#'kill or be killed' but you never should have had to be in that life

[cressidagrey]

Such A Mystery - Part 7

Pairing: Max Verstappen x Colette Leclerc (Original Character)

Summary:

Max Verstappen fell in love at the ripe old age of 12 and never looked back.

Colette Leclerc really regrets posting that particular Taylor Swift Lyric to her private Instagram account, because it made George Russell go insane.  

The rest of the world has absolutely no idea that the Dutch Lion and Charles Leclerc’s twin sister have been a couple for 15 years and are expecting a baby. 

Warnings: 

Pregnancy, Mention of multiple miscarriages, Pregnancy complications, George Russell Bashing (he's probably really nice in real life but in this, he's the bad guy, sorry), Jos Verstappen

Author Notes: Huge thanks to @llirawolf for holding my hand through this. Happy New Year! Chapter count is continuing to go up, because I need to halve this chapter after hitting 6k. Should be 10 parts. Hopefully.

Arthur did eventually show up with enough McDonald’s in tow to feed an army. 

Fries, Nuggets and even including apology milkshakes.

“I am really sorry,” her little brother apologised to her, looking distraught.

Colette exhaled slowly, trying her hardest not to laugh at the sheepish look on Arthur's face.

"The next time, maybe you should think before you post. But then I clearly didn’t do that either,” she said drily.

“I mean, karma is the guy in the car coming straight home to me, did amuse me very much,” Vic said brightly.

Arthur blushed deeply, and ducked his head in embarrassment. He set down the bags of takeout on the counter, and then looked up to her to apologize again, his eyes wide like a puppy begging for forgiveness.

"Come here," Colette said with a sigh, holding out her arms for him. "I love you, ma petite puce."

"Colette!" Arthur complained with a grimace, but she just grinned.

"Oh you'll always be my little flea," she teased her younger brother.

"Oh god, don't call me that," Arthur complained, letting her pull him into a tight hug. He let out a long suffering sigh. "I said I was sorry!"

"I know you are," she said, patting the top of his brown hair, even when that meant that she needed to stand on her tiptoes to reach. "But the fact remains that you were an idiot before."

Arthur groaned in embarrassment and dropped his head to her shoulder in defeat.

"Eat your fries," his voice was muffled. "And please tell me you have some salad or something in the fridge so Max doesn't kill me for feeding you nothing but junk food."

"I do have some salad in the fridge," Colette said and ruffled his hair. "I'll eat lots of veggies, I promise. And I’ll even tell Maxie that I blackmailed you into getting me fries, if you want,” she suggested brightly.  

Vic just snorted. "Let's just get that back in the living room and we can put on Sky News and bitch about the commentators."

"You guys are awful," Arthur protested, but he was already gathering their food and following along obediently. "The comments on Sky Sports are not nearly as bad as you make them out to be..."

Colette rolled her eyes and instead collapsed onto the couch, wriggling to get comfortable, because her back was still killing her.

Arthur was also very wrong. Danica Patricks definitively was that bad. Colette could just stare at the train wreck in front of her.

"Vic. Why in the world has Sky Jos on there to talk about Maxie's anger issues. What anger issues?" she demanded. Max didn’t have anger issues. Who in the world had come up with that? This was utterly ridiculous!

Victoria stared at her. "You don't know?!" she asked, sounding shocked.

"Know what?" Colette demanded. "Enzo deleted every social media app in existence from my phone. Why do people think that Max of all people has anger issues?!"

"George Russell," Arthur mumbled. "He said some...things."

Things. George Russell had said some things. 

Colette sat up a little straight at that, her eyes widening in disbelief. "What things?" she demanded. "What did he say?"

Victoria and Arthur exchange a look.

"He may have said that he wouldn't want Max to date his sister because he is sure that his girlfriend is the one dealing with his anger issues?" Arthur offered.

"He. Said. What?" Colette bit out.

No wonder there had been this tone in Max's voice when they had talked this morning...No wonder he had sounded upset, when that George fucking Russell had pretty much accused him of hurting her. And of course, he hadn't wanted to worry her, so of course, he hadn't told her.

Victoria reached out and grasped her elbow, as if she worried Colette would jump up and attack the screen.

"You need to stay calm," Vic said firmly. "You can't get worked up, it's not good for you, and it's not good for the baby," she warned her.

"I will murder George Russell," Colette growled in response.

"No murder," Victoria said in a no-nonsense voice. "You can't kill him, he's not worth it. And you can't have this stress, for your health. And the baby."

Colette huffed but she was still seething.

Only to then have Danica Patrick pipe up from the TV Screen: "What are your thoughts on your son’s supposed anger issues?"

"He doesn't have anger issues!" Colette snapped. "I have anger issues right now! I am going to find George Russell and punch him in the face!"

Arthur stared at her with an ill-hidden combination of horror and fascination.

Victoria laughed again, but it was mostly out of surprise and disbelief. "Well, at least we know that your temper is firmly intact," she said dryly.

"I'm sure Max is going to loooove seeing you this worked up over this," Arthur grumbled.

Colette had a lot of problems with Max's father, but at least for once she actually agreed with him:

"On the circuit…as soon as Max lowers his visor, he turns into a lion. He is really motivated and the only thing that matters is winning. It was always in him. What I see in Max now, I saw in karting," Jos answered Danica's question. "But that’s not the same Max you see when he is at home. On the race track, he is a lion, but at home, he’s a teddy bear. He got that from Sophie. He’s very sweet, very gentle…Incredible protective of the people he cares about."

For the first time in recent history, Colette found herself agreeing wholeheartedly with Jos Verstappen.

"He is a teddy bear," she mumbled in agreement. "The sweetest thing on earth. And that bastard has no idea what he's talking about," she bit out.

"Of course Max is a lion on the track," Arthur said with a scoff. "We've witnessed that ourselves. Everyone in the paddock knows that Max is a machine when he's in his race car, but George has his head up his ass if he thinks that Max is aggressive off the circuit."

"We all know that Maxie is the gentlest, most generous person out there," Victoria agreed, shaking her head. "George Russell is clearly jealous and is making stuff up just to get attention."

Colette just huffed.

"So you don't think he has anger issues?" Danica Patrick pushed.

"What kind of a stupid question is that?" Colette grumbled in response, her shoulders taut with anger.

Arthur laughed and Victoria squeezed her arm.

"No," Jos answered flatly.

Danica Patrick, who was clearly fishing for a different reply, seemed a little thrown by the firm response. But she rallied quickly enough to pivot: "And what can you tell us about your son’s relationship with Colette Leclerc?"

"Oh, come on!" Colette snapped.

"They have been together for a very long time," Jos replied simply, his accent strong as ever. "…since back in Karting. I don’t think anybody believed that that relationship would last, but they did prove everybody wrong."

The answer was unexpectedly charming and sincere.

Colette found herself blinking at that, surprised at how fond he sounded when talking about her and Max. Even Arthur was gaping stupidly, and it looked like Victoria was struggling not to choke on her drink from surprise.

"I think the great thing about Colette is that she understands his life, his career. She has a brother who does the same job as Max, so she was always incredibly supportive of him," Jos continued. "She is there for him. She supports him completely, and she’s been there for him through the good times and the bad. I don’t think Max would be the man he is today without her."

Arthur and Victoria stared at the screen with dropped jaws, stunned into silence.

"Is that Jos actually giving a heartfelt compliment?" Arthur muttered in disbelief.

“I think he is?” Victoria responded questioningly. This was certainly a new experience for everyone.

On the screen, Jos continued: "I have been watching their relationship for over half of Max's life, and Max really did pick the right girl."

"Your son hasn’t talked a lot about his relationship," Danica said leadingly.

"Oh, you won’t get anything from him," Jos said with a snort. "He’s very protective over her, always has been. Especially with her in her current condition."

Colette’s eyes widened and she immediately put a hand over her stomach in a protective gesture. 

"Fuck," Victoria cursed.

“Did he seriously just do that?” Arthur croaked. “Did he just tell all of F1 - no, all of the world - that Colette is pregnant?”

All three of them just gaped at the TV.

Danica Patricks looked like a vampire that had just tasted blood. "Her current condition?" she asked, her voice honeyed sweet.

"Yes," Jos confirmed simply. "The baby is supposed to come any day now. We’re all incredibly excited for the new addition to the family. I mean, it took them long enough, they definitely practiced enough."

He said like it was a joke. Like it hadn't taken them the better part of 3 years and 2 miscarriages.

Colette’s whole body had tensed, her heart clenching painfully in her chest as the words echoed in her mind: It took them long enough, they definitely practiced enough. Those words felt like a punch to the gut - like a mockery of all the pain and disappointment and suffering.

All the stress and anxiety and anguish that they had gone through. All the tears and the desperation and prayers for a miracle.

And all of it reduced to a cheap, dirty joke.

"I am going to throttle him," Victoria said, her voice shaking.

"Get in line," Arthur grumbled, looking equally enraged.

Colette just sat there staring fixedly at the screen, feeling like her whole mind had gone numb.

It was one thing when Jos made his snide little comments to them, but it was quite another when he decided to talk about that on international TV. He made it sound like their troubles to conceive had only been a matter of not trying hard enough.

It felt like a gut punch. Colette had always known that Jos had no idea how hard the last couple of years had been for them, but now, in light of his comment, it sounded like he somehow assumed it had all been their own fault.

They had kept both miscarriages quiet...had only shared it with a handful of people. She knew that Max had told Vic about it, but he had never told his father.

Her hands were shaking with anger. The urge to throw something - anything - was almost overwhelming as the words echoed in her head over and over: It took them long enough, they definitely practiced enough.

How could he have been so cruel? How could he go and announce it on international television and make it sound like it hadn’t been the hardest thing that either of them had ever been through?

It felt like a betrayal. Colette had never expected much out of Max’s father, but this? This felt like twisting the knife in a still-healing wound and pouring salt into it.

It felt like a stab to the back. Jos had no idea. No idea how hard it had been to keep the hope up. No idea how much it had hurt with every failed test and every lost dream. And no idea how much they both had longed for the baby that was growing within her.

And now he was just treating it like it had been a matter of not working hard enough, as if it had been an easy task and they had simply taken their sweet time to do something that came naturally to most people.

Her mind would have continued to turn into circles...if there hadn't been a sudden stabbing pain low in her abdomen.

Colette winced as the pain flared. It was a shock, and her hands immediately flew down to press against the source of the pain.

"Are you alright?" Victoria asked immediately. Colette clenched her teeth as the cramping pain seemed to grow even worse, before easing.

"Just...just a cramp," Colette managed to breathe out. "It's fine. It's fine. I just- it just startled me, that's all."

She tried to assure herself that it was nothing. Just Braxton Hicks - just the body preparing for the labor, the pain sometimes got intense. But something about it felt...off.

"Is that the first one today?" Victoria asked her. "You winced a few times this morning."

Colette thought back to this morning, recalling how she had woken up with a stabbing pain in her lower back. She hadn’t thought much of it then, since her muscles hadn’t been happy with her in a long time at this point - and it had passed pretty quickly after a few minutes.

"I'm not sure, I-" she started, her breath catching.

There was pain again, another stabbing contraction.

"Are they getting stronger?" Victoria asked, her voice sharpening.

The pain receded after a few seconds, and Colette had to force down the urge to curl up on the couch with her hands on her stomach as she tried to take deep breaths."It's nothing. I still have 4 weeks," Colette said with a shake of her head.

The words sounded like a prayer. Because she wasn’t due for at least another month, after all. This was just the Braxton Hicks contractions that her doctor had warned her about. The practice contractions that were supposed to help get her body ready for labor, nothing to worry about.

It was just her body preparing for the birth, that was all.

But the pain came back again, and this time, Colette couldn't quite suppress the gasp as she closed her eyes and tried to breathe through it.

"Colette," Victoria said, her voice sharp. "I don’t think they’re just practice contractions. The way you’re tensing and wincing...this is the real deal. I think you’re going into actual labor."

“No,” Colette said, her heart lurching in her chest. “No, no, I’m not…I’m not supposed to go into labor until January, this is- this is not supposed to happen.”

She had just hit her 36th week, and she was due at the start of January. It was far too early for the labor to start.

"I don't think the baby cares about that," Victoria said with a laugh. "Come on, we'll need to get you to the hospital."

"No, I can't be in labour. Max isn't here," she disagreed.

Colette felt a fresh wave of panic wash over her. The very last thing she wanted to do was start labor without Max there, and Max was currently in the middle of a race on the opposite end of the world.

“Where’s your hospital bag?“ Victoria asked her, all business. “Where’s are the car keys? Arthur is driving.“

“What, no!“ Arthur squeaked. Arthur clearly looked terrified, his eyes growing like saucers as he stared at them. "No - no, I don’t think I can-"

But Victoria was already rounding on him. "Oh yes,  you can. Just get the keys and get the damn car ready. I‘ll help Colette get her things, and you'll drive us."

The authority in her voice was intimidating enough that Arthur didn’t dare to disagree with her, and he nodded mutely and hurried away to look for the car keys.

Colette was torn between laughing at her brother’s expression and panicking over the fact that her labor was actually starting.

Just like that, she felt frozen in place a few moments longer, before Victoria snapped her fingers in front of her face. "Hey, no freezing up. We need to get moving. We need to get to the hospital, and your kid doesn’t care that it still needs 4 more weeks. So come on, come on, get your things."

