#I cannot promise this won't happen again

[wordsandrobots]

My learned friend [fellow tumblr user] @billveusay has shared his initial reaction to Iron-Blooded Orphans, together with a follow-up note, graciously conceding the counter-argument on several of his criticisms in light of my inadvisedly-extensive writing on the subject.

However, he stood by two substantive points of criticism and I feel it incumbent on myself to respond to these as well. Begging the court's indulgence, I shall state my case in reverse order.

My learned friend offers that

"The classic "I push you out of the way to take the bullet myself" happens a bunch of times, and it always made me grit my teeth. If you have enough momentum to propel someone, you don't lose your inertia the instant you touch them, it takes effort to stop and stand in front of the attack. You wanted to be hit by that. And no one ever tries tackling the attacker instead of standing in front of them with arms stretched out. It's one of my personal pet peeves."

To which I can only say: yes. Yes, those people 'wanted' to be hit, in the sense of seeing it as the correct option to deal with the situation right in front of them, and yes, this happens repeatedly over the course of the show - because that's exactly the choice Mikazuki and Akihiro make at the end. To spend their lives in defence of others, even though they might theoretically have done something else, because self-sacrifice is how they conceptualise their existence. That is entirely the point.

I might further mention that I find this description of events a trifle disingenuous. Masahiro is trapped against an asteroid when he shoves Akihiro away. Ein intercepts incoming missiles (thrown weapons) to shield Gaelio. Biscuit throws Orga overboard while being chased down. Aston is operating under gravity when he shoves Takaki away and acts to restrain McGillis, a tactic Isurugi mirrors when he stops Gaelio for a brief while. Some effort is made to vary the circumstances even while the underlying choice remains consistent. We may also point to plenty of times where characters do not sacrifice themselves in defence of others, with Mikazuki very much favouring 'demolish the enemy first', Shino covering Ride when they go to help the Turbines, Derma saving Dante from the Dawn Horizon Corps, etc, etc.

And absolutely none of that matters because this is clearly a trope that annoys @billveusay personally and no possible objection can be raised against his opinion. There is cause to be annoyed when people wilfully misread a text or make up an imaginary version of a story to get angry at, but tastes will nonetheless vary. This repeated motif is, I believe, a deliberate part of the direction and underscores where things must inevitably end. Whether that works is up to the viewer to decide themselves. I can only expand upon what is present in the fiction and how I believe it is supposed to function.

*pauses for effect*

*grips lapels*

With that said...

"First off, one of my biggest critiques relates to the worldbuilding. It's great, but there's a very recurring dissonance between what we're shown and the supposed scale of events and powers in place. This is a story where the players are intercontinental, even interplanetary coalitions, all overseen by an organisation powerful enough to have supreme authority over all of humanity. And yet Tekkadan, who doesn't seem to have more than 100 members, can go toe to toe with them on a regular basis even in situations where Gjallarhorn 1) knows exactly where they are 2) Has enough time to gather as much troops as they need, like on Makanai's island or the Edmonton siege."

This is wrong.

Or, rather, it is not taking the story on the terms presented.

To somewhat quantify events, based on obsessively cataloguing the background characters shown over the course of the series, I estimate Tekkadan's Season 1 membership (extending from the CGS Third Group) to stand in the region of 130 people. This is discounting the Brewer recruits and those younger members who stay behind on Mars with Dexter, and otherwise counting every identifiable, unique character model. At a conservative estimate, Season 2 adds another 110 unique faces, although of course we've lost at least four named characters (Danji, Biscuit, Dios and Gatt) plus a significant number of extras by then - totalling fifty dead, to be exact, per the memorial. So let us say there are around 190 members in season 2, give or take.

Then, counting up the military operations we see the members of Tekkadan engage in, we have:

Defending the CGS base

Escaping Coral and McGillis' forces in order to leave Mars

Fighting the Turbines

Fighting the Brewers

Aiding the Dort workers

Escaping Carta and Gaelio's forces in Earth orbit

Fighting Carta's forces on Makanai's island

Killing Carta

The Battle of Edmonton

Fighting the Dawn Horizon Corps on Mars

Fighting the Darn Horizon Corps in space

The Arbrau/SAU War

The Battle of Chryse (Hashmal)

Rescuing the Turbines

Killing Jasley

Taking over Vingolf

Fighting the Arianrhod Fleet in Earth orbit

The last stand

I draw the court's attention (should I continue the bit? I'm quite liking imagining myself having inexplicably pulled a barrister's wig from my pocket ala the 4th Doctor in Stones of Blood - )

I draw the court's attention to the fact that the vast majority of the Season 1 engagements are not pitched battles. Excepting the opening and closing conflicts, Tekkadan are most often either skirmishing with groups of a similar size or punching through a thin defensive line in order to reach a particular destination. The exception to this - facing the Arianrhod Fleet in the Dort colonies - is explicitly called out as a hopeless situation, with Shino actively suggesting retreat, his previous attitude of wanting to tangle with Earth-sphere troops discarded.

Furthermore, when Tekkadan do meaningfully start attacking Gjallarhorn's main force (as opposed to the much less well-drilled Mars Branch), it is with explicit aid from a Gjallarhorn insider and against an inexperienced commanding officer. Carta Issue simply isn't ready to combat a hyper-pragmatic gang of child soldiers. The strong implication is that nobody on Earth expected this kind of attack and they are fatally overconfident in their ability to track and neutralise the threat. This, together with Tekkadan's pushing to extremes, leaves the defenders on the back-foot throughout.

To then proceed, as my learned friend does, to the Battle of Edmonton - "I vaguely seem to recall Gjallarhorn not being able to intervene for political reasons, but if the capital city of an intercontinental super nation can be locked into a week-long siege by twenty mobile workers, all focusing their attack on a single bridge, it does makes me raise questions" - I fear I must directly contradict his version of events. It is not that Tekkadan lock the city into a siege, but rather that the Gjallarhorn troops act to prevent their entry and Orga commits forces to repeatedly challenging their cordon, as a ruse to distract from preparations for breaking through elsewhere.

This is a very costly gamble. Multiple Tekkadan members are killed or wounded over the course of the three to four days it takes to lower the river sufficiently. Yet at the same time, the show goes out of its way to emphasise the circumstances that permit success.

It is established during the island arc that Gjallarhorn must negotiate with Earth's economic blocs in order to operate on their sovereign soil. Likewise, we are told that they are forbidden from interfering with the internal affairs of each nation, a restriction Iznario Fareed works to subvert by installing a puppet leader in Arbrau. On the ground, we find Gjallarhorn soldiers discussing their relative superiority over Tekkadan, but their orders are to hold position.

From Iznario's side, this makes a great deal of sense. All he has to do is keep Tekkadan at bay until the election concludes in his favour. Acting prior to this - by, say, moving mobile suits dangerously close to Edmonton - would be wasteful and visibly illegal.

Thanks to McGillis' support, Tekkadan are resupplied sufficiently for the task at hand and reach Arbrau's territory. They correctly gauge that a head-on attack at full strength would not succeed without undermining their efforts to bring Kudelia to negotiate on behalf of Chryse (this, remember, is the actual goal). They therefore make a show of playing by the rules and 'going mad', throwing their mobile workers at the same point over and over to lull their opponents into letting their guard down.

This is not, then, a situation where a mere hundred-odd children face the full might of an 'intercontinental super nation'. It is instead a carefully constructed, carefully constrained incursion created via the intersection of multiple different agendas. The precise logistical and luck-based elements here are vitally important, given later events.

If it may please the court, I shall now make a small segue to another item raised over the course of my learned friend's initial reaction, namely the matter of military technology.

"On a similar note, it's also weird that we only see mobile workers, mobile suits and spaceships used in battles. I mean... if they have spaceships, what happened to fighter jets? Bombers? Long range artillery? That one would have definitely been useful during the Edmonton siege, where they mainly faced mobile workers. Maybe they've been banned like the Dainslef, but even that made me raise question. It's just a big nail gun with explosives, it's efficient but doesn't seem toxic, radioactive or prone to collateral damage, so why would Gjallarhorn ban it for everyone if they can just make it illegal for anyone other than themselves to use them. I may have missed something."

To the last point, regarding the ban on Dáinsleif mass drivers, I can only suppose that the state of the Earth's moon in the post-disaster setting did not register on a first viewing.

In this, I will be generous and acknowledge the show does not draw explicit attention to the level of destruction resulting from past Dáinsleif use, although ancillary material very much does. One does raise one's eyebrow at the suggestion they are not "prone to collateral damage" given the devastation seen when they are deployed against a target on Mars, but that is by the by.

My next major quibble is focused on the question of warplanes. We do in fact have an explanation for why these are not deployed at Edmonton, provided by the pretext under which the Arbrau/SAU war starts in Season 2: the crash of an SAU reconnaissance jet owing to interference from an unshielded mobile suit reactor.

It is clear that, in the Post Disaster timeline, Ahab reactors pose a danger to the complex avionics of modern aircraft, in addition to being disruptive to civilian infrastructure. Why the jets could not be shielded in the manner of mobile suits themselves is not a question the show expends time on; it could be a matter of weight or relative complexity or any number of 'technobabble' explanations. What matters is that aircraft are written out as a viable means of combat where mobile suits are involved.

Gundam as a franchise has long indulged in made-up physics to explain how battles in space might operate under the fog of war. The concept of 'Minovsky particles' find their most recent expression in IBO's Ahab waves, which disrupt electronics, radio signals and related technologies such as radar. Tekkadan have to rely on simple, rip-cord-launched drones to facilitate laser communication on the battlefield, as well as keeping mobile command posts close to the action to maintain tactical oversight. To respond to another of my learned friend's notes, that is why Orga gets so close to Carta's forces: it is the only means for him to check in on what is happening mid-battle.

This is, of course, contrived. But so is the 'medieval' melee combat that gives IBO its particular flavour of action, the very notion of a power source capable of sustaining a giant mecha, and indeed a giant mecha itself. The show provides a framework for the events the writers wish to have transpire and we must, in good faith, follow as far as they lead.

Take the Dort arc. Certainly we may concede that the workers' demonstration in front of the Dort Company headquarters pales next to the scale of a typical French protest. However, the context elided by that jocular comparison is two-fold. Number one, this is a subset of the workers' movement, a moderate faction trying to prevent a more radical, violent uprising. And number two, it is taking place aboard Dort 3, the colony we are told is given over to housing for Company executives and factory owners. We see from other characters' explorations that it is an oddly empty place, dominated by shopping centres. How much local support, therefore, could we reasonably expect to find there for protests originating amongst the factory workers aboard Dort 2 and the other colonies? Does my learned friend mean to imply that shipping hundreds of people across a gulf of space to stage this demonstration would be a trivial task?

No, what we see here is another targetted incursion, reliant in part on Savarin Canele's supposed access to the upper echelons of Company management. Sadly, here, the strategy is a bust and Gjallarhorn only allows things to proceed as far as they do in order to trap the wider movement. And it is this wider movement we see spurred to action, as many more people on the other colonies do indeed attempt to cross the void en mass and avenge Mr Navona's ill-fated negotiations.

Lest my learned friend suspect I missed his point about how the space battles appear more populated than those on the ground and his consequent inference of a technical limitation, I draw the court's attention to other depictions of protest in the show. These shots show large crowds and though they only appear briefly, they make evident a deliberate decision to foreground the relative smallness of the Dort union's foray. Perhaps to foreshadow that this is being permitted to occur rather than succeeding by force over the objections of their employers...?

The murder of this relatively tiny faction is portrayed as the spark igniting a wider uprising. There is indeed no uprising in progress until after Gjallarhorn commits premeditated slaughter. The workers are then met with the full force of the Arianrhod Fleet, which dwarfs their stolen, sabotaged militia, but the principle of some small incident resulting in wide-scale consequences is well-established within the series. At the start of Season 2, for example, we are told Tekkadan's push to get Kudelia to Edmonton has resulted in a global renaissance in mobile suit usage.

And here I fear I must once again take serious issue with my learned friend's interpretation of the setting he has most diligently spent 50 episodes watching. Because we are told - explicitly, outright and definitively told - that the Earth economic blocs do not possess active mobile suit forces until the Battle of Edmonton prompts them to reconsider their military readiness.

In any Gundam series, the mobile suit is the basic unit of military strength. This is the central conceit, a humanoid war machine superseding tanks and fighter planes as the single most effective means of combat. Clearly Iron-Blooded Orphans follows this pattern yet unlike its many predecessors, it does not present us with a setting in the throes of global war. This is ostensibly peacetime and moreover the aftermath of a conflict beyond comprehension. The mobile suits are a product of that Calamity and they per force outclass any other piece of hardware present.

But they are far from ubiquitous.

We see them in the outer-spheres, in the hands of pirates, smugglers and mafiosos. We see how effective they are as a means of space-based combat. We see too how they are used to sweep aside conventional armaments found in colonial holdings: Gjallarhorn's deployment of mobile suits is a death sentence for the CGS, until Gundam Barbatos is awakened.

Yet what are we to make of the Earth-sphere, guarded both by Gjallarhorn's elite and by 'just for show' fleets that have extensive resources and no practical experience? Simply that Earth itself was in large part rid of the machines that saved it from the mobile armours, and that an iron wall of well-trained, well-supplied Gjallarhorn forces has since surrounded it, deterring the wild usage of old super-weapons we find further out.

This, it appears, has bred complacency among the economic blocs and a strong reliance on Gjallarhorn, and it is the shock of seeing first-hand the 'effectiveness' of mobile suits that drives those nations to reactivate long-dormant stocks for their own defence. My learned friend dismisses the Abrau/SAU War as a conflict over meadows and shrubberies; I stand by the interpretation that what we witness is the tentative, ill-educated thrusts and parries of two nascent militaries relearning how to fight - all the while being manipulated by parties who see Tekkadan's hit-and-run tactics as a means of dragging out a minor border dispute for years to come.

These tactics are noted as making no sense on the ground! We know the immediate causes of the war are not organic but staged via Galan Mossa's covert activities. An endless series of quick, indecisive battles is arranged as a trap for McGillis and it succeeds, right up to the point the main body of Tekkadan arrives to rescue their hapless Earthen counterparts.

Why should we expect any sort of high-level strategic competence to be on display in the meantime? Why should we expect a grand-scale clash of nations when the show signals something else entirely?

The flip-side of this, if I may be permitted the colloquialism, is that mobile suit pilots from the outer-spheres often prove ferociously effective compared to their Earth-bound counterparts. I refer not only to Tekkadan but to the Turbines as well. The fight between Amida and Julieta alone demonstrates how a life spent doing battle with pirates and other lawless factions can surpass even the most naturally-talented and intensively-trained Earth-sphere recruit. The drive to fight for survival and what little has been scraped together in relatively impoverished circumstances is powerful, especially compared to soldiers who view their work in less desperate terms. Several times we encounter members of Gjallarhorn's lower ranks expressing workaday attitudes or acting out of concern for their own self-preservation, as is only reasonable for those operating in a largely peaceful sphere.

How many of them have ever been anything less than the most powerful player in any given situation? The Regulatory Bureau's intelligence network sabotages rebellions against the economic status quo and those uprisings that do flare to life are enacted using mobile suits retrofitted for construction work or local security, with weapons otherwise meant for mundane maintenance. Dangerous, certainly. How could a mobile suit be anything less? But Gjallarhorn's level of organisation and brute scale surely insulates most of its members from fights that are not tipped hugely in their favour. We see exactly this at the Dort colonies and Orlis Stenja's attitude at the very start of the show extends the warped perspective of a tilted deck even to the less-secure outer-sphere branches.

Yet coincidence presents Gjallarhorn with an unprecedented challenge. The Alaya-Vijnana permits easy, even instinctual mobile suit operation and the Gundam frames are considerably more potent than the average Graze. Without specific training or prior experience, Mikazuki is able to turn the tide against three-to-one odds, then best a veteran pilot in single combat. He and Akihiro go on to exercise their innate and in-built advantages over and over again. My learned friend expresses incredulity that a bare handful of combatants could match Gjallarhorn's numeric superiority. I contest that the show tells us, repeatedly, that via appropriate motivation, augmentation, and a thorough disregard for the consequences, they can do exactly this.

All the factors I have so far brought to your attention coalesce in the final act of the story. I shall not dwell on Rustal Elion's principle victory over McGillis' coup d’etat within Gjallarhorn. We are, I trust, by now familiar with how Tekkadan's luck runs out. How they are overwhelmed by numbers beyond even their capacity to subdue and by supposedly outlawed weapons of mass destruction. Let us turn instead, as my learned friend does, to Tekkadan's last stand, where ground forces surround their base.

"It's present all the way through the final battle. The Arianrhod troops wait a few days so it looks like they gave Tekkadan the chance to surrender, fine. But once the hostilities begin, it shouldn't take all of these mobile suits so long to destroy their base. They're surrounded in an open field, they only have five mobile suits to defend them, and they're good, but I have trouble believing that they can hold off all of the enemy suits at the same time. Not a single one is able to go around one of them and destroy the base?"

Once again, he is - through no fault of his own, I am sure - presenting events in a misleading light. The Arianrhod and Mars Branch Grazes are not there to give Tekkadan a chance to surrender but to contain them and subsequently goad them into lashing out, so Lord Elion may claim just provocation for ultimate force. This is - once again - something we are told in no uncertain terms.

Similarly, the purpose of the battle rapidly becomes evident in how the Grazes are deployed: they are sent after Tekkadan's mobile suits, which have proved so ferocious over the course of the preceding 49 episodes. Specially equipped units close in on them with shields and spears, attempting (in some cases effectively) to neutralise them, specifically.

Then the trap is sprung.

*slams hand down on the desk*

With most of Tekkadan's remaining forces beaten into retreat and their two biggest guns firmly exposed, a Dáinsleif barrage from orbit finishes matters in a single decisive blow. Thereafter, with the pilots of Barbatos and Gusion as the only evident survivors, Gjallarhorn's ground forces re-engage, their mopping-up exercise turning into a massacre when the Gundams power on to the very last drop of blood, yet succeeding in its main objective.

Far from being a case of missed opportunities to end things sooner, this is a calculated response to the unnaturally formidable assets of a defeated enemy who must nevertheless be publicly seen to die as the aggressor. Equal parts PR theatre and inexorable execution.

I must own at this juncture to a certain coyness thus far when it comes to my learned friend's central point of contention with the text of Iron-Blooded Orphans, the matter of scale. Much of what I have said may be considered by-the-by in terms of the accusation that the story is stating a larger scale than it is showing. It is my hope that I have sufficiently demonstrated the series' attention to explaining why the conflicts it depicts unfold on the terms they do, with the placement of appropriate constraints. However, I shall conclude by tackling head-on the impression my learned friend apparently formed of the protagonists' place in the setting.

I ask the court to consider the statement "Tekkadan has allegedly grown much bigger and is now a major global player". Who, actually, makes this claim? Certainly it is not those against whom our protagonists range their comparatively meagre influence. Elion's attitude is entirely dismissive, his focus squarely on McGillis as the opponent to be bested. Is it the government of Arbrau, who retain the services of Tekkadan's Earth Branch as military advisors? Perhaps, to an extent, yet we see on the ground that Tekkadan is belittled and dismissed by recruits who resent receiving a military education from young teenagers. Is it Teiwaz's leader, who makes Tekkadan a subsidiary to his Jupiter-based conglomerate? Certainly he sees great potential in them and gains by association with them, as administrator of Chryse's half-metal mines. Yet those around him view them only as upstarts, unworthy of a place at the table.

Is it McGillis Fareed, who sees in Tekkadan the means of reshaping the future? Well. We have seen, have we not, how far McGillis' assessments of reality can be trusted.

No. Tekkadan's reputation might have expanded and their actions, inspired imitation, but in their own right, they remain small-fry, quickly crushed between the gears of larger powers. They are big on Mars and make strides to being big in the Jupiter-sphere. But these are backwaters. In the places that matter, 'Tekkadan' is nothing more than an unexpected irritant. Their aspirations to be sovereigns of Mars are handed to them by a man who holds a fantastical view of the world. Hard reality has vastly different ideas about what they are capable of.

