower, your hair scrunched up in an old t-shirt of his that he swore he didn’t care about getting ruined, you can’t hold back a pout when he wraps a towel around his waist. “Hey, no, what do you think you’re doing?” you gasp, suddenly distracted as Matty starts to bring a towel up to his hair. Puzzled, he stares at you blankly as you snatch it from his grip. “Gonna ruin those pretty curls if you keep doing that,” you tut. “Here, sit down. Let me spoil you for a second, okay?” You’ve never felt so cared for by one of your hookups, even by some of your boyfriends, so you seize a chance to return the favour. 

Obligingly, he sits on the closed toilet seat, letting you advance on him with a tub of obscenely expensive hair gel. He smiles softly, leaning involuntarily into your touch as you twist his curls around your fingers, defining them neatly and admiring the way they bounce back on themselves. You straddle his lap to scrunch the gel into his hair, batting his hand away when he tries to grab your tit. “Behave,” you chide, laughing and stepping away to take in your handiwork. With his hair loose and framing his face sweetly, he looks younger, more innocent, a far cry from the man calling you a pretty little cocksleeve not even half an hour ago.

“What are you thinkin’ about, darling?” Matty murmurs, searching gaze heavy on your bare skin.

You blink, shaking your head as if to clear it. “Just about how I could really go for that breakfast in bed right now,” you grin, teasing to alleviate the intensity in the air between you.

He huffs a laugh. “Think it might be closer to lunch by now,” he smirks. “How about I do you one better? Let me take you out for lunch, yeah?”

Your jaw hangs open in shock. Of all the ways you were expecting this to end, this wasn’t it. “Like… like a date?” A date means something, means being seen together in public, means being more than just a dirty little secret.

“Yeah, princess. Like a date.” He smiles fondly. “Here, I’ll call you a car. You go home, get changed, and I’ll pick you up in an hour, okay?” Instinctively, you nod, his tone leaving no room for argument even if you’d wanted to. You open your mouth to ask how he knows where you live, the answer coming to you with sudden, shocking clarity. Right. Because he’s your father’s boss.

Well, fuck. That certainly complicates things.

…But it’s not like complicated has ever stopped you before.

[easays]

To Ragh; or, On Fatness

Hi! Below is an actual play mini-essay. These are written as part of a personal writing practice of thinking critically about actual play. I hope you find this reading engaging and know that all I write reflects my own interpretations rather than as an official representation/canonization of these shows. Keep reading for my interpretation of Ragh Barkrock's fatness as part of queer representation in Dimension20.

Ragh Barkrock may be one of the most beloved NPCs in Dimension20. It would be easy for Ragh, a bloodrush player good enough to potentially play professionally, to be presented as hypermasculine. In fact, the freshmen year art for Ragh, when he was antagonist rather than beloved ally, showed him in a muscular, inverted Dorito shaped body typical of a jock.

He's, obviously, built, and his cut jaw and cheekbones only bolster that image. As Ragh comes to terms with being gay at the end of Fantasy High, his countenance changes. When we see him again, the new art reflects a chubbier, happier Ragh.

The show aligning weight gain with acceptance and happiness already works against prevailing stereotypes that use weight loss as a quick metaphor for improving yourself and being the "real you." Moreover, connecting Ragh's acceptance of his sexuality with what seems like a larger comfort in his own body is a strong indictment of hypermasculine gay culture. As Gabriel Arana writes, gay men "must reconcile their sense of masculinity with their failure to conform to its heterosexuality." Not doing so has negative mental health outcomes, as Arana points out, and contributes to a culture that devalues fat queer people (see the popular "no fats, no femmes, no Asians" that often is touted in masculine gay subculture).

All of this, I think, is why Ragh's art for Junior Year was particularly impactful for me as a fat queer person. If being a gay man (or half-Orc, in Ragh's case) means having to situate your life in relationship to failing compulsory masculinity, then it seems there is an inherent queer aspect to embracing, celebrating, and showcasing a beloved NPC in an explicitly fat and happy body.

FHJY Ragh art by @caitmayart

Ragh is still strong and he is still fat. His body radiates a commitment to the power of fat bodies to exist in spaces they are often violently unwelcome in, such as gyms. Existing in gyms and sports spaces as fat people means dealing the "impossible standard that rejects nearly all of us" and upholds a diet culture rooted in impossible, Eurocentric and colonial body standards. In TTRPGS or actual plays, there is a unique opportunity to think about how bodies might exist in worlds different from ours, to imagine bodyminds as otherwise. However, as queer critics like Paul Preciado have noted, sci-fi and fantasy representations of cyborgs and other transformative bodies often lean into "fixing" disabled people or moving gender nonconforming bodies more easily towards technologies upholding a normative standard rather than questioning the standard all together.

Spyre is a world that deals with similar issues to ours, even without direct one-to-one correlations, so it, too, is a place where the narrative and artistic choices should be examined in how it helps us interpolate the world the audience resides in. From the Applebees cultish adherence to a deity-based nationalism to the various representations of parental neglect and abuse and every side story in-between, Dimension20's flagship show does not shy away from difficult realities even when recasting them through fantasy. Ragh, as a half-orc gay son of a disabled single mother, then, I see the arc his fat body goes through as meaningful and intertwined with his self-acceptance and queerness. He moves away from the toxic masculinity engineered into his blood rush team to instead pursue coalition comraderie with his friends to the point that he and his mother end up joining a communal living situation with those friends and their parents. Ragh's body expands as his family does, as his ties to community do, and to me, the gift of his fatness is the invitation to expansion that it holds out to us as viewers.

[nana-mania]

what would bad toman!izana feel if ever his s.o reveals she's got a son from her past? (but the twist is it's actually his child and he just doesn't know because he was so drunk that time to even remember that he had a one night stand with her) then he notices that the toddler looks a lot like him but he's skeptical and doesn't trust his gut feeling about it.

“A MIRROR OF ME” will he love his child?

╰┈➤: ̗̀➛ oneshot

࿐*ೃ feat : izana kurokawa

࿐*ೃ fandom : tokyo revengers

࿐*ೃ extra : fem! reader, fluff

╰┈➤: ̗̀➛ NEON glow of the city cast fractured reflections across the rain-slick streets, a fitting backdrop for Izana’s mood. A cold leader, feared and revered by the underworld, Izana had built his empire with blood, grit, and an iron will. Tonight, however, something felt off. The loud music and low murmurs of the bar around him faded into static as he nursed his drink.

He had come to this club to think, but his instincts told him he wasn’t alone for long. When he turned to glance at the entrance, his breath hitched.

It was her.

The woman he never thought he’d see again.

Time had been kind to her, or perhaps cruel, given the mixture of emotions that flickered across her face when their eyes met. Her beauty was the same, yet her expression carried something heavier, an invisible weight she bore as if it were etched into her very being.

Izana clenched his glass. What was she doing here? Of all places, why now?

“Can we talk?” Y/n asked, her voice soft but unwavering.

Izana stood, signaling to his men to give them space. He guided her to a quieter corner of the bar, curiosity and suspicion battling within him. He wasn’t the type to entertain ghosts from his past, but something in her eyes demanded his attention.

“You’ve got guts showing up here,” he said, his voice colder than he intended. “What do you want?”

She hesitated, visibly steeling herself. “This isn’t easy for me, Izana. But there’s something you need to know.”

His gaze locked onto her, dissecting every flicker of her expression. She wasn’t here to rekindle old flames—that much was obvious. She looked... scared. And that intrigued him.

“Spit it out,” he demanded.

Y/n took a shaky breath before dropping the words like a thunderclap.

“I have a son.”

Izana blinked, thrown off balance. He hadn’t expected this. “And what does that have to do with me?”

Her hands trembled slightly, but her gaze held his. “I thought you deserved to know. He’s from... before. From when we were together.”

His brow furrowed as the implications hit him. His initial instinct was to laugh it off. She must be mistaken. But then something stirred deep within him—doubt. Memories of a long-forgotten night surfaced, hazy and fractured, like pieces of a puzzle he had ignored for years.

“That’s impossible,” he denied. “I would’ve remembered something like that.”

Y/n flinched but quickly recovered. “Would you?” she asked.. “We were drunk, Izana. So drunk that neither of us even remembered it happened. But it did. I know because... you were the only one. I’ve never been with anyone else, and I knew the moment I found out I was pregnant that he was yours.”

The words slammed into him like a freight train, and Izana was at a loss for words. His chest tightened, a feeling- something he couldn’t quite name brewing within him.

“You’re saying... I have a kid? And you’ve been hiding him from me all this time?” His voice was low, dangerous, but there was a trace of something else beneath it—hurt.

“I wasn’t hiding him,” Y/n defended herself quickly, her voice breaking. “I didn’t know how to tell you. After everything that happened between us, after the way we ended, I didn’t think you’d care. And then you disappeared, and I... I didn’t know where to find you.”

“Bullshit,” he snapped. “You could’ve found me if you really wanted to.”

Her eyes glistened with unshed tears. “Do you think it was easy for me? Do you think I wanted to raise him alone? I was scared, Izana. Scared of what you’d say, what you’d do. You’ve changed so much. I barely recognize the man I knew anymore.”

Izana’s jaw clenched. Her words stung because they carried truth. He wasn’t the man she once knew, the man she had fallen for all those years ago. He had buried that part of himself long ago, replacing it with the ruthless criminal leader he was now.

But this... a son? His son? That was something he couldn’t ignore.

“What’s his name?” he asked, his voice softer now.

“Yukiya,” Y/n revealed, a faint smile breaking through her anguish. “He’s five. And he looks so much like you, Izana. It’s uncanny.”

Izana leaned back in his chair, running a hand through his hair. He didn’t know what to feel. Anger? Shock? Regret? It was as if the foundation of his meticulously crafted life had cracked.

“Why now?” he asked after a long silence. “Why come to me now?”

“Because he’s been asking about his father,” the h/c-haired woman admitted. “And I realized I couldn’t keep it from him any longer. He deserves to know where he came from. And you... you deserve to know him too.”

Izana’s heart twisted in a way he hadn’t felt in years. The idea of a child, his child, growing up without him stirred something primal within him. He had always been alone, abandoned by the people who were supposed to love him. The thought of doing the same to his own blood was unbearable.

“Where is he?” he asked.

“He’s at home. I didn’t want to bring him here. Not like this. I wanted to talk to you first.”

Izana felt uncertain. He had faced death, betrayal, and countless enemies, but the prospect of meeting a five-year-old boy—a boy who might look up at him with his own eyes—left him uncharacteristically shaken.

The conversation ended with no clear resolution. Y/n gave him her number and told him he could decide what to do next. As she walked away, leaving him alone with his thoughts, Izana stared at the scrap of paper in his hand.

For years, he had lived a life defined by power, control, and fear. But this—this was something else entirely. It was messy, uncertain, and terrifying.

And yet, Izana felt something he thought he had lost; hope.

The streets of Yokohama were slick with rain. Inside his penthouse, he brooded over his drink, her words replaying in his mind.

“I have a son.”

Y/n's voice still rang clear. She had walked back into his life like a ghost, unraveling truths he wasn’t ready to face. Izana wasn’t the kind of man to be shaken easily, but this? It felt like the ground beneath him had split open.

Two days later, Izana found himself standing outside a modest suburban house. It wasn’t his style—too quiet, too simple—but he couldn’t ignore the nagging thought that had haunted him since their conversation. He wasn’t even sure why he was here. Closure, maybe? Curiosity?

When she opened the door, Y/n smiled at him. "You came,” she said softly.

“I didn’t come to play house,” Izana replied, his voice cold. “I just... I need to see him.”

Y/n nodded, stepping aside to let him in. The inside of the house was warm and inviting. His eyes scanned the room, cataloging every detail. Then he saw him.

A boy sat cross-legged on the carpet, building a tower with wooden blocks. He looked up when Izana entered, his orchid-coloured eyes locking onto Izana’s.

Izana froze.

It was like staring into a mirror.

The boy’s features were unmistakable— bleach blonde hair that curled slightly at the ends, and those orchid eyes that seemed to see through everything and his most prominent feature-- his glowy, beautiful tan complexion. Izana’s stomach churned.

“Yuki,” Y/n called gently. “Come here, sweetheart.”

The boy stood, his small frame walking hesitantly toward them. Izana watched every movement, his breath caught in his throat.

“This is... Izana,” she introduced, kneeling beside her son. “He’s an old friend of Mommy’s.”

“Hi,” Yukiya greeted shyly, his voice soft and unsure.

Izana nodded stiffly, his heart pounding. His gut screamed at him that this boy was his, but his mind rebelled against the idea. It couldn’t be. It shouldn’t be.

Later, as they sat in the living room, Yukiya played nearby, occasionally glancing at Izana with curious eyes. Izana couldn’t stop watching him. Every gesture, every expression—it was uncanny. The boy even furrowed his brow the same way Izana did when he was deep in thought.

“You see it, don’t you?” she asked quietly, breaking his reverie.

“I see a kid,” Izana snarled, his tone dismissive. “That doesn’t mean anything.”

Her shoulders sagged, but Y/n didn’t press him. Instead, she handed him a photo album. Izana flipped through the pages reluctantly, each picture chipping away at his skepticism.

Yukiya as a baby, his tiny fists curled into the same defiant pose Izana knew too well. Yukiya as a toddler, his mischievous grin eerily familiar.

Izana shut the album abruptly, his jaw clenched. “This doesn’t prove anything.”

“Then what will?” she asked, frustration creeping into her voice. “A DNA test? Fine. Let’s do it. But don’t sit there and tell me you don’t feel it. He’s yours, Izana. I wouldn’t be here if I wasn’t absolutely sure.”

He didn’t respond, his gaze fixed on the boy. Izana was no stranger to manipulation. He’d grown up surrounded by lies and betrayal, and trust was a luxury he didn’t afford anyone.

