#and that all protest should be disruptive and noticeable

[jonathanstims]

wow wow wow one of the people I live with just compared peaceful protest with playing music out loud in public. as a gotcha for a statement of mine.

[sinful-mind-joyful-thoughts]

omg PLSSSS do a sequel to ‘under a false alter’ like PLSSS ANDDD i wanna know everything about them

how’s married life? how has she adjusted to marriage? what does he think about her? i need banter i need sexual tension I NEED EVERYTHING PLSSS oh and lots of smut THANK YOUU

ᴜɴᴅᴇʀ ᴛʜᴇ ᴠɪʟʟᴀ ᴡᴀʟʟs

⤷ Credits: Pinterest

Marcus Acacius x Wife!reader | WC : 10k | Proof read : YES | Navigation | Notifications | asks : OPEN | Under a False Alter

Summary: No matter how hard you try, you can't seem to escape your new husband, not that your father makes it any easier for you.

Warnings: DUB-CON (Forced/Arranged marriage) SMUT, grinding, unprotected pinv (wrap it before you tap it), Implied age gap, Scars, Voyeurism, Spitting, both give switch vibes, the reader has a little angsty past, biting, misogyny, almost drowning

A/n: I've never been so grateful for the amount of love this has received. I hope I do it justice with this part two. Lots of love and joy. ALSO, WE GET A MARCUS POV AT ONE POINT hehe

It had been three days since your "marriage" to Marcus, and the silence between you two had been a welcome respite. The tension in the air was thick, each of you occupying your own space, minding your own business. You hoped it would stay that way. Mornings were spent in relative peace, with Marcus at one end of the breakfast table and you at the other.

Taking a bite of a grape, you glared across the table where your father sat with his mistress, Aurelia. The sight of her playing with your father's hair made your stomach churn. The woman who had tormented you for so long was now lounging comfortably in your home, smugly flaunting her relationship with your father. They exchanged whispered words and glances filled with a shared history that excluded you. Aurelia's laughter echoed off the walls, a sound that grated against your nerves.

You noticed Marcus watching them too, his expression unreadable as he observed the easy familiarity between your father and his lover. As if sensing your gaze, Aurelia's eyes flicked towards you, a knowing smirk playing on her lips. She raised an eyebrow, a silent challenge in her gaze as if daring you to disrupt their blissful morning routine. It was a calculated move, a reminder that despite your marriage to Marcus, some things remained unchanged.

"My love, we should go to the villa," Aurelia cooed, her eyes darting towards you with a malicious glint. She was clearly enjoying your discomfort. You could practically taste the bile rising in your throat at the sight and sound of her.

Your father chuckled, his voice warm and affectionate. "Ah, my dear Aurelia, always full of wonderful ideas," he replied, his hand finding hers across the table. His gaze met yours briefly, a hint of apology in his eyes before returning his attention to Aurelia. "Perhaps we should make a day of it. Just the two of us."

Aurelia leaned in closer to him, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "Or we could make it a family affair," she suggested with a sly smile, her gaze flickering towards Marcus and then back to you, her implication clear.

Marcus tensed beside you, his jaw clenching subtly as he watched the exchange. His eyes briefly met yours, a silent question lingering between you. You shrugged imperceptibly, unsure of what to make of Aurelia's suggestion.

"We'll see," Marcus finally interjected, his tone neutral but his gaze fixed on Aurelia. "It might be a good idea to get some fresh air."

Aurelia chuckled softly, her gaze lingering on Marcus for a moment longer than necessary before turning back to your father. "Yes, fresh air could do us all some good," she agreed, her smile widening as if she had won some small victory.

The comment landed heavily, striking you with a mix of embarrassment and anger. "Father, that is not—" you began to protest, but Marcus cut you off.

"Parents don't come on a honeymoon," Marcus interjected firmly. "We'll go alone. It's tradition."

Your father looked to protest, but Marcus continued, a subtle urgency in his tone. "It’s important for us to have time alone to... solidify our bond," he explained, casting a meaningful glance at your father. "Besides, it would give her a break from the current... dynamics here."

Your father's brows furrowed as he considered Marcus's words, his gaze shifting between you and Aurelia. It was clear he was torn, wanting to spend time with his lover but also recognizing the benefit of giving you some space away from Aurelia's influence.

"Very well," your father conceded, though his expression remained stern. "But remember, you must be back by fall. And I expect you to return with news of an heir."

The ultimatum hung heavily in the air, weighing down your heart. Visiting your mother was a rare privilege, one you couldn't afford to pass up. But the thought of being with Marcus, of possibly bearing his child, filled you with dread.

"You can't be serious," you whispered, turning to face your father. "You can't make me do this."

His expression was unwavering, a stern reminder of the power he held over you. "It's for your own good," he said simply. "And for the good of our family."

Marcus's gaze remained locked onto yours, a blend of authority and challenge. "It's settled, then," he declared firmly. "We'll leave in the morning."

You bristled, your skin tingling with a mixture of anger and an unwelcome flicker of desire. "This isn't over," you warned, your voice quivering with emotion. "I won't be your pawn."

A dark chuckle escaped Marcus, his eyes glinting with amusement. "I never thought you were," he replied coolly. "But we are bound together now. Whether you like it or not."

The next morning, you found yourself in a lavish carriage, the countryside rolling by in a blur of green and gold. Marcus sat opposite you, his gaze unwavering as he watched you. The silence between you was heavy, fraught with unspoken words and simmering tension.

"I hate you," you said suddenly, the words spilling out before you could stop them. "I hate everything about this."

He raised an eyebrow, a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "Do you?" he asked, his tone almost mocking. "Or do you hate that you can't control it?"

You glared at him, your fists clenching in your lap. "You think you're so clever," you muttered. "But you don't know me. You don't know anything about me."

"Maybe not," he conceded. "But I intend to find out."

You turned your gaze away from him, looking out the window as the scenery shifted. The villa was near the ocean, a place you knew well. It was where you had grown up, where you had spent countless days playing in the sand and swimming in the waves. The familiarity of the landscape brought a rush of memories, both comforting and bittersweet.

Despite the beauty of the place, the reality of your situation weighed heavily on you. The promise of seeing your mother again was the only thing that had convinced you to agree to this honeymoon, but the thought of returning pregnant filled you with dread. You knew your father’s ultimatum was a trap, a way to ensure your compliance and submission.

"I won't return pregnant," you said firmly, breaking the silence. "I'm only doing this to see my mother."

Marcus leaned forward, his eyes narrowing slightly. "You think you can control that?" he asked, his voice low and dangerous. "You think you can decide what happens between us?"

"I can try," you retorted, meeting his gaze with defiance. "I won't let you dictate my life."

He chuckled darkly, shaking his head. "You’re stubborn, I'll give you that. But you underestimate the power of our bond. We are married now, and that means something."

"Not to me," you said, your voice trembling with anger. "This marriage is just a prison, a way to control me."

"It doesn't have to be," he said, his tone softening slightly. "We could make it something more, something real."

You scoffed, turning back to the window. "I doubt that," you muttered, your heart heavy with resentment and fear.

As the carriage continued its journey, you lost yourself in thoughts of the past and the uncertain future. The villa by the ocean, once a place of joy and freedom, now seemed like a gilded cage. The waves crashing against the shore were a stark reminder of the turbulent emotions within you, a mix of anger, sadness, and a glimmer of hope that you couldn't quite extinguish.

When the carriage finally arrived at the villa, you were both relieved and apprehensive. The grand entrance and the familiar scent of the sea filled you with a sense of nostalgia, but the presence of Marcus at your side was an ever-present reminder of the new reality you were forced to accept.

As you stepped out of the carriage, Marcus placed a hand on your back, guiding you forward. The touch was both possessive and surprisingly gentle, a contradiction that left you feeling even more conflicted.

"We'll make a fresh start here," he declared, his voice tinged with sincerity. "No more fighting. Let's give this a real chance."

He reached out, brushing a stray lock of hair from your face. "Then we keep trying," he said simply. "Until we do."

You studied him intently, trying to gauge the truth in his words. The weight of his gaze held yours, earnest and unwavering. After a moment of contemplation, you spoke, your voice tinged with skepticism. "What makes you so sure we can make this work?"

Marcus sighed softly, his hand falling to his side. "Because I'm not here to control you," he explained gently. "All I want is communication. That's all we need to make this work—open and honest communication."

His words resonated with a truth you hadn't expected. Despite your reservations, a flicker of hope stirred within you. "Communication," you echoed, testing the word on your tongue. It sounded simple, yet laden with potential.

You'd been at the villa for two days, and despite everything, you had managed to avoid Marcus and even sleep in separate bedrooms. Meal times were awkward, the silence between you both louder than any words could have been. You had resolved to stay like that for the entire three weeks your father had given you to "get pregnant." But your alcohol tolerance had other plans.

Each morning, you found yourself waking early to escape to the farthest corners of the villa, the sprawling gardens and the serene lake providing a much-needed sanctuary. You spent your days wandering through the lush greenery, finding solace in the chirping of birds and the rustling of leaves. Marcus, it seemed, had taken a similar approach, retreating to his own activities and leaving you undisturbed. The villa was vast enough to make this evasion possible, yet each evening you couldn't help but feel the walls closing in, the loneliness amplifying your homesickness.

The memories of your mother haunted you. The villa, though beautiful, reminded you painfully of the home you'd left behind and the loving presence of your mother. You missed her gentle voice, her comforting embrace, and her wisdom. The separation weighed heavily on your heart, each passing hour a reminder of the emotional distance that now lay between you.

It was late afternoon when you asked one of the maids to bring you a drink. A mistake, you realized too late, not specifying how strong it should be. Without your father's supervision, you had indulged far too much. The room spun around you, and your vision blurred as you stumbled your way toward the dining room.

You pushed open the heavy door, the sudden light from the chandelier making you squint. Marcus was already there, a book in his hands, but his eyes snapped to you the moment you entered. You could feel his gaze like a weight on your skin, making the room feel even hotter than it already was.

"Well, if it isn't my estranged bride," he said, his tone laced with sarcasm. He put down his book, his posture straightening as he watched you struggle to find your footing.

You squinted at him, the light from the chandelier making your head throb. "Don't start," you warned, though your voice came out more slurred than stern.

Marcus raised an eyebrow, amusement flickering in his eyes. "Start what? Observing the obvious? You're drunk."

You staggered forward, trying to maintain some semblance of dignity. "I'm fine," you insisted, though you nearly tripped over your own feet.

"Fine?" he echoed, his voice dripping with skepticism. "You're a mess."

You shot him a glare, your temper flaring. "Like you care," you spat. "You're just loving this, aren't you? Seeing me like this."

He stepped closer, his expression darkening. "No, actually, I'm not. You're making a fool of yourself."

"Better a fool than a tyrant," you retorted, your fists clenching at your sides. "You think you can control me, just like my father."

Marcus's jaw tightened, his eyes narrowing. "I don't need to control you," he replied, his hands gripping your arms. "I just need you to stop acting like a child."

You tried to pull away, but his grip was unyielding. "Don't touch me," you hissed, your anger boiling over. "You don't get to tell me what to do."

His eyes flashed with irritation. "Someone has to since you clearly can't handle yourself."

"You're such a pompous ass," you shot back, your voice rising. "Do you really think I wanted any of this? To be stuck with you?"

His grip tightened, but his voice remained dangerously calm. "You think I wanted this either? To be saddled with a spoiled, reckless girl who can't even hold her liquor?"

Your heart pounded in your chest, the alcohol fueling your reckless words. "I hate you," you said, your voice trembling with emotion. "I hate everything about this, and I hate you."

Marcus's eyes darkened, his grip on your arms firm but not painful. "Good," he said, his voice low and intense. "Use that hate. Let it drive you. But don't you dare make a fool of yourself in front of everyone."

Tears of frustration welled up in your eyes, but you refused to let them fall. "You don't get to tell me how to feel," you choked out. "Or what to do."

He sighed, his expression softening slightly. "I'm not trying to control you," he said quietly. "I'm trying to keep you from hurting yourself."

You glared at him, your vision blurring. "I don't need your help," you insisted, though even you knew how weak it sounded.

"Too bad," he said simply, lifting you into his arms with ease. "You're getting it anyway."

You struggled weakly, your head spinning. "Put me down," you demanded, though your voice lacked conviction.

"Not a chance," he replied, carrying you toward his room. "You're staying where I can keep an eye on you."

You hated the feeling of being so helpless, so dependent on him. "You're insufferable," you muttered, your voice barely more than a whisper.

"And you're stubborn," he retorted, his grip on you firm but gentle. "But I'm not leaving you like this."

He pushed open the door to his room and set you down on the large, plush bed, his hands lingering on your arms for a moment longer than necessary. You tried to sit up, but your body refused to cooperate.

"I'm sleeping in my room," you said, trying to push yourself up, but failing miserably.

"Not tonight," Marcus said, his tone leaving no room for argument. He knelt in front of you, removing your shoes with careful precision. "You're staying here where I can keep an eye on you."

You glared at him, though it lacked any real heat. "You're enjoying this, aren't you?"

He looked up, meeting your gaze with a small, knowing smile. "Maybe a little," he admitted. "But only because I finally get to take care of you, whether you like it or not."

Your heart fluttered at his words, a confusing mix of emotions swirling inside you. "I don't need your help," you repeated weakly.

He stood, his eyes never leaving yours. "Maybe not," he said softly. "But I'm here anyway."

You tried to maintain your defiance, but your vision was blurry and your body was betraying you. The alcohol had dulled your senses, leaving you vulnerable and exposed. You attempted to sit up straighter, to keep the conversation going, to keep your mind sharp. But the effort was in vain. Your head felt heavy, and your eyelids were drooping despite your best efforts.

"Don't fall asleep," you murmured to yourself, the words slurring together.

Marcus's expression softened, and he crouched down beside the bed, his face level with yours. "You need to rest," he said, his voice gentle.

"I can... stay awake," you insisted, but your body had other plans. Your limbs felt like lead, and the comfort of the bed was becoming impossible to resist.

Marcus reached out, his hand brushing a lock of hair from your face. "Just sleep," he urged. "I'll be right here."

You tried to fight it, tried to keep your eyes open, but the pull of sleep was too strong. As you stared into his eyes, the intensity of his gaze was the last thing you saw before everything went dark. His eyes held a depth that made your heart ache, a mixture of frustration, determination, and something else you couldn't quite name.

Your breathing slowed, and you felt yourself slipping away, the warmth of the bed enveloping you. Marcus's presence beside you was a strange comfort, a reminder that despite everything, you weren't alone. His hand lingered on your face for a moment longer, his touch surprisingly tender.

The last thing you saw before sleep claimed you was his face, the worry and care etched into his features. Your final thought was a confused jumble of emotions, a mixture of anger, defiance, and a reluctant sense of safety.

I watched her struggle to stay awake, her eyelids fluttering as the effects of the alcohol took hold. Her earlier defiance had melted into a fragile vulnerability that tightened my chest. Despite everything, there was something about her that stirred a protective instinct in me.

She hated me, and I couldn't blame her. This marriage wasn't her choice, just as it wasn't truly mine. But here we were, bound together by circumstances beyond our control. I had accepted the arrangement with a single, desperate hope – to escape the life of a gladiator. To live a life where survival wasn't measured by the swing of a sword.

I sighed, running a hand through my hair as I watched her sleep. She looked so peaceful now, a stark contrast to the fiery woman who had spat venom at me earlier. Her reputation had preceded her – wild, unladylike, with a rebellious streak that made her father's blood boil. Any other man would have turned her away, seen her as too much trouble. But not me.

I was no stranger to trouble. Hell, I lived in it every day in the arena. So when this opportunity arose, I took it. Perhaps, deep down, I saw a bit of myself in her – trapped, fighting against the current, desperate for a way out.

I leaned back in my chair, the wood creaking softly under my weight. The villa was quiet, save for the soft sounds of the ocean outside. It was beautiful here, far removed from the chaos of our everyday lives. Maybe, just maybe, it could be a place for new beginnings.

But that was wishful thinking, and I knew it. We were too different, too stubborn, and too caught up in our own struggles to see eye to eye. Still, I couldn't help but feel a glimmer of hope. Maybe over time, we could find common ground. Maybe I could help her see that not all men were out to control her, to use her.

As she slept, I couldn't help but reflect on our wedding night. I had been a little drunk, my senses dulled by the wine and the weight of what lay ahead. I hadn’t known what to expect, and the confusion of hate and passion made me feel odd, out of place in my own skin. She had initiated sex that night, surprising me with her boldness. Yet now she pretended I was nothing more than a rodent, something to be tolerated.