Iron-Blooded Orphans is a tale told through narrow perspectives and the places where those perspectives cannot widen fast enough to save characters from their mistakes. Most of the action we follow is 'small' in the sense of being limited. One ship in Teiwaz's transport fleet. One group of pirates. An engagement with a single squad of Gjallarhorn troops, rashly deployed out of wounded pride. A narrow, targetted, diversionary attack on a single approach to a city.

In all cases, these are mere slivers of a wider picture, of a wider system, and it is the weight of that system pressing in that forecloses on a happy ending. Yes, Naze' harem is the only part of the Turbines organisation we see regularly. This is because he engages with Orga in a personal capacity, spurred by affection and a desire to help. Yet it remains the case that the Turbines are a big enough deal inside Teiwaz to have garnered pre-existing enmity from other factions who grow to fear Naze will acquire outsized influence via Tekkadan. Yes, Gjallarhorn is a massive organisation, easily dominant in any military confrontation where its size is fully brought to bear. Yet we very rarely see it operating in that way, our attention held instead by smaller factions and local deployments. It is when those caveats are removed that those we follow must beware. And yes, Kudelia is part of a broader push for Martian independence. Yet she is precisely that: one part, no matter how much certain elements try to make her their figurehead. She cannot make everything better on her own and struggles with the monumental scale of her undertaking.

My learned friend is an astute observer of Gundam anime. He has his tastes and his insights and I am grateful to him for sharing them with us. Yet in this case, I must sadly conclude that he has brought mistaken assumptions to bear. He has seen that Tekkadan are involved in events with far-reaching outcomes and assigned them the role of a global player - indeed, much as McGillis does. But Tekkadan are never that. They are a group of suicidally reckless orphans with nowhere else to go, who fight tenaciously for what they have and for the promise of more tomorrow, who achieve truly impressive victories, hitting well above their weight-class against complacent foes who routinely underestimate them. But those victories are the outcome of numerous variables and cannot be replicated with certainty. When the chances run out, when the gloves come off, when there is no friendly politician or masked benefactor to offer them material aid...

They lose.

Because they are a small part in big events, and not even in the sense of a being single unit within a larger push towards a greater goal. They are ultimately alone in their aims. Abandoned. Forsaken. And their implacability, their undoubted strength, is outmatched by those who do genuinely move at scale.

This is not inconsistency.

It is a thesis statement.

Thank you. The defence rests.

-----

Well that was fun. And I hope the performance takes the barbs out of arguing against someone on the internet.

@billveusay, dropping the act, the thing I am dancing around is that your criticism in regards to scale struck me as a bad-faith reading. I don't mean that as an accusation against your intentions; however I do sincerely think the show explains a lot of what you picked out and that it's likely you either missed or misread that.

Most of the conflict in IBO is *extremely small scale* for a mecha anime, especially one in the Gundam stable. My go-to line about this is 'IBO is not a story about how war is hell; it's a story about how the peace is as well.' The stakes are not the fate of the world, but of bits inside it. Gjallarhorn is performing police action and state-sanctioned violence left, right and centre but only the Arbrau/SAU War and the coup really 'count' as large-scale warfare and even then, they're both in-universe damn squibs because of the factors at play.

That's weird for the genre and for Gundam, which - as your comparison to 00 highlights - usually entangles our heroes directly in global-scale action. Making them a historical footnote isn't how this stuff usually works! But that's what the show is doing and reading against that is technical bad faith. The objections you raise are imagining tactics for achieving goals that differ somewhat from those Tekkadan's opponents are stated as pursuing, and make claims that certain things could not happen when the show says they very much can.

I'm sympathetic to being disappointed the scale of the Tubrines isn't shown much on screen, but even there, it is present in the sense of getting to see how big their fleet is and, ultimately, the rest of the organisation doesn't actually matter to the story. Naze is their weak link and more importantly, the person whose actions actually matter to Tekkadan's rise and fall. So that's where the attention stays, even though it would have been great if we could have seen him interact with crews who aren't his wives (thank heavens for Urdr Hunt giving us that!). There is ultimately only so much you can fit into even 50 episodes.

And I can't - won't - argue against your opinion of how well something does or doesn't work. If you didn't find it convincing that the Alaya-Vijnana, the Gundam frame's power, Tekkadan's greater drive, Gjallarhorn being infested with arrogant numpties, and so on combine to allow five mobile suits to hold off a greater force, then that's just what it is. All I'm really saying is that I don't think you've credited the show with doing the legwork it does, in the way it does, for the end it was working towards.

And that, sadly, activates my annoying pedant mode, here played by Horace Rumpole.

[putrid-tongue]

the energy on this blog now and forever. additionally, do not hold me accountable if i become obsessed with your muse also. there is just something endlessly comforting about seeing people build and share their muses, worlds, their thoughts, their excitement and their love.

[arkaylarts]

So I uh. Got into another music project again.

[lesbxdyke]

I would like to again big up libraries as safe spaces for people of all types!

I had a psychotic episode in my local library while I was in there working and had convinced myself that I was in a bubble dimension and if I left the library I would die, and that being what had happened to the librarian because I hadn't seen them in an hour (it's a small, local library. You can see the librarians desk from where I sit to work)

Now obviously they weren't dead, they were just in the little office that I couldn't see into.

I'm also lucky enough to be a very self aware psychotic, so I reached out to my support network to make sure I got home safely. But none of them could actually get me OUT of the library and I was still absolutely certain that if I stepped off the carpet and onto the tile, I would die.

So I got up, I made my way to the desk, I found the librarian and I said "I need your help. I'm having a psychotic episode and this is what I currently believe. Could you please come out from behind your desk and stand on the tiles so I can see it won't kill me?"

And they did. They didn't shame me, or laugh, or tell me it wasn't real. They said "Yeah, that must be scary." And thanked me when I admitted I'd thought them dead and been really upset about that because I liked them.

And then stood there on the tile, while I stood on the carpet, for ten minutes while I chatted shit and tried to build up my courage to step on the tile, just in case. Including telling me that if this happened again and I needed to call someone, to disregard the usual 'don't call people in the library' rule and just do so after I promised I was going to be calling my husband the second I was on the tile so he could safely walk me home.

(& so no one worries: my husband got me home safe, and a friend came to check on me a little while later and brought me food and I'm fully Cognizant and out of it now)

I cannot imagine another place where I could approach someone and say that and not get the police or an ambulance called on me. Neither of which I needed or would have been helpful.

I cannot imagine another place where a member of staff would stand somewhere for ten minutes to make sure I felt safe enough leaving.

I cannot imagine another place where I would not only be explicitly welcomed back, but be told "If this happens again here, disregard our normal rules to take care of yourself."

I cannot imagine another place on this earth that I would feel safe enough returning to, 3 days later, after an episode like that.

Libraries are a fucking Godssend and should be protected at all costs!

[rafeysbunny]

heyyyyyyyy! I have a thought. Do you think that reader could get rafe to beg? Like maybe he did smth that pissed reader off so she’s been ignoring him but rage just can’t take it anymore? I love your writing so honestly just go crazy

-👻 anon

a/n. first ask, i'm so excited! in answer to your question: yes! absolutely, yes! this man is soo pussy whipped, he'd do anything for reader. ty for the request, babe!

two hours of you giving rafe the cold shoulder it's all it takes for him to break. he knows he fucked up greatly, but you're just being so mean that he cannot help the way his lips curl into a pout as he kneels in front of you, pleading for your forgiveness.

only you could get rafe motherfucking cameron to beg like this.

"baby, 'm so, so sorry," he apologizes, big hands gripping onto your plush thighs tightly so you can't get away from him this time, not again. "forgive me, yeah? i know i screwed up, and i'm sorry."

his lips start peppering kisses over the sliver of bare skin under the hem of your top as he keeps muttering words of repentance, the actions making your heart melt. "it won't happen again, i promise to you, angel."

"i'm really pissed at you right now, rafe," you address him for the first time in hours, voice tone sharp.

he doesn't care how cold you sound, though, the fact that you're finally talking to him instead of ignoring his presence nearly makes him cry happy tears. how embarrassing is that? he can't believe you got him this hooked. he should be the one in charge, not you, but, let's be honest, he's too in love with you to even care anymore.

"i know, baby, i'm sorry," he repeats for the hundredth time, puppy, blue eyes staring up at you entreatingly. "what can i do for you to forgive me? i'll do anything, just please, stop being mad."

"anything?"

a mischievous smirk spreads across your pretty face, your mind already conjuring up all the filthy ways he could make it up to you.

"anything, angel."

that's how he ends up tied up to the bed, hands desperately tugging at the fluffy, pink handcuffs in a failed attempt to break free of them while you ride his pretty face. he's fucking drowning in your pussy, dick achingly hard inside his pants.

what a shame you won't make him cum this time, as a little punishment.

your hips rock against his face unabashedly, feeling the way his eager tongue parts your chubby folds to drink up your sweet essence, occasionally slipping inside your pussy to fuck you with it. his nose is rubbing your puffy clit every time you grind down, which has you mewling and shuddering atop him.

"i love you so much, baby," he'd mumble against your cunt, totally mesmerised by the hypnotic sway of your hips and your taste.

your flesh muffle his words and grunts, but you understand what he says and look down at him with adoring eyes, just to find him staring up at you in the same way, pink lips glistening with a combination of your arousal and his spit.

the sight is enough to send you spiralling into a mind blowing orgasm that makes you let out the most lewd moan you've ever made, body shaking as your legs close around his head, almost suffocating him.

"fuck, i love you too," you breath out, the aftershocks of your climax making your brain dizzy. "i forgive you, rafey."

honestly, he doesn't quite understand how this could be a punishment for him, but he's not one to complain.

more.

[merrinla]

Cut lines from Solas and Rook after Weisshaupt. None of these are voiced, so only text. Some are rewritten in the game.

Solas: You once told me that you would stop the gods without getting "thousands of innocent people killed."

Solas: You once told me that you would accept whatever consequences came from your battle.

Solas: You once told me that the consequences of your battle would be a problem for "Future Rook."

Rook: Yeah.

option: Don't mock me, okay? Rook: Whatever your big trickster-god lesson is, could we just... not? Solas: Why not? What makes this time different? Rook: Weisshaupt? Solas: You have seen death before.

option: I let the team down. Rook: I went to Weisshaupt to stop the gods... with a team of people I'd recruited.

Rook: Davrin, Lucanis, all of them... I convinced them to join. I told them we could win. Rook: And right now, it feels like I lied to them.

option: I was in command. Rook: But I've never been in charge. And this time...

Rook: I punched the First Warden in the face and made everybody listen to me.

Rook: I got the First Warden to listen. I got him to believe in me.

Rook: And then I... I couldn't get it done. I failed. And Weisshaupt fell.

option: This time broke me. Rook: This time, I feel... nothing. Solas: And still you hide your feelings.

Rook: No, I mean... I try to think about what I'm feeling, and I just... there's nothing there. Rook: If I think about what happened at Weisshaupt, I just... stop. Like I could go to sleep and never wake up. Rook: And I can't afford to do that. Solas: Why not? Rook: Because I let everyone down once already. I can't do it again.

Solas: There it is. The grief of having not lived up to the trust that others placed in you. Solas: It is a pain worse than any Elgar'nan or Ghilan'nain could inflict, and if you let it, it can help you. Rook: How?

Solas: There are those who hold their emotions at a distance to avoid the sting of failure. Solas: To defeat Elgar'nan and Ghilan'nain, there can be no distance. You must be committed. Rook: What, you think we failed because I didn't want it enough? Solas: I cannot say. But you chose this battle, and in so doing, you chose these consequences. Solas: Regret is the price we pay for acting when no one else will. Solas: Without regret, we would not be driven to correct our mistakes, to improve. To get it right.

option: I'll get it right. Rook: Next time, we won't miss. Solas: I believe you. Solas: And I believe that if you listen to me, then Elgar'nan and Ghilan'nain will fall.

option: I don't want to feel this. Rook: It still hurts. Solas: I have lived thousands of years and made countless mistakes. It always hurts. Solas: If you listen to that feeling, perhaps you may never need to feel it again so keenly.

option: I'm not here for this shit. Rook: I didn't come here for your philosophical bullshit. I came for help! Solas: What did you think my help would look like? Solas: I cannot promise that our talks will be easy. All I can promise is that if you listen to me, Elgar'nan and Ghilan'nain will fall.

option: I need some support. Rook: Could you be hopeful Solas instead of smug Solas right now. Rook: I don't need you to convince me how bad things are, okay? I get it. I really, really get it. Solas: You have finally met the Evanuris in battle.

option: I have to act confident. Rook: Yeah, we met the gods, and now I have to act like we're not completely screwed and this was a good step forward. Solas: Why? Rook: We lost a lot of Grey Wardens. We lost Weisshaupt. If we lost all of that, and I didn't accomplish anything? Solas: Then what? Rook: Then there's no way I can win. I should just start running now. Rook: But I can't. I have to keep acting like there's some way to win. And that's... terrifying.

Solas: Good. There it is. The fear. Solas: You finally see the consequences. You know the stakes. That fear, the terror of what you face now, can help you, if you let it. Rook: How does admitting I'm terrified help?

option: And I'm in charge. Rook: And somehow, I'm supposed to go up against them again, and everyone is looking to me for a plan. Solas: The plan will come. Once you have marshaled your forces...

Rook: I had a legendary assassin, a dragon hunter, and an army of Grey Wardens, and we still failed! I still failed. Rook: People keep asking me what we do now, and I have no idea. And that is... terrifying.

option: They're too powerfull. Rook: Yeah, and it turns out that when you're fighting a god, terror is a perfectly rational feeling!

Rook: And don't give me that "Evanuris" crap. You can turn people to stone with your eyes! Solas: Yes, and yet I wield far less power than Ghilan'nain or Elgar'nan. Rook: The world is going to end up a blighted wasteland unless I stop them, and... I don't think I can.

option: This is your fault! Rook: No. You don't get to come in here all superior. A whole lot of people just died, and that's on you! Solas: I have made many mistakes, but I did not free Elgar'nan and Ghilan'nain. Rook: Fine. Whatever. Solas: No. This is important, Rook. Solas: Your fury is real, but you can only defeat it if you identify its source. Who are you truly angry at?

option: Everyone! Rook: I'm trying to save the world, and everybody's kicking me in the shins while I'm doing it!

Rook: Tevinter and the Antaam would rather fight each other!

Rook: The Grey Wardens wouldn't listen until I punched their leader in the face and took over!

Rook: The First Warden wouldn't listen until the enemy was stomping all over his courtyard!

Rook: I can't do this alone! I need people to shut up and do what I tell them for once, or I'm going to fail again!

option: Ugh. Myself! Rook: I know who I'm angry at. It doesn't matter. Solas: Of course it matters. You must learn who you are.

Rook: The whole world is gonna know who I am! They're gonna make statues of me!

Rook: "In honor of Rook: He/She/They almost saved Weisshaupt!"

option: Bad luck? Rook: I don't know! Fate, luck, something! This whole mission has been one disaster after another. Solas: And how would luck help you? What is it that you need?

Rook: I need a break! I need one damn thing to go right for once! Solas: Because you deserve it? Rook: Because I can't do this! Rook: But if I don't, nobody will. So I've gotta keep banging my head against this wall like an idiot hoping for a miracle!

Solas: There it is. The anger. The frustration at having failed. Solas: Properly channeled, that rage can flare hot enough to burn away any impurities. Rook: Fine! I'm angry! How does that help?

option: We made progress. Rook: I'd hoped we'd take down Ghilan'nain, but we did kill her Archdemon. That's a good start.

Solas: "A good start." I wonder if your fellow Wardens would agree.

Solas: "A good start." I wonder if the Grey Wardens would agree.

Solas: Does this truly feel like even a partial victory, or does something uncomfortable lurk behind that easy smile?

option: No. But being sad won't help. Rook: No, of course it doesn't feel like victory. But that's what leadership is. Rook: It's putting your own feelings aside so the team doesn't collapse. Solas: And what is so dangerous that the mere sight of it would destroy your team? Rook: That I was wrong.

option: I'm tryung to believe. Rook: It has to feel like a partial victory. If it doesn't...

option: I need to seem confident. Rook: How do you think I feel? But the team needs me to look like I know what I'm doing. Solas: And what do you need?

option: Thanks, Past Rook. Rook: Sounds like something Past Rook would say. He's/She's/They're kind of an asshole.

Solas: (Chuckles)

Solas: You use humor a great deal.

Solas: "The elven god of sarcasm."

Solas: "This is the reason nobody likes you."

Solas: "Killing an Archdemon is the easy part."

Solas: Is all of this really so amusing, or is that wit the blade with which you keep less comfortable feelings at bay?

option: It's that or cry. Rook: I'm doing the best I can to hold it together. Sometimes that means stupid jokes. Solas: And when those fail? Rook: Then I probably start ugly-sobbing. Snotty nose, blotchy face, the whole deal. Solas: Why? You are no stranger to death. You have seen warriors fall in battle before.

option: It's that or panic. Rook: Well, I don't think uncontrollable screaming is gonna help anything, and that's the only other option. Solas: Uncontrollable screaming at what?

option: It's that or rage. Rook: Yeah, there's a pretty good chance the jokes are how I cope. Solas: And beneath those jokes? Rook: Why does that matter? Would me yelling right now help anything? Solas: It might help you know who you are.

option: It's a lot to accept. Rook: I was thinking I'd be accepting hurt feelings, not a whole fortress falling to darkspawn. Solas: Sometimes the hurt feelings are worse.

option: I guess? Rook: Weisshaupt could've fallen without us killing Ghilan'nain's Archdemon. That would technically be worse. Solas: Technically.

option: That's still true. Rook: And I stand by that. Solas: Truly? You watched a fortress fall and Wardens die, and it touches nothing within you?

Solas: I expect that you call it professionalism.

Solas: No hesitation. "We stopped you. We'll stop them."

Solas: No concern. Just targets. "Any other surprises we should know about?"

Solas: What are you so desperate to avoid feeling?

option: Numb. Rook: Nothing. Solas: So no fear, no anger, lurks beneath the surface?

option: Terror. Rook: Ghilan'nain was so much worse than anything I expected. She's a god.

option: Fucking furious. Rook: I am so fucking tired of being the one who has to do this while the rest of the world ignores the problem!

Solas: And while your grief is valid, the situation is not as dire as it seems.

Solas: And while your fear is valid, the situation is not as dire as it seems.

Solas: And while your frustration is valid, the situation is not as dire as it seems.

Solas: You have slain an Archdemon, a feat only a few have accomplished over the centuries. Solas: Ghilan'nain is now mortal. If you can find her and catch her unprepared, you can kill her. Rook: So how do I find her? Solas: Your team has ties to organizations with connections you lack. The Shadow Dragons in Minrathous, the Veil Jumpers in Arlathan, and so on. Solas: Strengthening your team will strengthen those groups. Prove your value as an ally, and they will give you the openings you seek. Rook: Okay, I'll see what I can do. Solas: Good. And Rook... I am sorry for the necessity of this lesson.

option: No, I appreciate it. Rook: You don't have to apologize. I know you're trying to help, so... thanks. Solas: Don't. Don't thank me. Solas: Our talk today will lead to Elgar'nan and Ghilan'nain falling, but it is not a kindness. Solas: Good luck.

option: It's not wholly unexpected. Rook: You talk with the Dread Wolf, you gotta be prepared to bleed a little. Solas: A painful assessment, but more than fair, especially today. Solas: If I knew some other way to prepare you for what lies ahead, I would do so.

option: Whatever. Goodbye. Rook: We're done here. I'll talk to you when I know something. Solas: Of course. Then I will simply wish you good luck.

[himasgod]

Hello! ^^ I've read your fanfic about Malleus being jealous and I really loved it! If I could, could I make a request?

It's a reader x anyone from the TWST cast, but preferably Azul, in a stablished relationship, where the reader is telling Malleus about her latest date with Azul and Malleus is acting like a puritain nun because HAND-HOLDING....? BEFORE MARRIAGE...????????