But as the evening wore on, he found himself drawn to the child in a way that scared him. Yukiya was fearless, walking up to Izana with a toy car in his hand.

“Do you like cars?” the boy asked, his voice innocent.

Izana blinked, caught off guard. “Yeah. I guess.”

“Me too,” Yukiya chuckled, smiling. “Mommy says I’m good at fixing things. She said maybe one day I can fix real cars.”

Izana’s chest tightened. Shinichiro had said something similar to him once, long before everything fell apart.

“Is that so?” he murmured, his voice softer than he intended.

Yukiya nodded enthusiastically before running off to grab another toy. Izana watched him go, his heart a tumultuous mess of emotions.

As the night wore on, Izana found himself lingering longer than he intended. When Yukiya finally fell asleep, curled up with his toys, Izana turned to Y/n.

“He looks like me,” he admitted. “But that doesn’t mean I trust you.”

“I’m not asking you to trust me,” she remarked. “I’m asking you to trust yourself. You know the truth, Izana. You just don’t want to admit it.”

Her words stung. Deep down, he felt it. The connection. The bond. It terrified him more than anything else ever had.

Izana stood abruptly, his chair scraping against the floor. “I’ll do the test,” he agreed. “But don’t think for a second that this changes anything.”

She didn’t argue, only nodded. “Fine. But you should know, Izana—whether you want to be in his life or not, you’re already a part of him. You can’t undo that.”

As he stepped back out into the night, Izana lit a cigarette, the smoke curling into the air like his tangled thoughts.

He had always thought of himself as untouchable, unbreakable. But tonight, a small boy with similar purple eyes had cracked the armor he’d spent years perfecting.

Izana wasn’t sure he knew how to put it back together.

Izana sat in his penthouse, the dim light casting shadows across his face. On the glass table before him lay three sheets of paper, each bearing the same undeniable truth.

99.99% Probability of Paternity

He’d taken the test three times, desperate for even the smallest margin of error, but the results hadn’t wavered. Yukiya was his son. His blood, his legacy.

Izana stared at the papers. Vulnerability was foreign to him, a weakness he despised, but this... this wasn’t something he could fight, threaten, or ignore.

“Izana, you’ve been sitting there for hours.”

Kakucho’s voice pulled Izana from his spiral of thoughts. His closest confidant stood by the window, arms crossed, concern etched into his features. Kakucho was the only person Izana had trusted with this revelation, and even then, it had taken him days to say the words aloud.

Izana’s eyes didn’t leave the papers. “He’s mine,” he declared quietly, almost to himself. “There’s no doubt about it.”

Kakucho stepped closer, his voice gentle but firm. “So, what are you going to do?”

Izana leaned back in his chair, Kakucho’s question pressing down on him.

“I don’t know,” Izana admitted, his voice uncharacteristically soft. “What do I have to offer a kid? A kid who didn’t even know I existed until now?”

Kakucho sat across from him, meeting his gaze. “You’re overthinking it. You don’t have to be perfect. You just have to show up.”

Izana scoffed, running a hand through his hair. “It’s not that simple.”

“It is,” Kakucho argued. “You..and me, we’ve been alone our whole lives. You know what that feels like. Do you really want Yukiya to go through the same thing, knowing his father’s out there and doesn’t care enough to be part of his life?”

The words hit Izana like a gut punch. Memories of his own childhood resurfaced—the loneliness, the resentment, the longing for someone to tell him he mattered.

Izana felt his eyes stinging, desperate to shed tears. “What if I mess him up? What if I can’t be what he needs?”

Kakucho sighed. “Then you figure it out. That’s what being a parent is, isn’t it? Doing your best, even when you’re scared.”

Izana looked away, his gaze falling back on the papers. Yukiya’s face flashed in his mind—those adorable purple eyes, the way he furrowed his brow just like Izana did.

“What do you think I should do?”

Kakucho smiled faintly. “Do what you think is right.”

Izana sat alone long after Kakucho left. His thoughts drifted back to Yukiya, to the way the boy had looked at him. Izana had seen a spark in those eyes, a spark that reminded him of himself before the darkness had taken over.

He couldn’t ignore it anymore. He didn’t want to.

The next day, Izana stood outside her house once again, his heart pounding in a way he wasn’t used to. He wasn’t here to intimidate or negotiate; he was here to take responsibility for something bigger than himself.

When Y/n opened the door, surprise flickered across her face. “Izana?”

“I’ve made up my mind,” he started. “I want to be part of Yukiya’s life.”

Her eyes widened, and for a moment, she seemed at a loss for words. Then a small, relieved smile broke through. “You’re sure?”

“I’m sure,” he reaffirmed his determination. “I don’t know how to do this, but I’ll figure it out. He deserves that much.”

Over the following weeks, Izana began to navigate the unfamiliar territory of fatherhood. At first, he kept his distance, unsure of how to connect with Yukiya. But the boy’s natural curiosity and warmth began to break down his walls.

One evening, as they sat in the park, Yukiya handed Izana a drawing he had made. It was simple—a stick figure of a man holding hands with a smaller stick figure.

“That’s us,” Yukiya said proudly.

Izana stared at the drawing, his chest tightening. “You... drew this for me?”

Yukiya nodded, his smile wide. “Mommy says you’re my dad. So I wanted to make something for you.”

Izana swallowed hard, his emotions threatening to overwhelm him. He reached out, ruffling Yukiya’s hair. “Thanks, Yuki. I’ll keep it.”

Yukiya beamed, and Izana felt something he hadn't felt in years--peace.

Back at his penthouse that night, Izana pinned the drawing to the wall of his study. Kakucho watched from the doorway, a rare smile on his face.

“You’re doing good,” Kakucho praised, acknowledging his efforts.

Izana glanced at the drawing, a faint smile tugging at his lips. He felt proud of himself.

Izana sat down, his gaze lingering on the drawing. Being part of Yukiya’s life wasn’t going to be easy. But after a long time, Izana finally felt like he had a purpose beyond the darkness of his past.

And for Yukiya, he would do whatever it took to be the father the boy deserved.

࿐*ೃ thanks for reading this scenario! likes, interaction and reblogs are deeply appreciated ♡

[crowsofdarkness]

Vaz Prizrak: Chapter Seventeen

-gif not mine. credit to owner-

Pairings: Bucky Barnes x Female Agent! Reader.

Content Warnings: language, 18 + implied smut, angst, fluff, violence, mentions of losing a pregnancy, thoughts of taking one's life, an attempt to take one's life. I will give another warning when that chapter is posted.

Summary: Bucky and Reader have been in their own solace while in Wakanda for years. They were finally happy to create the life they wanted and deserved. That was until a new foe came along to dust it all away.

Authors Note: This takes place during Infinity War and Endgame! If you haven't yet, please read Soldat and Dorogaya beforehand.

Tags: @globetrotter28 @sakuracyberhex @chinggay85-blog @bookofriverr @misatxox @that-blonde-girl @cats-chaotic-mind @wintrsoldrluvr @sebastians-love @pumpkin-babydoll @ordelixx @starfly-nicole @j23r23 @baw1066 @capswife @winterassassin1804

Soldat Masterlist | Dorogaya Masterlist | Vaz Prizrak Masterlist

A loud gasp escaped my throat as I sat up with a start, smacking whoever was in front of me. The last thing I had remembered was falling out of the sky. 

“Hey, take it easy, doll. It’s me.” 

After a few deep breaths, I relaxed when I saw Bucky’s concerned eyes looking at me. 

“Are you okay?” He asked. 

I nodded and let him help me to my feet. “How am I alive?” 

Bucky motioned towards Sam and I gave him a quick nod of thanks. 

“What did I miss?” I questioned. 

Suddenly hearing loud screams, all of our attention fell onto Thanos, who was fighting Tony for the gauntlet. My eyes watched with horror, almost as if I was having a deja vu moment, watching Thanos prepare his fingers for the dreaded snap. 

“I am inevitable,” Thanos smirked. 

When he snapped, however, nothing happened. No one around us had dusted away like last time. Bucky and Sam were both in their spots beside me. 

“No,” I breathed when I realized why the snap didn’t work. 

Tony held up in hand, all six infinity stones shining bright. “I am Iron Man.” 

With Tony’s snap, Thanos’ army started disappearing around us, dusting with the wind. Everyone watched in confusion until they realized that Tony had worn the gauntlet, snapping away our enemies. 

Steve had joined us now and I could see the weight lift from his shoulders, knowing that we had won. However, I don’t think we all knew what it cost or who. 

“Stevie,” I pulled on his hand so he could see what I saw. 

Tony laid against a rock, taking his final breaths. The snap had been too much for him, his body not being able to handle it. 

Tears fell from Steve’s eyes and I gave his hand a squeeze, letting him know that we all felt what he was feeling. 

Sadness, grief, despair, and a gut wrenching loss. 

We all loved Tony, he had been the one that brought the Avengers together all those years ago, and he knew in the end that someone needed to make the sacrifice call. 

“What do we do now?” Sam questioned when everything had settled. 

I looked between the three men and let out a very shaky, uncertain breath. “I don’t know.” 

A heavy boot shut the door behind us, Bucky locking it while I sat down on the large bed with a deep groan. 

“Are you alright?” He wondered, kneeling in front of me. 

I started to nod but knew that it was a lie, everything post fight started to settle in on the way over to the hotel. No one could enjoy the victory or having their loved ones back, now knowing what it had cost. We had lost too many good people for this mission. Even though Tony and I hadn’t been close, it still broke my heart to see him take his final breath in front of all of us. 

We were also confused, the majority of us having nowhere to go, nowhere to turn. Our prior home had burned to the ground along with all of our belongings. 

Well, not everything. 

Steve thought it would be best for us to stay at a hotel for the night to recoup and prepare for tomorrow; Tony’s funeral and returning the stones. I wanted to give everyone more time to heal but knew the longer we waited for returning the stones, the worse effect it would have on our future. 

Sam and Steve were in the room across the hall from us, knowing that they needed to give Bucky and I some alone time. We had a lot to catch up on. 

“Hey,” Bucky lifted my chin with a gentle finger. “It’s okay.” 

I shook my head in his hand, tears starting to spill. “They didn’t deserve this ending, Buck. Tony and Nat should both be here. It’s not fair.” 

On the way to the hotel, Steve and I filled in Sam and Bucky on all of the important things they had missed the last five years. They were shocked to learn how long they had been gone for while Steve and I were shocked to hear that even though it was five years for us, it only felt like five minutes for them. 

“I know, doll,” Bucky hushed my cries with a kiss to the side of my forehead. 

Alongside the scar from the aftermath of me trying to kill myself the other night. So much had happened that it seemed so long ago.

“I have so much to tell you,” I sighed. 

Bucky nodded. “First, let’s get you cleaned up.” 

I agreed with an obnoxious groan of pleasure at the mere mention of a shower. Bucky slowly led me towards the bathroom and I hesitated once we crossed the threshold. 

“I know you’re probably expecting sex but my body is exhausted,” I fought. 

“Doll, all I want is to have your body next to mine. Sex can wait,” he admitted. 

Truthfully, I wanted to tell Bucky about Steve and I before we had sex. He deserved to know the truth; about everything. 

Cool vibranium fingers traced the patterns down my left arm and over the star on my shoulder. Bucky’s breath warmed my bare shoulders as I laid in front of him, enjoying his touch. 

“I still can’t believe you got this tattooed,” he breathed against my neck. 

His lips left small kisses, causing shivers throughout my body. 

“It was a dark point in my life, Bucky. We thought that we weren’t getting anyone back so I went on a murdering spree, killing Hydra members.” I admitted. 

Bucky rolled me onto my back and propped himself up on one hand, eyes looking down at me. His familiar scent had engulfed my nostrils, lathering himself in my favorite body was; teakwood and mint. 

Our shower had been anything but sexy. The dirt and blood that we washed off ourselves stained the shower floor, turning the water black the instant we stepped inside. Bucky had washed my hair with a loving scalp massage and went on and on about how he couldn’t believe my hair turned to literal fire tonight. 

“I studied my powers, getting stronger.” I had informed him with a shrug as if it was no big deal. 

After our shower and we washed one another, I sat in front of him on the bed while Bucky braided my hair back. The small intimate moments between us had returned, almost as if he had never left. 

“Doll?” 

Thinking back to the present, I looked up at Bucky with a small smile. “What?” 

He let out a deep chuckle. “I asked if you wanted to get some sleep.”

The blueness of his eyes had made my heart skip a beat and jump into my throat. He looked at me with so much love and adoration which made the guilt eat away at me once more. I couldn’t hold it in any longer, Bucky needed to know the truth. 

“Actually, we really need to talk,” I stated while sitting up in bed. 

I wrapped the sheet around my naked body tighter. We still hadn’t had sex but wanted to feel each other's skin on one another, which proved to be hard for him. His dick continued to press up against the back of my thigh. 

Bucky nodded with a sigh and sat in front of me. “About you and Steve?” 

I looked at him dumbfounded.  “How do you know?”

“I was gone for five years, Y/N. I didn’t expect you to wait around for me and with the history between the two of you, it was bound to happen,” Bucky shrugged as if it hadn’t bothered him.

It hadn’t. 

I was expecting to feel jealousy, anger, or rage coming from him but all I felt was acceptance. 

“You’re not mad at me? You don’t want to punch a wall or storm out while calling me a slut?” I asked, shocked. 

“God, no!” Bucky shook his head. “Is that what people do?”

“Typically yes, when they found out their girlfriend cheated on them,” I replied while messing with my hands. 

He cupped them with his own to stop the nerves. 

“You thought I wasn’t coming back, doll. I won’t hold that against you. Can you just promise it won’t happen again?” He asked with pleading eyes. 

Immediately I nodded while cupping his face. “It won’t. I promise.” 

We shared a passionate kiss, short but sweet, and when Bucky pulled away, he motioned to the bed. 

“Anything else you want to talk about or can we get some sleep?” He questioned. 