It snapped her out of her temporary daze, and she managed to focus back to the present again. "Right, yeah," Colette mumbled, and she quickly went to get her hospital bag.

She had already packed it, just in case - but she had definitely not expected to actually use it.

Her hands were shaking as she picked it up, the whole situation still not entirely sinking in yet. Max was not here. She was going to have her baby without him here - that wasn’t how it was supposed to be!

But the pain came back again, and her body seemed to agree that there was no time left to waste.

She winced through the contraction, and Vic’s face tensed as she saw it.

"How are you doing?" she asked, watching her worriedly. Colette had to take a deep breath, trying to keep breathing as the pain faded out again. "I’m-” she started, but that was the same second that Arthur appeared again with the keys.

"The car is ready," he said, sounding very much like he’d rather bolt.

"Right," Victoria said, and she looked at Colette. "We gotta go. You good to go?"

Colette felt a surge of panic as the truth of leaving to go to the hospital finally sank in - she felt very much like her entire body had seized up. But Arthur was already waiting at the door with an expectant look on his face that did not look at all reassuring, and Victoria had picked up her hospital bag and was ushering Colette’s towards the hallway.

The contractions didn’t seem to care about any of her feelings, anyway.

"Come on," Victoria told her quietly. "We're gonna go and have a beautiful birth, and when you're done, there’ll be a healthy baby in your arms, okay?"

Colette was sure that her face had gone pale, and her hands were shaking as she slowly made her way through the hallway. Victoria led her the entire time, supporting her as they moved.

She was more than grateful to slip into the backseat of the Audi and her hands could claw themselves into the buttery soft leather interior.

“Are you sure we can’t wait for an adult?“ Arthur asked weakly.

“You are an adult. You literally drive race cars for a living,“ Victoria snapped.

Colette would have laughed at Arthur’s terrified expression in any other situation, but at the moment, she really wasn’t up to find anything funny.

“Just drive the damn car, Arthur!“ Victoria snapped, and Arthur flinched, his eyes wide as saucers.

A whimper escaped Colette as another contraction gripped her, and she curled up in the back seat, both hands clawed in the seat as the wave of pain ebbed away again. Her breathing was ragged, and she felt like she was slowly coming apart at the seams.

"Keep breathing," Victoria’s sharp voice came from her left side, and she felt a cool, smooth hand on her forehead. "Just keep breathing. You're doing great."

The words managed to cut through the panic, and Colette managed to gasp out a shuddering breath. “I-” she choked out, “I can’t…I can’t do this without Max, I-”

"You are doing it," Victoria cut in, her voice steady and sharp like a blade. "You are doing it, and you are going to be fine. Max will be by your side the moment he can, but you will make it until then. Just keep breathing and keep talking, you’re doing great."

[ourzeui]

please don't be a snitch!

PAIRING caitlyn kiramman x f!reader

TYPE oneshot

NOTE this is in modern setting! reader has a twin, and they have opposite personalities (reader = a lil' shy; twin = brazen)

CW mature themes, alcohol use, suggestive content, strong language (cursing!!), anxiety/stress

11:59 PM — Friday night.

This was definitely a bad fucking idea.

You repeatedly glance at your wrist watch, legs fidgeting as you try so hard to not leave your twin sister alone. Heart ramming against your chest, you desperately hope your sister will soon get tired from dancing around the room and decide that both of you will just go home and rest. Because, anytime now, your strict parents would realize that both of you still aren’t home and would go berserk once they find out you’re out clubbing. In other words, you and your sister would be killed. Both metaphorically and literally.

This wasn’t your idea in the first place. The thought of random people just eating each other’s faces out, touching each other’s bodies where one thing leads to another… it, uh, just rubs you off in the wrong way. You just can't shake off the feeling that there's a big possibility that something bad might happen, with the alcohol driving people mad crazy. If your twin sister didn’t force you to go with her, you’d probably never step foot in a club. Ever.

You can’t help but cringe as you see your sister flirt with another guy for what seems like the twentieth time today. Both of them giggle on the corner of the room, shamelessly checking each other out. A minute later, the guy drags your flushed twin to one of the random rooms, no doubt going to do…whatever it is that they’re going to do.

Upon realizing what’s happening, your heart immediately drops to the floor. Despite having absolutely zero hook-up experience, you definitely know where that is going.

“That shithead,” you curse under your breath as you hurriedly try to follow your sister and her partner. Squeezing through the sweaty dance floor, you see your twin giggle as the guy playfully pushes her inside the room, followed by the door slamming with a loud thud despite the blasting disco music. You wonder how desperate could your sister be for deciding to follow a random man alone in a closed room knowing what could possibly happen.

Well, your sister did repeatedly say she was "dying to get laid" months prior. Maybe today was the day she was finally getting that.

But maybe today was also the day she’s going to die because she’s about to do something she might regret for the rest of her life (+ your parents will, again, definitely k-word both of you if she’s caught).

Before you could even approach the door, you spot a familiar blue-haired woman, sitting down cross-legged near the bar counter.

Caitlyn.

Upon seeing her, your heart drops the second time, beads of sweat forming on your temples. Both you and your sister should get out now, because if Caitlyn sees you and asks where your sister is, both of you should be prepared to never see the light of day again.

Here's the thing: Caitlyn's parents are close friends of your parents, so it's inevitable that you'd often meet each other. Both of you had never shared a proper conversation before though, just a few hello's and a "Can you please pass me the sauce?" over the table during family dinners.

One thing you know about Caitlyn though is that she always does what she thinks is right.

…She will be a snitch if she wants to.

The reason why her presence right now is so unnerving is because you can't forget the day how your mother made her promise that she should tell her immediately if "one of her daughters are caught doing crazy things", and Caitlyn always keeps her promises.

And just your luck, Caitlyn looks up at the perfect time, her piercing blue eyes locking on yours.

You freeze.

She tilts her head slightly, the corner of her mouth curling in what looks suspiciously like amusement. You can already feel the lecture forming, not from her but from your parents, the second she makes that phone call.

She picks up a glass, takes a sip, and then—oh no—stands up, walking through the crowd until she’s standing right in front of you, effortlessly poised despite the chaos around you both.

“Funny seeing you here,” she says, her voice smooth but carrying a note of dry humor.

“This—this isn’t what it looks like,” you stammer, hating how defensive you sound.

She raises a brow. “Isn’t it? Because from where I’m standing, it looks like your sister just disappeared into a room with a guy who probably doesn’t know her name, and you’re about to have a heart attack trying to figure out what to do about it.”

You wince. “Okay, maybe it is what it looks like. But—”

"But you didn’t want to be here in the first place,” Caitlyn finishes for you, crossing her arms. “And now you’re stuck cleaning up the mess.”

You nod, a little surprised she understands so easily.

“Let me guess,” she says, her smirk growing. “You’re worried I’m going to tell your parents.”

“Uh, yeah. Pretty much,” you admit, your voice barely above a whisper. The rate of your heartbeat increases each second, and you fidget your fingers.

Caitlyn sighs, shaking her head. “Relax. I’m not going to snitch.”

“You’re not?”

“No,” she says simply. Then she leans in slightly, her voice quieter but firm. “But I am going to help you.”

“Help me?” You blink, confused.

“Yes,” she says, rolling her eyes slightly like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “Because if you go barging into that room on your own, you’ll probably make things worse. So, let’s handle this together before your sister does something she regrets.”

You hesitate, unsure if you can trust her, but something about her calm, confident attitude is reassuring.

“Why would you help me?” you ask.

She shrugs, a small smile tugging at her lips. “Because I’ve been in your shoes before. And honestly? It’s better than having your mom yell at me for not stepping in.”

You groan, rubbing your temples. “Fine. What’s the plan?”

Caitlyn’s smile widens, just slightly, and for the first time, it feels genuine. “Follow my lead.”

Instead of heading toward the room, Caitlyn gestures toward the bar.

“What are you doing?” you hiss, looking between her and the door where your sister disappeared.

“Relax,” she says, grabbing two stools. “We’ll give it a minute. If we charge in too quickly, your sister’s just going to get defensive and make things worse. Trust me on this.”

You hesitantly sit beside her, tapping your fingers against the counter. Caitlyn orders herself a soda, which surprises you. “Not drinking?” you ask.

She shakes her head. “I like to keep a clear head in places like this. Too many people lose theirs.”

You nod slowly, watching her as she takes a sip. For someone who’s in a club, surrounded by chaos, she seems so calm, like none of this fazes her.

“So… do you come here often?” you ask awkwardly, desperate to fill the silence.

She laughs softly. “Not really. A friend dragged me out tonight, but she ditched me for some guy about an hour ago.”

You wince. “Sounds familiar.”

Caitlyn smiles, her eyes meeting yours. “Yeah, but at least I ended up with better company.”

You blink, heat rising to your cheeks. “Oh.”

There’s a beat of silence before she speaks again, her voice softer. “You’re a good sibling, you know that?”

You scoff. “I’m just trying to keep her out of trouble.”

“Exactly.” She tilts her head, studying you. “Not everyone would go through this kind of mess for someone else. It says a lot about you.”

Her words catch you off guard, and you find yourself fidgeting under her gaze. “It’s not a big deal.”

“It is,” she insists, her tone warm but firm. “And I think it’s admirable.”

Before you can respond, Caitlyn glances toward the door where your sister disappeared. She sighs and stands. “Alright, I think we’ve waited long enough. Ready to be the hero?”

You nod, your heart racing as you follow her. But as you walk beside her, you notice the way her shoulder brushes against yours, the way her presence somehow makes you feel less panicked and more… safe.

Your heart flutters again, and you stare intently on Caitlyn's back. BUT, your heart drops for the third time today as your phone rings.

Mom <3 Missed call (34) Slide for more

Shit.

© ourzeui, 2025

[gyaruhana]

this may be a bit random, but could you write something for Choi Wook-Seok (the guy who plays rock, paper, scissors, minus one + helps with the search)

I’ve seen nothing about him online at all but I really liked him (maybe I’m just delusional)

It would be amazing if you could do something where the reader was an ex coworker (or just a friend) of Jun Ho and gets pulled into the little take down mission from episode 2. There she meets Wook-Seok and he gets really flustered around her or something.

thank you so much and good work on all your fics

Woo-Seok - Flustered

Synopsis: Woo-seok thinks you're really pretty and gets quite shy

A/N: Sorry this took so long to post i've been drowning in requests!!

Warnings: none

“So, just to clarify, you want me to join you to kidnap some guy who is apparently hosting death games and killing hundreds of people yearly on an unknown island?” you speak as you look at Jun-ho. When your old friend texted you asking to meet, you thought he had wanted to go out for a coffee and catch up - not try to convince you to help him find some guy running some deadly game on an island he's been trying (and failing) to find for two years now.

“I know how it sounds but I’m not making this up,” he says as he looks at you with a serious look. Jun-ho was well aware that his story sounded like the words of a mad man but there was really no way to not sound crazy talking about something like this. He was hoping that you'd just trust him and agree to this because your help would be valuable to getting this done.

You could see the look on his face that showed he clearly wasn't joking around and was dead serious about needing your help with this. However, as much as you did want to help him, you weren’t a police detective anymore. You had quit long ago and taken up a different job that didn’t put you in any danger. Something like this could be seriously dangerous and result in the harm of a lot of people. You let out a sigh as you ran a hand through your hair.

“Jun-ho. As much as I want to help, you know I don’t do that stuff anymore. I left it behind me years ago,” you say as you look at him with an apologetic look. You weren’t confident that you could just jump back into work like this. After all, if he was telling the truth, this would be a lot more than just a simple kidnapping and arrest. It’d be an all-out war - the one thing you wanted to avoid.

Jun-ho understood where you were coming from but he didn’t want to give up on you. When you used to work together in the police department, you were an excellent detective. You had a talent and it was being wasted for things that didn’t matter. This mattered. “Just keep watch then. You don’t have to come with us inside. I just need the skill I know you have to help us,” He says as he puts a comforting hand on your shoulder.

You stayed quiet for a few moments as you just looked at him, analyzing him to figure out whether you should listen to him. Were you really going to join him on a mission to kidnap some potentially dangerous guy? You let out a sigh before looking off to the side with slight annoyance. You took a deep breath before looking at him again. “I’ll help,” you say and Jun-ho immediately smiles, glad to have you on his side. He trusted you with his life and he knew you would prove a great help.

He pats your shoulder twice before pulling his hand away. “Good. We're meeting here tomorrow,” he says as he hands you a small piece of paper with an address. You looked down at it and nodded your head slowly. “Time is valuable so be here early,” he adds as he puts his hands into his pockets. 

“Got it. I'll be there first thing tomorrow morning,” you say as you shove the piece of paper into your pocket and look up at him. Jun-ho nods his head in approval before swiftly walking away and leaving you on your own to think. If Jun-ho hadn't been such a good ally when you worked in the force together, you would've never agreed to this wild goose chase. But, unfortunately, he had done you a favor one too many times so saying no was off the table.

You let out another sigh as you looked to the horizon and thought about what tomorrow might bring. 

“They better have guns,” 

✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ:

The next day, you arrived at the rather strange choice of a meet up place. It looked like a run down motel that offers its rooms for ridiculously cheap to those who couldn't afford anything better. You stare at it for a few moments before heading towards the door. When you went to open it, it didn't budge, so you looked around to see if there was something you could open it with.