In the ghost bride event he says he cannot do fake engagements bc he's a prince and yada yada, so I think he takes VERY srsly a relationship and would be flabbergasted by the smallest things lmao

Maybe a bit of overprotective Malleus again pls? 👉👈

Ty if u take this in consideration 💕

Where Malleus is too overprotective with you

Where you tell Malleus about the date you had that night with Azul, but he can't put aside his overprotective and somewhat rigid mind.

Dusk tinged the sky with warm hues when you ran into Malleus on one of his evening strolls around campus. It wasn't unusual for him to accompany you during these quiet hours, where you chat freely with him without interruption from the daytime hustle and bustle of NRC. This time, however, his expression was a mix of disbelief and sternness as he listened to you tell him about your last date with Azul.

"And you're saying… he held your hand?" Malleus asked, his voice resonating with gravity.

You looked at him, blinking in confusion.

"Yes. We were walking down Octavinelle, and Azul took my hand. It was cute, he was nervous at first, but then he relaxed and—"

"That's outrageous," he interrupted, frowning with an almost comical intensity. "Don't you know that such direct contact between a lady and her fiancé should only occur after a formal engagement?"

Your jaw nearly dropped in astonishment. "What-"

"Marriage is a sacred bond, a bond not to be taken lightly." Malleus crossed his arms, assuming a posture of princely dignity. "If Ashengrotto has already dared to touch your hand without a formal promise, then he must take responsibility and honor you properly."

You didn't know whether to laugh or be a little scared.

"Malleus, we're in a relationship, not in a royal court from the last century. It's just holding hands!"

Malleus didn't seem convinced.

"First holding hands… then what's next? Walks alone at night? Letters written with sweet nothings?" he exclaimed with genuine concern, while you nodded along, not understanding what was wrong with it all.

"Boldness."

You brought a hand to your face, trying to hold back your laughter. This was ridiculous.

"Malleus, we've gone on dates before. We've also held hands before."

He took a deep breath, as if he'd just heard blasphemy.

"I can't believe Ashengrotto dared to touch you like that without making a formal offer of marriage. Does he have no honor?" His gaze darkened, almost offended by your name.

"Malleus, stop!" You finally laughed. "Really, it's not that serious."

"Of course it is," he insisted, narrowing his eyes suspiciously. "Come to think about it… what are his intentions toward you? I won't allow him to play with your heart."

There it was. Malleus's overprotective way. You knew he cared you, but sometimes you forgot that his sense of protection was too… archaic.

"Azul is a gentleman, Malleus," you assured him, trying to calm his indignation. "He's very attentive to me. You don't have to worry."

But Malleus didn't seem convinced at all.

"I'll watch him closely," he declared. “I won’t allow someone to lead you down the path of perdition with empty promises and immodest gestures.”

“Malleus… it’s just holding hands!”

He didn’t reply, but you could see the storm of thoughts running through his mind. Clearly, he was reconsidering his position regarding Azul.

“Tell me,” he continued after a tense silence, “what else has happened between you?” His emerald eyes glittered with suspicion.

“Uh… well, we ate together. Azul cooked for me, and—”

“He fed you too?!” he exclaimed, putting a hand to his chest, as if you had committed an unforgivable heresy.

“Sharing food is an act of deep intimacy. In Briar Valley, a meal prepared with care and shared in such a manner is a symbol of absolute devotion."

Now you were certain that Malleus was exaggerating everything in the most hilarious way possible.

“Malleus, it was just lunch. Azul just wanted to surprise me.”

“First the hands, then the food…” he muttered to himself, clearly uneasy. “This is worse than I imagined. I must speak to Azul as soon as possible.”

“Don’t even think about it!” You rushed to stop him, desperately grabbing his arm.

“As your friend and protector, it is my duty to ensure that he treats you with the respect you deserve.” His tone was completely solemn, which made it even funnier.

You covered your face with your hands, knowing that no matter how many times you explained the normality of your relationship, Malleus would still see every small act of affection as an affront to decorum. Azul had no idea what was coming his way.

That night, you learned that your boyfriend would be receiving menacing glares from a very overprotective dragon in the coming days.

[wordbunch]

a/n: to all my moots and friends, no you didn't see me post this and yes im still your comfort lotr girl!!! to all others, hello & welcome to my newest obsession yes I have been corrupted. ENJOY!!!!

emperor Geta headcanons

warnings: toxic behavior obviously lol, mild nsfw-ish mentions, this man should be taken with caution by all means

this man loves like he was starved and then brought to a feast - he inhales and devours every inch of you, every texture, scent, sound, personality trait, quirk, he will eat you UPPPP in every sense of the word; he wants his senses full of you and he can't ever get enough

he is definitely a very obsessive and possessive person, observant, sharp, witty. also when it comes to prayers and sacrifices, he means business - he dead seriously prayed for a wife who was headstrong, intelligent, passionate and fearless; someone who could match him in every way, whom he could verbally spar with, word for word, but also someone who'd have his back unconditionally as he doesn't really have many people to genuinely rely on. he wanted an equal, and he was also hoping for someone either his age or even a bit older - he was afraid of having a childish partner who wouldn't properly fill in a tremendously important role

he is 110% a switch and it fully depends on what kinda day he'd had and the mood he's in

contrary to many interpretations and rumors, he isn't horny 24/7!!!! like yes he IS insanely attracted to you, but his days can be so impossibly draining and tedious so sometimes he would just rather lie down with you and have you close, than do anything else. also, he doesn't do quickies or anything of the sort; he likes to go all in and take his sweet time with you, or let you have your way with him. he enjoys being dedicated and not distracted in bed with you. all in or nothing for this man. and yes he is vocal.

one thing that makes him feel absolutely AMAZING (and you realized quite quickly thankfully)is when you draw him a bath - yes it must be YOU specifically who does it - and then either give him a shoulder rub or wash his hair, or both. he will become putty in your hands and relax more than he can explain in words. pamperrr him sometimes 🥹😭 he finds it so thoughtful that you do this for him at the end of a taxing day; after all, there is nothing in the world he wouldn't do for you.

speaking of, when Geta notices something is off with you, he won't ask if he can make you happy again somehow, he will ask you to name what you want him to do, and he will do it. you are the only person with that effect on him.

most definitely is turned on by someone who is smart and witty and perceptive. also he has very keen eyes and he can read even your slightest signals, even in a crowded room, especially in a crowded room, and he also appreciates when you can read him without him having to verbalize anything to you

the most Protective Person of all time, God forbid someone looks at you wrong!!!

showers you with gifts

you will LOVE this - he likes when you match in some subtle, or obvious, way, like the same pattern on your robes, the same gems on your jewels, anything that shows off your bond and shows that you belong to him and he belongs to you completely. 🤍

almost weekly he has night terrors and horrible dreams either about his childhood/how they were treated by their father, or about something awful happening to you. you always do your best to comfort him, knowing that you're the only one who can do that and the only one allowed to see him in such a state

so you whisper sweet nothings to him, like promises you would never hurt him in any way and that you will always do your best to protect him and love him

touch starved, touch obsessed, cannot sleep without you in the bed, cannot sleep when you are on a journey somewhere and misses you terribly; can barely wait for you to return and then grip you in his arms and just breathe you in

obsessed with your scent

very often you are his impulse control and you just have the power to center him when he's losing his grip on a situation

he is so used to being in control (or having to be), that he will really spiral when a situation is getting out of hand and he feels not powerful enough to stop or change something. he is really bad at holding it together when shit is going down, and half the time he seems to be two steps away from a breakdown. honestly, sometimes you just have to let him rage, panic, and vent it out in whatever way, and he will come back to himself- and to your embrace-shortly.

he needs your approval and appreciation like air. if you don't think he is doing a good job, if you don't think (and show) he is smart, capable, if he isn't the center of your universe, nothing else matters at all

he will combust if he doesn't have at least a hand on you at all times

sometimes he still can't believe how you love him - people who touch him usually either want something from him, fear him, despise him, or all those - your gentle touch is an unfamiliar, yet welcome sensation; he can't get enough.

let's be real he can get anything he wants from you when he looks at you with those gigantic brown eyes, but somehow he seems unaware of that (and you already give him everything anyway)

if big gatherings and constant celebrations aren your thing, he will not let you out of his sight and, as much as you need him there to comfort you, he needs you on his arm to feel happy, safe and fulfilled. you just complete each other. 💛

as much as he enjoys every single loving nickname you give him, especially if you call him 'your' anything - your love, your darling, your heart, your pride and joy - but even more he will melt if you just call him by his name, as one of the very few (if not only) person who utters it with love, softness, adoration...unlike many who spit it out hatefully like poison

Geta feels veryyyy smug and proud of himself when he does an act of service for you, such as giving you a massage or bringing you a drink - look at him, he gets served things left and right, but he remains SO devoted to you only.

well, was that something? leave it to me to humanize the worst (actually historical) person ever and give him some PROPER FLUFF🫠

[eraserbread]

𝘪 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘯𝘢 𝘣𝘦 𝘢 𝙜𝙤𝙤𝙙 𝙬𝙞𝙛𝙚 part 3 masterlist, listen, nanami tag

god help me be a good wife, cause he needs me even when he's not right, he still needs me read part 2 nanami won't tell you he's hurting, but he can't keep you a secret any longer.

a/n: holy shit u guys... don't say i didn't warn you... this one is, uh... that's all from me. see you on the other side... cw: 18+ mature themes, canon-typical violence

♫ - salted wound - sia

Kento doesn’t wince, he doesn’t even move a muscle as he’s doted on. This time, it’s not by you, it’s by his colleague. One of the only sorcerers at Jujutsu High who can use reverse cursed techniques to heal. Her hands are warm, but her aura is cold, not like yours. Never as comforting as you. 

Facing the aftershocks of a fight against what he deemed to be a Special Grade, his side is gashed. It’s deep, too, bleeding into Ieiri’s silicone gloves as she pokes and prods. 

“I need to make a phone call – afraid it can’t wait, either, so please do not listen.” 

“No promises.” She replies coolly, pushing her rolling chair back to switch out her bloody gloves. In her sterile, white office, Kento leans his back against a plush, reclining chair. His dark blue work shirt is unbuttoned and messy, hanging off his shoulder. Blood is soaking through it, he’s cold, and Kento wants nothing more than to be home right now. 

Home will have to wait, but he can make up for some of it easily enough. He reaches for his smartphone, blinking drearily as his weak fingers stumble upon your contact. It’s well past the time he should’ve been home, now, and knows you’re up, worried sick. A message won’t suffice in this case; he needed to speak. 

Not even a full ring pass until the line clicks. Your smooth, sleepy voice licks the receiver. 

‘Kento?’ 

“Hello, dear.” Kento shuffles, taking a breath as Ieiri rolls back to his side. She has already used her technique; now it just has to settle in. “I know you are worried about me. Don’t be.” 

‘What’s happened? Are you okay?’ The way you sound – so worried and broken against cell static, shatters Kento’s psyche. He just wants to reach through the phone and tell you he’s okay, but he can’t. 

“I was struck by some falling rubble at work. Again, don’t wor-”

‘-fallen rubble? Kento, please come home.’ 

He presses his eyes shut. Your pain is palpable and laced throughout your caring tone. “I cannot come home yet. I’m getting the wound patched up.” 

Out of his sight, you’re chewing over your pristine nails, stewing with angst. He can hear the crack in your voice when you go to speak. ‘I’m terrified… this is the fourth injury this week.’ 

“I understand you’re worried, but I want you to know that I made that promise for a reason. I will never leave you.” He’s lying. He can’t believe he’s lying to you again, but it’s the only way he can keep you. His stupid, selfish nature needs you close when he knows he should cut ties and let you lead a life without constant fear.

‘And I want to believe that so bad.’ You’re crying now, or about to – Kento can hear it in the way your voice, damp with emotion, shakes helplessly. He knows if he were home, you’d play with his hair and kiss his forehead. You’d let him know that you can be his rock if need be – that’s your safeword, it’s his crutch. 

“How about you get some rest, dear? When you wake up, I’ll be right there… just like always.” 

‘No mysterious midnight missions?’ 

He chuckles, shaking his head. “It’s hard to control that.” 

‘Then, just lie.’ You’re desperate for anything, now. Any lie, any amount of reassurance or stability – you were clawing at your skin for it. 

“No missions. I’ll be home with you all night.” 

You take that with a contented hum, sawing your bottom lip over the line. ‘Please come home safe and sound.’ 

“Mhm… okay.” 

‘I love you so much.’ 

“Yes, you too. You know that.” 

‘I’ll be waiting…’ 

Kento hangs up first – knows he has to, or you’ll be shoveling more worrisome phrases into his ear for hours. Then, he feels the guilt hit him like a ton of bricks, weighing his shoulders down as Ieiri finishes patching him up. Silently, she’s been listening – of course, she has. 

Notoriously mysterious, Kento never utters a word about his personal life when he’s on campus. He was aloof throughout his high school years, then just disappeared. It's safe to say that nobody truly knows him here. Not even the apparitional comrades he sees when he closes his eyes at night. 

However, Ieiri is not stupid. That shiny, silver band on Kento’s fingers was not just for decoration. He’s never worn an ornament in his life, save for the thick watch he ties some of his Curse to. She noticed – she could make out your worried ramblings in the quiet, and smiled at who you were. 

“Marriage… It’s definitely your style.” She finally stands, pressing the trash can open to toss away the sterile packaging she used. Kento sits up, following her gaze shortly. 

“I told you not to listen.” 

“Oh, geez – it was impossible not to.” 

“Then just pretend you respect me enough to listen.” He’s standing up, buttoning and tucking his bloody shirt back in his pants. He knows you’ll work your domestic magic on it when he goes home – the next time he’ll see this shirt, it’ll be like nothing happened. “If you don’t mind, I will be running home to my wife.” 

“Don’t… actually run. It’ll exert the site.” 

Kento lets the door swing shut as he leaves Ieiri’s office, not giving her a goodbye or thanks she already knows she has from him. 

Now, he’ll be the first to admit that he’s pulled away since his return. There hasn’t been a Welcome Back dinner like Satoru promised, or those occasional nights out they’d hop into after missions. Nothing is the same this time around, or maybe they just aren’t kids anymore. 

And much to his bad luck, he ends up running into an open conversation in the First-Year hallway. The door is just a stone's throw away, but Ino and Satoru are leaning against either wall, relaxed and uncaring of Kento’s presence at first. 

“If I have to talk to the higher-ups about that, it won’t be pretty.” 

“Satoru, you can’t keep letting them throw me into missions I can’t handle.” Ino grimaces, scratching an anxious hand behind his head. He barely scraped away with his life today, and he’s had enough. He’s gone through two too many near-death experiences this week. 

“Don’t mind me,” Kento mutters as he pushes through their invisible conversation. Satoru stands on the right, giving him the perfect view of the bloodied stain on his pristine clothing. He can also see it in Kento’s face – can hear it in the mumble he gives. 

“Bad mission?” 

“I do apologize – I’ll have to brief you tomorrow.” Kento’s trying everything – scraping by the skin of his teeth to avoid any and all distractions. Satoru could talk for hours about nothing, and Ino would pay to listen in. He can’t let himself be roped in. 

“Nanami, I faced a Special-Grade in Kamakura. Had to flee or die… this is getting out of hand.” 

“Struggling is not inherently bad.” He finally stops, giving Ino a passing look over his shoulder. He takes a few steps, hands tucked in his pockets. “Neither is fleeing. Sometimes it’s the only thing we can do – you have to be okay with that.” 

Ino gives him a meek nod, gazing down at his feet as reality washes over him. “B-but if we all flee… Who will exorcise all these Curses?” 

“Me. When I have time.” Satoru speaks, standing up straight as if he’s planning on walking away. In reality, he’s exhausted. Running on a night of no sleep and constant, back-to-back Special Grades, whilst teaching and lugging around Sukuna’s vessel, marred him to the bone. He was beginning to see stars through his thin, dark-framed glasses. “Thank you for helping with Itadori, Nanami. Saw he got back safely.” 

“It is my duty to put his life over my own. Now, I must be going on-

“Get lots of rest tonight,” Ino adds as Kento begins walking off, standing straight and at attention. 

“You too.” 

Kento can’t face you right now. He knows you’re behind that door, can feel your presence calling his name, but can’t give in. It’s so late now. Well past midnight, and he’s just now shuffling through the front door. He knows, and hates, that you’re not waiting up for him. The house is dark. Lifeless. It’s like you haven’t been in here all day. 

He waits in front of the cracked bedroom door, hand hovering over the knob as he works himself up. He’s still covered in blood – his shirt is stained and he looks like Hell. You’d wake up as soon as he sets foot inside, and he’d have to calm your shaking demeanor again. Selfishly, he’s far too exhausted to exert more energy that way. 

All he wants to do is sleep. He doesn’t want to exist on this day anymore. 

So, he turns around and makes his way to the couch, slinging off his belt and loosening his tie so he can sink into the downiness. He closes his hands over his face, breathing deep, thinking about that pathwork curse, dreaming up ways he can work around the technique, and stewing over it for far too long. Surprisingly, he skated away with his life today, but he knew it was a lucky draw – he needed to be more careful, far more conscious. 

Somewhere, lost in those late hours, he drifts off with his vapid thoughts running circles in his mind. It’s a sour mixture – a foul mood and visions of failure, which is why he dreams that night. 

He never dreams. 

You’re awake when that call comes, stepping out of the bathroom fresh from a shower. Somehow, he can hear you from the serenity of the shared bedroom. He wonders if you can feel him as you approach your wailing phone, looking so meek, wrapped up in a towel the size of him. 

Every step is deliberate as you cross the bed, reaching against the whiteness of the spread to retrieve the device. When you turn the screen over, an unknown number is painted across the top, and he can sense the hesitant dread that crosses your features when you notice. 

Kento knows you want that person to be him – you’re hoping he’s just at a payphone, or using a colleague's cell to update you on his status. His only call home was that evening around 7 – he whispered to you that he was being called into a situation around Shibuya, warning you not to worry and that he’ll be home soon. How soon, he couldn’t promise. Timelines are so flimsy, now. Your life together is built on promises he can’t keep. 

But you understand. You won’t fight him this time; you’ll accept defeat and spend another lonely night wrapped up in his smell. It’s the only comfort you can find anymore. 

“Yes?” With a pruned, shaking hand, you bring your smartphone to your ear to answer the call. 

‘...Is this Mrs. Nanami Kento?’ It’s a voice you’re not used to – feminine, yet powerful as it overtakes you. 

You repeat, “Yes.” 

Then, a broken sigh makes you stand up straight. ‘This is Ieiri Shoko from Jujutsu High.’ She begins, shaking her head where you cannot see. ‘There is no easy way to say this, but we have probable cause to believe that Kento either went AWOL, or is MIA after the incident he was called to in Shibuya. I don’t want you to panic yet, but considering the worst-case scenario… We’ve been able to recover a few bodies from the scene earlier this morning…’

You can feel it – the entire structure of your world falling to its knees as you shake still. Your grip tightens invisibly over your device, eyes lost in the room as you shudder on words you know you need to say. “W-what?” 

Another sigh. Just a sigh for her – you wish you could just sigh. ‘I don’t want to confirm anything I am unsure about, but it is unrealistic for him to shrug off on missions without a word.’ Pacing the morgue, Shoko navigates the chaos of bodies she needs to identify, tag, and store. Only one issue – one glaring, faceless issue. She takes a second to stare at the covered body on her table, bloodied brown shoes lying lifeless, and swallows. 

“I-I don’t… I don’t understand.” You swallow, dislodging a pile of angst from your throat. Your mind has already shut down, and your heart is sure to follow – they’re protecting you. Taking the news and eating it until there’s nothing for your soul to feel. “I don’t understand.” 

‘I know this news… It’s confusing. For us… too.’ Though level-headed and seasoned, Ieiri knows how fragile this situation is – how fragile you are. Tokyo Jujutsu Society would never function the same again, and she’d feel it to her grave. ‘Kento was an integral part of not only the School, but also of our society. We need him more than ever, which is why we won't rest until he is accounted for. I imagine he hasn’t reached out to you since yesterday?’