There was one more thing I had wanted to talk to him about but decided it would be better to surprise him with it so I shook my head. 

“I’m definitely ready for some sleep.” 

A very unattractive yawn slipped through my lips at the mention of sleep and Bucky couldn’t help but chuckle. 

“I’ve missed you doll but I sure as hell didn’t miss you stealing all the blankets.” 

I gasped at his confession while he pulled me into his chest, wrapping the blanket around us in our own private cocoon. 

“I do not steal the blanket, Mr. Snores so loud I want to smother him with a pillow!” I semi yelled. 

Bucky placed another kiss upon my lips. “I love you, Y/N. Sweet dreams.” 

Sniggling closer into his bare chest, I smiled into his warm skin. “I love you too, Buck.” 

That night was the first night in a very long time that I didn’t dream of dancing with his ghost. He finally was back where he belonged, in my arms. 

[candlelightreader]

I was just listening to the DVD commentary on the Snakes episode and I know Grissom and Sara's scene (the only scene they're present in this Nick-centric ep) is big--obviously shipper nirvana--but the commentary by George Eads and the rest (I think one of the writers and either a director or producer) added so much weight that I'd never considered before!

So, Eads remarks on how Sara is the only one who ever talks to Grissom that way. This is, as she really dials up the husky, soft voice she adopts with Grissom. Eads also observes that Grissom is always himself with her, i.e. more of a nerd and rather stripped bare in a way he never is with anyone else. They all make comments on how emotional the scene is and how revealing it is of their relationship because, as always, Sara is 'putting it [her attraction and ongoing interest] out there'. She is never shy about wanting him. (I really need to transcribe the commentaries.)

But Eads keeps coming back to the idea that Grissom is more Grissom or is more himself with her than with any of the others. I'd add that it is not only the fact of their professional position that makes him freeze with her--I think Grissom is talking about himself when he asserts that some men are intimidated by beauty.

You know what magic, Grissom!

Anyways, something I hadn't thought of is that Grissom almost says something back, such as "Let’s go to dinner." But, of course, Sara overtalks and halts his momentum such as it were. But even more, it made me realize how pivotal this scene is, even compared to the Nesting Dolls reveal of her childhood trauma, because this is the moment when Grissom knows 100% that he isn't too late. The flirting takes on a different dimension after this. The looks become more meaningful.

This is especially significant when you consider that ealier in the season, the writers and producers are talking about the explicit intro of Sofia as a romantic interest for Grissom. She was there to create tension and her chemistry with Grissom was very much not subtext. So the decision to make 'this thing' with Sara more solid in the presence of this new love interest adds to the dynamic more than ever. Because the chemistry with Sofia is too easy and too simple. He's too smooth with her. He knows what to say to her at a given moment, because he has no interest in Sofia romantically and doesn't feel threatened by her. She really is just a colleague he doesn't hate. Ultimately, Sofia doesn't leave him speechless the way Sara does. He is not 'himself' when he is with her. Sara, on the other hand, always renders him vulnerable, which of course is why he distanced himself from her in season three, as he realized in four.

And we can see how Sara's effect on him is unique when looking at his other love interests: he does have speechless moments with Terri but by the end, no so much--perhaps there is a sense that while he is attracted intellectually, and somewhat sexually, there is no sentiment after all. With Heather, he never is at a loss for words, which leaves me to lean towards the notion that he was indeed never involved with her romantically--but, perhaps, it is her who makes him discover that sex without love makes him sad whether through conversation or more... In other words, grissom is typically putting on an air with other people. He's fully insulated against them and can act out the persona of an assured, curated Grissom, the bossman, the tin man, the nerd, the professor, the mentor, the father figure, etc.

But with Sara, he is exposed.

[oceansssblue]

From the stuck in a snowstorm Christmas prompt:

Can I get Rex X Male Reader where they get separated from Anakin, Ahsoka and Obi-Wan during a mission and are forced to hide in a cave till the storm ends please?

Male Reader is injured from saving Rex’s life from a droid attack and Rex is using all his willpower to not think about what would have happened if he lost him.

The angst buildup to confessing your feelings is the best type of word food.

Your wishes are my orders... Let's jump with the prompt number 9 (stuck in a snow storm) rn! 🫡

I write original ideas but I swear I like the classics and basics so much too... 🤪

Enjoy!

Xx, Blue. 💖

PS. For those who may be wanting to do a request, I'm leaving you the list of prompts at the end of this oneshot if you want to check it out. I also accept your own request ideas as long as it's xmasy.

"THE MOST IMPORTANT THING" – REX / MALE READER 💔💖

WARNINGS: fleeting mentions of wounds & blood. Thoughts about almost losing someone. Snow storm & freezing temperatures. Comfort & first kiss.

Rex can barely see what's five steps ahead of him. Even with the improved vision provided by his helmet, the blizzard makes everything blurry; a white picture of snow that would have been beautiful if it hadn't turned into a storm –and Rex needn't to make his way across it in order to get to safety–. His objective is to find cover in the mountains; but even if they appear to be close in distance, it's not an easy task to acomplish. He has to fight each step of the way; his lower legs sinking on the snow as he walks and making it incredibly tiring to advance forwards. He can't stop, though. You can't.

You're injured; arm drapped over his shoulders and finding strength in the Force to not let yourself drop unconscious. It's tempting; but you refuse to succumb to blood loss and fatigue. You refuse to be a dead weight for the captain to carry. You know he's worried enough as it is.

All four Jedis assigned to this mission had worn some sort of armour for the 501st, 212th, and 464th's batallions relief; but armour isn't undestructible, and it doesn't completely cover one's body. There's always vulnerable spots required for movility; and a droid had managed to get you on one of those. By pure luck, the captain is sure. Tinnies can't aim with that sniper-like precision. It's why so many of them are needed to make one clone's work.

Even with three battalions meshed together, the army sent by the Separatists had been massive. The fight had prolonged for over a week; and at one point, Rex had been surrounded by ten droids at once. Trying to command his men at the same time, making his orders known over the sound of blasterfire and explosions, he hadn't noticed a droid attacking him from his dead angle of vision; and it was then when you had jumped in to save him. When Rex had twisted around in surprise and had seen the frizzed cloth in the gap between your chest and abdomen plates he had almost pannicked; but you had shot him a calming –and pained– smile and assured him it was just a superficial wound before dodging another attack and pushing forward. Rex had had to force himself to concentrate throughout the rest of the battle. To not think on the implications of your acts; of what could have been.

But here, with none of his men at his sides and no trace of Anakin, Obi-Wan and Ashoka –they had all splitted into pairs in order to scout the city after the end of the battle when the snow storm had surprised them–, he has nothing to distract him from said thoughts.

You could have died. Jedi, for all of Anakin's recklesness, aren't inmortal; he could have lost you. Forever; a permanent absense and void in his heart no one would be able to cure. All those little things Rex always looks forward too —a cup of hot chocolate shared after a hard mission, the way your face lit up and innocently waved when you saw him across the hangar, all the little spontaneous trips you insisted for him to acompany you around Coruscant, if only using an excuse to show Rex what life could be outside of war... All of that would dissapear, disolve as if it had never existed; and Rex would be left staring into nothing.

They finally reach the mountains; and after a little while longer, they find a safe spot for them to take refuge in. They almost stumble inside –both of their legs aching and trembling from the cold and effort by now–; but being protected from the harsh and unforgiving wind is an instant relief.

Rex helps you to sit down; and you stretch your legs on the rocky floor of the cave and let him tug you backwards so that your shoulders are able to rest against one of the walls. You're shivering; the freezing temperatures managing to slip under your armour and specially on your vulnerable open spot. It's not all bad, though; you guess that the combination of the quick self-cauterizing blaster shot and the cold have managed to sort of keep the wound in stasis. Your vision is blurry and blackening when you try to move your head around, though; you feel dizzy and weak too. You don't know if it's because the wound, the post-battle fatigue, the cold, or all of them combined.

"General?" You hear Rex's voice ask, and it's only then when you notice his voice sounds too close and clear and realize he has taken off his bucket. "I think you're a step away from frostbite. You should take the armour off; it's so cold it's making you more damage than good at this point, now that we're hiding here".

You nod distractedly. That makes sense, yeah. You move your right hand to the shoulder attachments of your chest plate; but your movements are too slugish to pry the seals apart. The Captain's hands gently tug yours away and he tries to do it instead.

"Let me help you, okay?" He asks, always a bit wary to touch you and cross the line between General and trooper –it had taken a really long time for him not to jump at your ocasional affectionate pat on the shoulder or squeeze on his arms–. "Just try... Try to stay with me, General".

You hum in agreement and close your eyes; following his gentle commands a bit too slow for Rex's taste. He carefully pries each plate from your body and sets it aside; packing it up in the same way all clones do with theirs. You don't even react when your wound is exposed to the cold air; but Rex is quick to cover it with a bacta patch anyways. Then goes the plates of your back; and youre finally left in the soft and comfortable tunic and unders you always wear for the battlefield.

A new wave of exhaustion hits you; and your body slumps forward, only saved from smashing into the ground by Rex's quick hand on your shoulder.

"Hey. Hey, General. Cyare don't... Don't leave me".

You can hear the fear in his voice. The pain. The panic.

Even if it's an almost impossible task, you manage to blink your eyes open if only just for his sake.

"m' not going anywhere, Rex. I just need to sleep" you mumble grogily, trying to control the way your mind spins.

Rex opens his mouth, ready to ask you to stay with him, to not leave him here; but you continue and reassure him.

"This' one of those times you're gonna' have to believe in the Jedi magic. M'not dying. I just need to sleep and connect with the Force".

Rex reluctantly –scared– nods. He knows you had received a different training from Anakin, Ashoka and Obi-Wan; the Jedis he's used to work with. But all Jedis are not the same. While the previous three had grown more focused on how to use the Force to fight, you had cultivated other aspects; telepathy, healing. Kit Fisto had been your master; and though he had definitly teached you the art of the lightsaber, he had also encouraged you to explore your gift for telepathy –he was a powerfull telepath too– and even offered you to spend a few years learning Force Healing under the supervision of Jedi Stass Allie in the Temple. You had once explained to him you were nowhere close to be considered an expert on such themes; but that you could at least accelerate the curative progression of wounds a bit, if only enough to evade the risk of inminent death.

Rex doesn't need your skin to be completely closed and looking as if the shot had never happened; he had enough with avoiding your loss for now.

"Okay" he whispers back with a shuddering breath. "I'll let you sleep, then. Just let me... Let me hold you against me. You're still freezing and I don't want to risk it while we both rest".

"Kay" you mumble in response, closing your eyes again and dropping your head back against the wall. "But hurry up, my brain's fuzzy".

Rex nods and rushes to take his own armour off; staying in his blacks and taking a seat by your side, with his back against the wall. He then burries his thoughts about rules and impropiate gestures and pushes an arm under your knees; the other one around your torso, and then he uses a small burst of energy and tugs you towards him so that you're resting in his lap, between his crossed legs.

You make a little surprised sound; but inmediately melt against him when he pulls a heating emergency blanket from his backpack and places it around your body. You hum feeling gratefull and cuddle closer to his chest; hiding your face in his neck and tugging the blanket closer to try to cover him as well.

His hands give you a soft squeeze. Shortly after, you surrender to unconsciousness.

Rex has a lot of time to think until you wake up again between his arms.

He takes the moment of respite to breathe in your warmth and soothe his stressed mind; his galoping heart. It was terrifying, almost losing you; but you're safe now. Your breathing has eased with time; your deep, pained frown slowly relaxing and an almost peacefull expresion making its way across your face.

It's still a huge relief for him when you groan and open your eyes; blinking slowly to try to make a picture of whats happening and where you are.

Rex only softens his hold on your body so that you can sit down straigther and turn around to face him. You stretch your neck and shoot him a tired but warm smile.

"Hey" the captain rasps. "How are you feeling?"

You glance down at your dressed wound and take a moment to analyse yourself. You're still tired, and your muscles ache, and you're in desperate need of some water and a shower; but here in Rex's lap, you can't help but feel content and safe.

"Better" you decide to answer, smiling softly. "You?"

Rex tries to give you a tiny smile; but it's such a pained, little unsure thing that it tugs at your heart.

"I'm fine" he answers, one of his hands carefully caressing up and down your back under the blanket.

You shove down a pleasant shiver and tilt your head to the side.

"I don't have to be a Jedi to know that's a lie" you tell him cautiously, your own hands travelling down to catch his with yours. "Tell me, if you want?"

Rex stares at you for a few seconds and sighs.

"You shouldn't have jumped in to save me" he starts, glancing down at your hands, unable to hold the weight of your beautiful eyes on his while he confesses this. "You're one in a million. A Jedi General. Hundreds of lifes depend on yours. Mine is replacable. I'm not important, and you..."

"You're the most important thing in mine".

It's soft and sweet; the way you finally tell him what you've been keeping to your heart all this time. What you've been struggling with.

"What?"

Rex has the most cute stunned and confused face you've seen before. His eyes lock onto yours inmediately; almost not believing your words, like needing to check you've really said that to him. That you mean it.

You smile wistfully and squeeze his hands. They're rough, callous formed on the spots where his skin frictions with his favorite pair of DC-blasters; the hands of a soldier that hasn't had the chance to be anything else. It's why you have been trying to show him the rest of the world, the little pleasure that can be found in the simplest everyday things. He deserves it. All his brothers do.

"I have never wanted more than I had" you begin, deciding to finally bare your heart once and for all to him. "All I've ever wanted to do is help others, and I've grown up with that purpose without having nothing else to fight for. Nothing that I wanted for myself. No secret that I had to keep trapped inside ny mind or heart. Yet..."

You reach up to trace reverent fingertips over the captain's cheek. You feel his stuttering breath against your skin; smile at the loving, hopefull way his golden eyes are silently watching you.