Your eyes quickly landed on a camera watching you from above which you decide to wave at in hopes that the door would open for you. Thankfully, it did as you heard a buzz indicating it was now opened. You quickly walked in and began to climb the stairs to the correct floor written on the paper. You could hear the faint sounds of gunshots - something that made you more relaxed because thank god they do have guns in case this goes south.

When you arrived at the correct floor, you could already see Jun-ho waiting outside a room for you. He seemed anything but relaxed and you couldn't blame him. Something like this was a whole other level of dangerous. They pretty much only had one shot at getting this right or else it'd be all over. 

“This way. The rest of the team is in here,” Jun-ho speaks as he leads you down the hallway and into a room. When you walk in, the first thing you notice is the shit ton of won lying on a bed. Your eyes widen at the sight as Jun-ho leads you past into the bathroom which was filled with a shit ton of guns. You looked around the small bathroom in slight shock at how prepared they happened to be. You weren't going to ask where they got all these guns from but you could guess they were all illegally obtained from the black market. There was also a lot of ammo for the guns too. 

Finally, Jun-ho pushes back a blue curtain revealing a hole in the wall that led to a giant space which seemed like it used to be separate rooms before the walls were removed. There were three guys  shooting at the targets all the way on the back wall while three other guys stood behind them. They clearly meant business.

Woo-seok noticed the presence of Jun-ho and immediately looked at him. He had yet to notice you standing right behind Jun-ho. “These guys were in the marine corps!” he shouts out as he looks over at Gi-hun with wide eyes. He was rather impressed with himself for managing to make a team with professionals.

“These guys were in the UDT,” he shouts again while walking forward and gesturing to two other guys. “and these guys were in the ROK Special Forces,” he finishes as he gestures to the last two guys. “Oh, and this guy is just a former cop,” he says as he points at Jun-ho. 

“Me too,” you say, making Woo-seok snap his head towards you. He immediately froze up. He recalled Jun-ho saying that he'd bring an old coworker and friend but he didn't think that he'd bring someone as pretty as you. You had him rendered speechless so quickly and suddenly, he was very aware of the people looking at him. 

“This is my co-worker. I told you about her,” Jun-ho says as he steps back a little so you could have some space to reveal yourself. “She was great at her job when we worked together so she'll be a big help,” he adds. Gi-hun seems to nod his head before looking back at the men shooting but Woo-seok couldn't tear his eyes away from you.

“..Is there something on my face?” you ask as you rub your face once-over just in case. You didn't know what he was staring at you for but it was kind of endearing in an odd way. “no! Sorry. I'm Woo-seok,” he quickly introduced himself as he tried to calm down and not grin like an idiot. God, he could feel himself start to sweat.

“Glad to be on the same team,” you say as you hold your hand out for him to shake it. He quickly grabs your hand and shakes it vigorously, taking you by surprise at the suddenness and aggressiveness. “uhm- me too,” he stutters out before quickly pulling his hand back after realizing he was holding yours for a little too long. 

You stare at him with slight confusion as you couldn't tell what brought along this behavior. He seemed awfully sweaty all of a sudden and his face seemed to flush a reddish color. He could also barely get a word out without stuttering. Usually people only acted like when they had a crush-

Wait. Did he have a crush on you?? He certainly seemed to display all the signs of a potential crush. Maybe you could just ask. Would that be too straightforward? You didn't want to embarrass him, you just genuinely wanted to know if he liked you but asking him out right might be a little much.

“uh- so you used to be in the police department?” He questioned, making an attempt at small talk with you in hopes to hide how nervous he was. He really didn't want to give a bad first impression to a girl so pretty. You nodded your head and started to talk about it but he could barely focus. He was suddenly hyper-aware of everything about him including his mannerisms. 

Was he smiling too much? Was his stance weird? Did you feel uncomfortable with him looking at you? His mind was too consumed by the thoughts of what you thought about him. He thought about making a joke but maybe you wouldn't find it funny at all and there would be an awkward silence. It was just too much for him to handle. He'd much like to disappear now just to avoid doing something embarrassing in front of you.

“..woo-seok?” You call out as you look at him weirdly. He seemed to be in his own world right now. Something was evidently stuck on his mind. You, probably. You could easily tell how he felt about you. You did use to work as a detective after all. Reading people is what you do. You sigh and shake your head at his nervous behavior before speaking up.

“If you like me, just ask me out,” you say, making his eyes widen as he snaps out of his trance. He looked at you in disbelief, not entirely sure that he actually heard you correctly. “What?” He says as he feels his heart race a million times faster than it had been previously.

“If you like me, ask me out,” you repeat seriously. You found his shyness quite cute honestly and you actually didn't think you'd be against the idea of going out with him. He really just seemed like a sweetheart.

“..really?” He said as he nervously smiled. He sheepishly rubs the back of his neck with his hand before looking around at the other's. “well.. if you don't mind..” he says as he looks at you with a hopeful look.

“You gotta ask me like a man, c’mon,” you say playfully as you push his shoulder gently with a smirk. He laughed shyly before taking a deep breath. “Okay,” he says as he composes himself before looking down at you.

“Would you maybe like to go out sometime?”

[orcasoul]

The Lesser of Two Evils

Summery: Rome is the enemy but so are the people you've spent your whole life with. When faced with a desperate choice of life or death which enemy should you choose?

Warnings: Swearing, smut (eventual), threats of rape, sexual harassment, violence, gore, detailed injuries, angst, enemies(ish) to lovers, protective Marcus Acacius, age gap, OFC/reader

Word Count: 5,214

Part 3

Dawn breaks hazily over the ancient woodland. Morning mist blankets the emerald foliage in tiny dew drops, which glisten when the sun manages to seep through the clouds. You've ridden all night, mostly in silence. For hours your mind has been stuck on an endless loop; blood, the feeling of flesh tearing, the life you ended. It was then you'd realised you had left your fathers knife embedded in Adhelms chest. Your heart sank to your stomach. That knife was all you had left of your father and now a part of you feels like you've lost him all over again.

Fresh tears tingle in your eyes under the crushing feeling of loss. Marcus' voice snapped you out of your thoughts. "We should stop for a while and rest the horse. She's been carrying us all night." Poor Inga. You'd been too lost in your own head to pay her any mind. "Okay." You gently squeeze the reins, bringing her to a stop. You dismount and turn to help Marcus down. "Thank you," he nods and limps to the nearest tree, plonking down, rather ungracefully. You tether Inga's reins to a low branch so she can lower her head to graze.

Placing your bag on the floor, you sit, cross legged in front of it and begin to rummage inside, pulling out a cloth filled with cured meat. After dividing the it evenly, you wrap up half and toss it over to land on Marcus' lap. "It's not much but it's better than nothing." "Appreciate it," Marcus says with a small nod. You both eat in silence for the next several minutes, the sounds of Inga grazing and the birds chirping are amplified in the otherwise still forrest. You decide to break the silence. "How's the leg?" you ask, tipping your head to his wound. "It's sore, but it'll be fine." "I should check it." You open your bag to gather fresh bandages, balm and your water skin.

"There's no need," Marcus shrugs and lays his head back against the tree, closing his eyes. You roll your eyes at his stubbourness. "No point you making it this far just to die of an infection now. Just let me check it." Marcus sighs and slowly opens his his eyes. He holds your gaze for a moment as if he doesn't want to admit you're right. "Very well," he grumbles and shifts onto his side, exposing the wound to you. He hisses as you peel the blood soaked rag from his skin. He must have bled while riding. The balm you apply stings as it makes contact with his raw skin. "Sorry..." you suck in through your teeth, "It won't take much longer."

Through the sting Marcus can feel how delicate your touch is, how you are careful to not add too much pressure. The sensation becomes somewhat soothing as the pain eases. He's almost disappointed when you finish wrapping his leg, coldness replacing the warmth of your fingertips. "All done," you sighed, voice flat and drained. After packing your bag, you too sit against a tree, head back and eyes closed. But the crystal clear image of Adhelms shocked face flashes before you, taunting you. Your eyes shoot open, unable to bare the sight. You bring your knees to your chest and lay your head on them, shaking it as if the motion could expel the mental picture from your head.

"You know he didn't give you a choice, right?" Marcus says with caution. "It was either kill or be killed." Your shoulders tense as your head snaps up. Shame has you turning your head from Marcus' gaze. "You did nothing wrong," he continues. "You defended yourself." "Can you just...!" You let out a defeated breath, still unable to look at him. "Can you not speak of it... please?" Your voice cracked on that last word and Marcus suspects that you've never had to kill anyone before now. He remembers with clarity his first kill and how it haunted him for so long, so he can sympathize with the inner turmoil you're feeling at this moment.

"Alright." he responded, gently. "But if you ever feel the need to talk abou-" "I don't!" you snap, frustration evident in your voice. Marcus says nothing more, much to your relief, but the silence that follows is now heavy. A part of you feels compelled to say something, anything to lighten the atmosphere, but at the same time, you just haven't got the energy. And besides, he's a Roman and you are of the Gutones. Its not like you're here to befriend him and vice versa. You're both using each other for one common goal; to get safely to Rome, and once Marcus has fulfilled his promise to grant you citizenship you will both make your own paths in life. You're not sure how much time has passed while being stuck in your own head, worrying about the arduous journey and all the uncertainties ahead of you, when Marcus rises somewhat unsteadily to his feet.

"We should press on. We don't know if we're being followed." He steps in front of you, offering you his hand. Reluctantly, you take it. As he pulls you up, you unintentionally make make eye contact and for the first time you notice how the rich brown tones of his irises blend together and your breath catches in your chest. After a moment, you realise you're still holding his hand and you quickly pull yours away, still feeling the warmth of his palm on yours. You offer a small, awkward smile and make your way over to Inga. Marcus limps behind, wordlessly, climbing up behind you and you're sure you can sense the same awkwardness from him that you'd just felt.

*****

Hours pass before you stop to rest again. The last of the rations have been consumed but it shouldn't be a problem. If all goes well, you'll reach the Roman encampment tomorrow. You both ride on until the evening sunshine begins to slip below the horizon, casting an almost eerie haze across the ancient landscape. It's no wonder that settings such as this gave rise to tales of encounters with otherworldly creatures such as the Irrlicht, Aufhocker and Fevermann. It's almost as if the forrest itself has eyes. Just before dusk blends into night you reach the river Isar. You are only a few miles from the encampment now and you would have insisted on travelling through the night if it wasnt for an approaching storm.

A nearby cave has become your saving grace for the night. Luckily, it's quite small and doesn't stretch back far, meaning it won't house any preditors. It has just enough room for the three of you to shelter from the elements. Do you t-think it's safe enough to l-light a fire tonight?" you ask through chattering teeth. Of course it's too risky out in the open - the light and smoke would be a beacon to anyone pursuing you - but inside the cave entrance should be okay. Marcus is silent for a moment, weighing up the pros and cons. Finally, he decides. "A small one, just to warm up for a while." As if the gods had been aiding you all along, you just so happen to find some dry sticks and kindling further back in the cave. There had obviously been some nests in here in the past.

You gather them up and place them in a pile in front of you. Marcus takes two stones in hand and in no time at all a warm and welcoming fire lights up the dark cave. It's amazing how simply having a fire can lift your spirits and bring a sense of calm, despite the grave situation you are in. Outside the wind has picked up, whipping the rain sideways. The howling wind makes Inga restless, so to calm her you smooth your hands down her neck while humming a tune quietly. After a few minutes she relaxes enough to lay down. When you turn to walk back to the fire you see that Marcus had been watching the whole interaction, only now turing his head back to the fire as you sit next to him - but keeping a respectful distance.

Holding your hands over the fire, an involuntary shiver ripples through your body as the warmth begins to seep into your bones. "That song... it sounded nice," Marcus said, still staring into the flames. "Yeah..." you nod. "My mother used to sing it to me whenever I had a bad dream." After a moment's silence Marcus asks, "What happened to your parents?" Judging by your now rigid posture and tense jaw, this is a... difficult subject for you. "Nothing," you replied, sharply. Marcus sighed exhasperatedly. "Alia..." You turn your head to face Marcus at the serious tone of his voice. "I do not wish to pry into your past, but I need to know why you fled; what these people did to drive you to turn away from them." You narrowed your eyes in response. "You don't need to know that." "Yes, I do," Marcus insisted, eyebrows set in a firm frown.

"I'm involved now and I need to know what I'm bringing back to my men, to Rome. If I'm going to vouch for you, I should know everything." An indignant scoff rose up your throat. "That wasn't part of the deal. The agreement was I help you escape and you take me to Rome!" The audacity of this man to change the terms now. Your cheeks become flushed with ire as you stare in disbelief at the now impassive face of the general. "That was before I realised you're hiding something. And if it could compromise my legion or my honour-" "You really thInk I could be dangerous?" you laugh, devoid of actual humour.

"You tell me," Marcus eyed you warily as if he was trying to figure you out. "What did your chief mean when he said you couldn't be trusted? Why did he call you evil?" With a frustrated sigh, you roll your eyes closed and shake your head. He's not going to drop this! "You want the truth, fine. Everyone in my village believes I'm a Seer..." "A Seer?" Marcus questioned, raising one eyebrow. "Someone with... unnatural abilities." "You mean like a witch?"