But I wasn’t blind. I saw the way she looked at me, the physical attraction she tried to mask with disdain. It was confusing, this mix of desire and loathing. I wanted her, but I wouldn’t force it. I refused to become the monster she seemed to believe I was.

My eyes wandered over her sleeping form, taking in the gentle rise and fall of her chest, the way her hair splayed out over the pillow. She looked peaceful, and for a moment, I allowed myself to imagine a future where she looked at me with that same peace when awake.

I remembered the way she had clung to me on our wedding night, her body warm and pliant against mine. The way she had moaned my name, her defenses lowered, just for a moment. It felt like a betrayal that she could feel so passionately in bed yet treat me with such coldness during the day.

Watching her now, I felt a strange sense of accomplishment. She had fallen asleep in my presence, a small step forward in this tangled mess we found ourselves in. It wasn’t much, but it was something. A sign that maybe, just maybe, there was a way for us to find common ground.

The exhaustion from the day's events washed over me, and I settled into the chair, unable to tear my gaze away from her. She shifted slightly, a soft murmur escaping her lips. The urge to go to her, to hold her and comfort her, was strong, but I stayed put. Pushing her now would only drive her further away.

As my eyelids grew heavy, I thought about the road ahead. The days would be long and difficult, filled with arguments and misunderstandings. But for the first time, I felt a flicker of hope. Maybe we could make this work. Maybe we could find a way to understand each other, to build something real from the ashes of our forced union.

With that thought, I let myself drift off, the rhythmic sound of her breathing a strange, comforting lullaby. Tomorrow would bring new challenges, but for now, we had this moment of fragile peace. And in the quiet of the night, it was enough.

You woke up with a slight headache, the overwhelming scent of a man filling your senses. It was a heady mix of sweat, leather, and something distinctly masculine. You sat up, and the room spun a little. A groan escaped your lips as you checked to make sure your clothes were still on. You didn't remember him taking off anything other than your shoes, but he was still a man, after all. Your eyes landed on Marcus, uncomfortably slouched in a chair facing the bed, his chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm. The sight of him asleep, vulnerable, stirred something unfamiliar in you, but you quickly pushed it aside.

Swinging your legs over the edge of the bed, you stood up slowly, testing your balance. The headache pounded behind your eyes, a painful reminder of your overindulgence. You made your way to the washbasin, splashing cold water on your face, hoping it would help clear the fog in your head. After a moment, you straightened, took a deep breath, and left the room, eager to put some distance between yourself and Marcus.

The villa was quiet as you made your way to the dining room, the only sounds the distant call of seabirds and the gentle lap of waves against the shore. The familiarity of it all made you ache with a longing for simpler times. You remembered your childhood here, playing on the beach, carefree and happy before the world became so complicated.

As you entered the dining room, a maid appeared, carrying a tray with a bowl and a single, raw egg. She approached you with a polite smile, her eyes downcast.

"Good morning, my lady. I've brought you something to help with... pregnancy," she said, her voice hesitant.

Your eyes narrowed, and you snapped, "I'm not pregnant. The only remedy from an old wife I want is a hangover remedy."

The maid's eyes widened in surprise and fear. "I'm sorry, my lady. It's just that raw eggs are believed to help with getting pregnant. I meant no offense."

You sighed, rubbing your temples. "Just bring me something for this headache, please."

She nodded quickly and scurried away, leaving you with the bowl and the raw egg. You stared at it with a mixture of disdain and curiosity. The idea of swallowing a raw egg made your stomach churn, but you knew that in the world you lived in, old wives' tales often carried weight.

Moments later, the maid returned with a cup of herbal tea and a damp cloth. "Here, my lady. This should help."

You took the tea gratefully, sipping it slowly. The warm liquid soothed your throat, and the bitter herbs began to work their magic on your pounding head. You sat down at the table, placing the cloth over your eyes and leaning back in the chair.

The quiet was interrupted by the sound of footsteps. You peeked from under the cloth to see Marcus standing in the doorway, his expression unreadable. He had changed into fresh clothes, but the scent of him from the night before still lingered in your nostrils.

"Feeling better?" he asked, his voice gruff.

"Not really," you replied, your tone sharp. "What do you want?"

He walked over, sitting across from you. "I just wanted to make sure you were alright."

You glared at him, the words from the previous night echoing in your mind. "I don't need your concern."

He leaned back, crossing his arms. "You were quite the handful last night."

"Well, if you hadn't dragged me off to bed like some helpless damsel, maybe I wouldn't have been," you shot back, the anger flaring up again.

"You're right," he said, surprising you. "But I didn't want you hurting yourself. Despite what you think, I don't want to control you."

You scoffed, lowering the cloth and meeting his gaze. "You keep saying that, but your actions say otherwise."

He sighed, rubbing his temples as if he, too, had a headache. "Look, I know you didn't want this marriage any more than I did. But we're in this together now. Fighting each other isn't going to make it any easier."

You stared at him, the sincerity in his eyes catching you off guard. You wanted to lash out, to keep up the walls you had built, but something in his demeanor made you pause.

"Why did you accept this marriage?" you asked quietly, the question that had been nagging at you since the wedding.

He looked away, his jaw tightening. "I hoped it would be a way out," he admitted. "A way to escape the life of a gladiator. And yes, I knew of your reputation. But I also knew that any other man wouldn't have accepted you, not with the rumors."

His honesty disarmed you, the anger slowly seeping out of you. You wanted to understand his motives further, but another question gnawed at you.

"So, you did this for your freedom?" you asked, trying to grasp his intentions.

"And maybe for yours too," he said softly, his eyes meeting yours again. "I know what it's like to be trapped in a life you didn't choose."

The room fell silent, the weight of his words hanging between you. For the first time, you saw a glimpse of the man behind the mask, and it left you feeling more conflicted than ever. You didn't know if you could trust him, but you couldn't deny the small spark of hope his words ignited.

The sound of the waves outside grew louder in the silence, as if echoing the turmoil within you. You took another sip of the tea, letting the warmth spread through you, grounding you in the moment.

Marcus shifted in his seat, breaking the silence. "Do you want to visit the pier?" he asked, his voice tentative.

You blinked, caught off guard by the sudden change in topic. "The pier?" you echoed, memories flooding back. You remembered visiting the pier with your mother, the laughter, the carefree days. Since returning to the villa, you hadn't gone to see it. The thought of revisiting that place brought a mix of nostalgia and longing, but also a sense of trepidation.

"Yes, the pier," Marcus repeated, watching you closely. "I thought you might like to see it."

You felt a surge of conflicting emotions. Part of you wanted to reject his offer out of sheer stubbornness, to prove you didn't need anything from him. But another part of you, the part that missed the simpler times, yearned to go.

"Why do you care?" you snapped, crossing your arms defensively.

Marcus sighed, running a hand through his hair. "It's not about caring. I just thought it might be nice for you to see it again."

You glared at him, trying to keep your walls up. "You think taking me to the pier will make everything better? That I'll suddenly forget everything and be grateful?"

"No," he said firmly, his eyes locking onto yours. "I don't expect anything. I'm just offering."

The sincerity in his voice made you falter. You hated the way he could make you feel so uncertain, so conflicted. But the thought of the pier, of the memories it held, was too tempting to ignore.

"Fine," you said, your tone laced with defiance. "I'll go."

Marcus nodded, standing up. "Meet me at the front door when you're ready."

You finished your tea and stood up, taking a deep breath. You made your way to your room to change into something more suitable for the walk. As you dressed, your mind wandered back to the days with your mother, the laughter and the joy of simpler times. You hadn't realized how much you missed it until now.

When you stepped outside, Marcus was waiting by the villa's front door. He gave you a brief nod, his expression unreadable. You walked down the steps and joined him, the air thick with tension.

"Let's get this over with," you muttered, starting down the path that led to the pier.

The walk down the small hill was silent at first, the only sounds the distant calls of seabirds and the gentle rustling of the trees. You kept your eyes forward, determined not to let Marcus see the turmoil within you.

"Did you ever come here often?" Marcus asked, breaking the silence.

"Yes," you replied curtly. "With my mother."

He nodded, glancing around. "It's a beautiful place."

"It was," you said sharply, quickening your pace.

Marcus matched your stride easily. "You know, you don't have to be so hostile."

You shot him a glare. "I wouldn't have to be if you didn't keep treating me like some delicate flower."

He chuckled, shaking his head. "Trust me, there's nothing delicate about you."

You scoffed, rolling your eyes. "And what exactly do you know about me, Marcus?"

"Enough to know you're stubborn as a mule," he retorted, a smirk playing at his lips.

You bristled, your temper flaring. "Well, at least I'm not a brute who thinks he can solve everything with his fists."

Marcus raised an eyebrow. "Is that what you think of me?"

You turned to face him, your eyes blazing. "That's exactly what I think of you."

He opened his mouth to retort, but you cut him off, quickening your pace down the path to the pier. The sand and salt air grew stronger as you neared the shoreline, the familiar sights and sounds stirring a bittersweet nostalgia.

When you arrived at the pier, you paused, taking in the scene before you. The wooden structure stretched out over the water, the waves gently lapping against the posts. You could almost hear your mother's laughter, feel her hand in yours as you walked together.

Marcus stood beside you, his presence a steadying force despite your irritation. "Shall we?" he said, gesturing towards the pier.

With a sigh, you stepped onto the weathered planks, the wood creaking slightly underfoot. You walked in silence, the only sound the distant call of seabirds and the gentle lapping of the waves.

As you reached the end of the pier, you leaned against the railing, gazing out at the horizon. The sea stretched endlessly before you, a vast expanse of blue that seemed to hold all the secrets of the world.

Marcus joined you, his gaze also fixed on the horizon. "It's peaceful here," he said quietly.

You nodded, feeling a strange sense of calm. "It is."

For a moment, the tension between you seemed to fade, replaced by a shared appreciation for the beauty around you. But the peace was short-lived.

You turned to leave, but your foot caught on a loose board. The world tilted as you stumbled, losing your balance. With a yelp, you plunged into the water below. The icy shock of the sea stole your breath, and you struggled to stay afloat, panic surging through you. The water was a merciless force, dragging you under. Your limbs flailed wildly, but you couldn't seem to break the surface. The salty liquid filled your mouth, choking any attempt at calling for help. Your heart pounded, every beat a frantic plea for air as you fought against the pull of the sea.

In the midst of your panic, a shadow loomed above you. Through the haze of water and fear, you saw Marcus diving in. His strong arms encircled you, pulling you upwards with a force that felt both powerful and reassuring. "I can't swim!" you wanted to shout, but the words were swallowed by the water. Instead, you could only gasp, your chest burning as you fought to breathe. Marcus's grip was unyielding, his strength a lifeline. He hauled you to the surface, your head breaking through to the sweet relief of air. You coughed violently, expelling the seawater that had threatened to drown you. Your vision blurred, but you felt Marcus's steady hands guiding you to the shore.

The sand was a rough but welcome texture beneath you as Marcus laid you down, his grip loosening now that you were safe. You continued to cough, your lungs heaving as you expelled the last of the water. You were soaked to the bone, the chill of the sea clinging to your skin. Marcus stood over you, an amused glint in his eyes despite the concern etched into his features.

"I thought you said you grew up here," he remarked his tone light but edged with teasing.

You glared at him through your exhaustion, still catching your breath. "Just...shut up," you managed to rasp, feeling a fresh wave of embarrassment as you realized how helpless you'd been.

He crouched beside you, his expression softening slightly. "You should have told me you couldn't swim," he said, a hint of genuine concern breaking through his teasing demeanor.

You sat up slowly, brushing sand from your wet hair. "I didn't think it would matter," you muttered, annoyed more at yourself than at him. "And I didn't expect to fall in."

Marcus chuckled, shaking his head. "Well, it's a good thing I was here to save you."

You shot him a withering look. "Don't let it go to your head."

He grinned, clearly enjoying your irritation. "Too late."

You pushed yourself to your feet, shivering as the cool breeze hit your wet skin. "I need to get cleaned up," you said, more to yourself than to him.

"Do you need help with that too?" Marcus asked, his tone mischievous.

You glared at him again, but there was a reluctant smile tugging at the corners of your mouth. "Not a chance."

As you made your way back to the villa, you couldn't shake the conflicting feelings that Marcus stirred in you. His arrogance was infuriating, but there was something about his confidence and the way he had jumped in to save you without hesitation that you couldn't ignore.

"Your father said you grew up here, and you can't swim?" he mocked, shaking his head. "What kind of life have you led?"

You glared at him, anger and humiliation warring within you. "Not that it's any of your business, but my mother didn't want me learning. She was afraid of the sea."

He raised an eyebrow, his expression softening slightly. "And you? Are you afraid of the sea?"

You looked away, the memories of your mother's fear mingling with your own. "Maybe," you admitted quietly.

Marcus sighed, helping you to your feet. "You could have told me."

"And you could stop assuming you know everything about me," you shot back, refusing to meet his gaze.

He paused briefly, then chuckled softly. "Fair enough."

Standing there, dripping wet and shivering, the earlier bickering had faded, leaving behind a tentative peace. The walk back to the villa had taken an unexpected turn, yet as you gazed out over the water, a curious sense of calm settled within you.

He remained quiet, and you welcomed the respite of silence as you reached the villa. You marched inside, heading straight for your room. The maids hurried over, their eyes wide with concern.

"Prepare a bath," you ordered, stripping off your wet clothes. "And make it quick."

The maids hurried to obey, filling the tub with steaming water and adding fragrant oils. You stepped in, sinking into the warmth with a sigh of relief. The water soothed your aching muscles and washed away the sand and salt.

As you soaked, the events of the day replayed in your mind. The bickering with Marcus, the fall into the water, his unexpected rescue. You couldn't deny the conflicting emotions he stirred in you, the blend of anger, frustration, and something else you couldn't quite identify. The bathwater's warmth wrapped around you like a comforting embrace, and you let out a long, slow breath, trying to relax.

Just as you were beginning to feel at ease, the door to your room creaked open. Your eyes snapped open, and you saw Marcus standing in the doorway, his eyes widening as he realized you were still in the bath.

"Gods above, Marcus!" you shrieked, sinking deeper into the water and grabbing a towel to cover yourself.

He quickly turned his back, holding up his hands in a gesture of surrender. "I didn't know you were still in here!"

"What part of the closed door didn't you understand?" you snapped, fumbling to wrap the towel around yourself.

"I just wanted to talk to you," he said, his voice slightly muffled as he faced away from you. "About what happened today."

"Can it wait until I'm dressed?" you asked, your voice dripping with sarcasm.

He sighed. "I suppose it could, but I thought we should clear the air sooner rather than later."

You finished securing the towel and stood up carefully, stepping out of the tub. "Fine, just... turn around and give me a moment."

Marcus nodded and stepped outside, closing the door behind him. You quickly dried off and pulled on a simple, comfortable dress. The fabric felt soft against your skin, and you let out a small sigh of relief.

"Okay, you can come back in," you called, tying your hair back with a ribbon.

The door opened again, and Marcus entered, looking slightly sheepish. "Sorry about that," he said, scratching the back of his neck.

You waved a hand dismissively. "Just don't make a habit of it."

He chuckled, then grew serious. "I wanted to talk to you about learning to swim."

You raised an eyebrow. "Learning to swim? Now?"

He nodded. "Yes. After what happened today, I think it's important. You grew up by the sea, but you can't swim. It's something you should know, for your own safety."

You crossed your arms, narrowing your eyes. "And you think you're the one to teach me?"

"Who else?" he replied with a shrug. "Besides, it might be a way for us to... not bicker so much."

You let out a huff of laughter, shaking your head. "You really think swimming lessons will solve our problems?"

Marcus gave you a small smile. "It couldn't hurt to try."

You thought about it for a moment, the memory of the cold water and the panic still fresh in your mind. As much as you hated to admit it, he had a point. Learning to swim would be useful, and maybe it would help ease the tension between you.

"Fine," you said at last. "I'll let you teach me. But if you mock me, even once, I'll throw you into the sea."

Marcus laughed, a genuine, warm sound that surprised you. "Deal."

You nodded, feeling a mix of apprehension and determination. "When do we start?"

"Tomorrow morning," he said. "We'll go down to the beach and start there."

You gave a reluctant nod. "Alright. Tomorrow morning."

As Marcus turned to leave, you couldn't help but feel a small glimmer of hope. Maybe this would be a step towards something better. Or at the very least, it would give you a chance to prove you weren't as helpless as he seemed to think.

You were dreaming so sweetly, the air from the balcony streaming into the room, bringing with it the scent of the sea. The gentle rustling of leaves and the distant call of seabirds blended into a lullaby that cradled you in its arms. In your dream, you were walking along the beach with your mother, her laughter mingling with the sound of the waves.