You don’t respond. You can’t respond. You can’t even fucking move. 

‘Nanami?’

You shake your head, but Ieiri can’t hear it. You don’t care. 

‘I can’t imagine how hard this is for you, so I will not press further… May I ask that you come up to the school to identify some remains?’ 

“If it’s him…” You stop, finally moving even when it’s just a step closer to the mattress so you can collapse in a shapeless heap. “I don’t want to see it.” 

‘Of course, I understand completely. Might I just add that DNA testing is a lengthy process, often taking over a month in this case. I can go ahead and start that for you, but if you need closure sooner, coming in to view the bodies is your best option.’ 

You’re sinking into the mattress, hoping it swallows you whole as Ieiri treats you like a name on a paper. She’s telling you that Kento is missing – he’s gone. She thinks he’s dead and wants you to confirm her suspicions by looking at corpses. You don’t think she understands — you will not be able to function if your eyes fall upon the body you married without an ounce of life in it. It’d be better to twist the knife and take that spot next to him in the refrigerated room than to live anymore.

But, you also prepared for this… In that sick, if it happens, it happens way that Kento shoved down your throat since he took the position. The least he can do, since he’s throwing his life to the curb, is to make sure the transition into a life of your own would be just as easy as falling in love with him. You wouldn’t have to work for a while with the money he has stockpiled. You have this house he fine-tuned for you, a brand-new car, and a free life – you could start over. He wants you to start over. 

But he doesn’t want you to marry again. Not ever. 

Not even once you begin to forget him. 

Over the phone, you whisper to Ieiri, “I will come.” 

Somewhere in a dream-like state, Kento watches you slide on a pair of loose-fitting pants, staring unblinking at the wall as you pull on a baggy shirt. He believes it’s his, it smells like him, and that’s what you needed right now. You wouldn’t drive, Ieiri scheduled someone to retrieve you by mid-morning, and that was quickly approaching. 

The one thing – the feeling that’s playing you in a loop is… emptiness. The bleak wall becomes your mirror as you stare into it, no longer caring to polish the appearance you had kept so pristine for your husband. He never asked for too much when it came to that, knowing you’d be able to steer your self-care the way you need to without much nagging. Now it all seems so trivial. 

If no Kento was waiting at the end of the tunnel, you didn’t want to trek. 

So, you’re swept away. Unshowered, unbrushed – unpolished, into the back of a sleek black, mysterious sedan. A woman in a suit waits by the back door as you leave the home Kento gave you. The air smells like his skin as the door pushes that faithful scent out into the world. It feels as if you’re losing pieces of him slowly. 

Luckily, the assistant understands the gravity of the situation as she ushers you into the vehicle. She sees the look on your face, that shadow in your eyes as you avoid eye contact. Not even a word – just a nod. You’re lowering yourself into the calm, polished leather expanse. 

You just can’t feel anything. It’s so odd, so mysteriously antagonizing, as the city you navigated your entire life starts to feel… unfamiliar. The first time you laid eyes on your Kento, once a small, shy blonde, was shoulder-to-shoulder at a bar in Azabu. Now, that lively night strip is jarring and uncomfortably empty. You have to let your eyes flutter shut. 

You don’t even have the strength to pull them open when the car slows to a crawl, shaking you back to sense before stopping altogether. 

Car bells ding, doors are pulled open, and cigarette smoke is in the air. You steady your shaking hands, finally letting your eyes creep open. 

You’ve never been to campus, Kento never told you where it was, but the whispers of the countryside are vibrant and green, stretching far beyond the traditional campus. From first appearances, it looks like every other private High School, and that’s what you would have clung to if you didn’t know the unfortunate truth. Every one of these selfless sorcerers was working their life away just to meet an untimely end. It’s all shit – the system is shit, but you understand that choice was a luxury. Just like Kento, he didn’t have a choice. You never blamed him. 

“Sorry to meet you under these circumstances.” That familiar voice, warm and welcoming, is shadowed against the smog of her balanced cigarette. Standing in front of you, brunette hair, light makeup – you could only deem this reflection as Ieiri Shoko. 

You step out of the car, leaving the door hanging open for the assistant to close. When she steps behind you and lets a gentle hand push it shut, the sound sends a chill up your spine. You shiver. 

“I apologize for startling-

“I-it’s fine,” you rush, voice sounding unfamiliar and meek in your throat. 

Ieiri ashes her smoke with a flick, gaze downcast and red with lack of sleep. Little did you know, last night was one of the most troubling of her career. Bodies upon bodies and injured colleagues stacked upon each other. Some were MIA – a scattered few meeting a supernatural fate that the higher-ups have yet to learn. She figures you haven’t turned on the news and heard about the devastation. She hopes you didn’t, it’d make this showing easier. 

“Nanami…” Ieiri approaches, holding her smoke to her side to stop the onslaught from meeting you. You blink. “I apologize for the chaos, and… for finally meeting you in these circumstances.” 

You’re nodding, too afraid to say more and risk sobbing in a pile on the polished cobblestone. 

“I won’t burden you for too long.” She’s reading your reflection, understanding that baseless words to break the silence will just make this difficult. Ieiri drops her cigarette, stepping on it as she turns to lead you. “Nor will I talk your ear off about formalities, or the fact that I am drowning in bodies and unknowing.” She’s walking fast, swinging doors open for you to pass through. These hallways, although designed for students, seem completely empty. There’s no sound of joyous teenage angst, no chaos that should fill a school – just a veil of blackness, devoid of laughter and emotion. 

You can guess it’s why Kento is so bleak at times, similarly devoid of laughter and emotion. He slaves away all day to this. 

“Now, I won’t tell you much, but this happens sometimes. Shibuya is in ruins, half of our Grade-1s are MIA or are down for the foreseeable future, higher-ups are scrambling – it’s a mess.” 

“And my husband…” It’s the first sentence you speak to her face-to-face. Ieiri thinks it’s as bleak as she imagined it’d be, and it’s not like she could blame you. Poor girl, tied unwillingly to sorcery through devotion. No human is fit to thrive in these conditions. 

“Mixed up in it all, I suppose.” She stops at a heavy set of swinging doors, sending you screeching to a halt. When she turns around, that confident, exhausted gaze is just exhausted. “Now, we found him just after the sun broke, along with some of his few… surviving colleagues.” Ieiri knows – of course she knows, there’s no other sorcerer who yielded a wrapped, spotted blade. It was at the scene, plain as day, and disregarded during clean-up. However, there is a slight, off-putting chance that she could be wrong. It’s why you’re here, it’s why she’s stepping away from your sight, heading towards the corpse. 

You don’t even need her to lift the pristine white sheet. You can smell him in the air – an odd, muted, clean sort of familiar musk. Right there, in that moment, is where it hits you. 

Your husband is gone. 

“I’m so sorry… the state we found him in is…” Ieiri doesn’t finish, she doesn’t even give you a second before she’s peeling the sheet away from clothed, cold ankles. 

Your soul falls. You can’t look. 

You can’t even think – your husband is gone. 

Kento jolts up as if he were being doused in smoldering coals. His heart is hammering in his chest, forcing him awake in a cold sweat. He’s still on the couch, neck sore from the odd position he drifted into. It had to have been hours, now. That dream felt like an eternity… your pain was palpable. He feels like Hell – guilty to the bone. 

With those downcast eyes, he leans his elbows to his knees, rubbing the tension in his face away. Slowly, he’s coming down from that nightmare, focusing his breathing on the late-night hum of city traffic. He can’t find a time, has no idea where his phone is, and is exhausted. There was only so much stewing he could do for the rest of the night, so he decided to call it and climb into bed. 

Except you’re not cuddled on your side when he walks into the room. The bed is barren, with messy covers strewn over the mattress. Kento’s disappointed, but he’s far too tired to think twice. He crawls into his side of the bed, lying on top of the sheets, reaching to clutch your pillow to his face. Perhaps, he thinks it’s you in his sleep-daze, or he knows it’s not you, so he whispers, 

“I’m sorry.” 

You step out of the bathroom three minutes later, hands damp from washing them clean. The bedside clock reads 24:23. Kento is curled up with your pillow. You smile. 

“Sorry. I had to pee.” 

“Come here.” He’s not really asleep, you know he isn’t asleep. His body is still tense. So, you make your way to him, footsteps light in the night before they morph into knee-crawling over the mattress. Kento finally cracks open his eyes, and a smile blooms. He’s happy to see you. 

You won’t mention his injury right now, he won’t mention his burdens as he drags you into his arms. He just holds you, letting you fall back asleep with your head on his chest. 

Like he promised, Kento held you all night until the morning birds awoke. 

Then, it’s the weekend and he’s home. You don’t dare move from this closeness when you wake up before him. It’s just too peaceful, the outside breeze, the beat of his heart, the sound of his breath. He’s a steady, sleepy rock. 

Hours fade, you doze off again. Morning melts into the afternoon, and the sun is hot. You blink awake in the same position, watching hairs of sweat bead against your husband's chest. Leaning forward to kiss him, he stirs. 

Then, mid-afternoon hits, and you’re finally crawling out of your bed with Kento following suit. He’s quiet, yawning into his hand as he cracks an eye open. “You didn’t wake me.” 

“It’s Saturday.” Waiting for you on your closet door, you walk to slide your robe on, pulling the windows open once it’s tied around your waist. “Didn’t talk much last night.” 

“Neither did you.” He’s looking at you over his shoulder, back hunched towards you as he sits on the edge of the bed. “You’re beautiful this morning.” 

“Afternoon.” You correct with a smile on your face. You’re doing nothing to appear more attractive than your half-asleep state allows, but he doesn’t care. “I love you.” 

Kento grunts when he stands, limping slightly as he makes his way to the wardrobe. He’s yawning again, stretching his big arms in front of him. Your eyes fall to his side – the big bandage covering his milky skin. 

You swallow down words, craning your neck when he passes you with a kiss to the cheek. “What’s for breakfast?” 

“Lunch, dear.” You remind him, sawing over your bottom lip as he strips in front of you. His movements are hardly sexual, but the way his body bends and moves as he steps out of his pants is adjacent. Wearing no briefs, he reaches for a pair you laundered for him. “Chicken katsu, maybe?” 

“Mm…” He hums, filtering through his hanging selection of casual shirts. He settles on a deep grey one, sliding it over his fluffy hair and his chest. “If that’s what you want to do…” sounds excellent.” 

“Careful – your side, baby.” 

“What? It’s fine.” He's giving you the cold shoulder, like he’s trying to blow you off. What he wants to do is pick a pair of comfortable pants that he wouldn’t have to squeeze into. It’s the weekend, after all. He had no career obligations. “Katsu is good, go do that.” 

“Pick me out something to wear. Comfy like that, it’s cute.” You’re mentioning finally pushing from the wall to head to the kitchen. Kento doesn’t respond, but you know he’ll do it. On weekends, you shower together in the evening. You know he’ll appreciate peeling the outfit he chose from your skin a little extra. 

While Kento gets ready for his rest day, you’re stewing in the kitchen. Starting with prepping chicken, cleaning, prepping vegetables, cleaning, then actually turning around to your hot oil to start cooking. Somewhere in the middle of the process, you turned on music from the house speakers, keeping it low but audible over the sound of the stove. It makes it so you don’t catch Kento sliding into the room, book tucked under his arm as he sits at your counter. Never speaking a word, just watching. 

“Didn’t hear you walk in.” You’re mildly startled when you turn around, heading to the sink to grab a utensil from your pile of dirty ones. 

“You’re just in your own world. Didn’t want to intercept.” Light, down-tempo jazz backs the sound of his words. You’re smiling under his warm gaze, proud like a child at his sweet attention. 

“Thinking about you.” You add, hands scrubbing under running water as you wash. You’re faithful, your chicken won’t burn behind you, so you let this mood carry. You can tell he wants to dote on you right now. “Halloween’s in a few days. Remember, we used to celebrate every year when we were dating.” 

“Mhm… I remember when you forced me to watch that anime so that I could dress as that character. All of our friends seemed to love it, but I don’t think a blonde Yagami Light was very convincing.” 

You’re giggling, fond memories flooding the front of your mind. A peeved Kento, a smiling you, friends, drinks, and love. It was the last time you two celebrated as young adults. “Well, I was very convinced.” 

“I’m sure you were. You had no problem putting on a wig and playing Misa.” Kento opens his book to his marked page, eyes flicking over your shoulder. “My love, your chicken.” 

“Oh!” You jump, turning around with your clean utensil to remove the cutlets from the oil. On your right, rice is cooking – steaming into the air, mingling with the scent of warmth and home. 

Every few seconds, you can feel his eyes bore into the back of your head. It’s like he wants to say something, but comes up empty every time. 

“If it’s not too much to ask, some coffee would be nice.” He mentions briefly when you turn back around. Nodding immediately, you place your things on the counter, wipe your hands, and move to the machine to brew him a cup. 

“Sorry, I’m so distracted this morning.” 

“Afternoon.” He replies cheekily, smirking up at you when you gawk over your shoulder. “And, it’s okay. You woke up later than normal, starting with lunch instead of breakfast, too.” 

“I actually woke up right on time, just didn’t want to wake you by getting up.” 

“You’re extremely thoughtful. I do appreciate it.” 

A few moments later, you’re cradling a steaming mug of black coffee in your hands, blowing over the top before you hand it to Kento. 

“It is sweet, how you do that.” He starts, so soft spoken, putting his book down so he can take a scalding sip. “It’s like a little indirect kiss.” 

“I have no choice, you drink it as soon as I hand it to you, and always end up burning yourself.” 

“Coffee burns are the least of my worries.” You’re stuck staring stars into Kento’s eyes, studying the fine lines, the familiarity, the gentleness. You don’t even realize how much time is passing until he does. Kento clears his throat. 

“Um, dear.” He nods back towards your stove, and you’re flustered, trying to reel your attention back. “I’m sorry, I’m distracting you.” 

“No!” You reply, shaking your head as you remove the too-crispy chicken to drain. You’re lost in your own skin, unsure what to do with your hands and hyper-aware of his presence now. “No, don’t go, I’m sorry.” 

“I won’t go, just don’t want you to burn down your kitchen.” There’s a chuckle there, faint, hidden behind his words. You can hear it.

While it’s still hot, you serve Kento his lunch, taking care to slice the meat against the grain and keeping its presentation as neat as possible.

A scoop of rice, chicken perched perfectly on top. You pick out his chopsticks, his sauces, and a beautiful, fresh pile of grated cabbage on the side. It’s only ready to eat when you place it gently in front of him, turning the plate so he can get the perfect bite of rice first. 

This attention to detail – Kento craves it. He needs it. By now, knowing exactly what he needs is second nature; he never expects you to falter. And that’s your fault for always being so perfect and loving. He expects the world from you, now—one bowl of chicken katsu at a time. 

Early evening comes with Kento’s gentle voice amongst the cracked windows, piercing through the outside noise. You two love the cooler weather – cuddling up close when there’s no other reason to. 

Back pressed to the couch, Kento’s balancing a thick hard-cover book about Japanese Folklore in honor of Halloween. His sweet, gentle voice makes the troubling stories seem like fairy tales. He’s speaking so wholly, stopping to nod you through any questions you had. Little by little, Kento has been explaining bits and pieces of his world – how curses are born, why he has such an overflow of Cursed Energy, and why he chose this life. 

The thing is, he didn’t. Nobody chooses to be scouted, or, in his case, completely abandoned by his family because they swore he was too abnormal to live a regular life. Desperate for normalcy in those first few years of High School, he lived his off-time nose deep in books that couldn’t talk back. 

He’s only recently started to let you in on those years – the darkest in his life. He speaks about them so solemnly, finally starting to tell himself the truth when it comes to what he saw all that time ago. His best friend's warm body sliced in two, blood gushing. Tears. Angst. Sleepless nights, early mornings, and dull breakfasts. 

He’s getting lost in his head again, words are starting to melt together, and your body is too warm. He shakes his head. “Sorry…” 

“Hm?” You look up at him, hand drawing pristine designs on his clothed chest. Being honest, you didn’t notice the minor stutter of his words as he droned on. You’re more focused on the grotesque human amalgamation that exists within the walls of a city school. The description he read made you shudder. 

“Sorry, I just-

Kento is sighing, sliding further on the couch with the intent to sit. You’re sitting up with him, the backs of your thighs pressed into your heels as he swings his long legs off.. He’s clutching the front of his head like a headache is brewing, eyebrows knitting in phantom pain. 

It’s like… ever since that dream he had the other night, he can’t think straight. He can’t get that fucking night out of his head. 

“Ken…to..?” You mutter, reaching to pull his hand from his face. Unfortunately, this has become familiar to you – these bouts he works himself up into. It eats him alive, rendering him speechless and distant even when you’re close enough to touch. “It’s okay.” 

“Just a… It’s been a week.” Is what he lies with, looking down at his feet. There’s a crook in his neck he has to roll out; it’s uncomfortable. Everything around him is on fire; his skin is churning. 

It’s a slip you witness in real time, heart thrumming painfully as his eyes go ghost. You feel so helpless right now, his hand flexes against yours like he wants to pull it back to his body, but he sits motionless. 

You stand, stepping in front of him to pull his limp frame into your chest. “No, come back to me.” You plead, voice as light as a whisper. “It’s not lonely in there? Just you and your thoughts?” 

Seconds pass, and Kento blinks. Then, shuts his eyes and breathes out a laugh. You feel accomplished, beaming with strength and knowing. “You are sweet.” 

“...are you okay?” You try, biting your lip, trailing fingers over his hunched shoulders. Kento finally blinks up at you, sleeplessness showing in the shadows under his eyes. He nods, but it’s not enough. “Hm?” 

“I’m okay. Yes, it’s okay.” Ken’s stumbling over his words like he’s distracted, sighing as he leans forward, pressing a kiss to your sternum. His long arms are warm – strong as they take hold of your waist. 

“I wish… You can just stay here with me all the time.” He’s purring like a kitten pressed to you, humming deep in his chest. You’re tangling a hand in his mess of blonde locks. “Never go to work, never sleep, never dissociate. Is that selfish of me?” 

“Very.” His voice is muffled. You don’t care. “That is okay. I tell you often, but I just want to reinforce…” Now, he’s peeking up at you, red-faced and ruffled. A reflection only saved for you in the darkest of nights — the most private of rooms. “You deserve a husband who lives for nothing else but taking care of you. I am so sorry I failed you in that sacred mission.” 

You’re not sure what to say, but you know he’s feeling down right now. You blink at him, eyebrows knitted up in worry. “Would you stop saying such vile things? It’s not true.” 

“I understand that you love me enough to lie, as well.” Wordless for a moment, Kento’s hands find their way under the back of your shirt, thick fingers pressing into the bare flesh. You shiver. “So, we will lie to each other then.” 

When he finally sets his stress to the side, he’s all yours. Kisses start at your stomach, lingering there over your shirt as his hands massage your back. You know this kiss – this feeling, it’s all the love he can’t quite figure out how to say to you, so he’s determined to show it. Each kiss is pressed to you in sloping curves, delicate signatures, and expensive lust. Kento loves everything about you, the way you shudder and whine when he ghosts that ticklish patch under your belly button. He can’t help himself. He has to paw your shirt off. 

Then, it’s like he’s trying to bury himself inside of you. He wants to cut you open and make a little home right under your skin. It must feel so warm in there, like it does when he’s making love to you. All he wants is to feel safe in a space where no one can find him. 

Losing himself in your skin is the only way he can seem to chase that feeling. It’s what he dives into every single day, rain or shine, blood or sweat, fighting or loving – being inside of you is his biggest vice. It’s all he needs to survive in a bitter world unfit for his mind. 

His lips are so hot, slick tongue leaving traces of him in his wake as he trails up your torso. Above him, you’re chewing at your lip, holding your breath when he ghosts over your pelvis. You want him there, but Kento wants to eat you alive. 

He starts at your hip, sinking his teeth through skin and flesh. You whine, a hand falling back into his hair to pull him close, yet he turns away. 