You nod briefly, lower your head and continue, "My mother was considered to be a bit odd in the community just because she kept to herself. She also helped people with various ailments. For a long time people appreciated her contribution, but one year the harvest failed and when people got hungry and angry enough they blamed her. One night a large group came to our house and my..." You pause to take a breath and blink back the threat of tears. "My father was killed when he tried to protect her... and then they burned the house down with my mother inside it." Your head has turned away now, tucked into your shoulder, waiting for the inevitable fear? hate? rejection? There's no way he'll allow you to remain with him now.

So you're a bit surprised when he calmly asks you, "How old were you when it happened?" "Eight," you mumble, quietly. "I'm sorry," Marcus whispered, softly. You slowly lift your head and take in the look of sadness and sincerity on his face. His large eyes seem to shimmer in the glow of the fire and there's a hint of disbelief in them. A heaviness settles in your chest, causing your throat to tighten and your chin to tremble. This is the most kindness you've been shown in years. You quickly wipe away the water blurring your vision and turn your attention back to the fire. "No child should ever have to endure something like that." You nod and exhale, "I think the only reason I was spared is because I was a child."

The air has now become oppressively quiet, as if neither of you know how to steer away from such a dark revelation. Marcus then clears his throat, "Let's get some rest. We leave at dawn." You whip around to Marcus in surprise. "You mean I can still come with you?!" Marcus' brow scrunches at your incredulity. "That was the deal, was it not?" "Well, yes but..." Marcus shifts to fully face you now. "But...?" "I just assumed you'd want to be rid of me, knowing the truth." Marcus scoffed, shaking his head. "I don't believe for one second that you're a witch, or that your mother was." Stunned, your jaw hangs low as your mind scrambles to process what you'd just heard. "So... you don't fear me?"

"No," Marcus stated, with no reservations. "I am not a superstitious simpleton, and you didn't deserve what they did to you." Marcus' words struck you deeply, completely upending what you had been led to believe about Romans. You had been told nothing but horror stories of rape, torture and unspeakable brutality that befell anyone in their path. That they are an unstoppable force that thrived on terror and carnage, yet the first actual Roman you have met is nothing of the sort. He hasn't attempted to harm you in any way and even now, after learning of your past he intends to keep his promise to you.

In a small, wobbly voice you say the only thing you can think of, "Thank you." Marcus nods to acknowledge your appreciation. He can sense there's so much more to your gratitude that you can't articulate at this moment. They say the eyes are the window to the soul and now, in your glassy eyes he sees the weight of all you have suffered, but also a flicker of hope. A part of him feels contented that he could bring you said hope, even if it's just the smallest morsel. The feeling is strange to him, a satisfaction he rarely feels. It's settling and unsettling at the same time. "You get some sleep," Marcus offers. "I'll take the first watch." You give him the faintest hint of a smile before laying down by the fire. "Goodnight Marcus," you say, softly. "Goodnight, Alia."

You wake just as the sun begins to brighten the early morning sky, the birds' melody bringing you back to the world. The cold air sends a shiver through your body as you roll onto your side, noticing the fire has reduced to embers. On the other side of the fire, Marcus snores lightly. Why the hell didn't he wake me? A shuffling outside the cave makes your heart jump up into your throat. Tip Toeing to the entrance, you release your bated breath when you realise it's just the horse grazing. You walk over to where Marcus is fast asleep. Crouching down, you gently touch his shoulder to rouse him.

The moment your fingers brushed him, Marcus' hand shot out, lightening quick, gripping your wrist so tightly you would have cried out, if not for his other hand squeezing your throat. Before you even realise it, you're on your back, Marcus pinning you down while his eyelids blink rapidly. "Fuck!" he gasped as he realised his mistake. He released you as if your skin had physically burned him, throwing himself off of you. "Forgive me," he stuttered, panic evident on his face "I didn't- I thought... Shit! Are you okay?" He reached out to comfort you as you lay gasping and coughing beside him, rubbing your tender throat.

But as soon as he made contact with you you recoiled sharply, looking anywhere but at him. "I'm sorry," Marcus held his hands up in a gesture of surrender. "I didn't mean to hurt you." "It's okay," you answer fearfully, voice raspy from coughing. "I just wanted..." cough, "to tell you..." cough, cough, "I'm going to take the horse to the river to drink." Your throat burns with every word. "I'll... be right back." You quickly get to your feet, grab your water skin and make a quick exit. Marcus watches you leave, a part of him wanting to call you back, to make sure he didn't hurt you. Guilt gnaws at him as the image of your wide eyes and red face refuses to leave his mind.

He rubs a hand over his face in exasperation, cursing himself for falling asleep. If he'd woken you as he'd intended, this never would have happened. The last thing he desires is for you to fear him. He rises, his leg stiff but feeling a bit stronger and limps to the cave entrance, ready to follow you to the river to make amends. He walks out into the gleam of the morning sun, shielding his squinting eyes with his hand when it happened. The wind is knocked out of Marcus as he is tackled to the ground, pain shooting through his back with the force of the impact. His attacker quickly rolls behind him, gripping him around the neck with both arms.

"Hold him still!" another man yells as he approaches with his sword drawn. Marcus, now on crouched legs, fights to free himself from the headlock but the grip is solid. "You and that little bitch are going to pay for what you've done!" the man restraining Marcus growled into his ear. A burst of fury and determination overtakes Marcus. Damn it, you'd both made it this far. He won't let it end like this now. Not when you're both so close to safety. With his uninjured leg, he kicks out at the man in front of him, hitting his kneecap. The sound of crunching bone is almost drowned out as his would be executioner wails in agony, dropping his sword and falling to the ground.

The man holding Marcus freezes in shock, giving him the opportunity to strike. He throws a hand over his shoulder, digging his thumb into the mans eye. He looses his grip around Marcus' neck, screaming as he falls onto his back, hands over his bloodied eye. Adrenaline pushes Marcus to his feet, despite the pain in his leg, and he swiftly grabs the sword. Moments later both men lay dead, blood pouring from their open throats as Marcus drops to his knees, catching his breath. But he doesn't have long to compose himself. Your shrill scream echoes through the trees causing Marcus' heart to seize with dread. Gripping his sword tightly he pushes up and limp - runs as fast as he can towards the river.

*****

Sunlight dapples on the slow moving river, the splashing and burbling of water crashing against the rocks along with the smell of wet earth and moss invoke an atmosphere of calm and stillness to an already tense start to the day. You lead Inga to the waters edge, gently patting down her side as she begins to drink greedily. Crouching down, you begin to fill up your water skin, enjoying the feeling of the cool water on your fingers. Your throat and wrist still ache and upon closer inspection you can make out a faint ring of purple bruises already forming on your wrist.

It's clear what happened was an accident and that Marcus feels bad about it, but this incident reminds you that those who are stronger than you - both physically and mentally - will always have the upper hand. Last night you had seen a softer, more compassionate side to Marcus and foolishly, you had allowed yourself to lower your guard, just a little. The wake up call you gave him was also a wake up call to you. You can't put your trust in anyone. Marcus seems to be a man of honour and because of that, you've no doubt he will fulfil his promise to you, but if you ever get on his wrong side...? You shudder to think. He is a soldier after all, crafted on the battlefield; violence and brutality as much a natural part of him as everything else. And because of that, you cannot afford to underestimate him, ever.

You hadn't even realised you'd zoned out while contemplating until Inga began to shift nervously, heavy breath flaring her nostrils. A snap behind you has you spinning around, only to be met with a fist to your jaw. Shock pulses through you, both from the pain and the freezing water you now find yourself submerged in. A pair of hands squeezes your throat as you attempt to fight back, desperate for air. With the water distorting your vision all you can make out is the rippling face of a man above you. Just when your empty lungs can take it no more, you are roughly pulled out of the water, a furious Bardulf snarling in your face, teeth bared and spittle forming at his mouth.

He eases his grip just enough for you to suck in some much needed air. "You murderous, evil witch!" Raged Bardulf. "You killed my father, your chief in cold blood!" "Please!" you cry as he drags you from the water. "And then you run like the snivelling little coward you are!" He throws you to the ground, then flips you onto your back, straddling your hips and pinning you in place. Bardulf is joined by another man, a short, stocky man you've always seen lingering around him like a loyal and pathetic hound. "We should kill her now," he sneered. "No!" Bardulf snapped. "That's too quick, too merciful!" Bardulf grips your wrists as you attempt to claw at his face, pushing them to your sides and trapping them under his knees, leaving you completely defenceless.

"You thought your life was bad before? You have no idea what's waiting for you once I get you home. You will suffer like no one ever has before. I'm going to show you exactly what I'm capable of." Bardulf reached to his side and pulled out a knife. But not just any knife; your fathers' knife! "You forget something..." he smiled maniacally as he traced it lightly along your throat. "Thought you might like it BACK!" You watched in terror filled slow motion as he brought the knife down, sinking it into your shoulder. The scream that tore through your throat hurt even your own ears as white hot pain flashed through your upper body. Bardulf gripped your hair, forcing you to look him in the eye. "This is only the beginning," he threatened, darkness swirling in his horrid eyes.

"Heeeeelp!" "Scream all you want, bitch." Bardluf twisted the knife, clearly getting a sick kick out of your pain. "That Roman can't hear you now." Bardulf then stood up, kicking you in the ribs so hard the force rolled you over only to receive another hard kick from his friend. Your ribs feel like they're about to collapse from the unbearable force. Your instinct is to scream, but the constant blows mean you can't inhale. All you can do is lay there while they extract their pound of flesh. You honestly don't know how much more you can possibly withstand when suddenly a guttural roar swallows the men's laughter and you open your eyes to see the end of a sword protruding from the short mans chest, blood oozing from the laceration and from his mouth.

When he drops, Marcus is standing behind him, blood sprayed over his face and breastplate, swinging the bloodied sword in his hand. Bardulf unsheaths his own sword and lunges at Marcus. Marcus meets each blow time and again. Even in his weakened state, he can tell this fool is lacking in comparison. He has the skill but not the stamina. In his peripheral vision, Marcus can see you trying push yourself to your knees. Bardulfs attacks are becoming more sloppy and careless the angrier he gets. In a moment of fortune, Marcus seizes his oppertunity, disarming Bardulf with a quick twist of his sword.

The sword falls to the side, Bardulf throwing himself to the ground after it, stopping just out of reach as Marcus sweeps at him. Just before Bardulf can reach it, Marcus sees you grab the sword and toss it into the river, collapsing afterwards. "No!" Bardulf explodes, leaping up. He spins to see Marcus advancing on him, ducking out of the way of his sword at the last moment, and backing up. "This is far from over, Alia!" he warns before running off into the woods. Marcus drops the sword the moment the coast is clear, slumping to his knees beside you. It's only now he notices the knife lodged in your shoulder. A small whimper accompanies your laboured breathes, tears streaming down the sides of your face. Marcus feels sick at the sight. He should have gotten here sooner.

"Alia..." he calls but your tormented eyes are fixed on the sky. "Alia!" his tone is more commanding now as he gently grips your face in both hands, giving you nowhere to look but at him. "Look at me and listen carefully. You're going to be okay, do you hear me?" Marcus looks again at your shoulder, grimacing. "The knife doesn't appear to be too deep, but it will hurt to remove it. I have to take it out-' "No!" you beg, desperately, gripping both of his hands. "I have to and when I do you need to keep pressure on it. You can do it!" "No no, please!" Marcus has to swallow the lump forming in his throat. He's seen many injured people in his time but seeing someone like you in this situation - kind and soft and completely undeserving of such cruelty - hits him right in the center of his chest.

He rips a long strip of fabric from his own clothing and turns his attention back to you, wrapping his hand around the handle of the blade. "On the count of three," "No don't," "One..." "No!" "Two..." he continues trying to not focus on the fear in your voice. "Oh nononono!" "Three!" "ARRRRRGH!" That almost inhuman scream is one he hopes to never have to hear again. He quickly places your hand over the gushing wound. "Keep it there," he orders as he begins to wrap the fabric around your shoulder, only moving your hand when he's ready to tie the makeshift bandage. "It's all done," he soothes pressing his hand on your wound. "You were very brave." You wince as he keeps the pressure on you. "I'm sorry," he whispers, regretfully. "I'm going to help you up now." Marcus slips his hind under your back, supporting your weight, slowly pulling you to sit up. Your breath catches from the pain. "Where's the damn horse?!" Marcus grumbled looking around the immediate area, realising she must have panicked and ran off in all the commotion.

"We have to go. It's not safe here now. The horse has fled so we'll have to walk." Your head lolls to the side, colour draining from your face. "Hey!" Marcus taps your cheek. "Did you hear me?" You nod slowly, as your regain focus. "Good. Which way is east?" You point behind you. "Okay, let's go." Marcus groans as he pushes himself up, his leg now flaring with sharp jolts as warmth trickles down it. He must have pulled all the stitches during the fight. Seeing your father's knife beside you, you grab it and tuck it into the waist of your trousers. Marcus places your arm around his neck and pulls you up, holding you tightly around the waist and you both begin to head east.