Suddenly, a hand on your shoulder jolted you awake. "Get up!" Marcus's voice was a harsh whisper in the pre-dawn darkness.

You blinked, disoriented, your mind still clinging to the remnants of your dream. "What...?" you mumbled, sitting up and rubbing your eyes.

"It's time to start your training," he said, pulling the curtains open. The sky was still a deep indigo, with the faintest hint of light on the horizon.

With a groan, you swung your legs over the side of the bed and stood up, still half-asleep. "Alright, alright. I'm up."

"Good," he said, a hint of satisfaction in his voice. "Get dressed and meet me outside."

You quickly changed into a simple tunic and tied your hair back, the cool morning air nipping at your skin. As you stepped out onto the balcony, the first rays of dawn painted the sky in shades of pink and orange. You made your way to the front of the villa, where Marcus was waiting, looking annoyingly alert.

"Could you be any more enthusiastic?" you muttered, stifling another yawn.

He smirked. "I'm just trying to make the most of the day. Unlike some people who would rather sleep through it."

"Some people prefer not to be woken up at the crack of dawn," you retorted, crossing your arms.

"Maybe if some people had learned to swim earlier, we wouldn't be here now," he shot back, starting down the path towards the beach.

You followed him, the cool sand squishing between your toes. "Or maybe if some people weren't so insistent on dragging others out of bed, they could have a more peaceful morning."

He chuckled. "You know, you could just admit that you need the lessons."

"I don't need them," you grumbled, "I just don't want to drown."

"Same thing," he said, shrugging.

The beach stretched out before you, the waves gently lapping at the shore. As you walked, the sound of the sea grew louder, filling the air with its soothing rhythm. The familiar scent of saltwater brought back memories of playing on the sand as a child, carefree and happy.

"Alright," Marcus said, stopping at the edge of the water. "We'll start with the basics. Just try to relax and trust me."

"Trust you," you repeated, raising an eyebrow. "That's a lot to ask."

He gave you a patient look. "I know. But if you can't trust me, trust that I don't want to have to save you every time you fall into the water."

You rolled your eyes. "Fine. But if you mock me, even once, I swear I'll throw you in."

Marcus laughed, a genuine, warm sound that surprised you. "Deal."

As you waded into the water, you could feel your tunic growing heavier, clinging to your skin. You paused, looking down at the soaked fabric. "This tunic is going to get ruined," you muttered, more to yourself than to Marcus.

With a huff, you turned your back to him and carefully pulled your tunic over your head, tossing it onto the shore. The cool air brushed against your skin, sending a shiver down your spine as you stood bare before him. You waded back into the water, feeling exposed but determined not to let it show.

Marcus watched you with an appraising gaze, his eyes tracing the curve of your shoulders and the lines of your back. There was a moment of silence between you, the only sound the gentle lapping of waves against the shore. Then, without a word, Marcus reached for the hem of his own tunic and pulled it over his head.

The sight of his bare chest took you by surprise. His skin was bronzed from days under the sun, muscles defined and powerful. Droplets of water clung to his torso, catching the sunlight in a way that made you momentarily forget your irritation. His presence was commanding yet strangely comforting, like a force of nature you couldn't resist.

You tore your gaze away, feeling a rush of heat to your cheeks. "Alright, enough staring," you muttered, more to yourself than to him.

Marcus chuckled softly, stepping into the water beside you. "Just making sure you're not the only one feeling exposed," he remarked his tone light but tinged with something deeper.

You scowled at him, but there was a hint of a smile playing at your lips. "Don't get too comfortable," you warned, trying to regain your composure.

He raised an eyebrow, his grin widening. "Who says I'm not comfortable already?"

You rolled your eyes, but there was no venom in the gesture. "Enough of your smugness. Let's just get this over with."

He raised an eyebrow, his grin widening. "Who says I'm not comfortable already?"

You rolled your eyes, trying to hide the flutter in your chest. "Just focus on the lesson, Marcus."

He nodded, the teasing glint in his eyes softening. "Alright, let's get started then."

Marcus led you into the shallows, the cool water lapping at your ankles, then your knees. He moved with an easy confidence, his presence reassuring despite the lingering tension between you.

"First, we need to get you comfortable with the water," he said, his tone more serious now. "Can you float on your back?"

You hesitated, the memory of your earlier panic still fresh. "I can try."

"Good," he said. "I'll support you. Just relax and let the water hold you."

You lay back, feeling his hands under your shoulders and lower back. The sensation of the water buoying you up was strange, but Marcus's steady grip kept you grounded. You focused on the sky above, the blue expanse calming your racing heart.

"See?" he murmured. "You're doing fine."

You glanced at him, a small smile tugging at your lips despite yourself. "For now."

Marcus chuckled, his hands firm and reassuring. "Now, try to kick your legs gently."

You did as he instructed, the water resisting your movements. It felt awkward, but you persisted, trying to find a rhythm.

"That's it," Marcus encouraged. "Just like that. You're doing great."

You let out a breath you hadn't realized you were holding, feeling a small sense of accomplishment. "Maybe this isn't so bad."

Marcus grinned. "I told you. Now, let's move a bit deeper."

He guided you further into the water, his grip never faltering. As the water reached your waist, you felt a flicker of unease but pushed it aside. You were determined to prove you could do this.

"Alright," he said, stopping when the water was up to your chest. "Let's try some basic strokes. I'll show you, then you copy me."

You watched as he demonstrated a simple stroke, his movements smooth and confident. His muscles rippled under the water, every action purposeful and efficient. You tried to mimic him, feeling clumsy in comparison.

"Good," he said, nodding. "But keep your elbows higher. Like this."

He corrected your form, his touch gentle yet precise. You adjusted, trying to follow his guidance.

"Better," he praised. "Now, let's keep practicing."

You continued the lesson, each new skill building your confidence. As you practiced, you couldn't help but feel a growing respect for Marcus. Despite his arrogance, he was a patient and effective teacher.

After a while, Marcus called for a break. You waded to shallower water, grateful for the reprieve. As you stood catching your breath, Marcus studied you thoughtfully.

"You're not afraid of the water, are you?" he asked suddenly.

You shook your head, surprised by the question. "No. I just... never learned to swim."

"Why not?" he pressed, curiosity lighting up his eyes.

You hesitated, the memories tugging at your heart. "My mother... she despised the sea," you began softly. "She preferred the safety and serenity of the countryside. My father, on the other hand, adored it. Most of our family's wealth came from his sea trade ventures. He built his entire empire on the waves."

Marcus's eyes narrowed slightly, clearly intrigued. "So your mother didn't share his love for the sea?"

You let out a bitter laugh. "No, quite the opposite. She was terrified of it. She hated the constant worry every time he left on a voyage, the endless nights spent alone. She never understood his obsession with the sea. Their marriage was arranged, just like ours. But unlike us, they never found common ground."

"And your father?" Marcus asked, his tone gentler now.

"My father loved the sea more than anything," you said, your voice tinged with sadness. "He saw it as a source of freedom and wealth. He would spend months at a time on his ships, overseeing his trade routes, and ensuring our fortune grew. The sea was his true mistress."

Marcus seemed to consider this, his expression thoughtful. "So your mother lives in the countryside now?"

You nodded. "Yes. She moved away a few years ago. Couldn't stand the sight of the sea anymore, or the memories it held. She wanted peace, a life without the constant fear and loneliness."

"Do you see her often?" he asked, his curiosity genuine.

"Not as much as I'd like," you admitted. "She visits sometimes, but my father keeps her at a distance. He's still bitter, even after all these years. He sees her as weak, unable to embrace the life he chose."

Marcus sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Sounds like we're both products of difficult marriages."

"Indeed," you replied, meeting his intense gaze with equal fervor. "But I don't want to be trapped like my parents."

Marcus's eyes softened as he stepped closer, his hands finding your waist with a gentle certainty that sent a thrilling shiver through you. Without hesitation, you wrapped your legs around his torso, feeling the strength of his body supporting you effortlessly.

"We won't be trapped," Marcus assured you, his voice low and steady, filled with promise. "Not like them. We'll find our own way, together."

His words, spoken with such conviction, resonated deep within you. The vulnerability in his eyes mirrored your own, forging an unspoken bond between you.

As the first light of dawn painted the sky with hues of gold and pink, casting a serene glow over the water, Marcus leaned in closer. His warm breath mingled with yours, creating an intimate cocoon amidst the tranquil sounds of the sea.

With a tenderness that belied his usual stern demeanor, Marcus brushed his lips against yours in a feather-light kiss. It was a moment suspended in time, charged with unspoken desire and the promise of something more.

You responded eagerly, your heart racing as you deepened the kiss, surrendering to the intoxicating connection between you. The barriers that had once stood firm melted away with each tender caress of his lips, leaving only the raw, undeniable truth of your shared desire.

 As the kiss grew more fervent, Marcus's hands roamed your body, their touch both possessive and tender. He guided you out of the water, each step a testament to his strength and control. The cool breeze hit your wet skin, but the heat between you and Marcus was undeniable, a fire that neither the sea nor the morning chill could extinguish.

 He laid you down gently on the sand, the grains rough yet grounding beneath you. His eyes bore into yours with an intensity that made your breath hitch. "Would it really be so bad to at least try for a baby?" he asked, his voice a mix of longing and challenge.

 You bristled at his words, your defenses rising again. "I'm a child myself," you retorted, your voice trembling with both defiance and uncertainty. "How can I bring another life into this world when I'm still figuring out my own?”

Marcus's gaze softened, his hand brushing a strand of hair from your face. "No one said it had to work," he whispered, his lips grazing your ear. "But we can try. Together. We can make our own Path.

 His words were a balm to your fears, a promise of partnership rather than domination. As he leaned in, capturing your lips in another searing kiss, you felt the last vestiges of resistance crumble. The passion between you was a living thing, a force that demanded to be acknowledged.

 Marcus's hands moved with purpose, exploring every inch of you with a reverence that made you shiver. You arched into his touch, your body responding to his in ways that felt both foreign and achingly familiar. His lips trailed down your neck leaving a path of fire in their wake.

 "Marcus," you breathed your voice a mix of need and wonder. He paused, his eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that took your breath away.

 "We don`t have to do this if you're not ready," he said, his voice strained with the effort of holding back. "But know that I want you. I want us to have a chance."

 You searched his eyes, finding a sincerity that both scared and exhilarated you. "I want you too," you admitted the words a leap of faith. "But this... it changes everything.”

"Then let it change us," he murmured, his lips finding yours once more. The kiss deepened, a blend of urgency and tenderness that left you both breathless.

You felt the rough sand beneath you as Marcus pulled you closer, his hand gripping your cheek firmly as he kissed you passionately. His touch was both possessive and reverent as if he were handling a precious porcelain doll. His hand traveled down your body, caressing every curve with a tenderness that sent shivers down your spine.

He pulled away from the kiss, the sun reflecting off his body, making him glow with an almost ethereal light. His eyes locked onto yours with an intensity that made your breath catch. His hand traveled lower, caressing your upper thigh before spreading them, giving him a place to stabilize himself. You felt his length prod at your thigh, the heat of his desire palpable.

Unable to resist, you pulled him in for another kiss, feeling his hips move into your body, his erection grinding against your thigh. "God, you're hard," you murmured, pulling away from the kiss to take in his disheveled appearance.

"I've been hard as a rock since we started the lesson," he teased, his voice thick with lust. He captured your lips again, his hand wandering down to your clit, circling it in slow, teasing motions.

"Marcus," you gasped your voice a mix of need and frustration.

He smirked against your skin, his lips trailing down to your neck, where he bit softly, making you wince. "You dick," you muttered, but your protest was cut short by a moan as he rubbed his length up and down your slick wetness.

Leaning over you, Marcus positioned himself at your entrance, his eyes dark with desire. "I know you want my dick," he said with a smirk, pushing into you with a slow, deliberate thrust.

Your body arched at the sensation, your legs instinctively wrapping around his waist as he began to move. He lifted your legs slightly, pushing your knees to your chest, the new angle allowing him to thrust deeper. The stretch was intense, the feeling of him filling you completely almost overwhelming.

You bit your lip, trying to stifle your whimpers, but they quickly turned into borderline screams as he brutally fucked into you. Each thrust sent shockwaves of pleasure through your body, making you arch your back and frantically grab at the sand for some stability. You could swear he was rearranging your insides, his cock hitting your G-spot with relentless precision.

Your vision blurred, and all you could feel was the intense pleasure he was giving you. You didn't think getting fucked like this was physically possible, didn't think you were capable of feeling such intense pleasure at the hands of a man.

Marcus's smirk widened as he leaned down, his eyes following the bulge on your lower belly. "Yeah, feel it," he mocked, resting his forehead against yours as he bottomed out again. "Got you stuffed all the way in, huh?"

You couldn't even argue, your eyes brimming with tears as he pressed his palm harder against the bulge. Your eyes clenched shut, but his relentless thrusts only edged you further. He gripped your jaw, forcing you to keep looking at him. "No, you keep looking. Taking me so good, gonna—fuck, gonna have to ruin you."

Tears welled at the corners of your eyes as the pressure within you built to an almost unbearable peak. You were so close, so desperately close to the edge. Sensing your state, Marcus's gaze flicked to your face, taking in your flushed cheeks and the tears that threatened to spill over.

"Ask nicely, goddess” he grunted, picking up the punishing pace once more. "Use your manners and I'll give you whatever you want." His hands moved to your thighs, forcing them against your stomach, letting him push into you deeper. The sensation made your head spin, the knot in your stomach tightening immediately.

"Please... for fuck's sake, let me cum or I'm gonna rip your stupid perfect cock off the second we're done," you managed to grunt through gritted teeth.

He chuckled breathlessly, his hand returning to your clit, pressing rough and rapid circles against it. "We'll work on that," he laughed softly, feeling you rapidly slipping towards the edge. He didn't let up on his ruthless motions, finally pushing you over the brink.

You were loud. Probably too loud. Your scream of release echoed along the shore, your body convulsing with the force of your orgasm. Marcus followed you over the edge, his thrusts becoming erratic as he spilled into you, the warmth of his release sending one last wave of pleasure through your already trembling body.

As the intensity of the moment faded, you both lay there, tangled together in the sand, breathing heavily. Marcus's forehead rested against yours, his eyes filled with a mix of satisfaction and something deeper.

"Maybe it wouldn't be so bad to try," you whispered, the vulnerability in your voice surprising even you.

"Maybe it wouldn't be so bad to try," you whispered, the vulnerability in your voice surprising even you.

Marcus's smile widened a glint of mischief in his eyes. "If it feels that good every time," you added with a playful smirk, "I might not mind at all."

He chuckled, the sound rich and warm, and leaned in to brush his lips against yours once more. Just as you were beginning to lose yourself in the kiss again, a voice suddenly called out from behind you.

"Hey! What are you two doing here?" The voice was stern, and authoritative.

You and Marcus scrambled to cover yourselves, a mix of embarrassment and amusement bubbling up as you fumbled with your discarded clothes.

Realization dawned on the guard's face as he took in the sight of Marcus's distinctive, regal features and your own disheveled state. His expression quickly turned from stern to horrified as he realized who he was interrupting.

"I-I'm so sorry, my lord, my lady," he stammered, turning an alarming shade of red. "I didn't realize—"

Marcus, still half-naked and laughing, held up a hand to stop him. "It's alright," he said, amusement dancing in his eyes. "Just a little... misunderstanding."

The guard's eyes darted around, clearly trying to avoid looking directly at either of you. "I'll just... I'll just be going now," he mumbled, backing away quickly before turning and sprinting down the beach.

You couldn't help but burst into laughter, the absurdity of the situation breaking the tension that had been lingering. Marcus joined in, his laughter a deep, infectious rumble that made you forget all your worries, if only for a moment.

Once the laughter had subsided, Marcus turned to you, a mischievous look in his eyes. "You know," he said, his voice dropping to a flirtatious whisper, "there's always the sea. No guards to interrupt us there."

You raised an eyebrow, your own smile widening. "Is that so?" you asked, the idea sending a thrill through you.

"Absolutely," he replied, standing up and offering you his hand. "Shall we?"

You took his hand, the warmth of his touch sending a shiver of anticipation through you. Together, you made your way to the edge of the water, the cool waves lapping at your feet. Marcus's presence beside you felt grounding, his touch a comforting anchor in the midst of the playful breeze and the gentle rush of the sea.

As you reached the water's edge, Marcus pulled you into his arms. The sea welcomed you both with its refreshing embrace, its coolness a stark contrast to the heat that had built between you. You chuckled softly at Marcus's promise, spoken against your lips.