“Ouch.” You complain, breath stalling as his nose drags across the waistband of your loose pants. You’re not wearing any underwear – you’re his. Just a touch away from having it all. 

“I am so eager to be inside of you.” He’s talking through kisses, lips wet and warm. When he pulls away, hands playing at your pants, you’re purring – equally as eager, desperate. Loved. “Have you any clue how much I need you?” 

“Just a hint.” 

Finally, he’s pulling down your pants, letting them bunch at your thighs as he gets that beautiful, warm eyeful of you. Slick pools hot between your legs as he cranes his fingers between them, gasping at the silky feel of your wetness against the softness of your folds. 

Then, he’s muttering, “Wow,” Before bringing those two damp fingers to his lips, sucking them quickly into his mouth. It’s a newly formed habit of his, reveling in the taste or smell of you lingering in a room. It’s as if he’s picking up on something you didn’t know existed. And, it’s so sexy. 

“All this teasing…” You’re dragging a hand back over his face, fingers sliding against his ear, pressing into his jaw. Instinctually, he bares his neck. Now, it’s your turn to dive in. Sliding into his lap in a kneeling straddle, you attack the base of his jaw with feverish kisses, core rocking over his jutted sweatpants. You’re eager like a rabbit, licking and biting just like he did. However, Kento feels no pain from your nipping – nothing like the steady, dull ache that pangs your side every time you grind upwards. But it’s satisfying seeing his pristine skin bloom in pretty shades of red. It’s like he’s showing you off, with his neckful of kisses and marks – it makes you so weak. 

“I just want it,” you catch your earlier thought in midair, whispering against his lips. 

“Come and get it.” He replies, almost like he’s challenging you. His eyes are so fucked and heady when he pulls away. But, when you reach for his crotch, so ready to feel him stretch you full, he catches it. “Actually–

Kento takes over, leading you into a kiss, pressing his hand into your back as he stands, carrying you in his grip. You’re expecting to go far – perhaps to the bedroom, maybe to the kitchen counter. You’re not expecting to be slammed onto the couch, winded as Kento’s bodyweight pins you down. 

He’s so strong now, it’s like he doesn’t know his own strength. But, you won’t tell him that you can’t really breathe with him holding you like this, shoulder to shoulder, warm chest pushing you so far. But he feels so good grinding down on you, letting himself be needy and unrestrained in your presence. After all, you are the only escape he gets. The only home he truly has. You need to memorize every side of him. 

“Want you to put it in.” You’re whispering every little breath you can steal, fingers clawing into the thinness of his shirt. “Take it off.” 

“Demanding. Which first?” 

“Take it off.” You’re fisting grey fabric, pulling it out like it’d make him move faster. Against your nakedness, you want him to be with you. 

He sits up for a moment, letting you get a lungful of precious air. Even better than that, the closest possible view when he tears his shirt over his head, fluffy hair out of place, and chiseled chest rising and falling with need for you. 

You truly think you’ll combust. 

“Put it in.” 

Kento hums, a tiny smirk on his lips, when he reaches into the front of his pants. Your eyes trail down his chest, swallowing at the thin patch of hair that blooms just under his waistband. So sexy, so familiar. 

You’re whining. Sawing your bottom lip when he tugs his cock free. Kento is so swollen, so pent-up and needy for you. 

Just when you think he’s about to drop his guard and fuck you into the cushion, he leans down and kisses you, thick cock grinding right between your strewn legs. He’s never done this before – drawn this out in such intoxicatingly needy ways. Humping your legs, whining your name, pinning you down. It’s like he’s on a mission; something is still in the back of his mind. 

So, you tell him again. “Put it in.” 

Though he laughs, he listens. Finally, finally, he’s pressing into you so gently, getting you into that sweet, familiar stretch. It stings at first, always for him, but you love it. It just means that pleasure will follow, his love will fill you whole. 

And, it’s at that first touch of your strangling warmth that he screws his eyes shut, trembling on a sigh. “Oh, I love you.” 

“Mmfh – thank you. Thank you so much, baby.” 

“Shh…” he coaxes, kissing the small line of drool that falls from your open mouth. “Just take it.” 

Kento doesn’t want you to talk, but he does want you to scream his name. It’s how he fucks you, slamming so deep inside of your weeping hole that you can’t help but choke on a sob. 

“Don’t mean to – mm… Be so rough.” You can tell Kento is overcome, neck blooming a dark maroon as he fucks into you. You’re so wet – sopping, and sticky against his skin when he pulls out every time. “B-but, you’re so…” Sweat’s beading, he’s ignoring your pleading moans, holding you so tight you will definitely be marked tomorrow. “...perfect.” 

“I love you.” You’re crying now, squeezing tears from your eyes as he kisses so impossibly deep inside of you. With every thrust he’s giving you, somehow, he feels deeper than the last. It’s like he’s making a home inside your womb – just like he wanted. 

“Sweet… sweet girl. Just so sweet to me.” 

He’s talking so much, giving you so much, touching you so much. 

Then, you’re cumming, nails scratching deep in his back as your world stops… then, starts again. Kento leans down, groaning obscenly in your mouth as your cunt grips and tugs at him, pulsating milky streams of you everywhere. 

Though your arms go limp around him, thighs quivering as they lock onto his waist, Kento is sure he can milk one more orgasm out of you. So, he fucks you in your favorite way – silently, lips pressed to yours, his tongue slipping over your teeth. One big hand clutches over the back of the couch, leather creaking in the strength he knows he can’t exert on you. 

He wants to break this couch, to pin you through the soil and fuck you so deep until you’re begging him to stop. The only thing is, you never would – He knows that, you know that. And, your bodies know that, it’s why he controls himself. 

Kento lets you cum for the second time to the sound of skin slapping skin. He drinks up your cries and feeds them back to you in a kiss before he’s finally cumming. Still as a statue, he’s breathing through the feeling, Adam’s apple bobbing down moisture, sweet lips parted. 

He’s so beautiful, you’re so taken, life is so perfect. 

It’s all you’re thinking as you come down, eyes heavy and swollen with tears. Weakly, your hand rises to his cheek, pressing your palm there for reassurance. Any moment now, he’ll come back to his senses and ask if you’re okay. This is your way of beating him to it.

Though he knows you’re okay, thorough to the bone, Kento presses his forehead to yours. “Thank you for letting me do that.” 

He can’t see the small smile on your face, but he can hear the way your breath hitches. “I love you.” 

Spending that weekend so entirely trapped with you ultimately did help Kento’s mood heading into Halloween week. It’s a notorious time for curses to pop up – old ones returning, and new ones popping up in decorated, dimly lit alleyways. 

But this year felt different… almost calmer. 

It’s why he’s holding your hand through the late city streets on a Tuesday, watching how those street lights bless your lovely features. It’s a reckless decision. Kento knows that he’ll spend all of tomorrow wishing he slept all night, but the old ramen shop on the corner was calling his name – yours, too. 

It’s a hole-in-the-wall establishment. A married couple moves behind the sitting bar in perfect unison – passing noodles, spooning broth, and grilling meats. He sips over smooth liquor, you’re shoveling him smiling stories about holidays past. He thinks that right here, with you, past two in the morning, is his happy place – his Heaven. 

That feeling is truly the only thing keeping him sane, even when he’s mid-sip, nodding to your sweet voice, when an unmistakable presence, grating as ever, passes through the dinging front door. 

You’re giggling sweetly, he’s closing his eyes, praying Gojo wouldn’t notice. But, he already has.

It’s a lucky gamble, who knew the ever stoic Nanami would be frequenting the only open ramen shop in the neighborhood? So, of course, he has to approach. It’s just in Gojo’s blood. He’s starry-eyed behind his blindfold, fresh off a mission and ravenous for anything. His underclassmen’s attention is just as good as cheap ramen. 

“Dear, I am so sorry,” Kento mutters before Gojo closes in, bracing for impact and suddenly exhausted. The liquor softens the blow Gojo exudes, but it doesn’t make this situation easier. You’re looking at the white-haired stranger like he has you at gunpoint. 

“Wha-

“Nanamin!” Though moderately voiced, Gojo is elated, smiling ear to ear and totally shrugging off any feeling that wasn’t contentedness. “Why are you here!?” 

“It’s a big city… Gojo-san…” Another sip, Kento bears the weight of Gojo’s long arm slung over his hunched shoulders. “And you are in my neighborhood.” 

“Heh.” Gojo laughs, face falling when he notices your piqued attention. Of course, he saw you as he walked in, but assumed you were a diner. After all, Kento never told them about a partner… let alone a wife. “Hi, there.” 

The wave this stranger gives to you is curt, but you take it with a furrowed brow. 

Kento speaks for you. “Gojo, if you’d please take the blindfold off while speaking to her…” 

Then, you finally understand – blaming it on the lack of sleep. This brooding reflection in front of you seemed awfully familiar. “Oh, h-

Gojo takes orders like a god, immediately pulling the black binding from his eyes and over his head. The energy in this room is blinding, but he can hold out long enough to see who you were – this beautifully patient stranger sitting next to Kento. Surely you couldn’t be…

“Nanami, this is… Satoru Gojo, the one I was telling you about.” Kento mutters, losing himself in the rim of his glass. 

“Nan– wait, you tell stories about me? How sweet.” 

“Please, get your food and be on your way.” 

“Satoru.” You smile, bowing lightly in his oddly familiar presence. It’s genuinely like you know him, knowing how much Kento loves and loathes him. He would never say it, but in your mind, you equate their turbulent relationship to love… in some form, perhaps brotherly. “It’s so nice to meet you finally.” 

Gojo’s staring at you with a half-smile on his face, waiting for his colleague to expand, perhaps explain. But, the restaurant is silent save for sizzling stoves and gentle conversation. 

Kento drags his teeth, letting his forehead fall into his stretched palm.

“I do not believe I told you, but Gojo, this is my wife… Please, be respectful.” 

[ddejavvu]

hiccup casual dominance haddock gently chastising reader who cannot stop biting the skin around their fingers……. (i love ur blog and ur writing btw<3)

the way he grabs astrid's arms and shakes her in the second movie. mhm mhm.

--

It's something mindless, the gnawing of your teeth at the sharp edge of your finger. You have a habit of biting the skin around your nails, and this one seems to have regrown from the last time you'd severed it. It's something you'd felt with the pad of your thumb and raised to your mouth without thinking, but Hiccup notices it like it's a lit neon sign.

"Hey!" He snaps, still bent over his workbench but no longer focused on the patches of leather he's sewing together. He says nothing more, and your hand lowers unconsciously from your mouth when you raise your head to look at him. You're semi-alarmed: there's really no good reason to be yelling in a forge, it usually means something is on fire. But Grump is very much asleep in the corner, and the flames have gone out.

"What?" You ask, truly stumped. You're not trying to be obtuse, your arm halfway raised to your mouth simply doesn't register.

Hiccup raises one eyebrow- you wonder whether he's gotten his sass from Stoick or Valka, because he's got buckets of it, and he flicks his eyes pointedly downwards towards your hand, then back up at your face, unimpressed.

You mirror his gaze, realizing that your eyes fall upon the mangled skin around your ring finger's nail.

"Oh. Shit," You mumble, shame heating your cheeks. You always feel like such a baby when someone points out your bad habit, but you know Hiccup isn't trying to tease you, so you jam your hand into your lap, smearing away saliva on your pants.

"You're gonna make yourself bleed." Hiccup's voice is gentle but pointed, "Again."

You neglect to tell him that the one time he'd witnessed your teeth grind too far into the meat of your finger- enough to draw blood, hadn't been the first nor the last time you'd bled. It's not the norm, but it's not the outlier either. You merely bite your tongue, waiting for further reprimands, or for gracious silence.

He's a kind man, so he grants you the latter. But as soon as the embarrassment clears from your head, you forget all about the incident, and you become immersed in the pages of your book once more.

Off-kilter stomping, one-part boot and one-part metal peg, is all the warning you get before your hands are snatched away from you, one pulled from your lap and the other from your mouth.

You're already rushing out a, 'Sorry, sorry, sorry!' but he won't let your hand go when you tug at it. He holds it firmly in his own, his brow set in a stern frown. He looks like his father's namesake, and you foresee him being a very intimidating chief one day- if perhaps he can pile on some meat to his bones.

"Stop biting your fingers." He says, shaking your arms gently with each word, "I have eagle eyes. You forget, I have to watch Toothless constantly to make sure he doesn't steal my leg right out from under me."

Toothless's great head raises from where it had been sleepily resting on the wood floor, and he presents his disdain for Hiccup's terrible accusations in the form of a testy huff.

"I notice everything." Hiccup promises, his eyes boring into yours, "You're never gonna be able to sneak it past me."

"I'm not trying to sneak it past you!" You swear, shame once again licking at the inside of your chest. You try not to whine, but your voice takes on a hint of hopelessness, "I'm- it just happens, I don't know! I don't think about doing it, and I don't do it on purpose, it just happens! It's like breathing! How am I supposed to stop doing it when I don't even do it on purpose?"

"I will help you stop." Hiccup decides, the frown on his features softening as your desperation bleeds through, "It's okay, I'll- we'll figure something out. Like gloves!" He brightens, "Leather gloves, I can make them, that way they'll stop you from biting at your actual finger. And then it'll force you to think about it, and slowly you'll stop doing it altogether. Or something that tastes bad on your fingers. I could ask Astrid to make some of her yaknog- that stuff's thick enough to be a paste. I can spread it on your fingertips and then you'll be deterred by just the smell. Or- or a restraint! I could chain some cuffs to the bench," Hiccup gestures at the slab of wood you're sitting on, "And you can have just enough give to read your book, but not to reach for your face."

"Hold on," You stop him, knowing his mind is filling with glorious, terrible ideas, "You want to handcuff me and chain me to the bench?"

Hiccup's face shifts, clarity dawning on his bright features and dimming them, "Okay, that one- you're right, that's not my best idea."

"I don't want yaknog on my hands either," You grimace, "Can we just- try the gloves?"

"Yeah. The gloves." Hiccup nods, squeezing your hands with finality, but only releasing one- the one you'd spared. He keeps the freshly-bitten fingers in his own hand, peering worriedly at the skin to spot any blood. When he finds none, he drags your hand to his mouth, kissing gently over the side of your finger before finally letting you have it back.

"I'll start on your gloves right away," He goes back to his workbench, sliding his previous project to the side, "Snotlout is just gonna have to wait for his new saddle. As long as Hookfang doesn't burn through the one he's got, he'll be fine for a few more days. But you need those gloves now." Hiccup stares pointedly at you from across the room, "For now, please try not to bite your fingers. Or I'll sick Toothless on you."

Big green eyes stare at you with interest from across the room, but the dragon won't pounce without Hiccup's command. You'd rather like to keep breathing clean air and not fish breath, so you tuck your hands beneath your thighs on the bench, electing to only remove one to turn a page of your book.

"Perfect," Hiccup grins, a hint of pride in his smile as he grabs for a fresh panel of leather, "I'll have your gloves done in no time."

[stylesispunk]

The soldier in the armour | part iv

Marcus Acacius x f!reader

masterlist | previous chapter | next chapter

summary: Acacius put his plan on march, starting by sending you away with a sealing promise of returning back to you, but you cannot bear the thought of him fighting alone, and some plans are destroyed.

wc: 7k (lazy)

warnings: angst, age gap, mentions of miscarriage, blood, violence against women, power imbalance, kissing without consent, mentions of death. The events of this chapter happen on the same night.

a/n: Sorry for being so lazy about writing and updating lately. I'm just a teacher on her summer break. This one will be intense. Reblogs and comments are always appreciated. Happy reading. 💌

dividers by @/saradika-graphics

"Hold my hand," Acacius said, extending his arm toward you. You were sitting by the fountain, feeding the fish. The last couple of days had been torture for you, and he wanted nothing more than to shower you with acts of love from the deepest part of his heart.

You looked up, your eyes meeting his. There was a softness in his gaze, a quiet determination that melted the tension in your chest. The cool breeze rustled the leaves above, and for a brief moment, the world seemed to pause.

Reluctantly, you placed your hand in his, feeling the warmth of his touch seep into your skin. He gave a gentle squeeze, as if trying to transfer some unspoken strength to you.

"Come," he whispered, his voice a balm against the chaos of your thoughts. "Let me take you somewhere…”

You hesitated, glancing back at the rippling water, watching the fish dart beneath the surface. But the pull of his presence was stronger. You stood, your fingers still entwined with his, and allowed him to lead you away from the weight of the past few days.

He led you through a narrow corridor you didn’t recognize, its walls lined with ivy that crept in through tiny cracks. At the very end, hidden behind a heavy wooden door, Acacius paused. He glanced back at you, a small, knowing smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

“No one else knows about this place,” he murmured, his voice low, almost conspiratorial. “It’s just for us.”

He pushed the door open with a soft creak, revealing a hidden courtyard tucked away from the rest of the villa. It was small, intimate, overgrown with wildflowers and shaded by an ancient olive tree whose twisted branches reached out like protective arms. The air smelled of lavender and sun-warmed stone, and the only sounds were the gentle rustle of leaves and the distant song of cicadas at dawn.

Acacius turned to you, his expression softening. “I come here when I need to feel... whole again.” His thumb brushed over your knuckles, lingering. “And I thought maybe, just maybe, it could help you too.”

There was a strange tone on his voice, as if he was lingering to your presence before slipping away from you, but you decided to ignore the nagging feeling in the pit of your stomach.

"I know you're worried” you whispered, looking up at him to meet his gaze, smiling softly “but I’m gonna be fine. I’ll recover from this someday.”

“Can I confess you something?” He asked almost ashamed of the question

You nodded, inviting him to speak his truth.

"This is embarrassing for a general but I'm really scared."He confessed, “I…I have someone to lose this time"

Your breath hitched and sudden wave of anxiety crept into your bones.

"You won't lose me" you reassured, caressing his checks with your fingertips.

"From all the battles I fought. Falling in love with you came easily to me...I thought it was going to be difficult for a man like me to be deserving of someone like you.

"This sounds like a goodbye and I don't like that tone in your voice." You said, voice breaking at the thought.

“You know things could go wrong-“

“They will not.” You interrupted, reassuring him once again.

“Allowing myself to know you and love you has been the bravest thing I've ever done," he whispered, his voice trembling just enough for you to hear the depth of his fear, and his love.

Before you could respond, his hand slid to the back of your neck, pulling you gently but urgently toward him. His lips met yours in a kiss that was both fierce and tender, as if he were pouring every feeling inside on it, every hidden feeling into that single, breath-stealing moment. The world around you seemed to dissolve, the rustling leaves, the distant cicadas, all fading into the background as the warmth of his mouth ignited something deep within you.

Your heart raced, the anxiety still humming in the edges of your mind, but his touch grounded you, as always. You let your fingers trail through his hair, pulling him closer, as if anchoring him to this promise you both silently made.

You won't lose me. We won’t lose each other.

When he finally pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, both of you breathless, hearts pounding in the same rhythm, at the same time. His eyes searched yours, as if trying to memorize this moment, to etch it into his soul.

Then, without warning, he kissed you again, this time with a raw urgency that stole the air left from your lungs. His hands slid from your jaw down to your waist, gripping you as though he could mold your bodies into one. His fingertips dug into your skin, tracing every curve, every inch he could reach, as if committing the feel of you to memory.

You responded in kind, your hands roaming over his shoulders, his back, clutching at the fabric of his tunic like it was the only thing tethering you to reality. The heat between you was electric, a fire burning bright against the looming shadow of what was to come.

When he finally pulled back again, his breath was ragged, his lips lingering against yours for a fleeting second longer. His hands framed your face now, thumbs brushing softly against your cheeks in contrast to the urgency of moments before. His gaze was heavy, filled with a thousand words he couldn’t seem to say.

He leaned in, pressing one lingering kiss to your forehead, his lips warm against your skin.

"My heart, my body and my soul belong to you in every lifetime." He whispered, nosing your neck, savoring the taste of your skin.