*****

You've both been going for what feels like forever now, every step gruelling as Marcus struggles onward, half dragging you beside himself. His leg continues to bleed, the pain increasing as time wears on. As a soldier he has endured pain and injuries all of his adult life and has come out of it stronger; this time will be no different. With steely determination and the stubbornness to match even the most wilful mule, he ignores the persistent burn and staggers forth. "Marcus...?" you mumble, voice so quiet he doesn't hear you. "Ma... Marcus," you whine. "We n... need to stop." "No, we're not... far from the Castrum (army encampment). I... recognise this area. We should," urrgh, "come across a patrol soon." "Please," you implore. "I can't... walk anymore." Every breath, every step, every sway of your body shoots straight to your shoulder. You didn't know it was possible to feel fire under your skin! But that's how it feels; like a river of flames coursing through your chest and arm. Marcus stumbles on unsteadily, seemingly intent on ignoring you. You can tell he's tiring as his steps begin to falter.

"Leave me," you pant. "I'm slowing you down." Marcus' hold on you tightens, his voice low and gravelly. "Now you hear me. You did not come this far just to," urgh "give up now. I won't.. have it. There's strength in you, I see it." "I-" "No," Marcus cuts you off. "No more talking, just... walk. That's all you have to... do now. Just keep going." You haven't the energy to argue so you do as you are told. Time feels inconsequential right now. You don't know if you've been walking for minutes or hours. Through the constant ringing in your ears you notice Marcus' breathing has become heavier. Your steps have slowed to a snails pace, but then you realise it's not your steps that have practically stopped, but Marcus'. Up until this point you've just allowed yourself to be lead .

He suddenly collapses to his knees, taking you down with him, exhaustion weighing heavily on both of you. Marcus is clearly in great pain. You look to where his hand reaches behind his leg and gasp when his fingers come away red and shiny. "Your leg!" "It's fine," he grits between clenched teeth. "You should rest," you insist. "No time..." Marcus shakes his head, "We're nearly there." Marcus groans as he tries to stand, falling to the side. "Marcus!-" "Halt!" The booming voice makes you jump, aggravating your wound. "Who goes- General!" the roman before you exclaims in disbelief, lowering his sword. "God's be praised! We thought you had died sir!" "He... help her," Marcus rasped. "Yes sir. You two..." he points to two men in the patrol group, "help the General, you..." he points to another soldier, "Go on ahead. Inform the Medicuses and bring them to the Praetorium (Generals' tent).

Your head is spinning, consciousness becoming harder to cling too. When you feel two large hands grabbing you, you cry out in alarm, trying to shift away from the strange man, who is even larger than Marcus. Marcus' hand finds yours and you can instantly tell the difference, his already familiar touch grounding you. "He won't hurt you, I promise. We're safe now." Marcus' encouragement were more than just words to you; they're a comfort, a reassurance that your spent body can rest, knowing that whole dreadful ordeal is finally over. The soldier bends down and scoops you up, and with the adrenaline now dissolving from your system, your whole body slumps into the mans breastplate. Two soldiers drape Marcus' arms over their shoulders and pull him up, taking his weight as you all make your way to the Castrum (army encampment).

Part 4 coming soon

@myownwholewildworldwhole @imherefordeanandbones @picketniffler @h0w-1-wanna-l1v3 @chrissy-forfucksakes-wakeup @meetmeatyourworst @yorksgirl @joeldjarin @echo-ethe @whirlwindrider29

[girliism]

priest in training au

a week had passed since you were caught coming back from sneaking out. all the girls on your floor were woken up and you were given a public scolding. you had cried yourself to sleep that night. you use to be good, the nuns use to make examples out of you. but then art walked into your life, and he made you want things, crave things. maybe it was best you didn’t see him anymore

-

“what’s up with you and your virgin mary? was the date so bad she had to shun you.” patrick joked, causing art to push him. “shut up, and don’t call her that. she’s probably just busy with final vow ceremony coming up and everything.” art made excuses for you even though he didn’t know why you’ve been avoiding him.

always rushing out of class, ignoring him during mass, and pretending not to see him waving at you. but you saw all his attempts to talk to you. you felt the way his gaze would burn into the back of your head. it was killing you not to interact with him, but you knew where that would lead.

art was sick of it. sick of you avoiding him. so he cornered you one day outside, dragging you behind a building and trapping you between his hands.

“why have you been ignoring me? did i do something wrong, did i hurt you?” you could hear the confusion in art’s voice and it had you shaking your head. “no! no, it’s not that.” you take a deep breath closing your eyes. “i’ve just been thinking….and i don’t think we should see each other anymore.” you whispered. art’s hands had slipped from where they were resting on the wall.

“what?”

now art was convinced that he did something. “why?” you chewed on your bottom lip shrugging. “it’s just we’re gonna be taking our final vows soon and-” art cut you off scoffing. “so what, you were just gonna never speak to me again?”

you sighed holding art’s hands in yours. “art, i’ve had a lot of fun with you, but realistically how long was this to go on.” forever. art wanted to say. his feelings that started out as purely sexual had morphed into something real. you had bewitched him.

“but what if i don’t want this to end?” he locked his eyes on yours. “what if we just fucked off together. you and me.”

“art.” your furrowed your brows. this was very serious to you. for years you studied towards your nun status and was so close to making your parents proud. while art wouldn’t think twice before abandoning his post.

“what? i’m being serious. there’s nothing for us here but a life of temptation why not just leave.” it was your turn to cut him off. “you’re just saying that because you wanna have sex me.” you hissed, pulling your hands out of his.

you moved to get away from him, away from this conversation but art grabbed your arm pulling you back to face him. “i’m not!” art took a deep breath sighing, preparing himself for the cheesy love confession he was about to give.

“i mean, maybe in the beginning, yeah. but you’ve done something weird to my heart. i…i think about you all the time, you’re in every corner of my mind. and it’s ok if you don’t feel the same but i just can’t go on anymore without you knowing this.”

art stopped speaking and you were shocked. thoughts upon throughts were racing through your head. you thought over the time you spent with art, allowing yourself to give in instead of pushing down those less than pure feelings had felt freeing.

were you really going to go back to making empty vows and hiding under your vails of false purity?

your lack of an immediate answer had art’s hands dropping their hold on you arms. sensing he was going to walk away you blurted out.

“i’ve never done such things like this before meeting you.” you blinked. “you make my heart feel weird as well. a weird feeling that i wanna keep feeling. but… i’m scared and-”

arts hands were on your cheeks and his lips met yours before you could finish speaking. the kiss was soft and slow. different from the ones you usually have. your mouth automatically stared moving with his, like a natural instinct.

“you don’t have to be.” art said breaking the kiss. placing his forehead on yours. “we’d have each other. and possibly my grandmother.” he was quick to add on the end, which had you huffing a laugh.

maybe everything would be ok.

(next smut 😈)

[genderlessdinnerhaver]

People gotta stop acting like it's Jason who should be begging for forgiveness when it's Bruce. Bruce was the parent and he hurt his child. It's never the child's responsibility to coddle and make the parent feel better after the parent hurts them. It's the parents job to do what they can to fix it and respect the child's wishes if they can't.

Jason should not have to break himself apart to be loved. He was never asking for too much. He wanted his monster dead and asked his father to do that for him or let him kill his own monster but instead his father saved his monster.

No one finds is just and fair when a mother defends a father who beats their child. No one likes it when the father sits back and let's a mother berate and humiliate their child.

We don't like to when a parent tells a child to accept what the other parent did because that's your father, your mother, you must love and care for them because they're your parent regardless of how they treat you.

We want the parent to stick up and defend the child. And to get rid of the abuser and the monster, and when the parent fails to do that we rage against them and say they're evil and bad too.

We shouldn't let Batman of the hook just because he is supposed to be a hero and saves the day sometimes. He put his hands on his child and almost murdered him, and that is unforgivable. He should spend the rest of his life groveling for Jason's forgiveness and be denied everytime.

Also Tim literally shat talked Jason and his death while Jason was dead and to his face. Tim was given a fair chance to defend himself and beat Jason, and failed. If Jason had wanted him dead, he would be dead. Jason won a fair fight against Tim who believed he was better. Forgiveness is not needed here and I don't think it would make Tim feel better because his ego has taken a massive hit and Jason saying sorry I beat would not fix that. If anything I think Tim would want a rematch to show he can beat Jason because Tim believes he was a better Robin than Jason and he'd want a chance to prove that, at least at the time Titans Tower occurred.

Also for the love of all things, stop acting like Jason is 35 beating up a 12 year old. It's a 19 year old throwing hands with a 17 year old which drastically changes things. Jason was barely an adult and that's including the time he spent dead and in a coma whereas Tim was just shy of adulthood.

something about how "wholesome" batfam aus where jason and bruce have a good relationship inherently require jason to be portrayed as overreacting and hysterical when he returns. something about how the lazarus pit madness trope gives people an excuse to make this palatable. of course he wasn't in his right mind when he did those things, but he's all better now :) it's so silly how angry he was :)

something about how jason has to grovel for forgiveness at tims feet "oh im sooo sorry for trying to kill you (lmao) i was sooo crazy" and tim can then be magnanimous and forgive him because he wasn't in the right state of mind. tim is such a vulnerable little kid (at most 2 years younger than jason) and jason is a grown ass man (was in a comatose state for a couple of those years but who cares) so obviously tim is gonna be soooo traumatized and he's gonna flinch when the big bad man comes near him :( he's a badass vigilante who is smarter and better than everyone but he's also a traumatized little baby who everyone needs to be super nice to :(

something about how tim gets to be a kid, how tim gets to be a victim, how tim gets an apology and groveling and guilt and jason gets -

what? bruce telling him he loved him? a hug and a moment of vulnerability and jason having to split himself open to be dissected by the whole family. jason having to laugh at jokes about his death, jason having to be the one to reach out and admit he was wrong and crazy and totally out of his mind, while bruce can just grunt and give him a hug.

people want bruce to be a good dad because it doesn't feel good for him to be abusive. but by shoving him into these roles, jason's own story becomes unmoored. what would jason have to be angry about? bruce is trying his best! jason is being unreasonable, he's destroying this family, he just needs to realize that while bruce isn't always perfect, he's in the right and jason just needs to -

isn't it funny? how it's never your fathers fault? how it's always on the child when the relationship sours? isn't it funny, how you can slit your child's throat, and it'll be okay after you apologize?

something about how jason todd is a woman and a child and a victim and a son and a brother and a monster.

something about how the only thing jason todd ever did right was die. and how much it must fucking hurt to sit at a dinner table and laugh when someone makes a joke about it.

[watarfallar]

Incorrect quotes because I'm rewatching Wild Life

Scar: Hey Grian, check out this funny .GIF I found! Grian: It’s pronounced “jif”. Scar: Huh? Grian: “Dot jif”, like the peanut butter. The creator said so. Scar: That’s dumb, it’s Graphics Interchange Format. Grian: The P in .JPEG stands for “photographic”, but I bet you don’t say “J-pheg”. Scar: “P” on its own isn’t pronounced like “F”, that’s totally different! Grian: It’s exactly the same! Scar: Name one word that starts with “G” pronounced like “J”. Grian: Gentrification. Scar: Shoot, should have thought of that. I was just in San Francisco. Grian: For your logic to be consistent, you’d have to say “skuh-bah” (scuba) or “lah-seer” (laser)! Scar: Yeah? Well, you’d have to say “J-pej”! Scar: …Wait, “laser” is an acronym? Grian: Light Amplification by Stimulated Emission of Radiation. Scar: Huh. Didn’t know that. Scar: You’re still wrong, though. Grian: You just hate me because I’m right. Scar: I just hate you in general. Grian: You mean in “geh-neral”? Scar: Ugh, I’m “joing” to kill you!

Grian: Someone’s trying to break in. Call the cops! Scar: loads shotgun I got this. Grian: Last week you fell up the stairs, what do you mean-

Scar: Okay, Grian, you were right! I was… Less right!

Scar: Grian, wake up! Grian, half asleep: Five more minutes… Scar: You’ve been in a coma for two years! Grian: … Grian: Okay, two more minutes…

Grian: Shut it Scar, I only shook your hand because I had to. We will NEVER be friends. Scar: Lets survive this together! Grian: I HOPE YOU DIE.

Scar: What’s your biggest fear? Grian: I am incredibly arachnophobic. Scar, under their breath: You don’t want spiders to get married?

Grian: chokes on something Scar: Jeez, Grian, don't die on us. Grian: Don't tell me what to do, I'll die whenever the hell I want!

Grian and Scar are texting Grian: Who are you? Someone changed the names in my phone. Scar: What did they change my name to? Grian: Chosen One. Scar: Don’t change it back. Grian: BUT WHO ARE YOU?!?! Scar: I’m the chosen one.

Scar: Are you mad? Grian: No. Scar: So sharpening your knives at 3 in the morning is just a hobby?

Grian: Alright, listen up you little shits. Grian: Not you Scar. You’re an angel and we’re thrilled you’re here.

Scar: According to the footage here, you shook the vending machine and when the shake alarm went off, you punched the glass and broke it. Grian: …I was hungry.

Grian: Don’t you have any dignity, Scar? Scar: Uh, no.

Grian: Do you want this handful of moss? Scar: Why would I want a handful of fucking moss? Grian: Damn, you could’ve just said no.

Scar: Your problem is that you’ve got no common sense. Grian: I’ve got plenty of common sense! Grian: I just choose to ignore it.