Marcus pulled you into his arms, the sea providing a refreshing contrast to the heat between you. "I promise," he murmured against your lips, "no interruptions this time."

[foxfirexo]

hi its my first time writing a lil story like this, I hope it's not too long and you like it!! ^^

*THIS STORY IS ABOUT TRANSFEMS*

you're at a party and you don't know why you thought this was a good idea. it's not some insanely big party, just a group of friends but you only know a few of them and aaaaaaa it's still enough to be loud and overwhelming. you cling to the wall, not knowing how to join into the circle of conversation happening in the middle of the room without disrupting its flow.

this is stupid. why are you even here? you're terrible in this kind of situation. might as well just use the bathroom and then leave, not like anyone will notice-

wait, did that girl just look at you? no, not just that, did she just stop mid sentence and- and did you imagine it, or did her jaw clench and her lips curl into the subtlest of smiles when she saw you?

no no no no you say to yourself as your cheeks flush bright red. you abandon your drink on a side table and flee the scene, now needing to find the bathroom for multiple reasons...

you search the halls desperately trying to find the bathroom, wanting so badly to hide. damnit why do you have to be too shy to just ask somebody where the damn thing is? it's not helping that every time you close your eyes even just for a moment you see that devious little grin and that gorgeous face- wait

you blink a few times. this time your eyes aren't closed but the gorgeous face is staring mischievously at you anyway? you blink a few times, surely you've finally gone insane and this is a hallucination

"going somewhere, darling?" she says, her voice low and dripping with... desire?

you barely manager to stutter out a pitiful, "i- no i- I was j-just trying to find th-the bathroom," but you're finding it really hard to focus fck why is she standing so close that you can smell her fck why does she smell so good fck fck fck

"surely you weren't going to hide away all... this... from me?" too close too close you can feel her breath from here oh god what is she looking at why are her eyes wandering like that

you're slammed with instant regret that you decided you didn't need to wear a bra today, and you are painfully aware of the texture of your tshirt as your very excited nipples say hello to the gorgeous lady who is staring directly at them oh lord what is happening

before your mind can catch up she reaches up and brushes a finger in a thoughtless circle against the hard lil bump poking out through your tshirt. "oh my~ looks like i wasn't the only who felt something between us~" she grabs your wrist and starts dragging you into an empty bedroom but you're still trying to process what she just said. wait, what? not.. not the only...????

the click of a door closing pierces through your confusion and brings you back to the present, only to find yourself being pushed back and falling and- oh you were caught by a bed and- oh shit she's kneeling over you-

"im glad i caught you before you could run away, kitten," her lips find yours for the briefest of moments before leaning in right next to your ear and whispering, "i can't stand the thought of missing out on a tasty little snack such as yourself, that would be a tragedy" *she licks your ear* "hmmm, wouldn't it?"

you go to protest but her knee presses up between your thighs and your words are lost to a moan escaping your lips. your head is fuzzy but you can't help yourself and as if they have a mind of their own your hips start moving, desperately pushing up against her knee, you can't get enough aaahhh

"awww what a pretty little slut," she coos, her fingers reaching down and wrapping around your dick and eliciting a sharp gasp from you. "such a good girl, perhaps I should reward you by using you, mmmm?" she grins and her eyes sparkle at you, she's enjoying this too damn much but nnngh fck its so hotttt

the cold air of the room makes your skin prickle as she tugs off your clothes, leaving goosebumps all over your skin. as she pulls her own shirt off and undoes her bra you forget how horny you are for just a moment as you marvel at how breathtaking her body is, she looks like one of the goddesses just dropped out of the sky and now she's undressing in front of you...

... then your eyes trail down a little further as she tugs off her jeans and you inhale sharply at the sight of her gorgeous dick, already dripping and pulling her lacy blue panties taught. oh my god this is really happening oh my god

she wraps you up in her arms and pulls you into her lap, tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear so she can sink her teeth uninterrupted into the supple flesh of your neck. her hardness is pressing up against you now and your heart is racing like a hurricane in your chest. all you can manage to squeak out is a desperate, "p-please.." before she sinks herself into your ass. your back arches and your tits press against hers and it feels amazing, so amazing, you can feel her swollen nipples pressed against your own and you cry out with utter desperation

"shhhh, quiet, pet! I don't want anyone interrupting my playtime. nobody gets to enjoy this but me."

you feel sharp nails digging into your back as her throbbing dick thrusts into you even deeper than before, but the shuddering moan trying to escape your throat is silenced by three fingers shoved into your mouth, pressing against your tongue. with that your mind goes utterly blank and your whole body clenches

its too much its too much its too much

you feel her teeth sink into your neck once again, using you to stifle her own moans as she fills your ass with hot cum. you cry out against her fingers and it feels like your whole body is bursting at the seams and in a moment of hazy mind numbing pleasure that seems to hang and stretch out for an eternity....... your body shudders and you orgasm harder than you've ever orgasmed before

your heaving chests still pressed together like the world depends on it, she smiles up at you and you feel a little silly, your mouth dripping with saliva and your thighs covered in the sweet evidence of what you'd otherwise discount as a fever dream.

"what a good girl, a very good girl," she mumbles with a huge shameless grin on her face as she kisses your last few shreds of consciousness away

damn what a crazy part amirite i want to go to a party like this goddamn

[devilstruly]

DETANGLED

pairing - sakusa kiyoomi x fem. reader (with any hair type that isn't pin straight)

summarization - you are frustrated when you meet with your best friend and he's tired of you speaking badly about yourself

includes - mutual pining, dogs shipping their owners, rich boy kiyoomi, sexual tension (+ anything i might've missed)

a/n - please accept my sincerest apologies bc this is incredibly self indulgent 😭😭. i wrote this on a bad hair day and i just kept thinking about kiyoomi and his pretty hair. also both he and reader have dogs. kinda short, not my best work. again apologies

A cold wind blows through the streets, sending a part of Sakusa's coat flying behind him. The man inevitably shivers as he buries his nose deeper into the knitted scarf and balls his gloved hands into fists.

Above his head, the sky is a very soft shade of gray, with the clouds so thickly condensed into a barrier for the sunlight. Across the dog playground a loud bark can be heard, the sound feeling all too familiar to the man.

He smiles softly beneath his mask when he sees the energetic doberman, happily approaching his friend. And soon enough, the owner joins Sakusa's side as well.

'Hi!' You greet him with a smile when you take your place on the man's right, with your back leaning against the metal fence.

'About time.' Sakusa's remark earns him an eye roll and he can't help gloating a little on the inside.

'Listen I almost had a mental breakdown over my hair you should be lucky I even got here.'

With a huff you cross your arms over your chest, blowing away a stray hair that disrupted your view. To your surprise however, Sakusa turns to face you, eyes roaming over the strands formed into a very messy updo.

'I told you before, your hair looks fine. You're stressing over nothing. Again.'

'It's not nothing!' You protested. 'I just wish I could make it look prettier. Like get the curls to be defined or something so it's not just a blob.' Your reasoning was followed by another eyeroll, this time accompanied by a small pout.

Sakusa looked in the direction of the two black dogs again and stood quiet for a couple of seconds before he called his pet over. The black shepard rushed over happily, with your doberman trailing behind him.

Once they were seated before the two of you, the man crouched down and secured the leash before turning towards you.

'Let's go.'

'Where?' You questioned while mirroring Sakusa's previous actions and following him through the gate of the playground.

'Just follow me.’ Was the only thing he let be revealed before switching the topic of the conversation. 'How was your day?'

-

Sakusa navigates the busy streets expertly while he keeps up the conversation with you, before his steps come to a halt in front of a store. It's a pet friendly one, of course it is, because even though you're not aware of it, he plans on spending at least forty-five minutes inside.

Brows slightly raised in curiosity, you trail behind him, only to nearly head face first into his broad back when he stops.

'Gah! Warn a woman next time?'

He promptly ignores you and instead reaches out to touch the front strands that fell out of your bun.

'Hm.'

Feeling slightly exposed by his soft touch and the proximity, you do your best at avoiding direct eye contact, which he fortunately doesn't seem notice.

'I think these would work best for your hair type.'

His arm stretches out and places two bottles in the basket he picked up on the way in, before continuing.

'You use the shampoo twice, only on the roots, and the conditioner once, just the ends.'

You can only manage a small nod, feeling kind of clueless with him leading you through the store like this.

'I should've made a list...oh well...these will do.'

He shoves another load of products in the basket and at this point you've given up on trying to be of use, giving him free reign instead.

-

Once the two of you are in line, you instinctively reach for your wallet, assesing the items in the man's hands.

'What do you think you're doing?'

His voice is as smooth and gentle as ever, and his dark eyes fix on yours so intensely that you want to slap yourself for all the inappropriate thoughts that run through your mind.

'You're not seriously thinking of paying for all of this!'

'I brought you here, it's only fair.'

'Kiyo-'

'End of discussion.'

[bcyhoods]

LOVEFOOL 💌 ─── send in a character and a prompt from these lists for a blurb

peter parker + ❛ is that blood? is it yours? ❜

she’s been collecting dust because i’m insecure, but she will stay hidden no longer!! | 1.4k

warnings: blood, injury, r patching up his wounds, medically inaccurate information (we’re going to pretend it works for my sanity’s sake)

Peter doesn’t really know why he stumbles into the bodega. It’s closed, and it’s empty, safe for where you’re mopping the floors.

You move between the aisles, mouthing the lyrics to whatever song is flowing through your earbuds. He watches your silhouette through the windows, entranced as you make the most mundane chore somehow look so inviting. He knows the moment you see his face that you’d drop everything and throw your arms around him like you hadn’t seen him in weeks.

He supposes that’s why.

That, and the searing pain that shoots through his left leg is making his brain foggy.

Gripping onto his wounded thigh, he musters up the remainder of his strength to pull open the door and stagger inside. He grimaces at the shrill chime of the overhead bell. Even more so when it disrupts your bubble of peace.

“Sorry, we’re…” The rest of the monotonous statement gets caught in your throat. You stare back in his direction with wide eyes and a gaping mouth. The mop slips from your grip and bangs onto the floor.

Peter, clueless and delirious, is convinced it’s because he’s starting to stain the freshly clean linoleum. You’d just mopped and now he’s making a mess. He’s oddly expecting you to scold him before coddling him. Maybe you’ll even give him a kiss. His shoulders momentarily sag in relief.

“Spiderman?”

Shit. He’s still wearing the suit. He forgot.

“Yeah, hey,” he sings nervously, “Nice to meet you. Great establishment you’ve got here, you should be very proud.” He gestures toward the apple display before giving you a puny thumbs up.

You’re stunned, frozen in place. You don’t really notice the way his arm falls limp or the way he uses the nearby shelves as a crutch. You can’t even see the blood dripping down his leg from where you’re standing. Your mind is racing and jumbled because The Spiderman is in your store on a random Tuesday night.

Peter is never going to believe you when you tell him.

You’re abruptly ripped from your daze when he knocks over a can of tomato sauce, cursing under his breath. “Yeah…you’re here. Why are you here? And I don’t mean to kick you out, y’know, protector of the city and all—”

He laughs quietly at the wonder in your voice. He tries to take in your amazement, making note of the raised brows and the shy smile on your face, but he really can’t. His head feels heavy on his shoulders and the overhead lights are killer, even with the mask on. All he wants is for you to hold him, but he’s not Peter right now. And somehow that makes his leg sting even more.

He’s so out of it, he hasn’t even registered that you’d moved closer to him until he hears you gasp. Your expression is different now. You look mortified.

“Oh my god, is that blood?” When he jumps, you continue quieter, “Is it yours?”

“Huh? No, no, it’s not, it’s just uh…”

He utilizes the shelf to limp closer to you, but one uncoordinated shift of the hand makes his knees buckle and it sends him to the floor with a groan. A yelp involuntarily escapes as you rush to his side.

“It might be a little, yeah,” he admits defeatedly through clenched teeth.

“Here, let me help.”

He tries to protest, but ultimately surrenders to your fleeting touch as you push at his shoulders to lean up against the wall of freezers. You kneel in between his legs, ignoring the way heat rushes to your ears when he gently holds onto your forearm. It was so instinctive, so tender, like he’d done it a million times before.

Your fingers hover over the tear in his suit before you’re asking, “May I…?”

He nods. Careful of the wound, you pull and rip at the material to expose the severity of it. He makes a sound of ease, one that you’ve mistaken for worry and it shoots right to your chest.

Peter concludes it looks worse than it actually is. It’s definitely not deep enough to require stitches, but the cut crosses the expanse of his thigh. He’s fixed up worse in his dingy apartment bathroom. It’s not entirely unfamiliar, but he’s lost a lot of blood on the way here.

“Just a paper cut,” he adds cheekily to make you feel better. It doesn’t, really. When he notices the way you stare at the wound and how your hands shake with worry, he reaches to hold them. “Hey, I’m okay. Happens all the time,” he assures softly.

The frown you wear looks entirely foreign. It makes his insides burn and all he wants to do is kiss it away. To make you smile at him again like you’d done so earlier.

“A lot of people don’t really like me that much,” he says. He’s barely coherent, the words are slurred together at this point. But he doesn’t really care when he hears you scoff. It’s good enough, he decides.

“Okay. Just…just wait here.” You’re gone before Peter can grumble some smart remark about how he couldn’t go anywhere even if he wanted to.

When you reappear, your arms are full with soaking wet wash rags, a box of wound cushions, and a cheap spool of gauze. His arm is lazily thrown over his head to provide some sort of shelter from the bright lights. The bleeding has slowed down just the slightest, but it doesn’t instill much confidence.

A timid exhale is pushed from your lungs and you warn, “I don’t really know what I’m doing. It might hurt.”

“Nothing I can’t hand—oh, mmm!”

You’re immediately pulling away, the rag in your hand tinged with crimson.

“It’s okay,” he’s quick to reassure you before you can even apologize. It comes out strangled. He’s sitting up straighter, his muscles are tense, his fists are clenched beside him, but he keeps whispering it like a mantra. You’re not sure if he’s saying it for you or for himself. Maybe both.

“It’s okay,” you repeat softly. He hums.

The mumbled phrase spills over your lips every time he flinches away from your touch. It spills over his lips whenever your brows pinch in response. It echoes through the store until the beige cloth becomes red and you’re wrapping the gauze around his thigh.

He selfishly wishes you knew his secret just so you could patch him up from now on. You’re so gentle, you’re doing a much better job than he usually does. It helps that even the thought of having you around makes every worry melt away.

You’re tying off the wound and smiling to yourself with a sense of accomplishment. It’s infectious, it has Peter smiling under his mask. “Done!” Clearing your throat, you stand up and reach your arms down in an offer to pull him up with you. “You need to learn to stop getting on people’s bad side, Spiderman,” you jest.

He chuckles and shakes his head. Taking your hands, he’s staggering up and once he’s settled, puts his hands on his hips. “I think some people are just too sensitive,” he argues.

He feels miles better now, but you’re beaming at him and it makes his brain feel all fuzzy all over again. You bend down to grab the leftover materials and stick them out towards him. “For your leg. On the house.”

“Thank you,” he replies simply. He takes them from your hands, with a smirk hidden away from you. It’s such a measly offering. The box of dressings is practically empty, the gauze is tiny and already unraveling in his hands. But he’s feeling an electric current rush through his limbs and spark a fire in his chest all the same.

“Yeah…” As if a lightbulb ticks on over your head, your eyes brighten and your smile is wider, if that was even possible. “While you’re here,” you start, turning away from him and towards the counter to retrieve your phone. “My friend Peter, he um…he’s never gonna believe me, but I wanted to know if—”

The sound of the overhead bell makes you whip your head back around to see the bodega is completely empty. No evidence of any wounded superhero barging in after hours besides the bloodied floor. Before you can feel dejected, the reality settles in once more.

You just saved The Spiderman from bleeding out in your store on a random Tuesday night.

Peter is never going to believe you when you tell him.

[blueparadis]

okay okay hear me out here:

needy service top kaveh and power bottom reader, this man would definitely have a thing for femdoms and nobody can tell me otherwise!! Big watery eyes looking up at you as you rode him, begging to cum and asking if he was a good boy ;)

❝ MIDNIGHT SNACK ❞ + KAVEH

+. CWs —» f!reader, sprinkle of fwb tropes, power play, edging, orgasm denial, hand job, overstimulation, biting, cum-play, slight breeding k!nk,unprotected, implied voyeurism & mention of al-haitham, word count — 1.2k

+. NOTES —» the power dynamics in this (bites lip) and thank you for contributing to one of my sleepless nights with the thought of service dom!kaveh.

Maddening.

Impulsive.