"My heart, my body and my soul belong to you in every lifetime. Since the day you saved me from the bathtub and sword you would love me." You whispered the same words back because you meant them.

He smiled against your neck, feeling his eyes watering already. For a man of a thousand battles these shows of affection tended to seen as a sign of weakness. But by your side he learnt about the vulnerability that it came when you loved someone.

You smelled like calm lavender, and your souls interviewed in an unbreakable thread destined to meet in every single lifetime.

You were his person; the best Rome had ever given him back for all the duty and sacrifice. It broke his heart to send you away.

He didn’t fear death anymore, but not seeing you again broke him.

Acacius helped you up, his strong arm supporting you, your heart still ached with the lingering sensation of his words, his love, his devotion. You walked together, the world outside the villa seeming quieter. His hand remained gently wrapped around yours.

When you reached back to the villa, the air felt heavy, as if something was waiting for you there. The grand doors opened to reveal Lucilla standing near the font, her hands trembling slightly as she stood motionless, her gaze distant. Her expression was clouded with worry, yet there was an undeniable sorrow in her eyes that you couldn’t ignore.

“Mother, what’s wrong?” you asked, stepping forward, concern flooding your chest as you glanced between her and Acacius.

Lucilla turned her head slowly, her eyes brimming with tears.

"They are here" she said, painfully ignoring your questions as she looked at Acacius.

"It's time" he said, painfully, avoiding looking at you for a moment, then he glanced at you "Look. They are some of my men. They are here to take you out-“

"I don't want to leave" you protested, coming to Lucilla, "Mother, please don't do this again. Come with me"

 You stepped back, your heart twisting painfully as you listened to Acacius, walking to your mother.

"I don't want to leave," you protested again, your voice trembling. You reached for her, the distance between you growing wider with every passing second. "Mother, please don't do this again. Come with me."

Lucilla’s eyes shimmered with unshed tears, and for a moment, she looked as though she might give in. But the sorrow on her face deepened, and she shook her head gently. "I cannot, my dear. I failed Lucius once." Her voice cracked as she spoke his name, a deep, haunting sadness settling over her. "I won’t fail you too. Not again."

You felt the sting of her words like a dagger in your chest. She was leaving you, just like she had left him. The memories of her absence in the darkest moments of your life, when you were fighting for survival, flashed before your eyes, and the thought of repeating that same pain was unbearable.

"So, you're failing me now?" you asked, the sharpness in your tone betraying the hurt you felt. Your breath was ragged as you held back tears, frustration and confusion bubbling up inside you.

Lucilla stepped forward, her hands trembling as she reached for you, but she stopped just short of touching you. "Oh no," she whispered, shaking her head. "I cannot bear the thought of losing you to this. If you're away, Geta won’t be able to use you as a tool against Acacius or me. I can't risk you being taken from me as he was."

The words stung, but in them, you realized the depth of her fear. She wasn’t abandoning you, she was trying to protect you, to keep you safe in a world where everything felt uncertain and dangerous.

"But I don’t want to be safe without you," you said softly, your voice breaking. "I can't go alone.”

Lucilla looked at you, her gaze softening for a brief moment, but the fear in her eyes remained. "I love you too much," she whispered, her voice barely audible. "And I can't watch you suffer here.”

Acacius stood behind you, his hand gently resting on your shoulder. His presence was a steady anchor in the storm of emotions threatening to overwhelm you. He knew how hard this was for you, but his silence spoke volumes. He understood what it meant to love and lose, and now, he was offering you something that felt like the only way forward.

Lucilla’s voice quivered as she took a step back, her hands clenched at her sides. "I cannot go with you... but I will wait for you here. And I will pray that one day you come back to me. That we both do."

You felt as though your heart was being torn in two—torn between the woman who had given you life and the man who had become your lifeline. The conflict swirled in your chest, but all you could do was nod, unable to find the right words.

"I love you," you whispered softly to her, your voice breaking as the tears finally fell.

Lucilla gave you a sad, bittersweet smile. "I love you too, my darling. Always."

You turned to Acacius, your heart sinking at the pained expression that crossed his face as his gaze shifted from you to the three men who had appeared in the distance. His posture stiffened, his eyes narrowing as they approached with purposeful strides.

The moment felt heavy, like the air itself was holding its breath. His soldiers had arrived. The plan was set in motion. The urgency of the situation weighed down on both of you, but there was something else, something unspoken in the way Acacius held himself. His pain, too, was palpable. As much as he had sworn to protect you, he knew what this moment meant. The time for goodbyes was closing in, and there was no turning back.

"Acacius..." you whispered, your voice trembling as you reached for his hand. But he stepped back slightly, his jaw tightening as his men neared.

He glanced over his shoulder at you, his eyes full of regret and determination. "You need to go. Now."

The men stopped in front of him, their faces unreadable but their posture betraying the tension of the moment. Acacius addressed them with a tone that brooked no argument, his voice firm but clipped.

"Prepare the horses," he commanded, and one of them nodded before heading off to carry out his orders.

You looked at Acacius, pain flickering in your chest as you realized that the next few moments would change everything. The world you had known was slipping away, and there was no going back to the life you had before.

"You’re leaving me, aren’t you?" you asked, the words slipping from your lips before you could stop them.

Acacius looked at you for a long moment, his expression unreadable, but his gaze softened when he saw the hurt in your eyes. "No. I’m not leaving you." His voice was low and full of certainty, though there was a storm of emotions raging behind those words. "I’ll never leave you. But I need you to trust me now."

You nodded, though the uncertainty in your chest remained. His men were getting ready, and you knew that there was no time left to hesitate.

"Promise me you’ll come to get me back," you said quietly, the words more of a plea than a command.

Acacius stepped closer, his hand brushing the side of your face, his thumb tenderly tracing over your skin. "I swear," he said, his voice raw and filled with emotion. "I’ll come back for you. I’ll do everything in my power to make sure we’re together again."

The words were like a lifeline, but the storm of emotions raging in your chest made it hard to hold on to them. You wanted to believe him more than anything, but the world was so unpredictable, and you knew better than to expect anything in these dark times.

As Acacius turned to give orders to his men, you felt the weight of the world crashing down on you, the finality of this moment settling into your bones. You wanted to run to him, to beg him to let you stay, but you couldn’t, because deep down, you knew what he was doing was necessary.

This was bigger than the two of you.

Acacius cupped your face once more, his eyes soft but heavy with the weight of what was to come. He leaned in, his lips brushing against yours in a gentle, lingering kiss, one that spoke of promises and unspoken fears. His touch was tender, like it was the last thing he could give you before everything changed.

"Be safe," he whispered against your lips, his breath warm and full of urgency. "No matter what happens, remember that I will always love you."

Your heart ached as his words sank in, the depth of his devotion resonating through every fiber of your being. You nodded, though your throat tightened, unable to find the words to express what you felt. His love, his promise, were everything you had left to hold on to in this fleeting moment.

He stepped back slightly, his hand still resting on your cheek, and without another word, he helped you onto the horse. His movements were swift and precise, his touch strong but careful as he steadied you in the saddle. His gaze never left yours, filled with a quiet desperation, as though he could somehow will the situation to change with just his stare.

As he stood next to the horse, his hand resting on the reins, he gave a final, lingering look, as though imprinting you into his memory. Then, with a slow exhale, he spoke again, his voice filled with finality.

"Trust in me," he said, his eyes intense. "No matter what happens, trust that I will find a way back to you."

His men began to move in the background, preparing to take you away. Acacius placed one last kiss on your forehead, a soft, lingering touch that felt like it was marking the end of a chapter. The taste of his lips, the warmth of his presence, remained with you, even as he pulled away and nodded to his soldiers.

With a final glance, he stepped back, his face a mixture of sorrow and determination. His hand reached out toward you one last time, as if he wanted to pull you into his arms, to hold you just a moment longer. But he didn’t. He couldn’t.

"Go," he said quietly, the word almost a command, but it carried so much emotion that it cut deep.

As the men took the reins of your horse and started moving you away, you cast one last look over your shoulder. Acacius stood there, still watching you, his face a mask of stoic resolve but his eyes betraying the pain that he had hidden behind his duty.

And then, as you were carried further away, the world around you began to blur. The sound of horses’ hooves pounding against the earth, the rustling of the wind, it all faded as you focused on the one thing that remained clear.

As the path beyond you seemed to haunt you, you tightened the cloak around your shoulders, its coarse fabric doing little to shield you from the chill that seeped into your bones. Every step away from the villa felt heavier and suffocating, each one pulling you farther from Acacius, your mother, and Lucius. The road stretched ahead, but your mind remained trapped in the past, tangled in memories and regrets.

You couldn’t shake the image of Acacius’s eyes, the way they softened when he looked at you, or the feel of his lips pressed against your forehead. The smell of lavender on his neck that seemed to lullaby you into sleep every time he wrapped his strong arms around you. Your heart ached thinking about your mother, her face etched with sorrow and strength as she pushed you to safety. And Lucius, your brother, the rightful emperor of Rome, forced to live as a slave under a name that was never his.

As Acacius's men guided you through the winding paths, the weight of your separation grew unbearable. You were being secured by Acacius’s army, hidden away from the dangers that loomed, but it felt more like a prison than protection. You were trapped in the middle of something larger than yourself, and the distance only amplified the helplessness curling in your chest.

Meanwhile, back at the villa, Acacius stood frozen, his gaze fixed on the direction you had disappeared. His heart clenched painfully, the hollow ache of your absence settling deep within him. A single tear escaped down his cheek, betraying the stoic facade he tried to maintain. The emptiness in his chest felt insurmountable, as if a piece of him had been torn away.

You were the Achilles heel on his life, he couldn’t bear the thought of you being away from his protection.

Lucilla, seeing the turmoil etched across his face, stepped forward and placed a gentle hand on his shoulder. “She’s strong, like her father” she whispered, her voice steady despite the tears glistening in her own eyes. “And you will find your way back to her.”

Acacius’s jaw tightened, his hand coming to rest over Lucilla’s in silent acknowledgment. The touch sent shivers down his spine; it wasn’t love but understanding. The both of you letting go your heart away.

His eyes never wavered from the path you had taken, his heart silently vowing that no matter what, he would find you again.

Beneath the cloak, you knew you hadn’t far away from the villa. Just one bold movement and you could go back.

There was a weight that became heavier to bear. Acacius would risk his life to free an empire from its tyranny, and perhaps the power would go back to your family while your mother would get stuck in the middle and Lucius real identity would display.

Suddenly, the weight of it all became unbearable. Without thinking, you yanked on the reins, bringing the horse to a skidding halt. The men guarding you shouted in alarm, but their voices were distant echoes compared to the roaring in your ears. You leapt off the horse, your feet hitting the ground hard, and before they could react, you were running, running back towards the villa, towards the people you couldn’t abandon.

"Stop! Come back!" Acacius's men called after you, their voices laced with desperation. But you didn’t listen. You couldn’t. You wouldn’t let them risk their lives while you hid away, blind to whatever horrors might unfold.

you couldn’t turn your back on them. Not now. Now after all.

You were stronger than that. You were the daughter of Maximus Decimus, a man of honor.

You wouldn’t let them risk their lives while you hid away, blind to whatever horrors might unfold. The wind tore at your cloak, your breath coming in ragged gasps as your feet pounded the dirt path. Every step closer to the villa felt like shedding a layer of fear, replaced by a fierce, unyielding resolve.

The villa loomed in the distance; it brought a strange comfort to your heart. Your mind raced faster than your legs, what if you were too late? What if Acacius or your mother were already in danger? The thought spurred you on, ignoring the burning in your lungs and the aching in your legs.

Behind you, the shouts of Acacius’s men grew fainter, their figures shrinking against the horizon. But your heart was set, you belonged there, in the thick of it, facing whatever fate awaited alongside those you loved. As the gates of the villa came into view, your heart pounded not from exhaustion, but from the sheer force of your determination.

You were almost there.

"Acacius!" you shouted, breathless as you reached the entrance. As soon as he came into view, you crashed into him, and he caught you effortlessly, his arms wrapping around you in an embrace that felt like home.

"What are you doing here?" His voice was hushed, desperate, his hands moving to cradle your face, as if he needed to be sure you were real.

"I can't-" you gasped out, struggling to steady your breath. "Don't ask me to run away while you stay here. Please, don’t."

His fingers traced your jaw, his forehead pressing against yours as he exhaled shakily. "I can’t put you in danger," he whispered. "I won’t."

You closed your eyes, your breath mingling with his. His warmth surrounded you, grounding you, but the ache in your chest only grew stronger.

"How?" you whispered, searching his eyes. "How can I leave when you will be here fighting?

Acacius’s jaw clenched. "You know what will happen if you stay—"

"And you know what will happen if I go!" You pulled back slightly, forcing him to see the determination burning in your eyes. "I grew up in a world where privilege was handed to me until it wasn’t. My heart was humble until it wasn’t. I never realized how greedy I could be until I met you, until my heart started beating for you. I want everything that comes from you—your words, your breath, your smile, your heart, you. And if there is a chance, they take you from me, then I’d rather meet the spirits myself than live in a world where you don’t exist."

His breath hitched, and for the first time, you saw something break in him. A vulnerability so raw it threatened to consume you both. His hands trembled against your cheeks, his thumbs brushing away the tears you hadn’t realized had fallen.

"Please," he pleaded, his voice barely above a whisper. "Don’t make this harder for me."

Your heart twisted painfully. "Then don’t make it harder for me, either. You already know how voiceless women are here. Let me make my choice for once."

His eyes darkened with conflict, with love, with fear. And then, without another word, he crushed his lips against yours. it was a desperate, aching plea. A promise. A surrender.

When he pulled away, his breath was ragged, his hands still cupping your face as though afraid you’d disappear.

"Then stay," he whispered. "And if the gods are kind, we will survive this together."

But you were afraid the gods had never been kind to lovers like you.

Lucilla watched the exchange in silence before stepping forward. "My child," she said gently, "I know you are willing to risk your life for those you love. But this is not a fight you can win with your heart.”

You turned to her, desperation burning in your eyes. "I know this villa better than anyone. I grew up here. I know every passage, every hidden corridor. If I can get to Lucius, I can free him. We can hide. We can escape and Acacius and his army will free Rome."

"No," Acacius said immediately, shaking his head. "Absolutely not."

"He’s my brother!" you argued.

"And what happens when you get caught?" Lucilla’s voice was softer, but no less firm. "You think Geta or Caracalla will show mercy to you? He’ll use you against us, just as he always intended."

Acacius tightened his grip on you. "You are the only thing keeping me from turning this entire city to dust. If something happens to you, I won’t stop. I won’t care about the cost."

You swallowed hard, your chest rising and falling with each rapid breath. "Then let me help you. Let me help Lucius."

"The best way to help is to stay safe," Lucilla insisted. "We will find a way, Acacius-“

“Lucius will refuse Acaciu’s help.” You interrupted, “He took the city he was in, but I’m his sister.”

Acacius's jaw tightened, his eyes dark with frustration and the fear it came when danger seemed to follow you. He shook his head. "That’s exactly why you can’t go. You think he’ll just follow you? Lucius is stubborn. He won’t leave. He won’t abandon his pride, even for you."

"He will if I make him see reason," you pressed, your voice trembling with conviction you wanted to believe. "If I remind him who he is, what he stands for. He’ll listen to me."

Lucilla exhaled sharply, stepping between you and Acacius, her presence like a steady force in the eye of the storm. "And if he doesn’t? If he refuses, what then?”

You flinched at her words. The weight of this pressed down on you, but you refused to let it break you. "Then at least I’ll have tried," you whispered. "At least I won’t sit in hiding while the people I love fight for their lives."

Acacius turned away from you abruptly, running a hand through his hair, his breath ragged. "Damn it," he muttered under his breath before spinning back toward you. "Do you even hear yourself? Do you know what you’re asking me to do?" His voice cracked, raw and unguarded. "You’re asking me to send you straight into the lion’s den. To just…juts let you walk into danger while I stand back and watch."

"I’m asking you to trust me," you said, your voice fierce despite the tears burning your throat. "I have spent my whole life being protected, shielded from the ugliness of this world. But I am not some delicate thing to be tucked away. If we are to have any future at all, we must take risks."

Acacius closed his eyes, as if trying to drown out your words, to quiet the war inside him. Lucilla placed a hand on his arm, grounding him. "She is her father's daughter," she murmured, her gaze heavy with understanding. "You cannot change her mind when it is already set."

He let out a shaky breath, his hands curling into fists before he finally looked at you again. "If you go, you do not go alone."

Your breath hitched. "Acacius-"

"You do not go alone," he repeated, his voice leaving no room for argument. "I will not let you face this without protection."

Lucilla nodded. "I know someone who can get you into the cells unnoticed. But you must understand-this is your one chance. If something goes wrong, there will be no second attempt. No coming back for you."

Your heart pounded as the full weight of the decision settled in. There was no turning back now.

"Then I will not fail," you promised, meeting Acacius’s gaze.

But even as you said the words, you knew that fate was a cruel, unpredictable thing.

“I will wait for you at the end of the dungeon” He explained, “Once you free Lucius, both of you, especially you will come and going to go away. Then when tomorrow came, I’ll get everything settle for what’s coming.”

Lucilla’s expression was unreadable, but there was something in her eyes something like resignation. "We don't have time to argue anymore," she said finally. "If you're going to do this, you must go now."

Acacius stepped closer, his hands gripping your arms as if he could anchor you to him. His touch burned, searing into your skin, branding you with the weight of his worry. "Promise me," he murmured. "Promise me that no matter what happens, you won’t hesitate. The moment Lucius is free, you run."

You swallowed hard, nodding, though you weren’t sure if you could keep that promise.

Lucilla moved toward the entrance, glancing over her shoulder. "I will send word to the one who will take you inside. Wait for him by the servants' passage near the western wall. And keep your head down."

Acacius leaned in, pressing his forehead against yours, his breath warm against your lips. "Be careful," he whispered. "I need you to come back to me."

You lingered there for a moment, memorizing the feeling of his hands on you, the way his voice softened when he spoke to you, the way he looked at you as if you were something worth fighting for.

"Mia vita" he called out, stopping you on your tracks to kiss you softly, the pulled back slightly “Please don't let this to be our last kiss"

"We still have a life to live together" you smiled against his lips, peeking his lips once more "at peace this time"

"I will find you" he promised, peeking your lips once again, savoring every single second of this. "I'll be waiting for you at the end of the dungeon."

You nodded, feeling shivers down your spine. He kissed your lips again as if couldn’t let go because of the fear, tasting the sweet flavor of fruits on them, lingering to the feeling that in a few hours he would free Rome from the tyranny and escape with you to a happy ending, a happy life.

"Be careful, love" he whispered as you walked from his grasp.

Then, with one final look, you turned and disappeared into the shadows.

And as you did, Acacius stood still, watching you leave, his fists clenched at his sides.

He had never felt so powerless.

The night stretched long and cold as you moved through the villa’s outer corridors, keeping close to the stone walls. Every shadow felt like a threat waiting to cut you in half, every sound a warning. Your heart pounded in your chest, but you forced yourself forward. Your mother’s contact was waiting near the western wall as promised, a hooded figure who barely looked at you before motioning for you to follow.

"This way," he whispered, leading you through a narrow passage. "The guards are fewer tonight, but that won’t last long."

You nodded, pressing yourself deeper into the cloak wrapped around your shoulders. The passage led downward into the lower levels of the coliseum, where the scent of damp stone and burning torches thickened the air. With each step, the reality of what you were about to do settled heavier in your chest.

Finally, the man halted near a rusted iron gate, peering around the corner before motioning for you to stop. "Beyond here, you’re on your own. You already know where the cells, be fast my lady.”

You exhaled slowly, steadying yourself before slipping through the gate. The corridor was dimly lit, flickering torchlight casting shadows along the stone walls. You kept low, moving carefully. Every instinct screamed at you to hurry, but you couldn’t afford mistakes.

Then you saw him.

Lucius sat in the farthest cell, his head down, his hands bound in front of him. His tunic was dirtied and torn; his face shadowed with exhaustion. But he was still alive.