Scar: I’m serious! They’re watching me! They’ve even got an agent following me! Don’t you believe me? Grian: Look, it’s not that I don’t believe you�� It’s that I don’t believe you and I don’t care.

Scar: Grian keeps forgetting which WiFi network they're supposed to use. Scar: So I renamed ours to "Grian, use this one" to help them out a little.

Grian: Please, Scar, after everything we’ve been through together. You can’t do this. Grian: I’m sorry Scar. Grian: I’m begging you. Don’t do it. Scar: It has to be done. Grian: Scar: Grian: Scar: Places +4 Uno.

Scar: Does immaturely insulting me make you feel better about your sad single life? Grian: It actually does.

Grian: Amazing! Scar, your just like Sherlock Homeless! Scar: IT'S HOLMES!

Grian: I taught the dog a new trick. throws ball Fetch! Dog: just stands there Scar: He didn’t do it. Grian: I taught him to ignore social conventions and think for himself.

Grian: What the hell is wrong with you? Scar: I have this weird self-esteem issue where I hate myself but still think I’m better than everyone else.

Grian: Do you have a superpower? Scar: Yep! It’s hindsight. Grian: …that’s not going to help us. Scar: Yes, I see that now.

Grian: You’re giving me a sticker? Scar: Not just a sticker. That is a sticker of a kitty saying “me-wow!” Grian: I’m not a preschooler. Scar: Fine, I’ll take it back- Grian: I earned this, back off!

[littlefankingdom]

"Batman is a bad person for not killing the Joker at this point."

I'm going to throw you off a roof. Like, you realize he is JUST a guy, right??? A single guy cannot decide that someone should die and kill them, that's not how it works. Weren't we all against cops killing people instead of arresting them, wtf do you think a random (rich and white) guy should be able to do that???

Also, it's a FUCKING COMICS. Like, the Joker will be revived as easily as the batkids are lately. And the writers have no interest in applying rehabilitation, it would not sell if all the famous rogues stopped doing crimes and Gotham got better. And they are USAmericans, half of them probably cannot understand the concept of "rehabilitation > punishment".

Btw, COUNTRIES WITHOUT THE DEATH PENALTY OR EVEN LIFE SENTENCES EXIST! Denmark, for example, doesn’t do life sentences and they are very good at rehabitation. You kind of sound stupid when you argue that something cannot be done while other countries are doing it (very usamerican of y'all) So, accept that you do not know shit about the human's mind and possibility for better, and stop with your usamerican "killing everyone I don't like is good" propaganda.

[slimybeth69]

Thirst: Part 6

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: There's a bunch y'all and I'm not giving any of them away because it would spoil the chapter. So, this is your warning: 18+ themes after the cut!! BEWARE!!!!

Chapter Summary: Your life in the tower was a thing of the past- is that a good thing?

a/n: Heyyyyy, so I've been the most nervous about THIS chapter since I started writing this story. It's... different. So have fun!! And also lets imagine that bows and arrows don't exist. (This is non-canon to the movie)

Series Masterlist

Your beautiful tower is a thing of the past. It’s been days since you slept there – or even stepped foot inside it. 

Now that you're no longer in your wonderful room, with its big soft mattress and comfortable sheets, you're forced to share a bed with someone you do not like. It’s all too reminiscent of when you were living at the brothel – except the man you were now forced into such close proximity with didn’t even want to touch you.

Hanno The Barbarian is what the Emperors had called him. 

You are sure they had hoped he would rape you, or kill you, but instead he treats you as if you do not exist.

You were supposed to be the one to service him after his fights, should he be fortunate enough to survive. You would have, but apparently he is just one more man who won't let you touch him. It feels as though the gods are laughing at you.

From what you have observed, Hanno isn't like the rest of the brutish men who fight and die in the pit. He's quiet. He’s never impulsive. At times he almost seems gentle. Though he’s undefeated and feared for his ferocity in the games, you wonder whether he would hurt anyone at all if he were given the choice.

Hanno won't speak to you or let you attend to his injuries. You might as well not even be there.

How did you end up here? For a time, it seemed like there was a chance of putting the girl you’d been behind you. You wouldn’t always be another girl who was bought and sold to ease the worries or fulfill the pleasures of men. For a time, you thought it might even be possible to feel loved and cared about. 

You had actually begun to feel that contentment – for a few brief moments – before the fantasy dissolved with the arrival of a slave trader at your door. 

There had been no guards outside your quarters, no handmaids to explain to you what was happening. There was just this man with his charming smile and soothing voice, delivering terrible news.

“Acacius said your time together has come to an end. You need to come with me.”

General Marcus Acacius had sold you. 

You felt numb as you took the man’s hand and left your rooms, but with each step down the staircase that numbness was replaced by a deep ache in your chest. It felt like someone had extracted your heart, carved ‘foolish’ into the flesh, and then replaced it back inside your broken ribs.

After the night you had shared, Marcus had abandoned you without a word. He never told you where he was going, or when he’d be back.

How could you have been so naive? to let yourself set your hopes on his beautiful empty words.

Of course it was too good to be true.

He had sold you to be a new plaything for the emperors, and he had been too much of a coward to hand you over himself. 

When you arrived at the palace, the memory of those tender promises he'd whispered to you—promises of a new life in a new place—turned to burning, bitter rage. You let that rage fill your chest, burying whatever hurt still remained.

Like spoiled children, the twins hated to see anyone enjoying something that they didn’t have, and the favored pet of their recalcitrant general was the ultimate prize. 

It was no secret that the twins had wanted to see what all the fuss had been about but you refused them violently each time. 

Even with the threat of torture and then eventual death, you never folded. Never once let them put their hands on you. 

You had smiled in their faces when the guards dragged you from their bed chambers sneering, "Death is better than the little one's weeping cock." 

That’s how you ended up down here though, in the gladiatorial bathhouse, watching Hanno soak. 

“Does it hurt badly?” You nod your head towards the relatively large gash on his left pectoral.

He doesn’t say anything, he doesn’t even look at you when he shrugs his shoulders. 

There is a moment where you want to shove his head under the water and hold him there. Then, there is the part of you that knows he isn’t here because he would like to be. He is a prisoner just like you. 

With a loud sigh and a roll of your eyes, you grab the clean rag on the side of the stone tub and dip it into the warm water. Instead of reaching out to him, trying to do it yourself, you just hand him the now dripping piece of cloth. 

Hanno stares at it for a moment, as though this is a foreign gesture to him. Kindness. Care. 

“I know you understand me, I know you can speak as well,” you urge him to take what’s in your hand, and wave the other towards the iron barred door.  “I’ve heard you talking to the others.”

“Why is it so important that I speak to you?” His voice is much deeper up close and when he’s not whispering to the healing men that come to stitch up the fighters, or the other gladiators themselves.

It’s jarring how his voice plucks at each one of your veins like the strings of an instrument. You’re almost vibrating off the side of the tub. “It’s not important, it’s just nice to have someone to talk to. Instead of just talking to myself…or the wall.” 

Hanno snorts softly and takes the rag from you. He dips it back into the steaming water and lifts it gently to his chest. He winces and sucks air in between his clenched teeth. 

“I knew it hurt,” you tease him lightly. 

His eyes shoot up to yours, like he’s angry with you for even speaking– there’s a darkness to them that you’ve never seen before, but there is also a smirk playing across his lips. “You talk too much,” he growls and now the smirk feels malicious with the way his eyes are narrowed on you.

“Now I wonder why I ever wanted you to start talking,” you grumble, feeling foolish for trying to lighten the mood. “I’ve been down here with you for days, and that is the first thing you can say to me?” You try to swallow down the lump that’s forming in your throat. “I didn’t banish you to these cells. I’m stuck here, just like you.” 

Hanno releases the now crimson-stained cloth into the murky water. "I apologize," he murmurs, but his words echo in the eerie stillness of the dungeon. "Everything here seems like a twisted joke..."

“What do you mean?” 

The water sloshes against the side of the tub lightly as he sinks further into the comforting warmth. You think it might be the only comfort Hanno receives anywhere in this place. 

It’s more comfort than you’ve been able to find, and you’ve been searching. Looking for something safe and constant since long before you became a plaything for the Emperors. 

"You..." Hanno trails off, his tone rising in a question rather than a statement.

Your nostrils flare in defense, “...have been discarded by the ones I love and treated like an animal by the morally depraved—” Your words come out bitterly because it is true. 

“You call me depraved?” He hisses, “Have you seen those men dripping in gold, wearing lavish robes—” 

“Who do you think appointed me to be your special companion ? You thought I volunteered for this?" You scoff, crossing your arms over your chest. “I would give anything to just go home.”

This is your home now, unfortunately. A cell shared with a gladiator. What happens if Hanno is able to buy his freedom? Or, more likely, when he’s finally killed in the pit? What will you do then?

"What brought you here, to Rome?" he asks, turning the conversation back to you.

“Money.” The word slips out before you can stop it, it’s wrapped up in sadness and a hint of disdain. "My family was struggling, our farm was failing, and the taxes were impossible. And not out of cruelty, but desperation— I became the price of its survival."

Hanno's expression shifts to something that resembles pity, tangled with a strange understanding. "So your family sold you to the Emperors?" he asks, running the wet cloth across his wounded chest.

"I was sold to a brothel and then bought by a man, and then sold again to a different man who then brought me here." You shake your head at your sad story of a life. "The Emperors wanted to bed me, but I fought them, told them I would rather die—"

"So they sent you down here?" He laughs, but you don't get the impression he's laughing at you or your misfortune. It's almost a chuckle of disbelief. "Worse than death, I assume— for someone like you."

"That was their thinking, but apparently they chose the one gladiator that has no interest in getting his cock wet." You can't help but feel like that alone is a win. Hanno hasn’t hurt you, so they don't get the satisfaction. They lost.

The iron door suddenly clangs open. A guard appears and he looms in the doorway, "Cleaning time is over," he barks. "Back to your cell."

Marcus groans loudly as Lucilla finishes straightening the clasps that hold his cape around his shoulders.

“Can’t you act as if you don’t hate doing this?” Lucilla asks with a sour look on her face. “You and I both know they get a rise out of the fact that you do not enjoy-”

“I just came back from the road and barely had time to wash my ass,” Marcus grumbles, letting his wife adjust the golden clasps on his cape. "This is just another way for them to show me that I’m under their thumbs, but not for much longer—"

Lucilla scolds him softly,“You cannot speak that way, not here.” She glances around nervously, looking for ears that may be listening to conversations that aren’t meant for them. “You act as if we are already free,” she whispers almost silently in his ear.

Marcus will always have love for Lucilla in his heart, that’s why he knows he would never leave her behind to fend for herself.

Lucilla had been through so much in her life— the murder of her father, the corruption and cruelty of her brother, Commodus, and ultimately Maximus. 

After Commodus was killed, Lucilla did not have one blood relative to keep her safe here in Rome- to protect her. As an upcoming General, Marcus knew that the only way to ensure her safety was to marry her.

The Colosseum is loud, chaotic, and packed with spectators. It's too hot, and there isn't enough wine for Marcus to pretend he’s enjoying himself. He sits rigid and uncomfortable in the imperial box.

The twins, Geta and Caracalla, sit just in front of Marcus and his wife.

Caracalla looks over his shoulder, "Enjoying the spectacle, General?"

"As always, Emperor." Marcus knows better than to show any sign of discomfort. Years of military training have taught him to maintain a neutral expression, even as his mind races with thoughts of you.

Alone in that forsaken room, longer than ever before. He knows you probably hate him, and he’ll have to make it up to you. He would do whatever it took, he just wishes he didn’t have to.

"We have a special match today. One you might find…interesting." Geta says with a mirthless chuckle 

Marcus wonders what the hell that could mean. The fights always end in one way – many men dead and only one victor. This is truly a sport invented by men who have only known the comfort of a palace. Real soldiers have seen too much death to find entertainment in it.

The roar of the crowd grows louder as two gladiators enter the arena. Marcus recognizes one of them as the newest fighter— The Barbarian. He’s made a name for himself in the pit and impresses Marcus with his strength and cunning every time.

Lucilla has even taken an interest in him, and that’s very unlike her. This brutal sport only brings up painful memories for her, but Marcus notices her leaning forward in her chair, trying to get a better view of the fighter.

The roar of the crowd becomes a drone as Marcus’s mind drifts to you again – wondering where you are, what you're doing.

The last time he saw you had been the morning after your shared night together. You were begging him not to go with tears rolling down your face. It broke his heart every time he had to pull his hands out of yours, surprised by your strength when you were so desperate for him to stay close to you.

Once this fight was over, Marcus would run straight to you. He would kiss your tears away, lick them off your cheeks and whisper apologies in your ear.

He would never be away from you ever again. Tonight was the night that the three of you would escape the necrotic touch of the Emperors.

“Does The Barbarian look familiar to you at all?” Lucilla’s quiet voice in his ear brings him back to the arena, and the two men fighting— well, no, it’s just the young man now. His opponent was dead at his feet.

Marcus takes a closer glance at the man- barely a man, a boy really. There is a certain familiarity in the way he stood. Even the way he fought was like something or someone Marcus had seen before, but he couldn’t place it.

“I’m not sure,” he turns to look at his wife and sees the worry behind her eyes. “Do you recognize him?”

Lucilla doesn’t get a chance to answer.