Unheeding or all three of the above? Kaveh could not tell. He was trying to focus, focus on the font-face of rusted pages of the book, the sound of birds chirping, the soft swish of the warm afternoon breeze; anything other than the feeling of your delicate calloused fingers around his cock.

Kaveh was everything but not an envious man, but he caught himself cursing, gritting his teeth as you tapped the soggy tip of his stiff shafts that had been begging for attention.

He hated how your face was all stoic, his was too yet his mind was in shambles. Resting  his elbow on the table near the border of the book, turning the page he reclined his face on his palm so as to cover his mouth, his quivering lips that seemed to simmer with tension. 

Al-haitham, his roommate, his annoyance, his chamber of secrets was sitting opposite him and his girl, you. He was engrossed in that particular book that he discovered lately.

Kaveh knew al-haitham would not ever pay any heed to him or his girl or whatever was going on under the table. He secretly wished that something, anything would disrupt his rapt attention from the book so that he might just have a chance to irritate him; enough to leave this god-damn library.

You were an inch away from his seat as your fingers worked on his shaft. He would not have to go through this if he did focus on his book rather than your face. He was staring at you shamelessly and why would he not?

Especially after the recent midnight snacks he was getting from you. He was not unaware how much you hated that: him gawking at you hungrily as if the world around him had ceased to exist, especially in front of his roommate.

And so, to divert his attention you found the urge to teach him a lesson, a good one indeed, your inner voice praised what you are doing; as you rubbed his pre-cum around the tip of his cock.

Kaveh took all of it, silently. He had to. Even if he wanted to run he could not. He should have stopped you when you swiftly unzipped his pants and took out his cock yet he did not. Such was the magic of your touch. Maddening.

“What’re you thinking of . . .?”, Al-haitham trailed off as he noticed Kaveh's congested eyebrows and the wicked folds over his face.

Nothing. That is the problem. Kaveh could not think of anything at all except that he wished to fuck you on this very table so hard, so long that when you are alone you can think only of him, reek only of him, feel only him. 

“Haitham”, you drawled taking your hand out of Kaveh’s slacks, “you sound genuinely concerned for someone who claims to hate Kaveh.” , you finished without even sparing a glance.

Fury crawled under his skin, eyes flashing in annoyance al-haitham parted his lips to speak but the great scribe knew well better than to be provoked at such a silly remark. Besides, people learn from their mistakes or avoid them.

But Al-haitham was too used to your taunts so he chose the latter. “Oh! My fucking god. I can not do this right now.”, he barked before stomping out of the room in haste.

Kaveh’s patience was thinning. He was counting the scribe’s steps. Five, six, seven, eight, nine and he was finally about to experience that has been ravaging his mind for half an hour. He wasted no time on having you underneath him and before those dry lips of yours could protest he took them in between his. 

Hands bunching up the frills of your tulle, fingers desperately fighting to have a grip on your wrists while his lips suckled yours with precision. Slow yet roughly his fingers kept working on your wet folds as he swallowed your moans.

You bucked your hips searching for the reward you worked so hard for. A welp but then again Kaveh pushed your hands down sucking your lips with greater intensity, moans escaping his mouth as he bit your lower lip, hard enough to leave a bruise.

Eyes gleamed with rolls of pleasure, cheeks cherry tinted, mouth open ajar, panting as you sat to bring him in between your legs. He took out his rock-hard cock, pumping a few times so as to work on his foreskin. He was too dressed to fuck you but you have grown used to that but your body can be betraying sometimes. Your lips latched onto his neckline as your hand worked on his belt. “What’re ya’doing?”, he murmured.

“Kaveh…” al-haitham yelled. The sound of footsteps was becoming louder with each tick of the clock and his heartbeat seem to be at par with them.

Fuck.

“Kaveh ?”, al-haitham called again. Seeing the library empty he left immediately. Never in his mind, he can think that Kaveh could be hiding behind the bookshelves, half-clad, biting the soft flesh of your shoulders while pushing his cock inside your pussy.

You were as tight as a fist, even after all the fingering; even after all the wait. Watching you wince as he pushed up to the girth tempted him. Your nails gripping on his shoulders as you adjusted to his length.

Your eyes rolled white, mouth gasping for breath as he spoke, “You okay? Or should I pull out?” No way. That would mean he won, you lost in teaching him a memorable lesson. You looked at him with heavy eyelids, and then it fell onto his chest and his nipple: pink and pronounced.

“Why? Can’t you keep up?”, you muttered tracing the pink bead before giving it a lick. Kaveh shuddered, shoulder tensed as his fingers gripped your thighs harder. 

“Let’s find that, shall we?”, and he placed you against the wall, strong lithe arms adjusting you so that he can fuck you with precision, hitting deep and deeper with every thrust. “Who can last longer?”

He was denied of his orgasm once and yet your pussy clenched around him after each thrust. It was deep, strong and a pause in between each, reminding you of your torment toward him, relishing the feeling of your gummy walls squeezing around himself.

Kaveh could feel it, the knot in his lower belly. He was about to cum but he did not want to. He wanted to last longer, more than you. His strokes were getting slower and sloppier. “Kaveh, please , please i can’t stand. Not anymore.”, you mumbled as he kept jamming into your hole messily, your juices coating his cock.

He still hadn’t his fill. He sat on the chair cupping your ass cheeks, massaging, and soothing your aching muscles. You felt your heart flutter at his gesture. He has never done that before in all of the previous fucking sessions. 

You grabbed the frame of the chair and started grinding against him with calculated long thrusts earning groans of relaxation from him.

Kaveh unhooked your dress, enough to have a display on your boobs. As he bit your nipple and played with the other you gasped loudly and could feel your legs closing in, the knot in your belly getting tighter with each strong slide.

“Fuck, fuck…I’m close.”, Kaveh was way too vocal for someone who was used to fucking his girl in quiet places, in library, in the adjacent room of the scribe. “I can’t,mmgh ”, he choked as you felt your legs closing in involuntarily, shaking, mouth gaping to hold down the moans. 

“Fuck, can I-can i c-um?”, to which you nodded not stopping, not yet. You glanced at your him through the corner of your eyes, noticing tears pooling at the corner of his eyes.

Fuck. How long has he been holding back?

While Kaveh couldn't believe his eyes. You never let him finish inside of him. He made sure that he never did became that would put both of your lives in danger, maybe three who knows.

“you sure...?”, he checks thinking if he just fucked you to insanity yet all his senses could register was another nod and a begging yes.

Just the thought of filling you with his seed, filling breasts with milk turned him on. He came right away. Thick, murky and warm. You could feel the warm fluid,coating your walls as he growled. You wanted to get up by he landed his head on your shoulder, his hands preventing you from leaving him.

As he shot up, you noticed his almond eyes full of lust, maybe love. “was it good?”, he whispered against your ears running his fingers through your hair.

“what?”, you enquired being shocked at his display of emotions,as if it was slipping like sand in between your fingers.

“alright. Let me ask you again. Was I good?”

“yes you were.”, you hummed slouching against his chest, hiding your face from him,so that he doesn't know, doesn't know that your emotions are leaking through the cracks of your heart.

—

@tokyometronetwork

[tunastime]

A Gear of the Heart, Starting

just a little something I wrote for somebody's (@shepscapades) birthday back in November :3 after I asked what etho and bdubs would've been like shortly after etho's deviation. this is the few times before last life where bdubs realizes etho might be a good friend, and how their relationship changes. comes right before A Gear of the Heart, Turning! (4653 words)

Etho remembers quite a bit.

He remembers the ricochet of the explosion through his left side. He remembers a dozen errors across his vision, showing every unit damaged by the blast, the fractals of fracturing snaking up his arm, the shattered remains of his central programming lingering like a livewire. 

Over and over he can remember the pitch of Bdubs’ voice and had to wonder his own diagnosis at that moment. Bdubs watching his android die in his name—he remembers that, too. Bdubs didn’t even ask for that. It was something Etho gave to him. He’s not sure he could even say why, either. 

It remained a bitter flavor he couldn't identify, even as Xisuma assured him he was okay. Something had happened then, sitting on that floor, thirium in hand. Some movement in his chest he couldn’t place. It wasn’t anything physical, but it felt like some gear of his nonexistent heart had started, turned—rotated. And all he could do was ask himself why. What’s he supposed to do with that?

He doesn’t know. Fine. 

Etho goes back to work at someone’s request. Not even his own request, either, so he has to wonder if maybe Doc put him up to it. Him being Bdubs. Him being Bdubs who shifted back and forth on his feet at Etho’s door—a facade of a base in the process of being designed. If one could even call it a base, yet.

And even though he was increasingly certain that Bdubs had been told to ask—and Etho asked him if he’d been asked to help, and he was adamant about asking by himself, that’s what he said. He said: “You think I gotta be told to ask people for help? I can’t just be doin’ things on my own?” and it had felt so much like doublespeak that Etho didn’t even fight to differentiate his tone. 

But Bdubs had asked if he wanted to help with the horse course. Terraforming—it should be right up his alley, if he’s still into that kind of stuff. Figured he was the expert—or so it goes. Etho had nodded. He wasn’t sure what else he was supposed to do. He supposes he could have easily said no. 

But every part of him yearned to say yes.

So he did.

The dust sifts through his fingers.

Etho perches in the grass, partially hunched as he leans over his line of redstone, shrouded by the hill half-built around him. He’d spent most of the week prior carving out the lines of the track, setting posts for buildings, laying out blueprints for Bdubs to finalize. Today, he lays his line meticulously, dust shifting in his hands. They still shake a bit—nothing a human would notice, nothing that disrupted the flow of his lines, but the overworked gears still shifted in protest as he worked. He could see the faded overlay of the project in his vision if he focused. It crackled, slightly blue-yellow, orange glowing indicators where action was needed, where there were mistakes to be corrected.

It isn’t his redstone to fix. The lines under his hands were—freshly laid by his near-expert technique—but the deeper lines, noteblock announcements, droppers, doorgates, the flourish of the house course, weren’t. Etho smooths out the line he was standing near with his thumb. 

There was nothing wrong with the laid redstone, really. It’s just. Well. It’s not even. It takes up so much space. It lacks the efficiency and tidiness he practiced to a precision. It radiated Bdubs in an overpowering way, one that might turn a gear of the heart—one he didn’t have, of course. Etho’s lines are neat, rigid, conforming to his perfect mental map. 

He lets down his section of dust, drifting over to the dispenser system. He pushes a line further into place, brushing dust back from the side. Further on, where the line crosses, he readjusts it, he smooths them from start to end of line. His hands work where his mind recalculates, looking for errors along the redstone already laid out by Bdubs. Programs bubble up to assist; he dismisses a message, and another as he works. The line straightens from source to sink. 

As he passes, searching for another correction, he hears someone above him. In the corner of his vision, another message notification pings: from Bdubs.

They’re all from Bdubs, actually, now that he notices in full. He blinks, mouth twisting into a frown. Whoops.

He hears someone—Bdubs, he realizes, as he notes the fall of his feet, and the sigh he hops down from his horse, the shuffle of said horse, hooves on grass—clear their throat. Bdubs shuffles around as Etho moves back over to his finished redstone, dusting his hands on the sides of his pants. He lifts the small bag of dust, twisting the tie shut around his fingers as he travels back up the line to recheck the connections. 

“Etho?” Bdubs calls. Etho straightens, just on instinct alone, glancing up at the stretch of sky he can see. It’s bright blue, barely dotted with clouds, and the grass looks warm with sun. He fixes where the dust starts as he sections off the end, tossing the rest of the redstone over to his sling bag.

“Under the hill!”

Bdubs leans over the edge, tilting his head at Etho as he peers into the dark. It takes him a moment to find Etho’s face, partially obscured by black fabric and the fluff of wool around his collar. Etho tilts his head, raising his eyebrows.

“Did you need something?” he asks, arm hanging loosely by his side. Bdubs frowns, too, watching Etho’s expression. As his eyes seem to adjust to the dark, his gaze falls on the lines of redstone. He pauses there for a long moment. In that moment, Etho feels something in his chest grind, almost to a noticeable ache. If he could pull in a breath to settle it, he might have, but the sensation and minute sound passes as soon as he moves his hand to press flat against his regulator. Bdubs is gone when he looks up, reappearing only as he drops into the cavern, catching himself on the wall. He readjusts his cloak around his shoulders, shuffling into the low-light.

“Etho,” he says, still frowning. Etho looks him over. He watches Bdubs set his hands on his hips, but his heart rate stays even and his temperature level. The only thing that changes is the tone of his voice, fluctuating with a pattern Etho recognizes as forcing something. Bdubs takes a long breath in and lets it out. Etho’s eyes find the twitch of his fingers as he folds his arms, rather than the sharp curve of his mouth.

“Yes?” Etho asks. He feels his pump work a little harder. It kind of hurts still, whatever’s stopped working in his chest. He flicks his eyes, recalling a diagnostic, setting it to run in the background as he closes out of the overlays and the world returns to yellowish-grey. Bdubs is still frowning.

“You mind tellin’ me what’s wrong with this redstone?”

Etho blinks. The diagnostic comes up clear.

“What do you mean?” he says, his expression shifting into something copying amusement. He’s trying. He’s at least trying to mimic the emotions he sees. Soon enough it’ll feel natural, he’s certain. “What’s wrong with it?”

Bdubs snorts, which turns into a laugh, which turns into Etho smiling a bit wider, a bit more confusion lingering in his expression as he leans around Bdubs to check his meticulously placed line. Bdubs turns away from him, facing the system, the clock that linked the start gates to the timer below.

“What’s—” Bdubs scoffs, shaking his head. “What’s wrong with it? Etho—” he holds out his hand, waving Etho over. Etho lingers at his shoulder as he steps forward, peering over the curve of it and the moss and small leaves and flowers draped over his neck. “It’s too perfect.”

Etho makes a sound like a scoff now, a caught sound in his vocal unit, a stuttering start to his sentence that doesn’t form right away. He’s trying for surprise, the pitch of his voice rising unexpectedly.

“It’s too perfect?” he asks. 

Bdubs nods. After a moment, Etho thinks he sees his expression shift, the high of his cheek rising. When Bdubs turns his head to look at him, just for a second, Bdubs is smiling.

“Bdubs,” Etho says, sighing, turning away from him, to his bag on the far side of the room. He shakes his head. That something-nothing in his chest flutters and fades and disappears all at once, instead replaced with the urge to smile back. Bdubs laughs, and Etho can imagine him tipping his head back, mouth curved up as he giggles to himself. Etho shakes his head. As he starts to pull away from Bdubs, he feels him catch his sleeve, holding fast to his elbow.

“Etho, wait—” Bdubs giggles. “It looks really good.”

Etho raises his eyebrows. Caught in Bdubs grasp, all he can do is look at him, head tilted, trying not to let the amusement show on his face. Bdubs giggles, face breaking again as he does.

“Etho…” he tries again, fighting back a smile. Etho tilts his head the other way, as if to prompt him further, looking for anything. He stays silent. Bdubs hand lowers slowly, that smile faltering just a fraction. Maybe he thinks Etho’s upset with him. There’s a flicker of recognition in his eyes. “You gonna say anythin’? Or you just gonna stand there?”

Etho smiles, finally. He shrugs a little, glancing over at the fixed lines of redstone.

“I fixed your redstone,” he says cooly, sticking his free hand in his pocket. Bdubs blinks. He jerks away as Etho’s smile grows, shoving him hard in his shoulder. Etho wobbles for a moment, smiling to himself, scrunching up his face as Bdubs’ expression morphs. He does laugh, after a beat, poking Etho in the shoulder as he does. Etho hopes he can see the smile in his eyes. He saves, logs, keeps this moment. He’s sure in the low light that his LED spins yellow for a moment. It feels right. If there’s any feeling to catalog.

Bdubs huffs. Etho thinks he hears him say something under his breath. It sounds a lot like thank you.

It’s out of habit, rather than obligation, that Etho finds himself back at the horse course. Of course he ends up here, his feet moving him about as if his brain-not-brain had no thoughts of its own. Man. Some days, it really felt human.

He wanders across the plain, eyes lingering on fully-built buildings, knowing the schematics and plans, watching as those plans-now-buildings stretched higher above his head, where they nearly threatened to pop the sky wide open. 

Bdubs had sat down with him earlier that week, papers spread out between them. He’d stopped by, actually—worked his way up the mountain to the base Etho had finally finished, papers in hand, looking like he was on the verge of collapse. He’d dropped the blueprints on the largest table Etho had managed to clear, spreading out the designs for huge, complex buildings. Etho watched him explain, listened for the inflection of when to offer suggestions, heard the way Bdubs’ voice grew quieter, almost conspiratorial, as he explained his palette. There was something methodical in the way Bdubs spoke, not only in the approach to his colors, but to his style. As much as it seemed eclectic and strange, he watched the pieces fall together as Bdubs spoke of his gradients. There was something deeper there, a precision that Etho, all of a sudden, in that room, craved to emulate. To write to disk. To save. To do more than just copy. 