"I want to keep you, Rex. Every morning I find myself expectant and tense until I see you in the distance. Everytime we're close, everytime we talk, it fills me with a comforting warmth" your eyes track a sinfull path through his lips. So tempting, so close to yours. You can't help yourself and trace a thumb over them. Rex gasps, and his eyes flicker through your face, his heart filling with devotion and passion too. "I want to burn, though. I've been trying to hold back, but I can't. I want to get closer. I want to kiss you. I want to be able to relax between your arms when everything gets to be too much. You might think that in the grand scale of things you're not important. Perhaps, seing it that way, none of us are. What I can tell you is my personal truth, your spot in my individual scale; and there's no other person I deem as important as you".

You're desperate to kiss him; but you feel like he wants to say something too, so you try to be patient and wait for him.

Rex cups one side of your face in his hand. It trembles. You understand the feeling; and smile encouragingly. You have been worried about mistaking his kidness for something more too; of crossing boundaries. But he has nothing to fear now. Still, you understand. Your heart is speeding up in your chest too; as it does with everything exciting and new. Your feelings for him aren't; but this closeness, the real posibility of kissing him for the first time, is.

"I've loved you for a long time now" he admits, voice gentle and firm despite his own nervousness. "Perhaps for as long as I've been able to understand what romantic love is. I... I'll be happy to have you, cyare. When you need me and when you don't, too".

His words shoot warmth and joy to every cell of your body; a radiant smile perching on your tired face.

"Can I kiss you?" He asks, bringing your face close to his with a gentle tug of your chin.

You smile and sigh.

"Yes..." you whisper over his lips. "Yeah".

THE END.

Didn't I make you two cute? Aaaaah 💖 Hope you like it! Xx, Blue.

Still accepting Xmas requests, you can use any of this prompts (except 9) or one of your own!

[blu3-ja3]

What 141 listens to over speakers when working out alone... I think next maybe civie clothes? Probably!

Soap: European Rap (Northern Boys and Shogun) and he plays loud, the boy got some hearing loss due to all the explosions. He mostly listens to them for the beats and less the lyrics much to the chagrin of the 141. He refuses to not listen to them but does add more variety to his play list.

Ghost: Classical Music, I just love the idea of Simon going hard, weight lifting and solo boxing, blasting Bauq. He's like the most intimidating soldier on base and most everyone avoids the training room when he's in there. So no one believes Roach when he yaps about Ghost listening to Mozart while beating the shit out of him in the ring. Only the 141 knows the truth.

Gaz: British alternative, The Muse and Gorillaz, he likes the rhythm and it's easy for him to get into a good groove while training. He's been to as many concerts as he can big or small, the man enjoys music and often goes to see local bands. But at base he deals without his live music fix by listening to his favorites.

Roach: White girl pop and cunty rap, like full on Megan Thee Stallion and Kesha blasting as loud as possible. His play list is called Gaslight, Gatekeep, Girlboss. He likes to feel powerful and what better hype music is there than the hype music meant for American women. He likes setting up karaoke nights so he can convince Soap and Gaz to screech the lyrics with him drunkenly.

Price: Old man country, Johnny Cash and Marty Robbins, he likes his cowboy country and who can blame him its the best kind of country. He absolutely loves American westerns and is part of the reason he joined the military, to become a Western hero. It's why he often goes off the rails and does what he believes is right. Gaz likes to tease him about his slight obsession but truly thinks it cute.

O'Connor: Rock but like Horny Rock, she's absolutely blasting shit like Closer by Nine Inch Nails and Bad Touch by Bloodhound Gang because she knows she'll have the room alone. The few times one of the boys came in to work out they seemed to be red as hell. O'Connor finds it extremely funny, she's a raging lesbian listening to mostly straight men singing about sex and fucking. The fact that it can make even Ghost squirm just the smallest bit helps fuel the continuation of the habit. She knows the main reason she does is so she doesn't force herself to wear long sleeves to hide her scarred body.

COD Master List

[iwritebigbellies-blog]

FINE. A pinned post.

I'm Rachel! I am 45 f, straight, single, and men who stuff themselves has been my entire sexuality for my whole life. Oh, but I am demisexual too, so I also need intellectual/emotional connections to play, and catch feels really easy.

I really don't want to be your mommy. I have two (teenaged) kids already. That shit makes it weird. Happy to casually chat with anyone, but I won't be getting sexy with anyone under 30.

🔥🔥🔥Likes🔥🔥🔥

- Stuffing, bloating, inflation. Big, tight bellies 👌

- Tight clothes, button popping, mild humiliation

- Whining, moaning, groaning, anything vocal

- Belly rubs, massages, t o u c h

- Public stuffing (also known as "dinner dates" ❤️)

- Intox w/ trusted partners only

- Worship and submission

- Growth/size incl height and muscles...still unclear on why and how and what but yeah

- Feats. I love being impressed. I don't even care how or with what. Anything from eating challenges to personal accomplishments; show me your best, whatever it is. I love it.

👾👾👾Okay (with the right partner, if I'm in the mood) 👾👾👾

- Funnel feeding

- Embarassment/humiliation but like you better really like it

- Teasing (if it comes naturally and usually not about fat directly? I have a sharp tongue but I am not gonna drop "gee you got fat huh" on a regular basis, that is boring.)

- Mild bondage/domination but only rarely; suuuper mood dependent

- Mess: fine, if you must, but I'm not into it

🚫🚫🚫Absolutely Not🚫🚫🚫

- Weight gain and I HESITATE TO PUT THIS HERE because I am super okay with weight gain and LOVE AND PREFER guys in the 250-300lb range but I Do. Not. Care. About the WG itself. Gaining weight, new rolls, playing with fat, admiring fat--I just don't care. It doesn't do anything for me. Focus on fat and gaining and I will be so bored. I do not want to "help you get bigger." By all means, I am here for the stuffing part of your wg journey, but the gain itself is not my focus and never will be.

- Death feederism

- Immobility/sswg

- Unhealthy/lazy tropes

- Forced-anything

- Loss of intelligence/agency

- Obviously, I am in no way a feedee or gainer.