"Lucius," you whispered urgently, pressing yourself against the bars. His head snapped up, eyes widening at the sight of you.

"By the gods," he breathed. "What are you doing here?"

"Freeing you," you said, already fumbling with the lock. "We don’t have much time, Acacius has a plan, but we need to go now."

Lucius let out a short, breathless laugh. "Acacius? And here I thought you had come to your senses and abandoned him.”

You shot him a glare, your fingers working as quickly as possible. "Do you want to fight about this, or do you want to walk out of here alive?"

Before he could respond, footsteps echoed down the hall. Your breath caught.

The guards were coming.

You barely had time to think. With trembling fingers, you worked at the lock, gritting your teeth as the iron refused to give. Lucius shifted impatiently behind the bars, his gaze darting toward the approaching footsteps.

"Hurry," he muttered.

"I know," you hissed, forcing yourself to focus. The crude metal bit into your skin, but finally, with a sharp click, the lock gave way. You got the door open, and Lucius stepped out, shaking the stiffness from his limbs.

"We need to go," you whispered.

Together, you slipped into the shadows, pressing yourselves against the cold stone walls. The guards were close now, their voices carrying down the corridor. You gripped Lucius’s wrist, pulling him forward as you sprinted through the winding path of the dungeon.

Your breaths came fast and shallow, your heart hammering with every turn. The torches flickered wildly in the drafty halls, casting distorted shapes that sent chills up your spine.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, you reached the end of the dungeon, the meeting place Acacius had promised.

But he wasn’t there.

You came to a sudden stop, chest heaving as your eyes darted around the empty space.

"Where is he?" Lucius whispered harshly.

You didn’t answer. He should be here.

He said he would be here. You thought.

A cold feeling crept up your spine. Something was wrong.

Your pulse thundered in your ears. Think. Think faster. Acacius wasn’t here. That meant something had gone wrong. That meant-

“We have to move,” you whispered, gripping Lucius’s arm.

He gave you a sharp look, but didn’t argue. You took the lead, slipping through the dimly lit corridor, your body tense, ears straining for any sound. The dungeon air was thick with dampness, every breath heavy in your chest.

Acacius had told you to wait. But waiting was a death sentence now.

He could be in trouble. He could be dead.

No. You forced the thought away. Acacius was strong. He was waiting for you somewhere else. He had to be.

Lucius kept pace beside you, his voice low and urgent. “Where are we going?”

“Out,” you said, scanning the hallway. “I know another way.”

A narrow servant’s passage was carved into the farthest wall, one you had used as a child to sneak out when the world inside these walls had felt too suffocating. You yanked open the hidden door, pushing Lucius through before slipping inside yourself. The stone closed behind you, sealing you both in darkness.

The passage was narrow, forcing you to move single file. Your fingers trailed the rough stone as you navigated through the twisting tunnel, the air cool and stale. You could hear Lucius’s uneven breathing behind you, but neither of you spoke.

You reached the end and pressed against the wooden panel that led to the outside. For a long moment, you hesitated.

If Acacius wasn’t here, it meant something had shifted in the plan. But you had no time to figure out what.

You had to keep moving.

Bracing yourself, you pushed the door open and stepped into the night.

The night air was a fleeting whisper of freedom before it was ripped away.

The moment you and Lucius stepped beyond the hidden passage, torches flared to life, illuminating the ring of imperial guards waiting for you. The glint of their drawn swords was the only warning you had before rough hands seized you.

Lucius struggled, his fury a silent storm beside you, but he was outnumbered. A soldier slammed the hilt of his sword into his stomach, and he collapsed to his knees, gasping for breath.

“Lucius!” you shouted, lunging toward him, but another set of hands wrenched you back.

A grizzled guard stepped forward; his expression smug beneath his bronze helmet. “Did you really think you could slip away unnoticed?” he sneered.

You twisted against their grip, but they held you firm. “Where is Acacius?” you demanded. “What have you done to him?”

The guard chuckled darkly. “Worry for yourself, little dove.” He leaned in, his breath rank against your cheek. “Emperor Geta will not be fond of you after this treason.”

Your stomach twisted. Geta. He knew.

The guards yanked you and Lucius apart, dragging him in the opposite direction. He thrashed violently, eyes burning with desperation as they pulled him away from you.

“Stay strong,” he shouted. “Don’t give them what they want!”

Then he was gone.

You fought harder, but it was useless. The last thing you saw before they forced you forward was the blood-red banners of the empire swaying in the cold night air.

The throne room was suffocating with tension, the air thick with the scent of oil and burning torches. Acacius and Lucilla stood before the imperial dais, their bodies rigid as Emperor Geta lounged with lazy arrogance in his gilded chair. Caracalla stood beside him, his fingers curling and uncurling as if barely restraining his temper.

The moment Acacius learned you had been captured, something inside him had snapped. His presence alone carried a storm, his jaw clenched, fists curled at his sides, the veins in his neck straining with suppressed fury.

“Where is she?” Acacius demanded, his voice like thunder cracking through the hall.

Geta smirked, swirling the wine in his goblet. “Who?” he mused, feigning innocence. “Oh, you mean your wife.” He sighed dramatically. “A shame, really. I expected more from you, Acacius. But in the end, even the great general is brought to his knees for a woman.”

Acacius took a menacing step forward, only for Lucilla to press a warning hand against his arm. “You do not want to do this,” she whispered, though even her voice carried the edge of a threat.

Caracalla’s lip curled; his rage barely restrained. “You made a mistake, Acacius. You should have fled with her when you had the chance.”

“I will get her back,” Acacius growled. His eyes snapped to Geta, cold and unrelenting. “Emperor Geta, torture me if you want, but don't dare to lay a finger on my wife.”

Geta’s expression darkened at that word.

His knuckles went white around the goblet before he set it down with deliberate slowness. “But I will,” he said, his voice dangerously smooth. He walked towards Acacius, stepping closer, his grin cruel. “Now, I’m going to see her.”

Acacius lunged, but the guards were already between them, forcing him back as Geta strode from the room. The moment the doors slammed shut behind him, Acacius let out a roar of frustration. He whirled, striking one of the marble pillars with his fist hard enough to crack the stone.

Acacius’s chest heaved with each ragged breath, but when he turned to face Lucilla next to him, his eyes were filled with something worse than fury.

Desperation.

His hands clenched into fists again. “I will kill him. I swear it.”

The cell was damp and smelled of rust and decay. You hit the ground hard as the guards shoved you inside, the impact jolting through your knees and elbows. The cold stone bit into your skin, but you barely felt it, your mind was reeling, heart hammering in your chest.

"You should have stayed where you belonged," one of the guards sneered from the other side of the iron bars. "Emperor Geta will not be fond of you after this treason."

You lifted your head, eyes burning with defiance. "I still have you to make him beg for mercy."

The guard scoffed but did not reply. He only smirked, slamming the barred door shut with a loud clang before disappearing down the corridor, his footsteps fading into the darkness.

You exhaled sharply, forcing yourself to sit upright. Every part of you ached, but pain was the least of your concerns.

You exhaled shakily, pressing a hand to your face as tears threatened to spill. But you wouldn’t cry.

Instead, you allowed yourself a moment to gather your strength. Tomorrow was coming, and with it, the arena and whatever fate awaited Acacius. Whatever happened, you wouldn’t let Geta break you.

Then, a sound.

Footsteps. Slow. Measured.

A chill ran down your spine.

You knew who it was before you even saw him.

The door creaked open, and there he stood.

Emperor Geta.

The first thing he did as he took glance of you was grabbing your face forcefully with his hand, forcing you to spare him a glance. He wouldn't even dream of seeing you like this, is disbelief, with your hair a mess, and bloody. You weren't made for a life like this, but now under these conditions, this was the closest he had come to have you.

"Escaping with that slave, my dear lady? You marrying Acacius felt less insulting than this." He said, looking dead into your shining orbits.

"Marrying you would an insult to myself. I would rather eat shit than be tied to you." You spatted.

Geta's smile widened as a cruel laugh escaped his lips as his studied your features. Your before soft skin seemed dirty by drops of blood and dirt. You were a delicate doll, but now smashed and crumbled.

Geta’s expression twisted, his smugness evaporating in an instant. His jaw clenched, and his eyes burned with rage. Before you could react, his hand lashed out, the sharp crack of the slap ringing through the chamber.

The force of the blow snapped your head to the side, and you stumbled, catching yourself against the floor. Your cheek stung, the pain radiating hot and angry, but it was nothing compared to the cold fury swelling in your chest.

Geta loomed over you, his breath heavy, his hand still trembling from the strike. “You will not speak to me that way,” he hissed, his voice low and dangerous. “You forget who holds your life in his hands. You forget who I am. I'm the emperor and you're just a prisoner granted privileges because of your mother and Acacius" his face got close to you, "but now you're a mere slave accused of treason."

You spit on his face. The anger and loathing consuming like a fire burning your body.

Geta took his hand to his face, cleaning your spit with disgust written on his face. You had ended with his patience and he couldn't bear it anymore.

Just a few hours ago you had been secured on Acacius big arms, surrounded by the faint scene of laurel and lavender that seemed to calmed you down.

Now the stink of dirt and humidity rusted your nostrils. You wanted to close your eyes and feel the lavender on your nose, Acacius lips on your temple. You wanted him to save you, you were pleading the gods.

"Please stop this...let me see him" you begged, your voice broken. "Don't hurt him."

Lifting your gaze to see if by chance there would be a tiny bit of sympathy dancing on his eyes, you face the coldest gaze you had ever seen.

"Acacius' life is on my will, your mother's...even that beloved gladiator of yours." He got closer once again, looking directly to your eyes, you felt his wine breath on your face, "Test my patience once again, my lady and I will snap my finger like this" he snapped his fingers in front of you, getting closer to your lips you can almost feel his on your and it felt repulsive "and all of them will be dead. All of them!"

You gritted in protest, the repulsion of his touch filling you with an instinctual fear that made your skin crawl. The air between you felt suffocating, and the words he spoke echoed in your mind like a distant nightmare, gnawing at the edges of your sanity.

You tried to pull away, but his grip tightened, forcing you to remain still as his lips lingered too close to yours. The stench of wine and bitterness clung to him, every part of him an invasion to your thoughts, to your soul.

"Don’t you dare," you hissed, your voice trembling but filled with defiance. You refused to let him have the satisfaction of breaking you.

“You have no idea what I could give you,” Geta began, his voice low and smooth, carrying the weight of his authority. “Power, wealth, freedom to rule by my side as my wife. Everything you’ve ever dreamed of could be yours if only you’d open your eyes and choose me.”

You hold your gaze, your heart pounding in your chest as his lips pressed forcefully against yours. The taste of wine and greed made your stomach churn, and every inch of your body screamed in protest. This was not love. This was a sick obsession, an attempt to break your will and twist your bones. You clenched your fists, refusing to let him see the fear creeping at the edges of your resolve.

"I would rather die than choose you," you spat, your voice full of venom.

“I don’t care what you want” he said, pulling away just to stand up, smiling cruelly down at you on the ground. "Chain her to the wall." He ordered the guards

Your despair filled the dirty dungeons "No, please. Don't" you squirmed under the men's hold "Let me go!"

The cold stone wall bit into your skin as the guards’ iron chains wrapped around your wrists, pulling you taut against the damp, dark dungeon. The echo of your cries was swallowed by the silence of the place, but inside, your fury burned with an intensity you had never known. You clenched your teeth, fighting the tears that threatened to fall, determined to stay strong.

"Goodnight, my princess," Geta’s mocking voice lingered in the air long after he was gone, a cruel reminder of his power over you.

Your screams followed geta's steps as he walked away from you. You were left there to drown in your own tears as you curse and whatever plan his Machiavellian mind has.

Your fingers tightened into fists, nails digging into your palms as you whispered a curse under your breath, a spell woven from the ancient words passed down through history. Soon the future of Rome would be defined and you were going to take charge of it.

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[thegeminisage]

i genuinely from the bottom of my heart believe that when illario found out lucanis was alive and suffered a year of hellish nightmarish torture and the worst possibly violation of his bodily autonomy at zara's hands rather than the quick clean death zara promised he freaked out and could not decide where to settle

absolutely first things first is he CANNOT get caught if caterina suspects him she's gotta go except if he was capable of killing family members with his own knife he wouldn't be in this mess so he sticks her in the guest house instead and somehow just does not expect lucanis or anyone else to swing by

when he goes to bed that night he's like ok. i can fix this. lucanis suffered unimaginably for a year in the ossuary so the only thing i can do now is kill him for real to put him out of his misery. that's the kind thing that someone who loves him would do. tomorrow i'm going to kill him. and then tomorrow comes and he doesn't do that

and when he goes to bed that night he's like. ok. i can STILL fix this. lucanis suffered unimaginably in the ossuary so the only thing i can do now is help him start over and NEVER EVER let him find out the guy who got him stuck in there is me because it would break his heart. i missed him so much and really this was all caterina's fault anyway my cousin deserves to live. but if he's staying alive i really do have to kill caterina because she Knows and also the entire reason i did this was so that i'd never have to watch her pick him over me again i CANNOT allow them in the same room one of them has gotta go and it's gonna be grandma. tomorrow i'm going to kill caterina. and then tomorrow comes and he doesn't. do that.

and when he goes to bed THAT night he's like. OK I CAN STILL FIX THIS. lucanis suffered unimaginably in the ossuary but he loves me we're cousins i just gotta. explain everything to him and let him make his own judgment i know he'll forgive me and understand and maybe we can even kill caterina together (so i don't have to do it). tomorrow i'm gonna tell him everything. and then tomorrow comes and he STILL isn't doing that

and when he goes to bed! he is like! ok! maybe i can't fix this! lucanis suffered unimaginably in the ossuary and maybe that's not forgivable! maybe i should tell him everything and let him kill me to put ME out of my misery! tomorrow i'm gonna write him and explain everything and then he'll come and kill me like i deserve and i won't have to feel bad anymore and also i will no longer have any problems! and tomorrow comes and you know what he doesn't do?

AND WHEN HE GOES TO BED. HE IS LIKE. you know!!! i can fix this! because lucanis suffered unimaginably in the ossuary but MAYBE HE HAD IT COMING. maybe if he wasn't always COMPLICIT IN CATERINA'S WAR CRIMES he wouldn't have his ONLY COUSIN trying to ASSASSINATE him! maybe this is what he deserves! maybe if he wasn't always shit talking my assassin skills and stealing the last of the coffee and being such a freak with his stupid snake this wouldn't have happened to him! tomorrow i'm not only going to kill him but i am going to gloat the entire time i do it! and tomorrow comes and he sure does not do that!

AND WHEN HE GOES TO BED. HE'S LIKE. i HAVE to fix this! lucanis suffered unimaginably in the ossuary and now my cousin is possessed because of me so it's not even really my cousin anymore i am OBLIGATED to put that thing down and free lucanis from his torment! he'd totally thank me! tomorrow i'm killing that demon and tomorrow comes AND HE DOES NOT DOOO THAT

and that night he goes to bed and he's like. ok. i can't fix this. my only option is to leave the country. tomorrow i'm packing my things and moving to gwaren. and tomorrow comes and he does not. move to gwaren

and that night he goes to bed and he's like ok so i should put lucanis out of his misery--

and he does that every night for the entirety of the game until lucanis and spite beat him up and condemn him to Viago House Arrest

[dragon age masterpost]

[wachinyeya]

I'm one of the anons from the other day I just want to say thank you. I'm still terrified but you words did help. Currently in my country we have been experiencing effects over the last few years that were expected in 2050. In just the last few months (when it is winter) we've had a "once in a lifetime" storm and we are now on the second lot of wildfire warnings already this year. I'm only in high school and I just don't see a livable future and that is terrifying. There are too many problems to fix in the world and our government would rather fund more oil and gas drilling than save my future

It is okay to be afraid. But, remember that we cannot predict the future, even if we try. We can only work in the present for a better one. I was going to ask which country you're in but tbh I feel like it could apply to countries all over the globe. We are at the tipping point, the place scientists have been talking about. What we're experiencing is the results of their predictions. Now we are being forced to act. There is no more hiding, no more pretending (even if some of them want to).

There are many many problems but there are just as many solutions. And many people dedicated to applying those solutions. I believe we all have a role to play in this. Even if it's something 'small' like advocating for a local species or picking up litter--all things are connected.

You are not alone. And you are not responsible for all these problems. These problems have been building up for hundreds of years and it will likely take us that same time frame to 'fix' it--but we're working on, we're deep in the trying to fix it stage. It is not your responsibility to fix these problems but you do have a responsibility to keep going even if you struggle to imagine a future--I promise there WILL BE ONE. There was once a time when the the divine right of kings was just how it was and people living in it likely struggled to imagine a day when things would be different. But, they are.

You may have a lot of shitty people in your government but there are also good ones. Pay attention to your local government, your local officials because they are the ones who you have the most influence over.

I want to give you this video to watch that someone recommended if you haven't already:

There is also a really awesome masterlist put together by @reasonsforhope about why we're going to beat climate change.

I try to remember that there have been MANY MANY times on this planet where life struggled, where humans have struggled, but we've survived. There was a point in time where my people, indigenous people, lived through the apocalypse--millions of us died, torn from their families, we were put into concentration camps, the land was stolen and torn into pieces, destroyed for farming and building and mining. If you learn usa environmental history, the dust bowl and other disasters came from this. But, we're still here. And the land is still here. it is damaged and so are we. But, we are still here. Nature heals and adapts in incredible ways. We just have to help.

I'm not saying it will be easy. As I said, it will likely get worse before it gets better but it is going to get better. In the mean time, we are going to have to adapt, we have to be resilient.

Use your voice, use your hands, and do what you can where you are right now. Action is a good way to fight despair. Write letters to your government, call them, speak with your family and friends, go to protests, clean up trash around your home, learn the birds and insects and plants in your local area....aid in the fire recovery if you can and learn how they are trying to prevent it from happening in the future.

We're all in this together, friend. It won't be an easy struggle but it is so, so worth it. You must keep going. There is no other choice for us. And we need you. It's okay to be afraid but don't let it control you.

Again if you haven't already it might be a good idea to speak with someone (an adult in your life) you trust, but your doctor or a therapist might help as well (I've seen both and they have helped me a lot).

[cinnamorollcrybaby]

Alt Ending to “Fuck being nice to you”

Tags: Nanami x fem!Reader, Satoru x fem!Reader, mmf threesome, spit roast, unprotected sex, blowjobs, squirting, this fic is a lil ridiculous, nsfw, mdni

Synopsis: This is an alternative ending to my fic Fuck being nice to you. If you want, you can read it here! This is the ending where Satoru catches you and Nanami and asks to join in :3

An: It feels like so long ago I wrote Fuck being nice to you... Ahhh the good days.

“Yeah.. yeah.. Actually- no, I think I’m falling ill. I think you should g-go now… I don’t want to contaminate you..” You didn’t know your husband could be such a filthy liar, but here he was. His voice was breathy and needy. He was nearly panting in front of his coworker.

"Hm, are you seriously sick? Do you have a fever?" Gods, Gojo knew no boundaries. He sat up from his chair, and he leaned across Nanami's desk before pressing the palm of his hand to Nanami's forehead. "You actually do really feel warm, Nanamin. You should take better-"

He silences himself as he peaks down towards your husband's lap. His six eyes knew someone was down there, but he just thought you were trying to play a prank. He didn't expect to see you sitting on your knees with a mouth full of cock.

"Oh- I... I see." Satoru actually cannot for the life of him think of something witty to say. He's always thought that Nanami's wife was really pretty, but seeing you on your knees like that was enough to even make him blush.

Your mouth falls open slightly, and if this moment wasn't so tense, you'd laugh at the noise Nanami's cock made as it slapped back against his stomach.

"Satoru-" Nanami is trying to apologize. This was a complete disgrace of the workplace, and he inadvertently subjected Satoru to his sick fantasies by letting you continue. He should've been more responsible -- either by telling you to stop or by telling Gojo to fuck off. "I apologize.. I-"

"You have nothing to apologize for. I'm intruding... I-" Satoru doesn't even know how to act. He's completely off kilter. He quickly stands up from his seat, and his cock is tented in his black pants, which is incredibly noticeable to both you and Nanami.