He’d built the horse stable first—all to his own specifications. It was Bdubs later who came in to detail, tilling up the dirt around to plant grass and flowers, sectioning off parts of the empty stable. It was almost difficult to compartmentalize that Bdubs was finished with it now. That they’d worked each line of the redstone and Etho had supervised the first steps of building, and now he could look up and see the very top, or almost, if he were to strain, of the spikes above the buildings. 

And in just a few weeks, Bdubs was onto another project. Etho smiles to himself. He can’t help it. There was something rather comforting about that. Something about Bdubs dragging him along to help, pointing him toward the thing he was good at, and asking for help. Bdubs showing up at his door with plans. Bdubs cracking jokes with him, and looking for a laugh Etho couldn’t replicate yet. It’s like something clicked. Or was just on the breach of it. And Etho liked it.

Etho clears his field of view, taking in, instead, the stretch of sky where it met the ocean, along the line of hills and grass and flowers, and further still, to the smudge that looked like Bdubs. He blends in too well—the green of his coat barely noticeable against the field of grass that splayed out from the side of his build. There were still materials strewn about—chests half opened, shulkers stacked waist high. 

Bdubs stands to the side of a dark grey and white horse, one hand placed on its nose, the other digging through his bag. Etho watches for a moment. Bdubs fishes around for that entire second that he lingers, searching for something, until he pulls out an apple. Another falls to the ground, rolling away from him. He holds out the fruit for the horse as Etho clears his throat. 

“Hiya, Bdubs—” he says as Bdubs startles, twisting around to see him. He huffs, an immediate frown coming to his face. Bdubs turns to fetch the dropped apple, holding it high above his head as the grey horse nudges its nose into his empty hand. He pats it instead.

“Etho,” he says, tone thin. He sighs, shaking his head. “Scared the life outta me, you know that? You gotta make some noise when you’re walkin’ around.”

Etho smiles, a nice and easy reaction to the annoyance in Bdubs’ voice. It’s getting easier. At least a bit. The smiling part, that is. The inflection that comes with being happy.

“I’ll try next time,” he says, shrugging his shoulders. His hands find his pockets as he looks around, eyes following the path around the buildings. He’s sure the pollen and moss will be stuck to his clothes for days before he gets them out.

“Mm,” Bdubs hums, unconvinced. “I’m sure you will. Now, what’re you doin’ here? You don’t have anything better to do?”

“That’s a good question,” Etho says.

Bdubs turns back to him for a second, just a glance over his shoulder as he cocks his head to the side. He raises his eyebrows before he turns back to the horse, who’s started to nose at his bag. He drags his hand down its nose.

“You’re tellin’ me you don’t have an objective right now?”

“I never have an objective, Bdubs.”

Bdubs snorts again . Etho steps over, slow, minding the horse. It sniffs as Etho holds out his hand, nosing his gloved palm. He pats the horse's nose, somewhat stilted, smoothing over the soft bridge of his nose.

“Right,” Bdubs hums. When Etho glances over to him, Bdubs glances away, as if he’d lingered as Etho stepped over. He’s not moved from Etho’s side, which. Makes something fit into Etho’s chest in a way he isn’t expecting. He rests his hand on the horse's head, looking over at Bdubs in full.

“I can’t come see how the horse course is looking, now that you’re done?” he asks. Bdubs makes an embarrassed sounding noise, watching the rise of the buildings to their left. The horse sniffs, and Etho lifts his hand away, letting it fall to his side.

“I—I got excited about it,” Bdubs mutters. If Etho leans enough, he can see the beginnings of a flush creep over his cheeks, up the shell of his ear. Something about that, too. Etho looks beyond him, though, studying the rise of the buildings as Bdubs does. He nods to himself.

“I can tell,” he says, amusement slipping into his voice, almost naturally. Immediately, Bdubs whips around again, face twisted in offense.

“Hey!” he snaps. “You makin’ fun of me?”

Etho shakes his head, spreading his hands out in front of him as he does.

“No, no. Not at all,” he says, hoping the smile he’s giving is reaching his eyes. “I’m saying we make a pretty good team.”

Bdubs makes a little huff of a sound, but his posture and expression softens. Etho studies it from the moment it appears, trying to place the emotion behind it. He seems upset—but not from anything Etho said. He almost looks guilty.

“We’ve always made a good team,” Bdubs mumbles. Etho blinks.

“Since when have we been a team?”

“Since—s…” Bdubs blurts, then backtracks, folding his arms over his chest. “Well we’re a team now!”

Etho raises his eyebrows, stepping away from the horse and more around Bdubs’ side. He leans in a bit as he stands by his side, bumping their shoulders together. Bdubs doesn’t recoil. Instead, he pushes back, just for a moment, and they jostle. Bdubs hums, sighing through his nose.

“Are we?” Etho asks. Bdubs nods, short and firm.

“Mhm! ‘Cause I said so.”

Etho nods with him. There’s that thing again, a turning, jostling, in some part of his chest that really shouldn’t turn or jostle. He can feel his temperature tick up just a few degrees, a fan kicking on to settle the temperature, thirium sludging warm to cold through his limbs. A team, huh? He couldn’t beat Bdubs’ conviction, that’s for sure. Maybe it was a bit of guilt, then. Maybe something in Bdubs had realized Etho was much more of a help than a hindrance. Maybe Bdubs wanted a friend. Maybe he just felt bad and the feeling bad got to a point where he had to just do something about it. Etho didn’t know. He didn’t live inside Bdubs’ brain. And picking at Bdubs’ every emotion was a task enough to drive his processor into the ground. He could already feel another spike in temperature, LED glowing yellow-blue. Maybe it wasn’t all bad. Etho sticks his hands in his pockets.

“I’d like that,” he says, finally pushing out the words as his programming jumps into gear, “What’s our next project then?”

Bdubs goes back to jostling him before he turns away, moving from Etho’s side to collect his horse. Gathering the horse's reins in his hands, Bdubs pauses.

“Ooh…” he says, frowning a little. Etho watches the little furrow of his eyebrows—thinking. Bdubs is turning the idea over in his head. Bdubs steps back over with the horse in tow, already walking in the direction of the horse stable. Etho jolts forward, taking several big steps to match Bdubs’ pace. “Well why don’t you come back to the clock and we can talk about it, huh?”

“That sounds nice.”

Bdubs makes an affirmative sound, leading the horse around and into the stable. Etho watches him unlatch the gate, ushering the horse into the pen.

“I can put the kettle on and everything,” Bdubs says. He lifts the bridle out of the horse’s mouth, running his hand along the length of the horse’s nose. Etho doesn’t mean to watch him as he does, but the action is so purposeful. There’s a moment where Bdubs’ expression is unreadable—unreadable as in Etho simply can’t place anything on it. Unreadable in the amount it changes—something softer than he’s seen, something far away. Bdubs’ whole demeanor seems to shift as he stands still for a moment. Etho isn’t sure what to do with himself. He’s just standing in straw and dirt and stones, all of which he can feel under his shoes. He shuffles a bit, back and forth, to make his presence known, before he says:

“You know I can’t drink anything, Bdubs.”

And Bdubs rolls his eyes, squinting over at him, stepping away from the horse to hop the gate.

“Well you can at least fake it,” he grumbles. He folds his arms again, wrinkling his nose at Bdubs as Bdubs leads him out of the pen and into the open field around the horse course. The shadow of the buildings above them hasn’t changed, yet. The sun is still high and warm in the sky.

Etho laughs. At least, he makes a sound that he thinks passes as a laugh. Bdubs laughs too, though, so it must sound pretty convincing. He nods, the smile on his face feeling much more natural than he ever could have expected. 

“I could fake it,” he laughs. “Sure.”

Bdubs grins at him. It’s nice. It makes the walk back to his base a little more bearable.

By the time Etho gets his invitation to the life game, he’s grown accustomed to being at Bdubs’ side again. He wanders around Bdubs’ base like he knows it, makes it a spot he chooses to map, to memorize. Bdubs checks in on him when he isn’t around as much—asks him how his builds are going, wonders if he needs help. Bdubs lingers in his spaces too, like a plant trying to root, gives himself reasons to stand in doorways just a bit longer, just enough to extend their goodbyes. It feels right—in a way that almost gives reason to Etho’s deviation. Maybe, deep down, from their first introduction, Etho had decided to glue himself to Bdubs’ side and not become unstuck. Maybe he’d simply put that decision, his first ever decision, into motion that day. It didn’t matter much as to why anymore.

When Etho gets his letter, he doesn’t open it. He holds it between two fingers, turning it over and over. He doesn’t need to read it to know what it says. There’s a dark red seal on the back, shaped like a heart. He makes a little sound, some sort of click in the back of his mouth, before he stuffs the letter in his pocket, half-folded.

He finds Bdubs exactly where he expects. Bdubs is sitting cross-legged in his garden, hands in the dirt, when Etho arrives at the crescent moon base. If he looks closely enough, Etho can still tell that Bdubs’ own letter sits on his window sill in the kitchen, unopened. But he’s really squinting to notice, so he writes it off for now as a flaw in his own sight. 

Bdubs turns to him as he walks up. His hair is pushed back away from his face with his bandana, and his hands are covered in dirt, and he’s got a streak of black soil across his forehead that Etho tries not to look at for too long. Bdubs shoots him a toothy grin, going back to his bright orange tulips. If Etho looks long enough, he could probably guess the soil mixture, and tell him if it's good enough to be planting orange tulips in, but he doesn’t. Instead, he comes to stand behind him and Bdubs hums in greeting.

“Etho,” he says, looking up again, wiping the dirt from his forehead. “What can I do for you?”

“Oh, nothin’,” Etho says, stuffing his hands in his pockets. He forgets who he picked the gesture up from, but it’s become part of his natural body language patterns now, so he won’t be stopping it anytime soon. “I just came to see how you were doing.”

“How I was doin’, huh?” Bdubs asks, amusement trickling into his voice. Etho smiles, feeling his face pull.

“Mhm,” he says. “That’s right. I can’t come and check up on a friend?”

Bdubs laughs, sticking his spade in the dirt.

“Oh, we’re friends now?” he says, still giggling as he turns around. “I thought we were just a team.”

Etho watches him lean back on his hands, legs coming out from under him. He tries to read Bdubs’ expression and voice for any note of insincerity, or play, or teasing, but doesn’t find anything he normally associates with Bdubs. This just feels true.

“I mean, I figured with how much we’ve been working together…” Etho starts, to which Bdubs startles, waving his hands.

“No, no!” Bdubs yelps. “Etho, I thought the same thing! I just wasn’t expectin’ it from you.”

Etho blinks. It feels owlish, small, almost a wrong reaction to hearing Bdubs say something like that. But it’s what immediately happens, before he tries to open his mouth, and no sound comes out. He waits for a moment. He assumes his LED spins, maybe even red, as Bdubs watches him, face paling.

“Oh,” Etho says quietly.

“We’re friends,” Bdubs says, voice much smaller than Etho’s ever heard it. “‘S that alright with you?”

Etho feels like the proper response would be to laugh, if he could really feel anything at all besides every gear in his chest halting and restarting themselves. He makes a noise that sounds almost like a cough.

“Mhm,” he says. He watches Bdubs’ shoulders relax and finds that his own posture sinks with it. 

“Good,” Bdubs says, nodding along. “Was there anything else you wanted to scare me with?”

Etho knows this tone—playful. Teasing. He works up a smile and fishes the letter from his pocket, slightly bent. Bdubs’ eyes flick right to it, right to the red seal pressed into the paper. Immediately, he scrambles up, reaching for the note in Etho’s hands. Etho lets him grab it in his dirt-covered fingers, even as Bdubs tries frantically to dust off his hands as he notices. Bdubs turns it over itself, glancing up at Etho.

“It’s for you?”

Etho nods.

“It was on my doorstep this morning,” he says. “I can see you’ve got one in your window?”

Bdubs snorts, shaking his head.

“Yeah, I haven’t opened the damn thing. I’m excited up until the point I’m not, ‘cause I know I’m gonna lose again.”

Etho hums. As Bdubs hands him back the letter, Etho rests his hand on his shoulder, giving it a hesitant, light squeeze. Bdubs looks quickly down at it, before he’s back to staring at Etho’s face.

“Don’t worry, Bdubs,” he says, hoping his voice is full of amusement and affection like he feels like it is. “You’ll have me there this time!”

And Bdubs laughs, full and warm in his chest, and Etho jostles him around as he does, until Bdubs is smacking his shoulder and wiggling free. He picks up his fallen hat and his tools, and Etho follows him around the side of the house as he puts things away. As he shuts one of the chest, Bdubs says:

“You mean that, though? You wanna be on a team?”

Etho smiles, feeling his eyes squint, forces every ounce of new feeling into his words when he says:

“I don’t think I wanna team with anyone else, Bdubs.”

And Bdubs’ grin in excitement is more than enough to convince him he’s made the right choice.

It’ll be a long two weeks until the death game starts. When he returns home later that night, Bdubs’ plans for success turning over in his brain, recording for later, Etho reads over the letter enough to commit the page to memory. He keeps it safe internally as the letter finds its way to his bookshelf, half-sealed. Through him, like it’s just under the skin, runs an emotion he’s not yet familiar with. He hopes it's a good one, at the very least. He hopes so, as much as an android, a machine, someone just now familiar with the idea of free will, can hope. 

It feels good, though. And something makes him think that everything will turn out just fine.

[shojizbae]

Hobie's Innocent Girlfriend

Hobie Brown x Fem! Reader

♛♜

Can you just imagine Hobie with a super innocent type of girlfriend? not that creepy type of couple where a guy dates someone younger than him and she's all infantilized. His girlfriend is actually older than him but she was raised in a conservative protestant house (the national religion of Britain) and hasn't shaken her upbringing despite being in university. They met in a guitar class, (her being classically trained and wanting to expand her skills) Hobie was there because he could sneak in and figure out a riff that he hadn't yet nailed.

She was instantly fascinated by him because he looked so different than what she was used to seeing. Heavy chains that rattled with every step and scratched pin on a sleeveless jacket caught her eye. He spotted her because she looked like something off of a private school pamphlet. neat long coiffed hair, thin gold wristwatch and pleated skirt. everything about her screamed elitist old money.

He was shocked though when she walked over at the end of the class. She told him his name and pointed to a pin on his denim vest.

"What is a sex pistol?" she folds her hand behind her back.

"It's a band. They yell at rich pricks for acting like they are better than the rest of everyone."

"Cool!" he tries to carry on the conversation but she continues to get pissed off by her. Everything she is is everything he stands against. ad going against his grain is pretty rocking. She is one bonnie. He claims that he slowly seduced her. In actuality, she was the one who accidentally got him hook, line, and sinker. They start dating after a month or two of knowing each other.

Hobie is so irredeemably in love with her. And they look so out of place with each other. Half of her belongings are pink all of her socks have ruffles. Hobart is so grungy and dirty compared to her. But (Y/n) is absolutely enamored by him. She is fascinated by how different and real he is. Every time she comes over to his house she looks out of place but it makes his heart ga-lump every time he sees her picking through his collection of vintage pins. One day while looking through his desk full of knick-knacks she finds a neglected spiked bracelet.

"Hobie?"

"Yes, love?"

"Can I have this bracelet?" he hears the clink of a snap and sees the ratty piece of leather with tarnished pewter spikes. He notices how it looks so out of place on your ‘pretty in pink’ look and his heart thrums at the disruption.

“Yeah love, looks great on you.” He tries to bite back the smile forming on his face.

Another time you two are making out and and you get caught on his lip ring. Not physically just mentally. Your in his lap, straddling him, finger threes in the back of his hair. He’s got his hands on your ass and he uses them to keep you as close as possible. He tries to pull back for air but he notices that you’re adhered to his lips like a damn leech.

“Dear, what’s gotten into you?” He smirks in contentment

“I love that little hoop Hobie.” She smirks and half licks her lips

“Yeah?” He questions punctuating with a kiss.

“Yeah.” She chases his kiss as he pulls away.

“Well maybe we should get you some.”

“Ok,” she climbs back in him taking a more dominant stance than before. Hobie loved when she got riled up. She was so hot. That following night Hobie found a piercing shop and even booked an appointment.