- Mpreg, vore, scat, transformation, uh, I dunno, whatever adjascent thing you just came up with

~~~~~

You can always DM me and ask me anything! I suppose I'll keep adding to these lists as stuff comes up...

[aberfaeth]

cleo @chasedeys made one of these and im procrastinating various responsibilities and tasks so i said why not! long-winded rationale below the cut and i mean LONNGGGGGG. full of haterisms but also love <3

ONE PRIDE

my babies my sweeties my cinnamon applessss the whole reason i got genuinely into football in like 2022 was bc i watched them nearly not eat shit against the bills on thanksgiving while my uncle sitting next to me explained the Fucking Curse i.e. that the lions will always lose in whatever way is most devastating to the people who care about their success. and i went HEY! NARRATIVE!!! and now the lions are REALLY GOOD and still managing to lose in the way most devastating to the people who care about their success. as i've said many a time i truly hope some enterprising individual exhumes and exorcises the bones of bobby layne i think that's the only way out but in all earnestness getting INTO into football these past few months i am so grateful these are our guys even through all the emotional turmoil. they've got an energy in the locker room i genuinely haven't seen replicated anywhere else in the league like those guys all adore each other unreservedly and they adore dan and it's so special to watch. LONGASS PLAYER RANT INCOMING amon-ra st brown my princess with so many mental problems one of these days i'm gonna make a webweave about how he has all sixteen wide receivers drafted before him and their colleges memorized and also how his dad gave him and his brothers the "st" because he thought it would look good on a jersey and had him lifting weights age 5 like. john brown you seem like a wonderful father i just think your children might have complexes. JAH AND MONTY SONIC AND KNUCKLES MY TWO HEADED MONSTER they're everything to me the way it's just purely admiration and support between them even though splitting touches is probably not the best for their careers like they just genuinely loved each other from the jump. i get emo thinking about all the shit they've each been through and to be able to come to the lions at the same time and just. find each other and feel safe enough in detroit to let themselves loose and have fun RAUGH. jg16 im the worlds number one jared goff glazer idgaf i will sing his praises from the mountaintop. im not like delusional i know he isn't in the same conversation as lamar/josh/joe/That Devil but i think the idea that the lions need a dual threat qb is so ridiculous like yeah we certainly are lacking offensive weapons here with our #2 ranked yards per game THE POINT is that a qb is more than just stats and jared goff is a leader of men like that offensive line would all take ten bullets for him and it's because he is a genuinely kind person and so so so easy to love. god. um. TA TERRION ARNOLD MY OTHER PRINCESS WITH NO MENTAL PROBLEMS AT ALL FRANKLY seeing him excited and smiley after the divisional loss bc why would you not be excited going 15-2 as a rookie hitting an insane amount of snaps most of your player core young and still on contract the world is laid out in front of you!!!!! cured my depression and i can't wait to see him continue to come into his own GOD the secondary is all so fond of each other thinking about him and kerby That's My Rook I Don't Let Nobody Play By My Rook..him and bb....him and dmo jah and craig in the who would you let date your daughter youtube short SHAKING MY FIST AT THE SKY sam laporta!!!!!!!!!!! my golden receiver king of the one handed dive catch im obsessed with his vernacular like only guy alive to use "sick" and "preposterous" in the same sentence how are you from illinois and have half a surfer accent JAMOOOOOO in possession of the best laugh in the known universe and such a goddamn weirdo like the mcflurry burger thing and his apparently Eclectic music taste let me see your spotify downloads please HUTCH!!! absolutely vicious ice cold hilarious but also so levelheaded did you guys know he listens to instrumentals to hype himself up before games like. he gave hans zimmer as an example. so many more tooooo i didnt even mention lif or penei or craig or any of the kicking unit or our free agents like tim and cd3 IM JUST. man. the detroit lions. Man

deep and enduring fondness

bengals every day i think about the post that's like. joe wearing ja'marr's old worn natty jersey to a bengals game day, the greatest love story of all time is happening in the graveyard of fandoms if this was hockey there would be skywriting about it. BECAUSE IT'S REAL joemarr genuinely baffle me with the level of insane devotion they have to each other like just off the top of my head. ja'marr saying joe's like a god to him. "i've never [played without ja'marr]had that, and i don't wanna have that" "[i work] with joe only. i don't throw with other quarterbacks--i don't wanna". joe burrow #1 in the league pat who. the fucking pinky swear handshake the donut thing "we did a lot of stuff but not on a boat"???? "he try flying knee kicks on me sometime" "we mess around every now and then" "make sure your bags are packed and ready i didn't believe it but he proved me wrong" the clothes saga ANYWAYS. TEEEEEE HIGGINSSSSSSS another guy who like. i read his players tribune article and god he has been through so much and to come out so KIND he is a little piece of the sun in a human body the reaction timer video with ja’marr cheering him on in the bg “forget batman he’s fucking superman” and joe and ja’marr obviously love him so much would sign him themselves “wanna play with him for eternity” if the bengals FO lets him go i fear i will never forgive them. & i know there are other players on this team and i care for them also (mike! 23rookies! trey! ctb!) butjesus christ joeteemarr the world…. vikings closest rival to lions in pure strength of culture i think like god that video of everyone lifting sam onto their shoulders !!! :') cam and his dance recitals.... josh metellus king of the locker room interview....justin jefferson and his beautiful big brown eyes like a cow every time i saw him on the sideline of that rams game i had to put my face in my hands and be so sad for him. and KOC!!! like i said with dan its so so special when you can tell a team just fucking adoooooores their coach and it's so clear with KOC that he really is a player's coach OH AND ALSO IK HE'S INJURED BUT JJ MCCARTHY MICHIGAN BOY he's gonna carry next year i just know it ravens so my aunt lives in baltimore and owns a purple car that she bought because that's how much she loves the ravens. i lived in bmore for 4 years so they're one of my hometown teams too!! obviously lamar jackson is the people's princess and there's nothing more in the universe i want than for him to succeed like he is so goddamned talented and he's such a sweetheart and i really need to try his cologne IT WAS SO CUTE WHEN THEY PASSED IT AROUND THE LOCKER ROOM AND EVERYONE WAS COMPLIMENTING IT LIKEE anyways "kick everybody ass hit everybody hit the r--i was about to say hit the ref DO NOT HIT THE REFS" his lil giggles when he gets tackled i CARE ABOUT HIMMMMMM OKAYYYYYY also london @glittersgloom and cleo have opened my eyes to the beautiful world of derrick henry and i need to find like. clips of him micd or something hey if anyone is reading this can you send me derrick henry content thank you panthers BRYCE YOUNGGGGGG MY SHAYLAAAAA he has had such a whirlwind two years and im so goddamn proud of him (context my parents live in NC so the panthers are also a hometown team LMFAO i get too damn attached to Locations) that one clip of robert hunt saying dont call him BY Reap cause he said it sounded a lil evil leave that baby alone...... his room just so clearly adores him as they SHOULD !!! chuba adam and xavier too I REALLY BELIEVE IN THE PANTHERS SWEEPING THE NFC SOUTH NEXT YEAR I DO

i like em

cowboys so when i was in middle school in new jersey and everyone around me was a giants fan but i had quirky girl disorder i decided i was going to be Cool and Different and root for the dallas cowboys because my dad had dez bryant on his fantasy team and so i do have a lingering fondness for them even though tony romo's stupid voice pisses me off every sunday. and CEEDEEEEEE CEEDEE LAMB most beautiful man in the world i wish all happiness and success for him bills, texans started making that your graduation stosh edit last week had a panic attack bon appetit no but for real the Narrative. absolutely agonizing. i love when men say insane things about each other like "Since I met him, it kinda clicked. You don't click with everybody. That's somebody I felt like, damn, I could grow old with you. I can see myself with you for a while" and then GET DIVORCED #SAD anyways. i love you cj stroud i love you dion dawkins giants, commanders MALIK NABERS WE WILL GET YOU OUT OF NEW YORK !!!!!! in all seriousness though that clip of jayden picking him up from behind and swinging him around lives rent free in my head and it's london's fault (love you). division rivals and you're cheering for him at his playoff game Mannnnn lsu strikes again. for real though jayden daniels rookie of the decade im enamored by him and his effortless chill demeanor i hope he comes back and wins a ring but like not in the next five years because the lions have to sweep the division for at least half a decade dolphins, pats, jets i've got homies who like these guys!!! shoutout to my roommate's dad and two of my coworkers <3 i like when mike had to get on his tippy toes to kiss the side of tua's head i like that the pats are such a failgirl team without tom brady and i like that the jets are gunning for the longest playoff drought in all of superbowl era nfl history. good luck aaron glenn i'm sure you will have a different go of it than the eight million one and done defensive jets HCs before you (genuine)

neutral zone of obscurity

not much to say here. i like that the bucs had that thing with the duck that was fun. and im tempted to start caring about the jags on account of it would be funny to collect the nfl kitty teams like pokemon. otherwise no thoughts im sorryyyyyy

mild distaste and/or extreme ambivalence

rams i care about matthew stafford i really do. he took such shit for the lions for so goddamn long. on the other hand you get him on a hot mic oneeeeee time saying shit about kerby joseph after a completely clean tackle and now all of a sudden everyone and their mother is an expert on tackling tight ends and the prevailing narrative that he's a dirty player is actually affecting his livelihood (pro bowl noms) and that pisses me off. mr stafford apologize right neow eagles god their fans are the worst in the fucking league. genuinely atrocious and it makes me kinda hate them even though i like jalen (THE POST RAMS INTERVIEW WHERE HES DEF OFF A PERC TALKING IN RHYMING COUPLETS GIGGLING AND SHIT) and aj and honestly ok saquon on the eagles is their main redeeming factor like i would be truly happy for him to win a ring i really would bears division rivals except they aren't as fun as the vikes so they get put down here. caleb williams my pookie we'll get you an oline don't you even worry about it. genuinely though i do love him like it seems like it should be such a nothing thing in the year of our lord 2025 but the fact that dudebros are still insanely homophobic about the nail polish in any given comment section makes me very proud of him for sticking with it. it looks very nice on you caleb. BEN JOHNSON WE ARE NOT ON SPEAKING TERMS (i understand this was the only logical choice for him and we're lucky to have had him this year and he's a brilliant offensive mind and i'm sure he'll do great things but TO OUR OWN DIVISION????? BEN!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!)

genuine devilry occurring here

49ers ok i have all the respect in the world for the frock warriors on this website but the 49ers do kind of disgust me as a team writ large like. watching receivers on netflix and you genuinely would not be able to tell deebo and george are on the same team bc they are straight up segregated like cmc's wedding and george's birthday party come straight out of a midsommar outtake and this is not even to mention that awful little freak nick bosa like i do hope he gets cte and it ruins his life and career heart emoji browns fuck deshaun watson im so serious until that team gets rid of him i will be praying and cheering for their downfall every single time chiefs ohh this is last because it's my boring bitch answer like the chiefs are barely fun to hate on anymore cause everyone's doing it but i do believe they have access to some dark devilish magics and i am tired of seeing taylor swift on my goddamn television. sorry women. on a realer note i am still not fond of kareem hunt like im not saying people can't grow and change esp after seven? years but he did assault a teenager on tape and i think you maybe shouldn't be allowed to sign a million dollar contract after doing that OH MY GOD AND HARRISON BUTKER. ANOTHER ABSOLUTE FREAK. FUCK THE CHIEFS SERIOUSLY

green bay

[tra-archive]

To all my chubby girls out there, this season has never been easy for us. During summer, many of us feel the need to cover up or we’re told that directly, and you know what? Fuck that.

I go to the beach regularly in summer, and if I can see a hundred fat guys in nothing but speedos then there’s no reason fat women shouldn’t be able to wear what they want either. Men get to be comfortable in their own skin, so why can’t we?

Tomorrow I’m wearing my gorgeous swimsuit and spending the day in the pool, and I think you should do the same this summer. Put on that nice bathing suit, don’t feel bad about enjoying that ice cream cone, wear something cool and breathable for the extreme heat, and most of all remember that it’s your body, not anyone else’s, and it’s nobody’s fucking business what you wear, do, or eat. That mentality has really been helping me in terms of ED recovery and my weight loss journey.

Enjoy your summer, don’t let losers ruin it for you. You are loved and I’m wishing you all a great season full of fun, swimming, and relaxation❤️

[mysticmellowlove]

what about a needy sub that we punish by not kissing during sex? they want kisses so bad but we tease him and don’t give it up so easily… <33 (maybe we give him one at the end, just to reassure him that nothings wrong :3)

a/n; ahh, augh, waugh.... pathetic men <3

warnings; sub male, dom reader, gn reader, brat sub, slightly sadistic reader, orgasm control, orgasm denial

Looking at his teary face was like looking at your favourite piece of art. His cheeks were flushed and his eyes were unfocused. His hands were gripping the sheets with such intensity you were sure they would rip any second now.

"come on, touch me~" He whined out, his eyes screwed up in pleasure as you gently traced the outline of his cock through his boxers. He bucked up into your hands, pressing the heat of his dick into the pads of your fingers. With quick movements, you harshly slapped the area where his tip was. A warbled groan left his mouth as he reeled back into the bed, his body bouncing a little as the wet patch on his boxers grew in size.

"Poor baby." You laughed before going back to painstakingly tracing him. If only he had been good then he would be getting whatever he wanted. You had posed a bet to him, last a week without coming and then you'd give him anything he wanted.

Obviously, your baby couldn't help himself though. He tried to hide it, his soiled pants tucked away in the laundry basket were easy to spot though. Even more so as he kept looking away from you when you came into the room.

"i'm sorry..." His whispers were hard to hear over your heartbeat. Seeing him exposed like this in front of you, shirt off and pants around his ankles was arousing. The power you held over him was intoxicating, the feeling you got when he looked at you... as if you were his everything...

"Sorry for what baby boy, use your words." You left your ministrations as you went to pull your shirt off your body. You were burning up just looking at him and listening to all the delicious sounds he made. The moans, little whimpers and hitches in his breath were turning you on beyond belief.

"sorry for disobeying you. promise I didn't mean it, you make me lose control, promise i just wanted to cum for you." He cried out as he bucked his hips upwards at the loss of your hands on him. Now that you weren't touching him anymore he was able to rut into you, his arms shaking from the sudden pleasure. A tsk came from your mouth as you lowered yourself over his body, trapping him between your arms.

He couldn't face you as your head dipped down, your lips hovered over his own. He tried to lean up to connect them together but you pulled back, your eyes gazing into his. A flicker of teasing sparked in your eye as you slowly ground your body down on his.

His mouth dropped open at the contact and his eyelids fluttered shut as his pupils rolled to the back of his head. His breaths came out in huffs as you continued to tease him. In one moment his hips were pinned to the bed under your weight and in the next he was desperately trying to meet your thrusts.

"Do you think you deserve this after what you did?" You cooed into his ear, teeth nibbling at the cartilage. A high-pitched cry let him as his cheeks became soaked with tears.

"noooo." He managed to wheeze out as you bullied his body back into the bed. The heat in your gut continued to rise as you looked at the absolutely debauched state he was in.

"Then why should I let you cum this time?" Your head tilted to the side as you eased up on him, letting him get a breath in before you ground into him again. The friction from you and his boxers worked together to bring his cock to sensitivity.

"don't have... don't have to..." Your eyes widened as he managed to squeeze his words out before letting his head flop back on the pillow. A laugh bubbled in your chest as you chased your own high.

"Trying to get in my good books then. Who am I to deny you baby~" With one final rut you slammed your lips into his own and then pulled yourself off of him, your legs shaking at the loss of your own climax. His eyes snapped open as he tried to chase your warmth only to be met with nothing.

"Isn't it better when you're all pent up?" A snicker left you as you took one last look at his prone body before leaving the room entirely. Your fists clenched as you fought your urge to go back and destroy him. Deep down you knew that his begging cries would dissolve into screaming when you got back at him.

All you had to do was wait.

[visionsofyouandme]

IV. this is a gift, it comes with a price

𝚜𝚢𝚗𝚘𝚙𝚜𝚒𝚜: Marcus is faced with a devastating choice. Rome goes to war. And you are thrust in the middle of it all.

𝚠/𝚌: 6.6k

𝚠𝚊𝚛𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚜/𝚝𝚊𝚐𝚜: Angst, angst, ANGST. Dual POVs. Terrible parent/child relationships. Mentions of war. Canon typical (but kind of graphic?) violence. SMUT (18+ MDNI). Fingering. Unprotected p in v. Creampie. Some tags omitted to avoid spoilers.

𝙰/𝙽: Well, shit ya'll. This has been a long time coming, and I'm SO SORRY. But, it's finally here. Hope it was worth the wait! Enjoy <3