The loud booming voice of the announcer fills the arena once again. "The Barbarian is once again— victorious!" He bellows.

The crowd goes wild. The new gladiator has been a favorite since he arrived in Rome as a prisoner of war. A war that Marcus had brought to that young man's land and home. That was the story of many of these gladiators, and Marcus tried to forget their faces at night but it was nearly impossible.

"General, are you listening?" Geta is standing beside Marcus now, whispering in his ear. "You'll want to be sure to hear this…"

Marcus dials back into what is being said by the announcer.

"…very interesting game to play!"

He only catches the last bit, and now he strains his eyes to see what's happening in the sandy pit below him.

The Barbarian is being handed another sword by a guard who runs back into one of the tunnels that lead into the arena.

"Our victor has one more opponent to fight, a beast with fur, teeth and razor sharp claws!" The man announcing makes a grand show with the thematic way he talks. "But this is no ordinary fight, our Barbarian has something very important to protect!"

This was quite interesting. Marcus has never seen a fight like this before.

"Bring in 'The Golden Girl'"

For a moment, this means nothing to Marcus and he wonders who the new female gladiator could be. 

It's not until you walk out, wearing a gown that mimics the tunic he's wearing now- white and gold - that he realizes what has happened.

Marcus’s hands tense on the arms of the chair as he tries to steady his breathing.

The Barbarian turns to face you as you quickly make your way to him, but his stance is protective, not aggressive. Something about the way he looks at you, the way he pushes you behind him, suggests he knows you. 

Marcus isn’t sure he understands what’s going on— you don’t have fur or teeth, or razor sharp claws. You’re far from a beast.

Lucilla's hand finds Marcus's arm, her grip is tight, as though she senses something is wrong. "What’s going to happen to that girl?" she whispers. Marcus glances at her, watching her eyes darting between you, the Barbarian and the only tunnel with an open gate.

The announcer starts to speak, Marcus only just able to hear him over the deafening roar of the blood in his ears, and his own heartbeat thudding wildly in his chest. It reverberates in his whole body like that of the drum used during battle– sending signals and commands to his troops.

“Someone in our audience surely is brave enough to help our gladiator defend this little bird.”

This beating inside his chest is a signal. A command to go to you. Run to you– jump out of this damn imperial box just to hold you in his arms.

The announcer continues to shout nonsense, but Marcus is no longer listening. He only feels his throat constrict, watching you in the arena. Wondering what’s in store for you, and how he’s the one who put you there. This is what he had been so afraid of.

The white and gold gown you're wearing catches the sunlight, making you look ethereal, while still terrified.

Your eyes are glued to the back of the gladiators head, and Marcus can see the tears in them from here. He feels as though he may be sick. Lucilla’s hand on his arm grips— her fingernails digging into his skin. Marcus can feel her staring at him.

“You know her,” she breathes.

“I do.”

Marcus isn’t ashamed that Lucilla can see you, or that she even knows about you now— she had known about the lover Marcus had wanted to take before he had even met you. This was something that had been spoken about, considered and then agreed upon, with one condition from Lucilla.

To be taken somewhere she could find love again, a real passionate love that wouldn’t be taken from her. A place where she may then search for her son without the threat of deadly Emperor’s.

Lucilla had even offered to house you in her private, guarded villa and Marcus refused, saying it was too dangerous to have his mistress so close to home.

Rome was dangerous and now he could kick himself.

“That’s your Dove?” Lucilla whispers into his ear.

Shocked, Marcus twists his head to look at her curiously but says nothing. He only cocks one eyebrow as Lucilla loosens her grip on his arm.

“You’ve spoken of her in your sleep,” she sounds heartbroken, but Marcus knows it’s not because she’s hurt by his indiscretions, but because he’s had to be away from you for so long. Lucilla looks as though she were in real physical pain for him. “Go to her and keep her safe, Acacius.”

“It looks as though she may need another defender, General.” Geta’s haughty tone sends a violent shiver down Marcus'sspine.

There are three thoughts going through Marcus'smind as he leaves the imperial box.

Rescue you. Kill the Emperors. Get out of Rome.

“Get out there!” A guard growls and pushes you out of the darkened tunnel that leads you into the gladiator pit.

You stumble, but keep your footing and finally look around. There are more eyes locked onto you than you could ever imagine. More eyes looking at you now than ever before and probably ever again.

Hanno is in the center of the pit and when his eyes fall on you, they go wide with surprise- like he cannot believe you’re here.

You can’t really believe it either; you had just been sitting in your cell, imagining the last time you and Marcus had been together.

Marcus stirs in his sleep as you gaze down at his handsomeness. You are completely blessed by the gods that such a good looking man wanted to lock you away from everyone else so he could keep you all to himself. That was very flattering and you cannot deny that, not one bit. It makes a liquid heat pool in your belly whenever you think about it. “I think…I could be in love with you,” you mouth, no sound coming out of your mouth. “Please don’t let me down.” It feels like a prayer to him, as well as the gods above that this isn’t some ruse to make you bear a child for his wife or worse… just a terrible joke to make him feel powerful? Important and desired? Marcus sleeps peacefully through your supplications, and you’re thankful because even though you have doubt in your heart about his feelings and plans; you just want him to sleep. Despite everything, you need him to know that this place in bed next to you is calm and quiet. It’s safe here with you. Whatever you feel for Marcus is strong- whether it’s love, or infatuation, or a desperation to feel desired, it’s there and without much you can do about it, that feeling swells inside of you. Even though you wish it wouldn’t. Looking down at him– his normally neatly styled hair was wild and unkempt from the numerous times you had it between your fingers. You were pulling and tugging on it as he licked, sucked and fucked you into countless orgasms throughout the night. You brush a stray curl away from his forehead gently but his hand flies to your wrist and grips it tightly. As his eyes open and he sees it’s only you and not an enemy, his fingers loosen, and he brings the sensitive skin of your inner wrist to his lips. “Luna Flora…you should know better… than to disturb a… soldier in his sleep,” he murmurs sleepily through soft kisses against your pulse point. You gasp, startled by his sudden alertness. Positive he can hear the sound of your heartbeat, as well as feel it on his lips, you whisper, "I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you." He’s looking at you with such deep concentration with his perfect brown eyes, that it steals the breath from your lungs. "Don’t be," he yawns and stretches his body until he’s quivering before wrapping you up in his arms, tugging your body back into his. “Never be sorry. I would always choose to spend time with you awake, over the time I spend with you in my dreams.”

Then a guard came, threw this eerily familiar white and gold tunic at you, told to change and then forced up the seemingly endless set of stairs.

“Bring in The Golden Girl!”

That name, the way it’s said, the way Hanno is looking at you is telling you that this isn’t a normal fight.

The announcer continues, “She’s someone very special to someone in the crowd. I wonder who could know this beautiful bird?”

The more the voice from the pit speaks, the more you feel like your knees might buckle. Beautiful bird-- like a Dove? What on earth is he saying?

Everything else falls as Hanno closes the space between the two of you, putting himself between you and the only open tunnel. All the others have an iron gate keeping you trapped inside.

“What’s happening?” Your voice is hoarse. It feels like your mouth is full of the same sand you’re standing in.

Hanno doesn’t turn to look at you, but he reaches for you blindly, finding your forearm and pushing you further behind him to shield you with his body. “Stay behind me the entire time. Do. Not. Run.”

“What do you mean, run?” Your heart, which was already threatening to hammer its way out from behind your rib cage- starts beating faster somehow. “What would I run from?”

The terrible thoughts begin to race through your head at what could be lurking in that dark tunnel. The seconds tick by so slowly and all the sounds inside the arena blend into one. You can’t even make out the announcer anymore over the roar of the crowd- but you had stopped listening because his words were confusing, and for some reason they hurt.

A real physical pain that you could pinpoint. It hurts in your chest– because those names were things The Traitor called you, and it’s impossible to think that he sold you into this. He went and told the twin Emperors his names for you! It makes you feel foolish to think at one point you thought they were sweet, but in all seriousness, they turned out to be cruel, his little endearments for you.

You could cry right here in the pit, knowing you were probably going to die violently and in front of so many people.

“Dove…”

What!? That voice!? The Traitor?

You reel around, now face to face with Marcus and his traitorous handsomeness. It’s so hard to not feel like you’re melting. Barefoot in the scorching sand that burns, and the sun that hasn’t stopped fucking beating down on you since you walked out here. And now, under his gaze– you feel like it’s all slipping away from you.

“What are you doing here? How–” That’s all he says before you’re being pushed behind him, now shielded by both men as a sound cuts through the crowd.

Blood curdling, a deep bellowing call that reverberates off the walls of the tunnel as the beast makes its way into the pit.

It’s the biggest thing you’ve ever seen- and you lived on a farm with horses and cows. Bulls, too! It’s a bear, big and brown with matted fur. Mangled by fights that it had emerged victorious from. Now it stands at the mouth of that darkened tunnel and all you want to do is hide. You look for an escape but there is none.

At the mercy of Marcus and Hanno, and the gods above once again, you plant you feet into the sand and pray that nothing bad happens to you.

If it does, let it be quick.

The stones that build up the Colosseum are hot against your back. It's where you've been since the fight started. Marcus kept himself between you and the bear the entire fight, but eventually you got pushed aside and crawled to the perimeter of the arena.

Marcus pulls his sword from the bear's neck with a loud, wet squelch, his chest heaving. Hanno- bloodied and bruised, drops to his knees beside the animals lifeless form. They won, but not without their own injuries.

Marcus's head wheels around the arena, and stops when his eyes meet yours. With his sword still clutched tightly in his hand, he runs to you where you're crouched against the wall.

It's like it's happening in slow motion as he pulls you to your feet, his strong, eyes roaming every inch of you. His hands begin frantically searching your body as he pulls you into his chest, "Are you wounded? Did anything—"

There had been rage inside of you before, but not like this. "Get off of me!" You growl and attempt to push yourself away from him, but he doesn't budge.

One of his bloody hands cups your face, wiping the dirt and sand away from your face, exposing the black eye and the laceration on your cheek—given to you by the Emperors as a parting gift before being sent to the dungeons.

The cut stings when he touches it, and you wince and pull away from him. "Get off me!" You hiss, hands still pushing firmly on his chest.

"Who did that to you?" Marcus growls, his eyes scanning the arena looking for the culprit.

"The men you sold me to!" You nearly scream at him. A hush falls over the crowd. "Did you think the twins would accept 'no' from their newest pet?"

Marcus's eyes darken, and his jaw flexes as he grinds his teeth. "I never sold you." His eyes fall on the imperial box. "You're no one's pet."

You follow his gaze, and look up at the Emperors. The charming man who had come to your room in the night to take you away sitting behind them-- with one of your trusted chambermaids on his left.

"I'll kill her," you spit, eyes narrowing on the woman you would have, at one time, considered a friend. "Traitor. I'll fucking kill her!"

Marcus places one hand on your chest and pushes you behind him once again, shielding you from the eyes of those standing above you.

Caracalla, the brat- the whiny and entitled one that wanted to watch you flayed for refusing his pus-oozing cock. “Kill her –  kill the whore!” he shouts. “Barbarian, pick up your sword! I want to see her blood spilled on the sand!”

Hanno, who is still kneeling beside the dead beast, drops his weapon. “I would die before I follow another demand of a false emperor—I will not harm her!" He shouts up to them, the crowd roars at his defiance.

Geta holds up a hand for silence, “I’m not as impetuous as my brother— the beast had its chance, and it was the will of the gods that the whore should live. But, as she is yet unclaimed, she –”

“She is mine!” Marcus’s voice snaps through the air. A shocked murmur rolls through the crowd, and Geta’s face tenses into a mask of barely contained fury. “You call her a whore, but for all your money and power she wouldn’t even allow you a taste, because she is mine.”

You are still clinging to his back, and with the echo of his last three words you feel a fire ignite in your veins. You are his. He had never abandoned you.

Those men in that box lied to you, tried to take you from Marcus, and then tried to taint your body with their touch.

Now you want them humiliated.

“Take me, Marcus. Right now,” your hoarse whisper reaches his ear. "Let them watch."

He looks down and meets your eyes just long enough for you to see the dark determination mirroring your emotions. Your lips crash together hungrily in a kiss of tongues and teeth. You nip desperately at his lower lip before he pulls away, his hand holding you by the back of your neck.

“On your knees, my Dove” he growls into your mouth.

At the sound of Marcus’s words, the molten feeling grows low in your belly and seeps to your core. You turn to face the podium and drop to your knees. You feel him lower himself behind you, his thick, muscular thighs bracketing your own, his sword discarded in the sand next to you.

One broad hand grips the scruff of your neck and pushes you forward, the other is dragging up the skirt of your gown. “See how she gives herself to me,” Marcus grunts loudly as two of his fingers notch themselves at your dripping entrance. “See how she’s ready and waiting for me?”

The tips of his digits trace along you slick velvet folds before slipping them inside of you, pumping them in and out, gathering your excitement.

Marcus withdraws his fingers and holds them up towards the imperial box, spreading them so the audience can see your sticky arousal clinging to, and strung out between them.

Gasps ripple through the crowd, a mixture of shock and intrigue. You can hear laughter mingling with the disdainful whispers, but all eyes are locked on you.

“This,” Marcus declares, “is yours to witness, Emperors. This is the fire that burns in her belly, for me alone.” 