Hobie had to hold her hand the whole time she was getting pierced. She didn’t go so extreme as he did with his dermals. Instead she walked out with a bar through her tongue, a nostril hoop, and seven different cartilage piercings. It was going to be torture not to kiss her for “4-6 weeks” he rolled his eyes at that. Somehow though her body healed much quicker than the piercer thought and she was able to return just 16 days later to get a smaller bar in her mouth. She did add one nipple ring and something glittery in her bellybutton.

Hobie was over the moon about being able to kiss her but now he could only play with one titty and he loved both of your titties. He was extra tic to see you become a more punk person while still holding all of your values. And your hole punched ears could be easily hidden if you wore your hair down. You did however have to skip Christmas claiming sickness instead of returning to your family.

Hobie was beside himself. On the one hand Christmas is a Marxist celebration that’s been stripped of its initial pagan roots and been commercialized into a plot for capitalism. On the other hand you were very upset that you couldn’t go home to have mass with your family because you knew they would disapprove of your piercings and of Hobie. Both things you loved endlessly.

I order to cheer you up Hobie had to sacrifice all of his pride. He bought you a few presents, mostly thing you’ve said you need for your flat which he has sporadically moved into. He pinned mistletoe on oversold way with tape because your landlord is a complete asshole. He made you breakfast in bed and told you to get dressed. There was a church nearby and as much as he hated organized religion he hates to see you upset far much more.

The whole time you were smiling. You sang every word to every song. Even before the priest was done quoting the scripture you would cite it. When you got home he made brunch as you set out presents around the tiny plastic tree. Every time you passed through a door way he would trot over to you and say something sly like

“Oh look what we have here? Looks like you need to kiss me.” And you two ended up turning off the stove and shagging like animals in heat.

slowly though, you start to rub off on him

he starts using your fancy expensive ass skincare. You find him napping under your giant fluffy chunky knit blanket; especially after late-night spider escapades. He especially takes on your drama shows and soap operas. He loves when you throw one of your fluffy robes at him when he forgets to grab a towel after the shower.

Eventually, he wears you down enough to introduce him to your parents. they're terrified of what he could be because for over 2 years you've hidden him from them. they're shocked because you squeezed him into a cashmere sweater and slacks. His hair was combed and his piercings had been removed. You manage to scrape through the dinner with no bonfire temper tantrums from your mom. When you finally get back in your car he sighs and tears the sweater off. He drives you home completely shirtless and is grunting and moaning the whole time.

"Love, if you ever make me wear a button-down shirt again, I'll cut the nipples and arms off of it."

"What?" she shreiks

"Yeah, and I'll shag you in front of your old man."

"Hobie!" you slap his bare chest

"I can't help it love, you get me going." He put a hand on your thigh and gives them a gentle rub.

"Hobie wait until we make it home!"

"What, c'mon! You won't even jerk me off a little babe? Please?"

"Well, you sit with the thought for a moment. "You did so well playing house for me. And, you look pretty hot right now." you pull your seatbelt from behind your back and shift your hips around "Maybe just a little." you pull your hair into a ponytail and pull down his zipper. Let's just say Hobie's foot was on the gas pedal all the way to the apartment.

[dorims]

make you fix me [ sneak peak ]

gif creds @/endiness

roman roy x therapist!reader

wc. ~550

genre. fluff, angst,

spiraling into a more than confusing dynamic, roman roy's relationships have always disrupted the balance between professionalism and an HR complaint. It wasn't his fault his authentic-roy-ways didn't follow the 'being a decent human being' guidebook. People fell in love with their therapists all the time anyway, and being a nepo-baby billionaire didn't save him of that fate.

tags. WORKING TITLE, NO BETA AS OF RN, prone to grammar mistakes !! the story is set some time after s4 as of rn, gif is not representative of the timeline this takes place in, allusions to abuse, being dismissive of therapy, roman uses the word looney as an insult once, tags will be added as the story progresses, these are mainly for the text below the cut

a/n. this is a little sneak peak of one my wips! the full document has 3.5k words ish but im aiming for at least 7k, maybe a little more. if anyone wants to join the tag list for this fic please send me an ask off anon or with your url

“Are you writing that down?” He frowned, “why are you writing that down? I literally just said I wasn’t.”

Yet again, another bold demonstration of your therapeutic ineptitude. You dared to look up at him for a couple of seconds too long, scanning him over until his eyes widened in confusion while he jostled his hands in the air, preparing to retaliate. But just when he started stringing words together, you decided to start what seemed like a new sentence.

“What are you even writing?!” He wanted to tear all his hair from the roots. “I haven't said anything!”

“Well, you have.”

“It doesn’t matter!” Groaning in protest, he scooted closer to the edge of the couch, almost like he wanted to stand up. “I said nothing that means anything.”

“Then,” you clicked your pen, and his gaze immediately zeroed in on your fingers toying with the shiny metal. He gulped, knowingly so, like waiting for the stationary to stab him in the neck. But nothing had happened, and instead, he missed the way you [had noticed] “There’s nothing you should worry about.”

His shoulders dropped with the heavy weight of being scrutinized. One would have thought he would’ve been used to it by now. But from experience, he had learned that the everlasting bitterness of getting examined under a microscope would always linger. No matter what he tried, the only way of coping with it was to wait for it to pass with his tail between his legs. 

“Can you just like stop? Writing?” With his elbows resting on his knees and his face burrowed against the nook of his hands, his voice came out pityingly muffled, much like the hint of the child he had been tasked to cast aside way too soon.

 “Why?”

“Because, it’s, fuckin’ weird?” He forced himself to stare straight at the spot right between his Oxfords, shaking his head in disbelief as he attempted a laugh. “I’m not paying you to scribble on your looney book.”

You had hummed once more, and he had wanted to tell you to stop. With his gaze still zeroed on the floor, he failed to notice how the plain Moleskin had been pushed to the side, neatly closed in a genuine display of concern. Or as genuine as a therapist would allow themselves to be during their first session. 

“Then what are you paying me for?”

“To like, you know,” he shrugged in disbelief. “Ask me to draw a stick figure under the rain and tell me how to fix this.”

“Fix this?”

“Yeah, this.” The words had left his tongue sitting, heavy in his mouth, and the rest that wanted to tumble out felt foreign in size and shape, though similar in weight to that of shame. The same one that had seeped from between his teeth and gums and skin countless times when the inconceivable consequences of his actions caught up to him growing up. Shame so thick it would put blood to shame, though they sure shared the same taste. And it had always been easier to spit it out in private, drown the aftertaste with fierce scrubbing and hide the searing imprints on his cheeks underneath the covers. But the walls surrounding him were no longer the ones in his childhood bedroom, and you were still waiting on an answer. “Fix, I don’t know…me?”

[toujoursrab]

Prompt: Suspect | Pairing: Jegulus | Word Count: 1079

Before he had time to reach for his wand, Regulus was grabbed by the wrist and pulled into an open door. He let out a loud, displeased sound of protest that went ignored. The rest of the students in the hallway, if they noticed the disruption, didn’t say anything of it. The door shut behind him with a loud ungraceful slam. Regulus stumbled back in the tightly enclosed space, narrowly hitting his head onto the wall. His heart stuttered in the confines of his chest, but not out of fear, more so because of the person who had just pulled him in. The offender lit his wand, causing the room to illuminate and Regulus to get a decent view of the only person allowed—and stupid enough—to handle him so recklessly.

 “A broom closet, really?” Regulus scowled, his arms crossing over his chest as James flashed one of his signature grins. “Since when have we become a cliché?”

“Baby, we’ve always been a cliché.” James insisted, his grin only growing wider. Finding creative ways to be with Regulus outside of their early morning Quidditch meet ups, late night Astronomy Tower dates when classes weren’t in session, and weekly Sunday evening supper in the Hogwarts kitchens, was the highlight of his day. He was satisfied with his relationship with Regulus, but it would be a lie to say he didn’t want more. Sneaking around could only sustain someone like James for so long. He was bursting at the seams, ready to announce his relationship to the entire castle so he can rant and rave about the boy he loves. But he couldn’t, and so he was doing his best to be patient. Probably why Regulus humored him and his antics for so long.

The sixth year’s lips pursed to the side, his nose scrunched just the tiniest bit in a way that made James swoon from how cute he looked. “I don’t remember signing up for that.”

“Not my problem you skipped over the full terms and conditions.”  The Gryffindor’s shoulders rolled into a shrug, grin dropping just a little bit as he casted a quick nox and lowered his wand. They were engulfed in darkness again. Before Regulus could speak, he felt himself being turned around. “Don’t distract me, Reggie. There’s a reason I’m here. You’re under arrest.” The tip of James wand was being pressed into the small of his back, but Regulus was moreso stuck on the words that fell from James lips. He always managed to catch him off guard. Regulus loved it. He assumed this was another one of James roleplaying games, that Regulus voluntarily played along with.

“More like under duress.” Regulus murmured under his breath before humoring James. “Are you going to tell me the charges or read my rights? You do know I have the right to a fair trial in front of the Wizengamont, and I should be able to owl my family lawyer before answering any of your questions. If you arrest me you’re going to have a lot of paperwork. You already hate writing essays. I saw you trying to bribe Lupin to write your Charms essay the other day.”

James let out a sound between a whine and a scoff. “Don’t get technical on me, baby. You’re overthinking it.”

“Sorry, sorry… carry on.” Regulus raised his hands in surrender, glad that James couldn’t see the smirk on his face. Maybe he enjoyed these roleplay games just as much as the Chaser did, mostly because Regulus liked to test his limits.  

“Your crimes are as followed: On the morning of February second, you sleepily walked into the Great Hall, sat down with your friends, prepared a cup of tea and proceeded to seek me out. We made eye contact for a solid two—no no—three minutes before you winked, causing me to lose my mind and flail, knocking Moony’s hot chocolate all over table… but mostly all over Wormtail. And you had the audacity to laugh about it—all while looking cute—”

Regulus almost laughed right then and there at the reminder of what transpired that morning at breakfast. He was able to keep his composure, however. Thankfully James couldn’t see the way his grey eyes twinkled in amusement. “I think you have the wrong guy. I did no such thing.”

“Are you not Regulus Arcturus Black? You’re the prime suspect.”  The only suspect really, but details.

“Where’s your proof? You can’t make an arrest without proof—”

“Regulus…” James lowered his wand, removing the point from Regulus back and tucking it into the pocket of his robes.

“Auror Potter.”  

“I was there this morning. You know I’m weak for your sleepy look and you used it against me. The wink was just cruel. Appreciated—but cruel.”

“If I am guilty of anything, it would be my greatest crime: stealing your heart.” Even as the words left Regulus’ mouth he felt himself cringe at the cheesiness of it all. Was this a side effect of being in love? Spewing cheesy—but truthful—statements at your partner.

James’ released a soft laugh, butterflies fluttered around in Regulus stomach at the sound. He placed his hands on Regulus’ waist and turned him around so that they were facing each other. There wasn’t much they could make out in the dark, but James had Regulus profile memorized. He pressed his forehead against Regulus’ as he leaned down, faintly brushing their lips together. “Who’s being cliché now?”

“Don’t break script, Auror Potter. You haven’t handed out my punishment.”  

“Tonight. Astronomy Tower. You’ll get your punishment.” James pressed a firm kiss to Regulus lips this time before releasing him and pulling back. As much as he didn’t want to separate from Regulus, he couldn’t afford to be late enough to get a detention, not when they had plans for the night. “Pretty sure we’re late for class.”

This time it was Regulus who pulled out his wand to light the closet. Using his other hand to smooth out the front of James uniform and then straighten his tie. When Regulus was satisfied, he looked up to meet the Gryffindor’s hazel eyes. Regulus smiled fondly. “James… soon, okay? We’ll tell everyone.”

“No more hiding?” James didn’t do much to hide the excited hopefulness from his tone.

“No more hiding.” And Regulus meant that, leaning up meet James lips in a chaste kiss. They could afford to be a few more minutes late.

[channoticedmeuwu]

𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝐓𝐈𝐌𝐄 𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐁𝐋𝐄𝐌 𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐍𝐄𝐃 𝐅𝐔𝐋𝐋 𝐓𝐈𝐌𝐄 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄𝐑 — 𝐂. 𝐒𝐎𝐎𝐁𝐈𝐍

tsk — who were you? what were you? that's all 𝐂𝐇𝐎𝐈 𝐒𝐎𝐎𝐁𝐈𝐍 thought about when you stood next to him on the auditorium stage, smiling at the dozen school photographers and fingers holding a plaque that now belonged to both of you. How dare you; disrupt Part-Time Perfect's chance of being the one and only. How dare you; try to make your way into being the face of the school next to him, after being someone he watched from afar for years?

and how dare you look so fucking hot while doing it

W — mention of hospitals. otherwise none?

A/N — a small kiss to the cheek to distract from the fact that this series isn't ending too fast bc I absolutely refuse to let it just end.

you two sat outside the hospital, sitting on one of the benches near a garden where many patients sat, watching the huge fountain hum lazily. the night was growing on, stars twinkling in the sky as the both of you absorbed the night.

"you seriously didn't have to," soobin was protesting, stacks of completed homework answers in his hand as he stared at you with his pleading eyes, "y/n, I can't take this!"

"why not?" you only pushed it back into his hands, "you're the only one who doesn't beg me for homework answers. you kind of deserve it."

"but..." his voice trailed off after he noticed the heavy stack of answers had little doodled hearts and sea animals on the corners, and instead, he broke into a laugh. "thank you."

something about your little additions to what you gave him warmed him from the inside. he found himself just staring at you, going dumb in the head while the reflection of the moon peered onto your features.

you only hummed in response, staring at the night sky as the wind blew your hair into your mouth. "ugh!" you exclaimed.

soobin just giggled underneath his breath, watching you ruffle your hair and settle them down. every strand you touched curled between your fingers. he wanted to know what it felt, maybe, just maybe, to run his hands through your hair, to listen to you breathe against his chest. he wanted to know what it felt to match each others breathing, to hold hands and dissolve in each other's warmth....

"soobin!" you snapped your fingers infront his lost eyes, "this is the third time I said your name, smartass."

and then he saw your face. oh, your face, eyebrows raised, eyes bright and lips wearing your signature teasing smile. he pursed his lips, memories of the tight space back on the rooftop during the trip returning. oh, how you were magic. the way you left him craving you, your eyes staring at his lips, your mouth parted and eyelashes fluttering— you were practically asking him to kiss you on the spot. and it was shameful, to say the least, that he wanted you to get closer, to shut the space between the two of you, to feel your lips on his own.

he found himself swallowing as your lips curled into a smirk. flowers of adrenaline started nipping at his knees. he felt himself going lightheaded, staring at you like he only wanted to kiss you. shit, soobin, not now!

"what's wrong, soobin?" you inched closer on the bench, causing soobin to lean back. "y'know," you began, "you get awfully quiet staring at me these days."

"force of habit," he huffed out, looking the opposite way, "you make my mind go blank."

and then he realized how that sounded out loud. fuck, why did you say that, soobin?

you blinked at him. now your mind was going blank, "oh." silence followed you two as you fought the burning sensation in your chest.

the fountain continued to hum. the night continued to grow.

"well," you tried to force out something, anything, "here's seri's gift," you felt a smile creeping to your lips as you met soobin's darting eyes.

"uh—thanks, but you didn't have to."

"shut up."

you stood on your feet, "I better get going. it's getting late and you should get some sleep."

soobin just mumbled protests, giving you the same guilty look he gave you on the rooftop as he involuntarily laced his fingers with your own, begging you to stay. he tilted his head at you, studying your movements, as if to say just a little bit longer?

you smiled, trying to forget what soobin blurted as you bent closer. although you were better at masking it than soobin, you've been observing his fidgeting fingers, his bitten lips, his messy hair, his eyes tenderly gazing at you like you had something he wanted—you.

you felt butterflies hitting against your stomach walls as you repressed the urge to stay. you stared at him, at his tired eyes from staying up too long, at his burning ears from just being with you, at his permanently pink cheeks— feeling yourself grow warmer, fonder.

"try not to overwork yourself," you said, pressing a soft kiss to his cheek. you heard his breath hitch as you felt his fingers tighten around yours. you realized he still hadn't let them go from when you stood up. but he didn't protest, letting out a slight hum, or a gasp, or both—of relief, as if you finally awarded him for being so composed around you.

his eyelids threatened to close, finally finding sleep seeping into his eyes for the first time in days. he felt your warmth spread all through his body. his grip tightened. you ran a hand through his hair, his features melting to your touch.

"it wouldn't really work if this co-president thing became solo, would it?"