Part I, Part II, Part III, AO3!

Marcus was at a loss.

He knew he couldn’t not give in to your father’s demands. And some steep, deplorable demands they were. 

Your father, Remus, was an incredibly powerful man. You were not being dramatic when you said he had a hunger for power and control- he was seated deep with the Emperor, practically a snake in his ear. A prominent member of the Senate, he had influence over any policy that came across the ledger- and that made him dangerous.

War was brewing. At least, that was Remus’ goal- to find a way to invade a seemingly peaceful land to the east. Marcus had even thought that those lands were their allies, filled with good people and riches from the material to the essential. 

But, this was the exact reason why Remus was pushing for their takeover. He knew this campaign, should Marcus succeed in starting and finishing it, would make Remus the most powerful member in Rome besides the Emperor himself. Marcus was taken aback, questioning Remus if he knew what he was doing, starting a war with a peaceful land, their allies-

“You will do well to not question my actions, General. You have other things to worry about other than my aspirations. Just do as you’re told, and I may spare you, and her in the process.”

That was what made Marcus agree.

If it guaranteed your safety, he would do anything. Your father made demands for Marcus to sever all ties with you, still dangling the fact he could go to Caecilius and reveal your affair to him. Marcus was infuriated, but knew his hands were tied. 

“I will fight your petty war, but you will not touch her. That is my only condition, should I back you of this absolutely nonsensical war you so desire.”

With a smug grin, knowing he had successfully won the great General Acacius over, he snidely agreed. 

But, Marcus had a gut feeling that if he slipped up, even once, minutely, your life would be in danger.

So, he had to tread carefully. 

The Senate was easy to convince of war, especially from Marcus’ support. He hated seeing Remus sitting there, looking neutral and attentive, but with that glint in his eyes of a brewing victory. He wanted nothing more than to take his sword and strike him down where he sat in his chair that Marcus knew functioned as his makeshift throne. But, he held his tongue, steadied his hand, and endorsed the campaign.

The men would be gathered, and Marcus would lead them East in a week.

His heart was so heavy, knowing what he had to do next.

You came to his villa about a few days after the decision was made. Under the cloak of night, you waited for him in his tablium, fear, despair and anger simmering under your skin. 

When he arrived, you saw something in his gaze. Shock, surprise, and then a resigned look. His shoulders went slack, and you stood up, rushing to him, holding onto his arms.

“I heard of the war, Marcus- Why didn’t you tell me? I’ve been worried sick, and thought you would leave without saying goodbye-” You said, and Marcus looked at you sadly, raising a hand to touch your cheek. He looked so sorrowful, filled with a deep sadness that made your stomach churn.

“I know, mea amata. I am sorry.” he whispered, and the words hung heavy in the air, settling on your chest like a great weight. You shook your head, feeling like your eyes were brimming with tears.

“Why must you go? Surely there are other leaders, others who are just as capable… I can’t- I don’t-” you said, struggling to find the words, your lower lip trembling. He gazed down at you, swiping his thumb over your bottom lip to quell the tremors. 

“They need me, Rome needs me. I am at their beck and call, and I cannot deny the Emperor’s wishes. I had hoped things would be different, but… I am sorry, mea vita.” he said, and you shook your head, your hands holding onto his deep red toga with an iron grip. You leaned your forehead into his chest, and he embraced you gently, like you would crumble in his hands should he hold you any firmer. 

“I do not want to lose you,” you whimpered, feeling the hot tears of fear escape your eyes. He raised a hand and placed it over your hair on the back of your head, leaning his chin on it gently. You swore you could feel his jaw tighten above you, his arms twitch as he held you. 

He said nothing, and that terrified you.

“Promise me you will come back,” you said, your tone begging and desperate. He gave the crown of your head a soft kiss, and he was silent again. The weight on your chest increased tenfold, and you squeezed your eyes shut, your hand tightening on the fabric of his clothing. 

“I promise. I will return,” he whispered gently, and you looked up at him. He looked so broken, so filled with wretched sadness that you wanted to kiss it away.

So, you did.

You leaned up, capturing his lips in a deep, powerful kiss that felt overwhelming, but you refused to tear yourself away. His hand flew to your waist, and he returned the embrace with equal passion. You could feel it from the top of your head all the way to your toes, feeling like a fire was ravaging your body.

You pulled away when your lungs begged for release, leaning your forehead against his. You kept an arm around his shoulder, the other cradling his face with a gentleness that was so loving. 

“Take me to bed, Marcus.” you whispered. It was a plea for him to give you something to remember him by. A piece of him you could remember, store away in your memories, knowing it may be all you have left of him, should this campaign go awry.

He looked down at you, and his chest rose and fell with a steadiness that was almost infuriating. He was thinking, you could tell, weighing the options before him. You looked up at him, and you could see his face covered in an array of emotions. 

He touched your cheek gently, and kissed you softly. He leaned his forehead against yours, his thumb brushing against your cheekbone.

“Come with me, mea amata.”

You followed him to his chambers, hand in hand, and he gently disrobed you, taking his time to let the fabric slide over your skin. His eyes roamed your body, but always came back to your face. He held it when you were completely bare before him, and he kissed you so deeply that you were clawing for air in just moments. 

You assisted him in the same way, his toga falling to the floor and before you could look down to take him in he stepped close and pressed your bodies together, tilting your head up to kiss you even more. Your arm moved around his neck, and you could feel his cock pressed against your lower stomach. It was large in size, larger than you had ever felt before. But, this did not dissuade you from what you wanted tonight.

He pressed a hand to your hair gently, his touch gentle, reverent, like he was cradling something precious. He kissed you with that same gentleness, but also with a hunger that you could feel growing underneath the surface. You leaned into his body, holding yourself close to him, chest to chest, heart to heart. He lifted you gently, only to set you back on the bed. Crawling over top of you, he looked down at you, his eyes tracing your features. 

“You are lovelier than any sunset, mea amata.” he whispered, and you smiled up at him, remembering that was where it all began- with the sunset in the distance, and a conversation between two lost, lonely hearts. 

His eyes moved down, and he saw a gold chain around your neck. He pulled the pendant forward, and his gaze softened. It was the same one he had bought you that day in the market, and you could see his eyes shine with something. Longing? Happiness? Or could it be something more akin to tears?

You placed your hand over his as it held the delicate pendant of the goddess Juno, and you raised your other hand to card through his hair gently. His eyes met yours, and you said nothing. You didn’t have to. 

He kissed you again, grinding his hips into yours gently. A soft moan reverberated through your chest, and he reached a hand down between your bodies. His hand found your swollen bud, and he gave a few experimental swirls of it. You twitched, your body arching into his touch. Your mouth opened against his, and he traced his finger down your slit, finding it was slick with wetness. He kissed your jaw, your neck, your chest. He slipped a finger inside with ease, and your eyes scrunched together with pleasure as he began to curl his finger in and out of you.

Your hand flew to his bicep that continued to work you, and his muscles tensed with his movements and under your touch. You tilted your head down to watch as he kissed down your chest, and came to your breast. He placed a few gentle kisses on your left, then took the nipple into his mouth. You arched your back again, eyes squeezing shut as your head fell back onto the bed. You sucked in a breath, the combination of his mouth on your breast and his finger moving in and out of you was making your head spin. Your body tensed, answering his call to you.

“M-Marcus-” you whispered, trying to stave off the overwhelming feeling, not wanting it to end. He moved to your other breast, giving this one a more firmer suck, and then added another finger into your core. Your body was reacting like fire to tinder- taking it all in flames, all consuming.

“Let go, mea vita. Let go.” he murmured against your skin, finally leaving your breast alone to kiss back up to your collarbones, then neck. He gave a harder thrust of his fingers, and your toes curled, a gasp escaping you that was sharp. You fell apart under his touch, body trembling, cunt pulsing around his fingers, hand flying to his hair to pull on it gently as you flew to the stars.

He slowed his thrusts as you came back to level ground, your body still twitching, breathing a bit labored. He kissed your lips again, your hand moving to the back of his neck to hold him close. He pulled his fingers away, and you gave a soft sound of sadness. He then took his cock in hand, rubbing it up and down your wet cunt, coating himself in your slick. The sensation coupled with your recovering orgasm made you fly to the edge again, walls already fluttering at the excitement of his entrance into you.

He looked down at you, his brown eyes deep, wanting, and you thought you detected a bit of sorrow- but he kissed you, his eyes closing, and you were lost in the touch once more. He gave a gentle thrust, the tip breaching your walls, and you lifted your hips, chasing more. He kept one arm supporting him, the other feeding you his cock gently, like he was afraid to hurt you if he went too fast or too hard.

He said your name gently, and your eyes opened momentarily, but then he gave another thrust, this one a bit more insistent and purposeful, sliding in until he was completely settled inside of you. You moaned, and he leaned his head into the crook of your neck, a small groan sounding through him as his now free hand went to your waist. 

Your hips lifted to meet his, and he responded, moving his own to thrust in and out of you. The stretch was delicious, the fullness you could feel inside was intoxicating. You pressed a hand into his back, like he would pull away at any moment. He took the back of your knee in hand and pulled it over his hip, your other following suit instinctively. Legs wrapped around him, it brought you closer than ever before, and his body moving against yours made your head feel weightless. 

He began to whisper sweet words into your ear with every thrust that grew stronger- how beautiful you were, how your cunt felt around him, the scent of your sweet skin making him light headed-

The words helped you reach your second peak, and he could feel it coming. He moved his head to give your jaw a kiss, then your lips to try to drown out the cry that came from you. Your body shuddered, pulsing, begging for release, and he kept moving with more vigor, his hips faltering every so often, thrusts getting sloppy. Your lips parted, and you pressed a hand to the side of his face, eyes half-lidded as you looked up at him.

“Inside, Marcus. Please,” you whispered, and he let out a slight grunt of recognition. You moved your head to the side of his own, right against his ear, pants of his breathing filling your own. “I want to feel you when I dine with him.” 

And that seemed to do it- he shuddered, letting out a wanton groan as he spilled inside of you. He did his best to keep up the thrusts, but his body faltered, his breathing heavy and uneven. You kissed his neck, then his jawline, the spot where the hair never grew in his beard. You pulled away, looking up at him as you could see his face go through the motions of lust, relief, and…

“Te amo tam multum, carissime.”

Your breath hitched in your throat, and he finally calmed down his thrusts, his eyes slowly opening to see your beaming face tilted up at him. Your body felt alight with a new fire, one that roared and beat steadily like a heart- only for him.

“I love you, too, Marcus.” you whispered, and he touched the side of your face gently, swiping a piece of hair that stuck to your face due to sweat. As he looked at you, you could see a peculiar look on his face, but he smiled- though it didn’t reach his eyes. He nodded gently, softening inside of you, but didn’t pull out just yet. You could feel his spend seeping out of you, onto the bed, your body relaxing and legs dropped from his waist. He pressed another kiss to your lips before sliding out, and turned to lay on his side on the bed. He opened his arms to you, and you turned, body still reeling from your copulation, but settled into them with ease. 

You hummed in content, your cheek pressed against his shoulder while your hand pressed against his chest. You kissed the skin of his neck before settling back down, the only sounds in the room were the sound of recovering breaths and two heartbeats. 

He turned his head to bury in your hair, and you closed your eyes, reveling in the feeling of his lips against your hair. 

You would have to leave at first light, but this moment… It would be enough.

The sun had barely begun to paint the sky when you were roused from your slumber, Marcus’ fingers gently on your arm. You blinked, sitting up slowly, the blanket falling to your waist as you looked up at him with bleary eyes. He smiled softly, touching your cheek lightly. You knew it was time.

You dressed with a bit of purpose, Marcus helping you just as he had helped to take them off. When you were right again, you turned to him, and he kissed you softly. 

“Be careful, Marcus.” you whispered, and he nodded, pressing his forehead to yours. You both stood in sorrowful silence, until you finally moved. Undoing the clasp of the necklace, you folded it into his hand, curling his fist around it so he would hold on to it. He looked down at you, his eyes betraying his emotions. 

You had a sinking feeling, a horrible, horrible feeling…

“Will you see me again before you go?” you whispered, and he raised his free hand to clasp yours, bringing it to his lips and pressed a kiss there firmly. He gave a slight nod, and you knew that would have to do. You smiled, and he released you into the custody of one of his trusted man servants, watching you leave. You looked back at him one last time before he disappeared from your sight, a heaviness in your heart.

He never came.

Marcus marched with his men east, his heart heavy with a sense of despair in his chest. He couldn’t risk seeing you again in fear your father was watching carefully, and when Remus saw off the army before they left the city’s walls, he gave Marcus a smug grin,

“Fret not, General. She is safe under my careful watch.” 

But Marcus knew… You were anything but.

He wished he could be there to protect you in a physical sense, but this would have to do. Maybe the distance would be good, the war occupying his mind with one goal in mind- overtake them, claim the land for Rome, and return to you where he would find a way to be with you. Even if it meant taking drastic measures beyond his comprehension. 

He received your first letter about halfway to the area. It was pleading, desperate, begging for any kind of word from him. It was laden with love, and affection, but also an obvious sense of anguish and pain. He couldn’t read the rest, and simply folded it back up, holding it tight in his grip. He couldn’t write back, knowing your father was probably monitoring your letters, looking for a reason to go to Caecilius and reveal everything. 

He just couldn’t risk it.

He still kept it, though, your handwriting something he memorized like the back of his hand. He slept with it in a small box under his cot in his tent, never letting anyone close enough to see the contents. He kept your pendant close to him, wearing Juno’s likeness under his armor. A constant reminder of your hope and faith in him, the letter only reinforcing it. 

And then he received another letter. Then another.

Every single one was a stab to his heart. You seemed to become more composed, but the air was all the same- you wished him to write, to send word, anything- and wished for him to come home.

Home. 

He had never felt anything like it in a long time. He knew you didn’t mean his villa, where he lay at night, what he called home. No, he knew what you meant.

You wanted him to come home to you.

Even though he could not truly have you the way he wanted, he would make way for a safer Rome for you. When he returned, he’d see to it that you were safe, and free you from your father’s clutches. 

And, by the Gods, he would do what it took to make that happen.

Marcus’ men were talking.

Not about Marcus, but about the war itself. How unfair it was, and how pointless it seemed. The “opposition” were their former allies. The men knew them, having fought beside them many times, and now they were the enemy. There had been little fighting so far, but Marcus was preparing for a major battle to finally end this stupid war spurred on by power-hungry and vain men. 

He had several very close lieutenants come to him, and ask him what the war was truly for. The men were tired, and putting up small resistances to the war effort. Marcus could not blame them, knowing really and truly that this war was for greed and power. He hated it just as much as them.

Two nights before the major battle, Marcus got a letter.

He felt like it was some kind of last minute plea from you, and he kept putting it off to read further and further into the night, busying himself with planning and conversing with his men on tactics. 

When he finally sat down in his tent for the night, he paused.

The letter was addressed to him, but the handwriting was not yours.

He immediately ripped it open, hoping to the Gods it was some kind of ending to the war, and that they could avoid this. But, the handwriting was still unfamiliar to him. 

“General Acacius,

I have some news on our mutual Lady, Caecilius’ wife. She does not know I am writing to you, but I knew I had to get this information to you somehow, as soon as possible.

The Lady has been accused of adultery and treason, the latter for reasons I have yet to discover. She has been locked away, and I have tried campaigning for her release, but Remus is adamant on keeping her behind iron bars. He claims he has evidence of your affair- letters, eye witness accounts, and something far more grave. 

The Lady has been revealed to be with child, much to the surprise of Caecilius and the Senate. I tried to help her with abandoning the notion, but she refused. This only fanned the flames put against her as evidence of an affair. 