After a beat of silence, Satoru finally gains the confidence to ask, "Can I... can I stay and.. watch?" He asks sheepishly, fumbling with his fingers and avoiding eye contact with both you and Nanami. "I won't touch either one of you - promise. I just want to watch if that's okay. If not, that's totally fine. I'll just forget that I ever saw this."

Nanami's first instinct is to tell Gojo to fuck himself, but he thinks about it for a moment. He glances down at you, and you look back up at him. It seems both of you were waiting to see what the other had to say.

"You want to watch me... fuck my wife's mouth..?" Nanami asks, just to be clear. He was fine with Satoru seeing that. It's not like you'd be naked or anything.

"Yeah.. I just want to watch anything really.." Satoru nods his head. His heart is hammering in his chest at the thought of seeing you on your knees once again. He'd much rather it be his cock that was touching the back of your throat, but he could live with seeing Nanami too. The pleasures of being bisexual.

"What do you think, darling? Wanna show Satoru how good of a job you can do?" Nanami asks with a small smirk on his face, and the palm of his hand pats your head encouragingly.

You give your husband a small smile and a nod. You were happily married and completely devoted to your husband, but you would simply be lying if you said you didn't find Satoru attractive. Who didn't? You didn't mind him watching you get Nanami off.

Satoru's dick immediately twitches with joy, and he makes quick work of moving Nanami's desk out of the way so he can see what's happening in it's entirety. He then also quickly locks the door so no other surprise visitors can try to join in.

Before he sits back down, Satoru tugs down his pants and boxers a little, unsheathing his large cock from his clothing. His eyes are focused on you, watching as you tease Nanami's length with your tongue.

Nanami has a fistful of hair in his hand as you give his tip small kitten licks. Your husband’s breathy moans fill the air as his eyes are glued on you. He couldn’t believe that you three were doing this in his office… on school property.

Of course, it was late in the day, so all of the students were gone, but it still just felt so exhilarating.

“Take me in your mouth, darling.” Nanami instructs, and his thumb pushes your chin down, forcing you to open your mouth for him.

Suckling on his fat tip, your eyes glance over towards Satoru who is still sitting in the chair. His hand was wrapped around his cock, slowly pumping it in sync with how you’re bobbing your head.

His face was twisted in concentration, and his pale skin was flushed a bright red. His light blue eyes never left yours, imagining what it’d feel like if you had your pretty lips wrapped around him instead.

“Looking at someone?” Nanami asks in a condescending tone before he pushes your head down, forcing his length deeper down your throat. “Eyes on me, sweetheart. Satoru is just a guest.”

Your throat constricts around his girthy cock, causing for you to gag. Your eyes water as you look up at your husband. He gives you a small smirk as his thumb wipes the tears from your eyes.

Satoru grits his teeth together, jerking at his cock harder. His stomach was practically doing flips from how erotic everything was. You were just too damn pretty on your knees like that, and seeing Nanami punish you for looking at him was something he didn’t know he needed in life.

“Just like that, darling… Ohhh fuck.. nice and wet for me.” Nanami groans as he leans his head back. The palm of his hand still rests on your head. You can feel his wedding band against your scalp.

You can’t help but just glance over at Satoru again. It’s not your fault — you’ve never sucked dick with an audience before. Satoru is such a mess in his chair. His arm is moving quickly, pumping his length vigorously, and his hips are bucking up towards his hand.

“What did I say?” Your husband’s sharp tone immediately catches your attention. The air in the room shifts, and you can see a different side of Nanami start to make more of an appearance. You look up at him with a remorseful look in your eyes, and he jerks your head back to where his cock is out of your mouth.

“You want to look at Satoru that bad? Fine. Look at him while I ruin you.” Nanami guides your body up, and he bends you over his desk to where you’re facing Satoru.

Satoru’s eyes were wide, and he had momentarily stopping moving his arm while he was enamored with the sight of Nanami bending you over.

Your husband’s hands push up your pencil skirt, and without any prep, he guides himself towards your entrance. “W-wait.. Ken-“ You stammer before he rudely pushes himself past the wet muscle with a small ‘pop’.

“Mmm. So tight for me, all for me, right?” Nanami moans as he leans down over your back side, almost mounting you on his chest.

“F-fuuck!” You cry out as the rest of his length slides into you at a torturously slow pace. Your husband presses wet kisses against your neck and collarbone as one of his hands is pressed against the desk to hold himself up. "Ngh~ too b-big.. please ah-!"

“That’s not an answer, darling.” He mumbles lowly before his other hand grips your hair, forcing your eyes up to look at Satoru.

The white haired male was already back to fucking his fist. His tip was an angry red from neglect. His chest was rising and falling heavily with each panicked breath. He already felt so fucking close, but he didn’t want to finish just yet.

“Tell him it’s all for me.” Your husband demands in low growl. His hips are starting to rut into your backside, fucking himself deep into your sopping wet hole.

“It’s yours~!” Your voice is a shaky whimper as you can barely hold yourself together while receiving deep thrusts from him.

“Oh, you can do better than that, darling.” His voice is so taunting. He can’t help but let that side of him win. He wants to ruin you, punish you for even looking at Satoru while his cock was buried in your mouth.

“I’m yours-! F-fuck.. all yours, Ken.” You try to rest your body against the desk, but Nanami won’t let you. He’s going to make you look at Satoru the whole time while he pounds into you.

“That’s my girl.” He praises as his hips crash down into your backside, causing the most pornographic slapping noises.

His cock is so mean, drilling deep into you, kissing strings of pre-cum against your womb. Your spongy walls latch onto him juuuust right.

“You’re a fucking mess, darling. You like being fucked in front of him, don’t you?” He taunts once more before his hand swats the flesh of your ass. “I didn’t know I married a whore.”

“Ngh.. fuck.. Ken.. so, so good.. m-more.” You’re a drooling mess on his desk. His cock literally fucking you stupid.

“You want more?” He asks before his hand presses down on the center of your back, forcing you flush against hush desk. “I’ll give you more, slut.” His hips start moving harshly, with little regard of hurting you or not.

The desk is starting to creak from the amount of pressure and movement it’s under. Nanami couldn’t care less if it breaks. He’s too enthralled with the feeling of your weeping cunt wrapped around him.

A loud groan rips through the air, and both you and Nanami peak up to see Satoru panting heavily. His shirt was soiled with his own cum. Watching you get manhandled was just too much for him. “Fuck..” He breathes out, still carefully stroking his cock through his orgasm.

“Look at what you did. Making him finish like that. Aren’t you ashamed?” Nanami teases as his thrusts slow inside of you. The wet gushing noises fill the room as your cunt flutters around him.

“Don’t you dare finish. You cum when I tell you to.” Your husband threatens before giving your ass another firm spank.

Your body is right on the edge, and you grip onto the desk, digging your nails into the wood. “R-really close.. Ken.. please.” You try to plea with him.

“Hold it.” He simply demands.

“But I-“

“Satoru, come here.” Nanami completely interrupts you. He readjusts your body against the desk as Satoru slowly approaches.

“Yeah..?” Satoru asks hesitantly. His body is still recovering from his orgasm from earlier. His heart is hammering through his chest with fear and excitement.

“Fill her mouth since she doesn’t know how to be quiet.” Nanami instructs, and his hips start to slowly roll inside of you again. You have to bite your lip harshly to prevent yourself from finishing on him.

“Fuck- you sure?” Nanami shoots Satoru a sharp glance, and the white haired male doesn’t waste another second. He quickly peels his ruined shirt off his body, revealing his muscular chest, and he shifts to where his cock is hanging in font of your puffy lips. He’s already getting hard again, but his cock is too heavy to stand straight up.

“Open your mouth for me, sweets. I’ll be gentle.” Satoru coaxes you as his hand brushed against your cheek. This was like a dream come true for him.

Your eyes lock with his as you slowly open up your mouth for him. Satoru guides his tip against your tongue, teasing you before he slid his length into you mouth while stifling a moan. "Fuuuck~ Just like that, pretty..."

Suddenly, Nanami snaps his hips forward brutally, knocking your body forward and Satoru's cock deeper in your mouth. Your moan vibrates around his length, causing for him to grip onto your hair tightly.

"Sh-shit. Still sensitive." Satoru quietly whines in a breathy tone.

"Don't be such a wimp. Give her what she's askin' for." Nanami chastises as he looks down to where you two are connected. His cock is nearly dripping in your juices, making it very clear to him just how much you like being spit roasted by them.

It slowly deteriorates to a push and pull between Satoru and Nanami. Satoru is guiding your head up and down while also thrusting into your mouth, and Nanami is behind you, pounding your pretty cunt into oblivion.

Your whines and moans are muffled from Satoru's cock in your mouth, but you can feel your pleasure building back up again. Your stomach starts to coil, and the air around your body feels fuzzy. Your hand smacks to table, hoping that Nanami will just understand what you're trying to convey.

"Mmm, just a bit longer, d-darling. 'm almost there. Gonna cum with me, aren't you?" Nanami moans from behind as each one of his thrusts makes the fat from your ass ripple in recoil.

Satoru pets your hair as he gazes down at you with a small grin. His cock is completely drenched in spit and drool. Your eyes are all bleary from tears, and your face looks so fucked out. "Aw, look at you. Are you cock drunk, sweets?"

You of course couldn't answer, but the obvious answer was yes.

"Cum for me, darling. Gonna fill this pussy up." Nanami grunts, and his cock starts to twitch and flex with each rope of cum he shot into you. Your cunt immediately starts to pulse around him as you reach your high at the same time.

"Goood girl." Nanami praises in a breathless voice, and his hands start to caress up and down on your body. "Did so good for us."

Satoru slowly pulls himself from your mouth, and he allows you to have a moment to gather yourself. "Mhm... took us so well." He agrees as his fingers come through your hair, massaging your scalp as you catch your breath.

Nanami slowly pulls himself out of you from behind with a sharp hiss. "Still so tight." He murmurs as he crouches down and presses a french kiss straight on your cunt.

"Mmnph~ Ken." You whimper, and you try to pull back from him since you're still so sensitive.

"Oh, I've missed those pretty noises, darling." He coos before he presses another kiss to your wet folds. "You taste so sweet too." He tenderly flicks his tongue over your clit, making your legs start to tremble.

Your husband swipes his finger along your entrance, and he smirks when he sees the muscle clench around nothing. "Mmm, guess she wants more, huh?"

"Wait Ken- sensitive." You whimper out, holding onto the desk for dear life.

"That's the point, darling. Satoru, come here." Nanami instructs once again, and Satoru happily walks behind you. His mouth nearly waters from the sight of your glistening cunt on display for him.

"Are you going to just eye-fuck her the entire time, or are you going to actually fuck her?" Nanami asks as he cocks an eyebrow at Satoru.

"Don't come cryin' to me when she starts asking for me to join in on the regular, 'kay Nanamin?" Satoru retorts without even missing a beat, and he positions himself behind you.

Nanami adjusts himself to where he's sat on the ground between Satoru's legs, facing him. His head is tilted upward, so he can lap at your cunt while Satoru fucks you from behind.

Satoru presses his tip against your entrance, and he scoffs at the bit of resistance he feels. "You weren't lyin'. Pretty girl is still tight." He grunts as he pushes his tip in, causing a whimper from you. Satoru was just a bit smaller than Nanami, but he made up for it in overall girth, stretching you wiiide open.

"Ah~ fuck... Satoru.." You moan as he buries himself to the hilt. Nanami then carefully latched his lips around the small bundle of nerves, and he gently suckles. Your entire body trembles from excitement

“Mmf~ that’s right. Say my name, sweets.” Satoru moans as his thrusts start to make the most vulgar plap noises against you.

Nanami’s tongue worked against your clit as Satoru made sure to thrust against all the right spots. Your body felt like it was being ascended right up to heaven as both men worked to pleasure you.

Nanami’s wooden desk creaked with each thrust of Satoru’s hips. Your entire body was being rudely pushed forward while Satoru’s large hands groped at your ass.

“She’s fuckin’ cryin’ for me, sweets.” Satoru groaned as he could feel his balls tightening. Nanami’s tongue would sometimes on purpose accidentally rub against the underside of his cock, making his cock jump from the sensation.

“So good. So fucking tight. Ngh~ gonna cum inside you, okay pretty? Need to fill you up too, see your tummy bulge with my cum.” Satoru is such a talker when he’s pussy drunk. His body tenses as he grabs your hips and pulls you back onto him with each thrust.

“Wait- fuck.. ah! I’m gonna…” You cry out, trying to get Satoru to pause for just one moment. Something was building inside you, but it didn’t feel like a typical orgasm. You try to wiggle your way away from the two men, but they both have you completely pinned, making you take whatever they graciously give you.

“Let go, pretty. Let go f’me.” Satoru encourages you as he feels himself on the brink of coming a second time. Nanami licks a stripe all the way from the base of Satoru’s cock down to your clit, and instantly, Satoru’s pumping you full of his seed.

“Sh-shit-! I…” Your voice is barely whimper as your cunt convulses around his cock. Liquid gushes out from your weeping whole, completely soaking both of the men behind you.

“Oh darling, you made a mess.” Nanami laughs earnestly as his hand massages your thighs.

“Shiiiit sweets, you didn’t have to do all that for me.” Satoru purrs as he rubs on your back lovingly. He carefully pulls his hips back, allowing for his cock to slide out of you.

You lie against the desk for a few more moments, catching your breath. You can feel Nanami pressing tender kisses between your thighs, and Satoru’s large palms are massaging your back. Your eyes flutter closed as you let both men tend to you.

“Wouldn’t it be so great if your future kids come out with white hair?” Satoru jokes before Nanami shoots him a death glare, causing him to laugh and put his hands up in surrender. “I mean, I’d pay good money in child support!” He laughs as Nanami tries his damnest to grab him.

[daenysx]

Hii, could you do something with james x fem!reader who's also in a quidich team only not gryffindor? Maybe she's also a beater idk this is my first time requesting smth iv no idea😭😭

thank you for requesting ♡ i hope you enjoy

james potter x fem!reader

if there's one thing you'd like to do right now, it's wiping off the damn smirk from james potter's face.

the fact that he's super attractive and exactly your type doesn't help. tall, has a pretty smile, gorgeous hair, and a soft voice when he wants to impress someone. you turn your head, putting your broom aside before walking where he stands. you keep your face stoic. james potter won't win this no matter how pretty his smile is.

he greets you, using your last name. you give him a curt nod. "potter." you say. it's only two of you here. "i don't want to have this stupid discussion again."

"you mean the discussion we have over who gets the pitch to train?"

"it's our only free time this week." you say. "and we already got the permission. you cannot use mcgonagall's word to get it from us-"

"i know." he stops you. "you can have it."

"what?" you are throughly surprised. what the hell is he talking about?

"i'm not here to argue over it." james explains. "i'm here to see you."

now, you are fully confused. what's the point of this conversation?

"is this a prank?" you ask with a rough voice. "if it is, i swear to-"

"no." james shakes his head. "of course, it's not a prank. what fun will i get from pranking you? i wouldn't dare."

"okay." you say slowly. "what do you want then?"

james is such a flirt most of the time. now, he's not. not really. he definitely uses his charm, the way he knows how to, but he's actually nervous. remus tried to convince him it'll be okay, and sirius was like come on, prongs, what's the worst that could happen?

he gathers up his entire courage in a breath and looks at your eyes. "i was wondering if you'd like to come to the yule ball with me."

"you- what?"

he's cursing sirius in his head, here's the worst. your eyes are huge as you process what he offered. it's a cute sight but james will have a heart attack if you don't say anything.

"i'm not joking, i promise." he says. "i'm not fooling around. i really wanna go with you, if you have me."

you don't know how to resist at those pretty eyes and his hopeful smile. you don't want to resist.

"sure." you say. "we can go together."

james can finally let out the breath he's been holding. "really? i mean- thank you."

"for what, james?" you chuckle. james. not potter.

"for not hexing me? i don't know, i was so nervous, i don't even know what to say now."

you reach for his hand. it's big compared to yours, you like the feel of it. "my dress is blue. you need to wear something matching."

[notyournecromancer]

I totally adore you and have always loved everything you’ve recommended on any platform. I’ve only read marauders fics though and not sure anything can top Jegulus and Wolfstar for me. But I’m curious what the Drarry fuss is about. Do you have any advice on where to start? Something to get me into the characters everyone loves, like Blaise, Theo etc. And then I’ll go down the AFTG and Raven Boys rabbit holes! And probably never sleep again. Or be productive. Etc. But I’ll be happy.

SWEET SUFFERING JESUS i cannot TELL YOU how happy this makes me. DRARRY RECS INCOMING BELOVED!

first and foremost, i simply must tell you of the journey that is Led by Light of a Star Sweetly Gleaming which is the most GLORIOUS wolfstar - hear me out, the sequel to this is a Drarry, called Pages of You . These are by the most wonderful writer @wolfpants - I won't embarrass them by emotionally leaking all over the internet but fucking hear me out, babe, you're gonna wanna read every drop of Drarry they have to offer. While you're having a stalk, go and check out Terrible People and Everybody Hates a Tourist.

Next up, another favourite of mine: Draco Malfoy and The Mirror of Ecidyrue. this badboy is good if you fancy a canon retelling with some fantastic twists and fixes thrown in. each year gets better than the last and I think its such an interesting take on the whole thing.

Alright, another FABULOUS one with such a good little twist: Way Down We Go by @xiaq - a phenomenal writer whose original works you should also absolutely check out. This fic actually has Harry as a Werewolf which I absolutely convinced myself was a plot twist until I later went back and read the tags and realised it was there the whole time. LOVE this one. so good. side note - the supporting cast? unrivalled.

Okay here we have What We Pretend We Can't See by gyzym. this was lovely - I thought the characterisations were really spot on for canon adjacent/continuation. adored this.

Now for something a touch more whimsical, may I present you something unlike anything else I've ever read ever in life? It's called Running on Air by Eleventy7 (they are on tumblr I believe but for the life of me I cannot find their @) anyway. this is just the most stunning thing. it sort of plays out like a movie in front of you while you read it. its gentle and clever and thoughtful and intricate and just one of the most creative stories I've ever crossed paths with. i challenge you not to fall in love.

Here we have Is This The Place by the most gorgeous writer @januaryfirstreads - I promise you you aren't going to find someone who loves drarry like this writer does. and its so clear in every word she writes. This one of her's is lovely, so soft and full of the love of these characters, it does them justice in the most beautiful way.

Alright, if you know wolfstar you probably know @brigid-faye - and if you don't, all you need to know is that I trust brigid with my life. one thing about brigid? these characters are gonna be treated so well its gonna be hard to let go of 'em. here's a drarry brigid wrote a while back, its all the things her writing always has. which is to say, nothing you wanna miss. It's called Breeze (Move Me).

Okay, if you're a Red White and Royal Blue fan, the one and only itsgivingcamp has a FABULOUS ONE which you can find here: it's called Red, Green and Toil Too . now, I may perhaps be biased, but I happen to prefer this to the original. but like I said, maybe biased. but also, correct.

Alright, some classics. I may have read some of these or started them/downloaded them but I fear I've rambled on long enough. so here's the failsafe drarry recs to lead you down the right track:

Dwelling by Aideomai

The Devil's White Knight by Orphan_Account

Harry Potter and the Welcome to the World of Grey by sobsicles

Chasing Dragons by The_Sinking_Ship

and lastly i'm going to do the cheekiest of little self recs. i have a multi chap drarry that will one day be finished called Cold Coffee and a banter-driven little Christmas-themed one-shot named The Weather Outside.

anyway, there are so many bloody more. drarry is the most wonderful thing. its also (in my opinion) so disgracefully canon that it's hard to escape once you get into it. (like hello? the train scene?) so I wish you the best of luck on this journey.

you just come and give me a shout when you're ready to yell about AFTG and The Raven Cycle. I am here ready & waiting!

love you bye xoxoxoxo