41 — crew love

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TAGLIST (OPEN) — @flowerjun @yeonboy @chesh1re-cat @radiorenjun @captivq @forever-in-the-sky2 @l0ve-joy @yangwaa @sunoosfavsposts @chocorenchin @kaiswifeblog @ethanlandrycanbreakmyheart @myknifeyourlife @banyuew @soobsfairy444 @sadsadandmad @luvsoobs @suzirumas @obeymeharemowner @vixensss @aestheticsluut @rikizm @realigot7 @cha0thicpisces @satan-223 @aloverga @alpha-mommy69 @lani-heart @koeuh @bangchansbae @impureperhaps @anitatvd @soobinsgirlfriend @sooooob@ariannavivianna@aerxz@jeonsfizz

[mcheang]

Bully has got a point

As the students protest for the return of Principal Damocles and Miss Bustier, Lila feeds Chloe lines to make them look incompetent in front of the camera, her revenge against them for expelling her

Chloe: right, you want me to re-hire the man who leaves during school hours just to do community services, modified public property to become his own playground headquarters and didn’t even hear out your case Dupain-Cheng before expelling you when Lila framed you

Marinette: you framed me too!

Chloe: that was Vanisher remember? And as Ladybug said, akumas don’t deserved to be punished while being under Monarch’s thrall. Oh, and you want Miss Fairytale to return. Does no one find it odd how our studies are centered on fairy tales instead of actual literature? I may not like you Dupain-Cheng but surely even you notice how it is strange for a teacher to judge and sentence first before learning the real cause. Didn’t Miss Bustier scold you in private after you lashed out over my silly prank, but was all for accusing you of cheating in public? Isn’t that why Stoneheart was even in school in the first place? And to love our enemies instead of punishing them, I suppose if she had it her way, we would be trying to reach out to Monarch and Lila and welcoming them to a forgiveness party.

The reporters exchange glances.

Caline and Damocles ducked their heads under the public lashing.

Alya: and since when have you cared about Marinette, Chloe?

Chloe: since I heard that the rest of you actually tried to get Gabriel akumatized. The man was trying to be better and closer to Adrien, but thanks to you all, he’s decided to send Adri-traitor back to London where he can be free from all of your bad influence

Nadja: Marinette, is this true?

Marinette: it’s not true! I mean it is, but we were trying to find out how Monarch gave miraculous abilities to akumas.

Chloe: by antagonising a man still mourning his wife. What an excellent idea. Do you still think the school system was so perfect before?

Marinette belatedly realized what Chloe said and looked to Adrien in horror. “Adrien, is this true, you’re moving?”

Chloe: aw he didn’t tell you yet. You should have, Adri-traitor. We both know your dad might decide to bump your flight earlier at any time

Adrien: it’s true. I didn’t say anything because I’ve been trying to find a way to stop him

Chloe: and since his dad’s decision is based on all your ideas, that’s why he decided to go solo here

Adrien: no, it’s not

Nino: what have I done?

Chloe clapped her hands. “Anyway, that’s enough loitering. Security, escort the two fired people from my school or else they will be sent to detention for trespassing. Everyone else, back to class. You can strike if you want, but just remember your parents will be notified of your naughty behavior, both present and past. Oh, and you’ll all still get detention for disrupting other classes with your noise.”

[arrancxr]

54 for Nnoitora x Dom!Reader ? 🌸

54. “Oh, baby, you’re drooling everywhere.”

To anyone with a shred of self-preservation in their skull, Nnoitra’s mouth might as well be a weapon. You know what Hollows do; why the threat of being consumed is one of the few shared things that unsettles any of them. And yet, you’ve put your fingers between his jaws like it’s nothing.

Somehow, he’s the fool who’s letting it happen. 

It started with just your warm hands cupping his jaw, exploring the harsh angles of his face while staring, enraptured, like you want to memorize every detail. That part stayed suspended at a normal level of weird and uncomfortable, though, and the heat of your palms was distracting enough that Nnoitra decided not to fight it quite yet. 

But that just led to two of your fingers gently pushing into his mouth while he was too startled to pull away or snap at you for trying it at all. 

You press down on his tongue, not quite gently, right on top of the black 5 seared into it. Though Nnoitra is making a conscious effort not to physically react, a muscle still disobediently spasms in his jaw. 

It’s weird— it should be weird, at least, but when those fingers shift to hook against his lower teeth, openly flaunting the baseless faith that he won’t bite down, any remaining spark of will to protest this fizzles out. The wandering touch doesn’t quite feel good, but the inescapable, ever-present awareness that you trust him enough to have his mouth on such fragile bones makes every moment of contact twice as intense. 

While your fingers are still exploring his mouth, your other hand goes right back to its former place on his jaw. Nnoitra nearly flinches at the contact, right before he hits the appalling realization that he’d been too focused on the sensations in his mouth to notice when you moved. 

A reflexive attempt to swallow, disrupted by the forced-open angle of his mouth, only makes his tongue press against your skin. 

“Oh, sweetheart, you’re drooling everywhere,” you say, sounding fond in the way that always makes him feel cornered and furious. But despite the instinct to lash out in response, Nnoitra still doesn’t try to argue. 

He doesn’t have to find anything to say while his mouth is occupied, at least. That’s a good enough excuse for putting up with this. You don’t hold even his most pathetic moments against him. If anything, you’ll probably just be delighted that he allowed you to touch him at all. Though he hates how soft that line of thought makes him feel... whatever. 

When he half-unconsciously leans into the palm you have on his jaw, you reward it by caressing the unshielded skin with a light, gentle touch that sends shivering chills all the way down his spine. Disgustingly affectionate as it may be, the taste of your skin is a sufficient distraction, for now.

[imthepunchlord]

What exactly caused you to lose the rose-colored glasses for Tikki? Like was it one specific big thing or a bunch of small things?

It was a bunch of factors that I began to notice pile up, that were problematic and aggravating. And then it persisted, and in hindsight to seeing this, you got see a some red flags in the past episodes, even as far back as s1.

Biggest factor is that Tikki at the core is a mouth piece for the writers to criticize Marinette and her choices without offering REAL help and solutions. She's not even a true character and is more of an aggravation at this point. Biggest point to this is the fact that her criticism is EXCLUSIVELY to Marinette.

Given how much Tikki cares about how Marinette performs as a hero, to uphold her duty, and was the one to push secrecy; with how Adrien acts as a hero, you would think she'd be bothered by how he behaves as Chat Noir, and how he keeps pushing for a reveal and disrupting the hero work. Even pranking LB once during an akuma attack and messing up her Lucky Charm in Refleckdoll. Now, Adrien isn't her charge, but he IS getting in the way of her charge's duty and goal, and she should at least be getting onto Plagg about these issues. It'd be true to her character with how quick she is to get onto Marinette about things she doesn't liek. But the writers have a bias for Adrien and narrative wise, to them, he's not doing anything wrong.

Only Marinette does wrong. So Adrien gets to act as he wishes as a hero and face no consequences, leaving Marinette to struggle and step up.

This also extends to outside Adrien.

Take Gamer where Marinette had won fair and square in the competition, Tikki made a comment about her not being considerate to Max's feelings. Which like, it's a competition to see the best of the best. Max isn't being considerate about other's feelings. Why should Marinette prioritize other's feelings here when Max isn't?

And this just comes down to the idea the writers have that only Marinette can be wrong. Tikki's role here is to make sure we know Marinette is in the wrong.

Other issues is that Tikki is set up as a mentor figure and adviser/guide/conscious, but she doesn't truly do that. She's only here to call out or question and not offer help or solutions. To name a few:

Refleckta, she protests Marinette trying to sabotage Picture Day, but she doesn't elaborate on why this is bad or what Marinette can do alternatively to solve this issue of Juleka being excluded.

Antibug, where she's "advising" Marinette that she can help even not transformed, but she's not offering solutions to Marinette on how.

Another factor is that Tikki is not here to really help Marinette.

Take Frozer where Marinette is upset and confused and Tikki just asks "Why are you sad?" Why do you think she is???? Have you really not been paying attention? You're right there to witness it all.

Darkblade, she knows how much Marinette has on her plate, as someone going to school, who likes to create, and is a full time hero who is a MUST SHOW; yet pushes her to step up as class rep, piling more onto her plate and responsibility.

Bubbler, with her discouraging using the miraculous selfishly despite it would be helpful to Marinette if she was allowed to use it selfishly at times; which is extra aggravating as Adrien gets to use his ring selfishly.

Troublemaker, Marinette is having a break down but Tikki is acting like she's overreacting and should just be ok with this being how Adrien finds out about her crush.

You also got Tikki here to offer love advise, but later s4 ep takes a stance that kwamis don't fall in love so they can't really help; so that means she's aimlessly stringing Marinette along in romantic advise, not knowing if it'll really help or not.

Kuro Neko, allowing Plagg to deceive Marinette.

The little bit I've seen of s4 of Marinette with the kwamis, she's struggling to handle all the kwamis and Tikki isn't stepping up to help manage them despite Marinette getting very overwhelmed.

If you really want a specific moment, I'd say Frozer is where the rose glasses started to come off. Then I look at Tikki as a whole, how much does she really bring to Marinette's life as a character and presence. And she comes with a lot more stress and unhelpfulness. She's easily the most unlikable kwami out of them all.

A big part of that does stem from her being more of a mouthpiece than an actual character, but it doesn't make her any less aggravating to me.

[abubblingcandle]

if you need more words cast and bench?

Thank you so much anon! This has taken a while to get round to but I'm here eventually!

For Cast - from God Forbid You Leave Me

“Should we have done this?” Higgins sighed. This was so impulsive. Jamie had made him feel just as useless as Rupert had always done and now here he was inviting him into his home just because he heard a sob story. He was a sucker for a sob story. Give him an injured stray like a lost footballer in a cast and all reason flew out of the window. “It was an impulsive decision yesterday but I would have done the same. It does give an explanation, not an excuse, but an explanation for some of his attitudes at Richmond,” Julie mused, pressing a coffee into Higgins’ hands. He hadn’t noticed the wince of tiredness in his eyes and the faint twitch of his muscles as he recovered from the eight hours of driving and the disrupted sleep as he watched over his new charge.

This sprint got me 247 words 🚨

For Bench - from Death Fruit

Jamie was warming the bench despite his sulking and determined protests. “You basically died three days ago Tartt,” Roy growled after Jamie had tailed him home from film the day before the Spurs match. “But I didn’t die did I!” Jamie huffed, perched on the counter as Roy put together a stir fry. Roy didn’t know when it was decided that Jamie was staying for dinner but he started cooking for two and couldn’t stop now without it being embarrassing obvious. Jamie might as well stay and pout at this point. Because Roy was not changing his mind on this. This was bigger than Jamie’s bruised ego. This was about Jamie’s bruised throat. He was still croaking for gods sake and was now saying that he was fit to play a ninety. He was at most fit for a ten minute spell at the end to keep his game fitness and that was only agreed because the physios said ok and Nate was a fucking coward when Jamie squared up to him in the film room earlier.

This sprint got me 205 words 💖

[drpeppertummy]

um um ummmm Gray goin Hungry enough for the tummy to Audibly Protest and Sunny and Laurie and/or other friends fussin over him until he's Wickedly Overstuffed because he's too soft-spoken to let them know it's enough pleauueuuuuueuuueueuue

Devouring This Message idk if i did it any justice but

[hunger, stuffing, tummy rubs]

Gray brought a hand to his belly as an inaudible rumble twinged through it. Ever exhausted, he'd slept too late that morning and missed his chance to have breakfast before setting off with his friends. Now, it was nearly noon, and his stomach was beginning to ache. Sunny, Laurie, and Carrie had all managed to eat before meeting up and didn't seem hungry in the slightest, and, not wanting to interrupt their errands, Gray decided not to speak up. His stomach, having not gotten the memo, decided to speak up for him. Another rumble buzzed through it, this one considerably louder than the last, and Carrie looked up.

"Skip breakfast, big man?" She smiled up at him, and he looked away sheepishly.

"Hey, why don't we take a lunch break," Sunny suggested. "I got some leftover spaghetti that needs eating."

"Sounds solid," said Carrie.

"Sounds good to me," Laurie agreed. Gray's belly rumbled in agreement, and Carrie laughed and gave it a friendly pat.

The friends made their way back to Sunny's apartment in Laurie's decrepit minivan, affectionatly referred to by the group as the Shit Brickhouse. Gray felt a little guilty at having caused the disruption in the plan, but he supposed everybody would need a lunch break at some point anyway, and now was as good a time as any. He was, at least, grateful that he'd finally have a chance to appease his cranky stomach.

It was a long trek up the stairs to Sunny's place, and by the time they got there, Gray felt about ready to pass out. He didn't want anybody fussing over him, though, and held it together until he was finally able to sit down with his friends for lunch. It was more like a dinner than a lunch; Sunny distributed big bowls of pasta with homemade sauce and grated cheese and garlic bread to go with it. Being the loving little friend that he was, he made sure to give Gray a big extra scoop of spaghetti, knowing that he'd never speak up and ask for more if he needed it.

Gray's hungry stomach was eager to welcome the hot, saucy pasta, and he gladly dug in along with his friends. The rest of them didn't have quite as much, which he felt a little uncomfortable about, but he supposed they just weren't as hungry, which was correct. Sunny in particular had eaten an enormous breakfast not long ago, and it wasn't long before his tummy was too full to continue. He leaned back in his seat with a contented sigh.

"Hey Gray, you want the rest of mine? I'm full," he said, resting his hands on his belly.

"I'm alright. You should save it," Gray suggested. He was nearly through his own bowl and was beginning to feel pretty comfortably full himself.

"Aw, come on, big man, nobody's gonna judge you," said Carrie.

"Yeah, live a little, Gray! Besides, nobody wants Sunny's half-eaten slobbered-up spaghetti going back in the thing," said Laurie, and Sunny flicked a loose noodle at her face.

"Here, you're a growing boy, eat your lunch," said Sunny, passing his leftovers to Gray.

Gray was pleasantly stuffed after his own big bowl of spaghetti; the hot pasta was a comforting weight in his belly, and the fullness was beginning to make him feel sleepy. Still, he supposed his friends weren't going to let him get away without taking care of Sunny's bowl too. Despite being full, the idea wasn't unappealing. Sunny was an excellent cook, and his spaghetti was hard to turn down, even if it was half-eaten.

It didn't take long for the snug feeling in Gray's belly to grow uncomfortable, and by the time he finished the extra pasta, his stomach felt tightly stretched. Glancing down, he noticed his round belly pushing out more than usual, bulging conspicuously over his belt and pulling the fabric of his shirt taut. He rested his hand atop it with a soft sigh, setting the fork down in the empty bowl.

"Hey Gray, you want my garlic bread? It's never gonna heat up right," said Laurie, offering him her uneaten bread. Truthfully, Gray didn't think he could eat another bite. He hated to see food go to waste, though, and reluctantly accepted. The big hunk of bread was an unwelcome addition to his overstuffed belly, and his stomach groaned uncomfortably as it strained around its bulky contents. Still, he managed to finish it, and he brought a hand to his mouth to stifle a soft burp.

Sunny glanced down at Gray's belly as it let out another unhappy gurgle and was surprised to see it noticeably distended. Gray had a big tummy regardless of whether or not he'd eaten, and fullness wasn't nearly as apparent on him as it was on his slimmer friends. Right now, though, there was no denying it--he was absolutely stuffed.

"Sheesh, Gray, we stuffed you like a turkey," he said, reaching out to give his friend's belly a gentle pat. All Gray could do was nod.

Together, the friends cleaned up--the rest of them told Gray to go lay down, but he insisted on helping--and then retreated to the couch. Without the table in the way, it was even clearer now how big Gray's belly was, pushing out round and tight and visibly uncomfortable.

"Sorry, Gray," said Laurie, resting a hand on his belly as she sat beside him. "If I knew you were that full, I wouldn't've made you eat my leftover bread."

"Or my leftover spaghetti," agreed Sunny, laying his head against the side of Gray's chest and rubbing his belly gently.

"Me, I'm perfectly innocent," said Carrie, and Gray chuckled quietly.

"It's fine," he said, and it was. They'd finished the bulk of their errands for the day, and the ache in his bloated tummy was slowly easing up as he digested. He brought a hand to his mouth to cover a yawn. Laurie winced at the feeling of his already bloated belly expanding under her hand and rubbed it cautiously.

"Does your belly hurt?" she asked, looking up at him. He shook his head, although that wasn't entirely true. His stomach felt achingly stretched, and the pressure inside it was uncomfortable. He could live with it, though, at least as long as he was sitting and resting.

"That mean you'll be up for dessert?" asked Carrie, and he let his head fall back against the couch with a groan. She laughed and reached out to pat his belly.

"I'm kidding," she reassured him, giving his belly a gentle rub. "Take a nap, big man. After all that, you're gonna need it."