Remus has implicated you in the affair, but the Senate refuses to acknowledge such a thing under the grounds that you are an esteemed General, and fighting for the good of Rome. They claim they will await your return to Rome before they act on any charges against the Lady. I have begged for them to take her testimony, but the evidence is just too great. 

I implore you to act, to end this war as soon as possible and return to Rome. The Lady needs you more than ever, and I fear for my good friend’s life. I will supply as much information to you as I can about her wellbeing and developments of the case. Let me know if there is any action you would like me to take in order to help her. I am under your complete and utter service. 

Truly and Sincerely,

Jahiem Ventus”

Marcus stared at the words before him. So much information had been packed into this letter, and it was written with such haste and importance that Marcus could recognize the desperation in the handwriting. Marcus’ fists clenched, his jaw set tightly. He pulled the pendant out of his armor and off from around his neck, looking down at the small gold circle in his large hand. He gripped it tightly, leaning his fist against his forehead in anguish. 

Oh yes, he would act.

And Rome would never be the same.

He picked up his quill and another piece of parchment, quickly scrawling a letter and folded it up, sealing it with his wax sigil. He called Phabios inside, and handed him the letter, giving him strict orders to go to Rome and give it to Master Ventus and him only. When Phabios was on his way out, he stood and walked to the main campaign tent and called his council to it.

When they had all gathered, he could see the wariness in their eyes. The battle was in two nights’ time, and they were preparing for the worst news. But, Marcus already had a plan brewing in his mind, one that would lead him straight back to you. He remembered his dream- you had led him out of the battlefield, and extended your hand to him. He would follow you and your light anywhere, and now, he had to fight for it. 

“Gentlemen,” he said, his hands leaning on the table with the map sprawled out beneath them. “I am calling upon you to do something out of character, and could resort to treason, and therefore death. We are ending this war. Tonight.” he said, and the men looked around each other with skepticism. He looked around at them, his gaze hard, determined, and vengeful. Knowing they could easily veto his decision, and arrest him for such an outspoken plan that went against everything that the Emperor had said and ordered, he went on.

“We will go behind the battle lines, and come to a truce with the opposition, who should have never been our enemy in the first place.” he said, and there seemed to be a collective sigh of relief around them all. Marcus hated how their relief would be short lived. Their battle was just beginning.

“We will then gather our other allies along the way. I am not going to fight a rich man’s war and fuel their need for power any further. This stops now, and we will not live under the tyranny of the Emperor any longer.” Marcus said, his fist slamming onto the table with force, though the men did not move, not even an inch. They hung onto every word Marcus said. He knew he was going out on a limb here, that his men could turn on him at any given moment, but he could not let himself falter. He had to do this, he was given no other choice. 

He would do what it took to get back to you. And now, not just you- but your unborn child, as well.

His child. The product of yours and his love.

“We take Rome. For the people, for justice, and for freedom.” he said with finality, standing straight, proud, and tall. The men did not look at each other, like a silent unison came over them. His best man, Major Tiberius, stepped up, his helmet under his arm.

“We follow you, General Acacius.” he said, and Marcus’ eyes scanned the men, none of them looking defiant or doubting his words. He nodded, feeling a bit of relief come through his chest. Just one step close to coming back to you.

“ In two days’ time, we will march our way back to the gates of Rome. We will bring change, and we will. Not. Fail.” he said, his jaw tense, and he rolled his shoulders back.

“Rome will be back in the hands of the people. As it always should have been.”

And he will be back in yours. Whatever it takes.

You stood in the prison cell, arms crossed over your chest and stood looking up at the window that was unreachable to you. All you could see was the sunlight shining through, offering the only source of light in the cell. Your tears had dried long ago, but you refused to resign yourself to your fate. 

You should have known your father was behind the whole thing. He was evil, conniving, manipulative, and would do anything for power, even incriminate his own daughter and the greatest General Rome had ever seen. You were infuriated, and wanted to wrap your hands around your father’s neck, squeezing the life out of him just as he was trying to do for you.

You would have been left in the dark had it not been for Jahiem. He came to you many times with updates and information, supplying the fact that the Senate was going to wait for Marcus to come back before doing any sentencing. You knew it would be fruitless, though- the Senate had already made their decision once your father had opened his mouth to divulge the information to them. With how powerful Caecilius was, you wouldn’t be surprised if the Senate decided to veto their first decision and sentence you to a life of servitude or something far worse.

But Jahiem hadn’t been here in days. You were getting worried. Jahiem had come under the cover of night and disguises in secrecy, and you were thinking he was finally caught in it all and put into a cell similar to yours. You were praying to the Gods, giving every ounce of faith to Minerva to guide Marcus home safely, and in Juno to protect you and your child.

Your breathing trembled at the thought. You did not know the fate of your unborn child, what they would do with them after they were born. Most slaves were separated from their children by harsh and cruel masters, and the thought of your father ripping that piece of love away from you was enough to make you want to burn all of Rome down.

You put your hand over the slight bump of your abdomen, where your child slept soundly, blissfully unaware of the horrors that surrounded it. Tears welled up in your eyes, and you shook your head slightly, still finding this all unbelievable. You were being punished for love. You should have known your father would find a way to pin it against you. He always found a way.

But, you would not go down without a fight. For far too long you had submitted to this life, to have done as you are told, to keep quiet. Now, your anger was fueled like a raging fire and you would devour everything in your path, that much you could promise. 

If they wanted to burn your life down, you’d find a way to take them with you.

You were asleep when you heard it.

The sound of shouting, clanging swords, and firelight coming from your tall window. You sat up abruptly, your heart hammering in your chest. What had happened? What was going on? You couldn’t see a damn thing because the window was so high, but you knew there had to be carnage going on behind these brick walls. 

You stood up, and hurried to the cell door, craning your neck and trying to see around the bars. You heard yelling coming from all directions, the sound of cheering by other inmates. You could hear the sickening sounds of swords cutting flesh, cries of men in pain, the sounds of bones breaking. You moved to the corner of the cell, pressed between the wall and the bars. Someone was raiding the prison. Why?

You heard hurried footsteps and the clanking of keys, and your chest rose and fell with fear, your hands clutching your stomach protectively. You had nothing to defend yourself with, and prayed to the Gods and Goddesses to have mercy on whatever fate awaited you in the near future. 

You heard someone shout your name, and demand to know where you were being held. Your heart dropped into your stomach, and your hands balled into fists. If they were coming to bring you an early death, you’d make a scene. You would not go down quietly. 

You heard the rush of footsteps, your jaw clenching and came face to face with two men in soldier’s armor, different than the guards who you had seen in days’ past. 

“My Lady,” the taller one said, and you could see soot and blood streaked across his face. Your hands trembled, but you refused to move them from your stomach, adamant on defending your child until the end.

“My name is Major Tiberius, and I am sent here by the direct orders of General Acacius,” he said, and your heart seemed to fly up into your throat, your form coming to stand straight.

“Marcus?” you questioned incredulously, and he nodded, the other soldier finding the proper key and then unlocking the iron cell door, swinging it open. The Major nodded, and extended his hand,

“We’re to take you out of the city immediately to General Acacius’ countryside villa. Are you able to travel?” he questioned, and you knew you didn’t have a choice. You had to escape this city, especially with the danger that raged on outside of the walls. You had to survive, for all of you, your child, and Marcus, who was fighting in your name to get back to you.

“Yes,” you said and took the soldier’s hand. It felt like a God coming down to bring you to safety, back into the arms of your beloved.

You could not have been more grateful.

Marcus had taken action, making his way around Rome, letting his presence be known. He stayed away from the common people’s living, their areas and neighborhoods. But, when they saw him marching through the streets of Rome, they all came and praised his return. 

He went straight to the Capitol, and the Senate had already gathered to address Marcus and the army’s quick return. Marcus walked before them with his legion of men waiting, and his allies waiting outside the walls of the city, awaiting his signal should things go awry. 

He tried to be civil. He tried to reason with them, with a bit of a threat behind his words. But, the Emperor would not give away his power so easily, and a fight broke out in the Senate. It spread through the Capitol, fighting spreading through the area like wildfire. When the common people heard of the commotion, it took very little convincing for them to fight back, the oppression they had experienced being the fuel to the battle that raged in Rome’s streets.

Marcus had sent men after the Emperor who was trying to make his escape along with several Senators, Caecilius being one of them. But. Marcus’ attention was not on them. 

Remus was cowering in a council room, along with a few of his sympathizers. Marcus cut down the guards who attempted to conceal them, and sought out your father to give his vengeance. 

“You do not know what you have done, inciting this… this-” Remus began, voice shaky and hands raised like he could hold him off. Marcus’ eyes were alight with anger, fury that could even rival the gods. He felt like Mars had possessed him entirely, giving him enough energy to find your father and make him pay for all of his sins and transgressions he made against you.

“I will not let you out of this room alive. Not after everything you have done, ” he said, and Remus laughed dryly,

“You started a war for her? All of this for her?” he asked incredulously, and Marcus’ arms rippled with anger, his hand tightening around his sword. His brown eyes were alight, brighter than the fire of the torches that were above them. 

“Yes, all of it. I know, it is something you will never understand. I hope the gods have mercy on you in the next life, because I will not in this one.” 

And with a swing of his sword, Remus’ head rolled to the floor, his fellow Senators crying out in terror and dread. Marcus watched as it rolled to the side, his body crumbling like sand on the shore. 

Now, you were free at last.

It had taken 3 days’ time for the rebellion to calm down to smoldering embers.

Marcus had gathered his allies within the city walls, conversing and organizing with them a new but temporary form of government. They insisted he stay to oversee it, but he reminded them lightly that he was no politician, just a soldier to pave the way for the people to take back what should have always been theirs. The people already had a leader in mind, a former senator struck down for his advocacy for the people and their wellbeing. They brought him back with open arms, and when they began to talk more of the intricacies of the new rule, Marcus slipped away.

He rode to the countryside, where a trusted man of his said you were delivered safely to. His horse had guided him to the road that rounded to the villa, the tall grass swaying in the wind. Thankfully, the sunset was to his back, guiding the road and painting it in light. His heart hammered in time with the horse’s hooves, every beat just for you, every step closer to home. To you. Just as he promised.

Marcus came to a stop, seeing a figure coming from the villa in the distance in the tall grass, moving at a rapid pace. He broke from the road, urging his horse into the grass, unable to bear the news of what this figure carried with them with such haste. 

But then, the shape materialized more. An outline of a woman, hair flying in the wind, the sunset casting a glow on your face, cheeks shining with tears. You were running straight towards him, as fast as your feet could carry you.

He pulled his horse to a stop, jumping down and uncaring of whether or not it stayed. He began running, running faster than he ever had before. The grass caught at his arms and legs, trying to hold him back, but nothing could stop him now. Not Rome, Remus, not heaven or hell. He called your name, and you answered with his, floating across the field to his ears.

You met halfway, Marcus coming to a screeching halt as you ran into his arms with a force of longing and relief. He caught you, wrapping you up in his arms as he lifted you, spinning you around with emotions flying to every corner of his being. He kissed you achingly, what he had dreamed of doing since leaving four months prior. 

He slowly let you to your feet, your hand pressed against his cheek that was still smattered with dirt and blood. He couldn’t be bothered to bathe, seeking you out as soon as he was able. But, you didn’t care. He was back, he was here, he was within your arms once more.

“Is this some torturous dream? Or are you here, truly?” you whispered, your voice shaking with anticipation as you leaned your forehead against his. His hand settled on your waist, the other wrapping around your back to keep you close. 

“I am here, mea amata. I am here.” Marcus said quietly, and you looked up at him, touching his face gently, like you were trying to find tangible evidence that it was him before you. And he was, completely and totally, within your arms and before you in the flesh. Your hand swiped over his bottom lip gently, still feeling as soft and plush as you remembered it to be. You let out a sob, tears falling down your face. Out of relief, out of absolute and utter happiness that your love had returned to you.

“I knew you’d come back, that you’d find a way,” you whispered, and he smiled gently, looking between your shining eyes he never thought he’d hold again, the setting sun beating on his back and casting the grass in a golden hue that surrounded you both. It was like he was welcomed into Elysium, but the death was making him reborn anew. He kissed your lips gently, pressing you into his chest, his own hands trembling with relief at having you in his sights and his grasp once more. 

“I always will, mea vita.” 

Comment, like, reblog, anything is appreciated! Divider by @/saradika-graphics!

[genderkoolaid]

I'm interested in what others think of this video.

On one hand, it discusses fatphobia in a very easy-to-understand manner. It covers the racist, eugenicist, unscientific history of BMI, how it was used by insurance companies, the construction of the obesity epidemic using poor science, talks a good bit about men with eating disorders, calls out the "calories in calories out" model as well as the individualization of health rather than looking at systemic issues, and talks about anti-fat bias as a fact which harms people.

But on the other hand... I was disappointed by how lukewarm it felt. Like, the bring up that the deaths attributed to obesity were grossly inflated, and that doctors are negatively biased against fat patients... but they never connect the two? Like, they never say "hey, maybe the reason why fat people have poor health is in part because doctors are killing them via gross medical neglect"? Or questioning what exactly is counted as a "death from obesity"? Instead, they kind of say "the obesity epidemic is inflated, and might not be an epidemic, but also we aren't saying for sure its not a problem at all."

And they also never bring up the science of diets & how they don't work! They discuss diet culture and are very critical of diets, but they don't discuss how diets have been shown to fail by many studies. And they also don't bring up Health At Any Size & how that tactic has been shown to improve health regardless of whether or not there's weight loss. Their advice for how to deal with this problem is basically "don't fatshame people," which isn't wrong but its also doesn't really encourage people to confront internalized & systemic fatphobia on a meaningful level. I don't think they ever say the word "fatphobia."

Its just... disappointing! Like on one hand, you could say this video is good as an introduction into how the fatphobia industry has been built for people who have very little knowledge on it and are resistant to anti-diet culture ideas. On the other hand, its annoying that even leftist media is still so hesitant to actually engage with more radical fat liberation- most people don't even know that its been a movement since the 1960s. It just feels like a missed opportunity. It feels like the left is stuck at "don't be mean to fat people!" and refuses to move on to more radical notions of fat people as an oppressed class.

@fatphobiabusters do you have any thoughts on this?

[donovanlizzie]

Reunion - Eugene 'Doc' Roe

WARNINGS: Mentions of death, war , blood etc

MASTERLIST

BAND OF BROTHERS MASTERLIST

The dimly lit church in Bastogne echoed with the distant sounds of artillery as She moved urgently through the makeshift medical station.

As a medic for Dog Company, she had seen the unforgiving toll that war took on the soldiers she tended to. Little did she know that amidst the chaos, fate had a reunion in store for her.

She and a team of men maneuverered through the crowded space, their wounded comrade's groans of pain filled the air. The tight quarters of the church made the task more challenging. Suddenly, as they rounded a corner, she nearly collided with a man standing in her way.

"Move out of the way!" she barked, her voice cutting through the urgency of the situation. With adrenaline coursing through her veins.

"Help! We need help over here!" She called out to the doctors and nurses in the makeshift hospital. The wounded man's life hung in the balance, and time was of the essence.

Without a second thought, Eugene 'Doc' Roe responded to her call. He rushed to assist, his training kicking in as he joined the frantic efforts to stop the bleeding. The urgency of the situation drowned out any chance for a proper introduction.

She continued to work on the fallen soldier, determined to exhaust every possibility of life. Even as the others began to slow, she snapped at them, "Why are you stopping!?" The weight of loss and desperation fuelled her determination.

Roe, without thinking, followed her instructions as the small team frantically tried to stop the bleeding. She shouted out commands, her focus entirely on the task at hand. "Exercez une pression ! Nous avons besoin de plus de bandages ! Appelez le médecin ici !"

("Apply pressure! We need more bandages! Get the doctor over here!")

"Merde," she mumbled under her breath as the situation became increasingly dire. In a moment of desperation, she ripped her helmet from her head, revealing her disheveled, dirty, plaited hair.

Roe's gaze lingered on her, recognition slowly dawning on his features. Even with her red-raw, wind-burnt face covered in small scars and scrapes, and her red-tired eyes, there was something unmistakable about her. The realisation struck him like a sudden revelation in the midst of the war's brutality — the familiar face before him was someone from his past.

Thankfully, the bleeding had been stabilised, the wounded soldier was tagged and whisked away to a space on the floor.

"Y/n?" Roe whispered quietly, taking a step towards her.

Caught in the midst of her duties, she didn't immediately recognize Roe. " Yes? - Who are you?" she asked, glancing briefly in his direction.

He continued, "Uh, Eugene, Roe? - God, I haven't seen you since -"

"High school," She finished, her eyes widening in recognition. The weight of the years lifted as realisation dawned on her. Roe nodded, a bittersweet smile playing on his lips.

"What company?" She asked, attempting to wipe the drying blood off her hands.

"Easy. You?" Roe responded.

She smiled slightly. "Dog Company - damn, we're just down the road!"

The two chuckled quietly , Before they could delve into further conversation, she was summoned.

"Ma'am, we have to head back," one of the soldiers announced, urgency in his voice pulling them back to the harsh reality of their duties.

She exchanged a quick, apologetic glance with Roe. "I'll catch up with you later," she promised, her eyes reflecting a mix of emotions.

Roe nodded understandingly.

"Thank you! Stay safe, Doc. Hopefully, I'll see you soon!"

But they both knew the battlefield, with its relentless demands, wouldn't allow for long reunions.

As She hurriedly joined her team, they disappeared into the crowded church, leaving behind the echoes of a reunion that had been long overdue.

A/N: idk if I like this one but pt2 maybe?

[notjusthespongenextdoor]

the absolute game of telephone that is the 'daily recommended caloric intake.'

like in the 90s the FDA decided that they wanted to provide nutritional advice to consumers, so they looked at USDA food consumption surveys where women said they consumed between 1,600 to 2,200 calories a day, men said between 2,000 to 3,000, and children 1,800 to 2,500, so overall a range between 1,600 and 3,000 which is already a pretty big range--and then you have to take into account that this is all SELF-REPORTED data, which almost always results in UNDER-REPORTING of calories. On average people report eating ~25% less calories than they actually do (except for restricted eaters which tend to be more accurate or over-report.)

so you're already dealing with skewed data. adding the average 25% in to the caloric range you get a 2,000 to 3,750 calorie range, so 2,000 is the LOWEST amount of calories anyone in the united states eats daily (except like, babies?), and keeping in mind that the lower range was from the category "women," the under-reporting was probably more severe for those numbers since women are pressured to eat less food.

so anyways, taking this already skewed range of numbers, the FDA wanted to pick just one single number for their nutritional recommendations to make the information as easy as possible to understand, so they picked 2,350 calories which is a reasonable ~average between 1,600 and 3,000.

but after taking public comment on this number, they ended up changing it to 2,000 calories for a variety of reasons, one being that it's easier to use. and even after all of this--the FDA never intended this to be universal advice for anyone. they just wanted a good number to use to communicate general, broad concepts about nutrition.

so we went from a skewed survey that reported a 1,600 to 3,000 range that was statistically more likely to be a 2,000 to 3,750 range, the FDA took an average of that skewed number, and then rounded it down to be more even and ended up with 2,000

and now everyone these days is getting the idea drilled into their brains that they should be eating no more than 2,000 calories a day to maintain their weight, and likely recommended to eat even less if they're "overweight" or "not physically active."

So we're, on average, already starting from a 30% deficit, and encouraged to push it lower and lower.

Calories are bullshit eat food make art

Why does the FDA recommend 2,000 calories a day? (warning for still encouraging weight loss at the end 🙄)

Homeodynamic Recovery Method, Doubly-Labeled Water Method Trials and Temperament-Based Treatment ("people eat on average 25% more than they think they do (or report that they do)")

Maintenance Phase: The Trouble With Calories (i just think everyone should listen to this Podcast tbh)

[sketchfanda]

Kirishima's Mystique:Jade Gammazon Woman in the Mood

Folks of Mustafu city streets were turning their heads and dropping their jaws, man and woman alike at the sight that walked among them and really why wouldn’t or shouldn’t they? Even in this day and age of Quirks where you'd likely have a distinct, unique appearance ranging from alien to full on furry, this woman was an absolute unit in how she stood out. 6 foot 7 of bombshell curves and powerful, sensually exquisite muscles with skin a rich emerald/jade green, this was none other than famed pro hero and attorney at law, Jennifer Walters, codenamed She-Hulk, cousin to one Bruce Banner, famed scientist in the field of Gamma Radiation and the equally famous Incredible Hulk. Currently in Japan on a trip for business related matters and well...pretty damn bored out of her mind.

Jennifer Walters, Hero Name: She-Hulk!! Quirk: Gamm-azon!! Like her walking rage factory cousin, Jen posses a super strength trasformation based quirk that'd been artificially kickstarted into activation by a transfusion of his blood. Making her capable of turning into a 7 foot plus statuesque stunner capable of bench pressing tanks and leaping tall buildings in a single bound especially when fuelled by adrenaline and or rage!

Now it wasn't to do with her lawyer work of course, never a dull moment with that, nor was it related to the heroics field. No Jen you see hadn't quite found anything during her stay that could get her adrenaline pumping and that, for this Gamma-zon, was a problem. Given the nature of her quirk, she often needed to relax by venting excess energy, often through intense physical activity such as combat, training....or sex. And thus far she hadn't seen action on any of those fronts that could really get her going.

That is until she paused as she beheld the immense and impressive architecture of Silverman's Pinnacle of Physique, a highly rated and recommended gym especially for those with physical type quirks. Jen couldn't help but smile, a twinkle in her jade eyes as she thought maybe the day might not be a total loss after all. A quick run to and back from her hotel and she was gracing the PoP with her presence, dressed and ready to pump some iron while dropping jaws. Wasting no time as she decided to start off with the weight training section, picking up the heaviest set of dumbbells she could get her hands.

It was no small surprise she was making heads turn and jaws drop, and why wouldn't she? Men and women alike just had a natural reaction, nevermind that she was THE She-Hulk of all people, as she sat on a bench and picked up a pair of the heaviest dumbbells she spotted and started on her reps. Her glorious jade biceps pumping and swelling with every curl as she focused on working herself up a sweat. Her attention briefly diverted as she found she wasn't alone on the bench, seeing a redhead dude with shark teeth a few feet from her also pumping iron.

She had certainly found him easy on the eyes and his workout gear ensured she got a more than decent glimpse at his own muscular form which rather suited his face, a nice blend between handsomely macho and angelface pretty. Wondering why he seemed familiar but unable to place a face or name as well as unaware this was local pro Eijiro Kirishima, aka the Chivalrous Hero Red Riot, who had somehow managed to go through his daily routine at Silverman's thus far at least without running into someone among the oh so fine female patrons and staff that might've wanted a little "private workout". Thankful that he wasn't making a clown out of himself fanboying over the fact that THE She-Hulk herself was here at the gym, right next to him, after all being a red blooded hot blooded guy, it'd be easier to ask him when had he NOT crushed on and fantasized about her? Knowing his bubblegum girlfriend duo, they'd be relentless with the teasing but to say nothing of the ideas they'd be planting in his head.

So instead the hard-headed redhead set about on his bicep curls as he picked up where left off on counting his reps, Jen doing much the same as her pace had a little more speed, subconsciously looking to catch up to and match up with him. At first it was all just looking quiet enough between the green and red duo as they found themselves seemingly in sync, performing the same workout routine but if one were to look closer then they would find it was a different story under the surface as time went on. Nobody was sure when and how exactly it happened but Kirishima and Jen began to turn their workout into a competition, each trying to outdo the other whether it was having higher numbers in push-ups to pull ups or press lifting the heaviest weights their bodies were capable of committing. Even some combination as the Herculean shark teethed himbo and the jade green Gamma-zon were caught up the momentum by their own sense of pride and determination.

Onlookers, eavesdroppers and passers-by among staff and members alike were in awe at this battle for physical fitness supremacy as the red and green powerhouses seemed to show no signs of stopping. As the old saying goes, who dares wins and right now who dared to not step down and admit defeat was the aim and name of the game as their bodies were sweating, adrenaline rushing as they did any and every exercise they could with any and every machine or set available on hand. One would think it was akin to witnessing a scene from a nature documentary involving an alpha male and female battling to assert dominance and mark their territory with the chivalrous hero stepping up against this invasive bombshell nut then things got well, how shall we say? A little more primal than anyone had thought or expected of course.

At one point, the brawny duo unintentionally seemed to reach an impasse, calling a temporary break as exhaustion from all their effort and exertion had finally caught up to them. Deciding to take a break and catch their breaths, replenish their energy with maybe a quick snack and some way to unwind as they briefly went their separate ways. Only for the She-Hulk to pause midstride n her way to the juice bar as she saw Kirishima was looking to use the steam room, her brain flicking the switch to a lightbulb for an idea. A wonderful, awful idea so awfully wonderful and awfully wonderful that it was could only have come from her libido as she subconsciously licked her lips sensually, thighs pressed and rubbing together as her muscles clenched and flex.

Call it spur of the moment brought about by the spirit of competition or just the fact that it'd been WAY TOO LONG since she lost got any but Jen had what she thought was just the trick to get herself the win over that, she had say, hunky sturdy piece of manmeat. Kirishima of course unaware of the pending trouble coming his way as he sat in the steam room, towel around his waist as his wild spikey man of red hair was in its relaxed natural state. Calm breaths escaping him as he sighed with contentment from the warmth and moisture soothing his aching joints and muscles and certainly thankful he hadn't popped a boner in his shorts which was a feat given who'd he been in physical proximity to. But hot damn what a woman, that was for sure, he had to wonder if there was something about ladies with exotic skin colours and thicc muscular bodies that just did something for him.

He wasn't lost in thought for long of course as he heard the door open and shut, signalling that he now had company with him but he felt suspicious as he heard the clicking of the lock being set. His vision waiting for the steam to clear only for his eyes to bug out comically and his jaw to drop as he found Jen now standing right in front of him, revealing herself as the perpetrator as she grinned a cheeky grin while holding the towel wrapped around her torso. The only layer of modesty keeping Kirishima from seeing a sight most men but especially Mineta would give an arm and leg but of course the towel's size ensured that he was still getting a fine view of the valley of her emerald green cleavage and a good chunk of her hips and thighs which could give Mirko a run for her money. And of course she fully well knew this as her green eyes snuck a glance at the towel around his waist showing signs of a rising tent about to be pitched.

Kirishima:*Trying in vain to keep his groin from getting a raging hard-on, no easy task when you had a six foot plus green skinned Amazon near naked in a steam room with you, mind.*"What the hell lady?! This isn't a co-ed room ya know!!"*Sure that was stating the obvious but can you blame him? Frankly it was pretty clear from the look on her face she damn well knew that, why else would she lock the door?! This woman clearly had ulterior motives and she was playing on them at this very moment!!*

Jen:*Cheeky bitch that she was, couldn't help but shoot a trolling sensual smile the hardheaded redhead's way as she casually flexed her arm. Taking delight in how his eyes were glued to her pumped, swelling bicep, he was definitely a man with taste, licking her lips at sensing the hard-on he struggled in vain to keep down.*"Hmm I'd say it's obvious handsome but sure I can spell it out for you. I'm here to settle our little competition and what better way than a little game of stamina chicken as I like to call it. You, me, right here and now are gonna fuck. Long, wild and hard as we can until one of us calls it quits and backs down first or exhaustion gets them. What do you say beefcake? you man enough?"*With that smart-ass quip of course, the jade green Giantess removed her towel, casting it aside along with her modesty as she fully exposed herself before Kirishima. Striking sultry combinations of pin-up and bodybuilder poses as she relished having his obvious erotic attention.*

Kirishima of course was naturally left stunned speechless at the sight of a nude She-hulk right before his very eyes, inches of emerald Amazonian muscle and skin from head to toe laid bare. It was pretty much tit for his self-control as it went bye-bye while his libido took the wheel, flipping a few switches that sent him into that primal state of mind Mina and Maya loved oh so very much. Simply standing up and letting his towel drop to the floor as it was now Jen's turn to be shocked and surprised, silently gasping as she felt her pussy begin to dribble down her thighs at the sight of his raging hard cock. Inches of pulsing length and girth primed and ready to go as the two powerhouses simply stared at one another's naked forms.....and then commenced with making THE FUCK!!!

What followed was a marathon of primal, passionate, animalistic and passionate mating, curious and confused staff and patrons alike puzzled and confused at the heavy thuds and other assorted noises coming from the locked steam room. Unaware that inside was none other than the Red riot and She-hulk going at it with enough lust and abandon to put porn stars to shame as their naked muscular forms glistened with sweat. The steam room's walls and ceilings filled with the echoes of their lewd skin slapping, ass clapping, pelvis pumping primal rhythm along with their moans and grunts of passion as they engaged in their latest position. Jen howling with delight as she found herself hoisted up in a full nelson position, Kirishima's guns hooked around her powerful legs as her own hands grasped his shoulders.

How she fucking loved it, who knew Japan had been housing a pornographic champion like this within their country as days to weeks of pent up desire were being satisfied, her green tits bouncing and her emerald booty jiggling with every thunderous impact of their loins. Her washboard abs swollen from the depth and fullness of his shaft as it hammered away at her womb, his balls slapping her clit as her pussy juices rained down to join their sweat puddle on the floor. Just when she thought this guy was ready to call it quits, he was still at it, not to mention he hadn't gone soft yet or pulled out once. The number of times he had cum so far counted on one hand with fingers left over while hers were too many to count and of course he hadn't pulled out once so far.

Hell they were still going at the same pace and intensity they had started off with, having commenced with a sloppy 69 before Jen found herself laying on the bench upside down, head hanging off the edge as she had gotten a full force facefucking. To say nothing of how delicious his man juice was, nevermind the thrilling sensation when he fucked her doggy style and in a mating press like some goddamn caveman. Of course his hands showed their appreciation for when she rode him cowgirl style as they gave one another as good as they got, their competition forgotten in the heat of sexual passion. Showing no signs of stopping as seconds continued to pass into minutes which would become hours.

Now as to how and why any of the staff had yet to intervene and stop this lewd misuse of their gym property, you could thank Silverman gym's horny nympho owner Mo Hani of course. The kinky Japanese-Brazilian stunned observing this spontaneous rut along with Mina and Maya who had come along not too long ago looking for their precious himbo. Delighted to find he had found and made a new sex friend as they enjoyed the show, making plans to meet Jen personally and ensure this wouldn't be a one time sort of thing. Hani meanwhile was wondering when to make a move herself, already getting wet from a potential future Sexercise session with the sturdy chivalrous stud.

For both Jen and Kirishima of course, they continued going at it for as long as possible. Unaware their heat of the moment would see to a very wild, lewd future for the both of them. And oh how sweet it is, you might even say? It's Plus Ultra....