He reaches around to grip your chin in his hand, forcing your head up to meet their gaze. “Let them look at you, let them see your face.” he growls quietly, his breath hot against your ear.

“Look at her,” Marcus rumbles with a possessiveness that vibrates through your being. “Look at how she craves me.” His fingers return, but this time not to tease; this time they plunge deeper.

A moan is torn from your throat loudly as his fingers stretch you open. It’s been so long since he’s been inside of you, it’s like the first time all over again. You arch your back, pushing against him as he quickens his pace.

Laughter erupts from the imperial box, Caracalla’s voice cutting through the noise, “Look at her! The whore— with such pathetic displays of pleasure! Whore!” His words drip with disgust, but they only fuel the fire inside you.

Anger curls around your spine and you push harder against the next thrust of Marcus’s fingers, forcing another moan from your mouth.

Geta’s voice rises, his expression tight. “You truly wish to save her? She is nothing but an animal-” 

“She is no animal - but she has a beast to defend her.”

You gasp as you feel Marcus rub the tip of his cock along your slit. He circles your clit once, twice, three times before he’s positioning himself at your tight hole. 

Without warning, without any gentle words, he bottoms out inside of you. It feels like your eyes are going to fall out of your head, your teeth almost slice through your bottom lip as the searing stretch surges through your entire body- from your hair to your toes. 

A cry cursing all the gods, the Emperors before you, and the Emperors yet to rule falls out of your mouth as Marcus sets a bruising pace. 

“You see how she lets me claim her?” Marcus pumps his length in and out of you harshly, his thighs slapping against the back of your legs, his free hand gripping your waist now. The hand that had been cupping your chin now finds your hair, keeping your head out of the sand and tilted up to look at the pale, pitiful men gazing down at you. 

You can’t keep quiet, and it doesn’t really seem like Marcus wants to you to the way he he’s fucking into you so brutally. You cry out, scream his name, beg for him to slow down. You whimper for mercy, but it’s starting to become delectable- the way you stretch around his cock. The entire length of him sliding inside until his drooling tip grazes your cervix. It’s jolting, and has you seeing stars shoot across your vision.

In the background, mixed in with the rest of the noise, the announcer says something about the way Marcus is taking you, it’s muffled by the pleasure coursing through you.

Marcus came down here to fight for you, to keep you safe. He did care and he didn’t want to lose you and watching him defend you—

That’s why you were dripping before the bear was even dead. Watching Marcus in action, fighting to keep you alive– as furious as you were at him – had ignited a fire inside you. 

That flame was engulfing your entire body now as he led you to an orgasm in front of what felt like the entire world.

Marcus grips your hair tighter as he slams himself inside of you over and over. Every single fiber of you can feel Marcus as your walls flutter around him. “Sucking me right in,” he growls. “Taking me so fucking well. Tell them who you belong to,” Marcus barks at you, the hand on your waist connects with the fleshy globe of your ass with a loud crack that cuts through the air. 

“M-Marcus– oh gods, Marcus! You, I b-belong to you” You keen loudly, trying so hard to keep your eyes open so you can stare at the men who tried to turn you against the man inside of you now. “I’m yours… forever.”

It’s just a throaty cry of his name as the defined ridge around the head, and each inch of his throbbing length that follows strike and then glides across that sweet spot inside of you. It’s bliss as you come undone on him, feeling like you’re being torn in two; and then three, and then put back together again by his cock. 

“That’s it, my perfect girl,” Marcus grunts in a throaty rasp that makes your toes curl.

“Silence that whore!” Caracalla screams in his high-pitched crying tone. “Where are the Praetorian guards!? They’ll have something to stuff her mouth with—”

Out of the corner of your eye, you see Hanno stand with his weapon clenched in his fist. “Any man that comes down here has to fight me first,” he declares, the blade gleaming in the sun.

The announcer starts to speak, but Marcus reaches for his sword in the sand, pointing the blade up towards the podium.

"One more word and I'll take your fucking tongue." Marcus bellows.

The threat silences the announcer, but the crowd's roar only grows louder.

You can barely focus on anything beyond the sensations coursing through your body as Marcus continues to thrust into you relentlessly.

Marcus drops his sword, his other hand leaves your hair to wrap his arm around your waist. He starts working on the fasteners of your gown at the shoulders. “They’ll see all of you—everything they can’t fucking have,” he’s growling, nipping at your earlobe as his fingers frantically start pulling at the fabric covering your chest. “They’ll never have you. You're mine."

He does own you, and it's the most exhilarating feeling in the world. The undeniable connection between you is only heightened by his rough handling of your body; as if he owns every part of it without hesitation or reservation.

His hand grips your breast tightly, his thumb circling your nipple, which has already hardened. "You like this, don't you?" Marcus growls against your neck. “Like being on display for everyone?”

You groan in agreement, arching your back into his touch. "Yes," you moan, clenching your eyes shut as he hammers his hips into yours. "Please don't stop-- want them to see"

Marcus's free hand grips your hip, pulling you closer, and his other hand He pulls back and looks up towards the imperial box, “No one will touch my Dove again. Anyone who tries will be torn apart without hesitation.”

You force your eyes open, meeting the shocked and furious gazes of the Emperors. You bite your bottom lip, eyes rolling back in your head like you’re possessed at the bliss, at all the good feelings Marcus gives you.

There is a commotion, the brothers command something of their guards but Marcus's booming voice quickly catches their attention again. “You make so much as one move, and you will die where you stand.”

To punctuate his point, Hanno gives the blade in his hand a twirl, pacing back and forth between the seats of the Emperors, and yourself and Marcus.

A defiant smirk tugs at your lips. Your fragile alliance with Hanno had paid off and now he was protecting you and Marcus in this erotic display of defiance. You lean back against Marcus's strong chest, your hands feverishly searching for something to hold onto as your sweat drips down between your breasts.

Marcus runs his tongue along your shoulder, up towards your neck. "That's it, my golden girl," He growls in your ear. “Show them "

Your body trembles, every nerve alight with pleasure as he claims you in front of the entire arena.

He pulls out of you suddenly, leaving you bereft and gaping— but before you can grasp what’s happening, he’s on his feet, moving beside you with his hands in your hair turning you to face him.

Marcus stands before you, his muscular body glistening with sweat in the harsh sunlight. His cock, slick with your arousal, juts out proudly as he grips your hair tightly.

"Open your mouth," he commands, his voice hoarse with lust.

You obey without hesitation, parting your lips as he guides himself to your waiting mouth. The salty taste of yourself on his length makes you moan as he pushes past your lips. Your tongue swirls around his shaft, savoring the combined flavors of yours and his

"Look at her," Marcus calls out, his voice rough. "See how she serves me willingly. This is what true devotion looks like." 

You hollow your cheeks as he pushes deeper. Tears prick at the corners of your eyes when he hits the back of your throat, but you fight through – determined to please him. Your hands grasp his muscular thighs for support as he sets a punishing pace.

Marcus throws his head back, chest heaving as he nears his peak. "Gods, you're perfect," he pants. "My beautiful Dove."

He leaves your throat with a sickeningly arousing wet sucking sound, one hand stays in your hair as the other wraps around his throbbing cock.

Marcus strokes himself rapidly, his eyes locked on yours as he pants, "Open up. Show them who you belong to."

You obey eagerly, tilting your head back and parting your lips. Your tongue darts out, desperate for a taste of him. 

You moan when his seed coats your lips and chin, some of it dripping down onto your exposed breasts – marking you. You savor what landed in your mouth, swallowing as you gaze up at him adoringly.

Marcus releases your hair, his hand moving to cup your cheek tenderly. His thumb brushes across your lower lip, smearing his release further. "Beautiful," he murmurs, his eyes filled with a mix of lust and something deeper - perhaps love.

The crowd's roar grows deafening, a mix of shocked gasps and lustful cheers. You can barely make out the Emperors' enraged shouts over the din. None of it matters - your entire world has narrowed to the man before you.

Hanno clears his throat softly, breaking the silence. "I believe it's time you take your leave, girl," he says quietly, eyes darting between you, Marcus, and the imperial box. “Go home to your farm?”

The Emperors seem to recover from their shock, Caracalla's face contorted with rage. "Seize them!" he shrieks, but his guards hesitate, wary of challenging the legendary general.

Marcus turns to Hanno. "Are you with us?"

Hanno twirls his sword, "I've just been waiting for a chance to escape this hellhole. I'm with you."

Marcus nods, then turns back to you. "We need to move fast," he says urgently, pulling you to your feet. “Lucilla has already left to find refuge in the ships.” He grips your hand tightly as he surveys the arena. 

The Emperors continue shouting orders, their guards now following their command, starting to close in on the three of you.

"We have to go – now!" Marcus shouts. “Barbarian, can you clear us a path?"

Hanno nods, a wild grin spreading across his face. "With pleasure."

tag list: @gothcsz @almostempty @joelmillerisapunk @untamedheart81 @lilac-boo

(tell me to add you or take you off or to go eat bricks!!)

big thanks to @creepycorbeaux for basically co-writing this chapter with me. I needed her.

and thanks @mrsmando for my beautiful mood board (it took me so long to finish this chapter because I would just stare at how perfect this fits their story)

[danacaptus]

𝐊𝐈𝐃𝐍𝐀𝐏𝐏𝐄𝐑!𝐊𝐀𝐈𝐒𝐄𝐑 .ᐟ

kinda dark, kidnap, ex!Michael x reader, short

Boyfriend!kaiser who got dumped by his girlfriend for getting too aggressive and scary :o

kidnapper!kaiser who couldn't move on :(

ᡣ𐭩.𖥔 ݁ ˖ִ ࣪₊ ⊹ The cold of the floor sent chills up your spine, The punishment was definitely working, because you were feeling a bit of regret right now. Maybe If you hadn't tried to escape this wouldn't be happening :(

When you broke up with Kaiser you were genuinely scared. You just packed up and left his place when he was in his practice, went to your apartment and texted him a simple message saying that he was getting a little bit "too aggressive" and that he was scaring you off. But you didn't expect him to freak out so much─ You hoped that maybe he would apologize, maybe beg a bit? But that was just a hope, and he clearly wasn't begging for your forgiveness in his replies. You were acting like he beat you up, like─ maybe he slapped you sometimes, and a time or another he punched you... But he didn't use all his strength─ at least no most of the time! You were just exaggerating

"???"

"the fuck?"

"You are a drama queen, im going home right now."

Oh, he was ready to show you how stupid you were, to slap some sense into you─but then, you weren't at home, and none of your things were here. He hopes this is some kind of joke because now, he DOES feel like beating you up. He is definitely not panicking!

"Where are you?"

"Now you're going out without even telling me?"

"Where are your things? What is your problem?"

"."

"Reply, bitch"

It actually made you a bit sad to see him all confused while spamming you messages, so you decided to reply one last time, for the sake of your new old relationship

"I told you we breaking up, im sorry"

With that, You muted his messages and let him spam. You really thought that was the start of a new stage in your life; even when you missed him everyday, everytime he showed up to your apartment you ignored him; then you changed the lock of your house, letting him bang your door till he was fighting with a neighbor who told him to stop making so much noise in a apartments complex.

Kaiser couldn't believe this, you were LEAVING him? You told him you would love him forever even with his small flaws, in fact, he thought he had you thinking that you were the one with defects in the relationship; everytime he hurt you was your fault, you were dumb and annoying, even when that was exactly how he wanted you to be. But now you were acting like you were too clever, you should have known you were lucky to have someone like him, someone who put up with you even if you were an idiot. And he would never find someone like you, and realizing that even more everyday was killing him. You were his, you would always be. So he didn't think that lockpicking your apartment door at night is a big deal, and tying you in his room is not a big deal either, after some weeks he even let you walk around the rooms the house! Obviously not out the house though.

But you didn't know how to appreciate his kindness, and thats how you ended tied in a dark empty room; hungry, dressed only in your underwear, an AC blasting freezing cold air and a ridiculously thin but warm blanket threw teasingly in the other side of the room, out of your reach. He left you here after last night he caught you red-handed─ He was kind enough to let you go wander around, but you had to try to open the window and leave, You couldn't just stay there, waiting for him─ He took the time to give you a few hits before leaving you in that room.

You just hoped that it was already getting later, that michael would finally arrive and forgive you, take you out from this room. Your eyes were fluttering shut; daydreaming about going out here, eating a delicious meal and putting on some warm clothes. You were almost asleep when Kaiser finally burst in, the warmth from outside and the sudden sound of the door waking you up.

"M-Michael!" You felt strangely glad, inmediately trying to go to him when the ropes yanked you back, leaving you like a whining mess. "M-Michael! Please, forgive me! Im not trying to scape again" you sniffed, wiping the tears away from your eyes to see him clearly, he could save you from here even if he was the one who put you in this situation. He was still annoyed but he held back a smirk, bending down to untie your ropes. You tried to hug him, to make him forgive you, but he just pushed you away. "You are a pathetic bitch, trying to scape and then acting like this. I hope you learned a lesson" he grabbed your arm and pulled you out of the room, closing the door behind him. "You better be glad i just locked you up here, if you make something like that again i doubt you'll make out alive" he lied, he obviously would never kill you on purpose. You just needed a little scare.

"Y-yes, Michael... Im sorry" he dragged you to his bedroom, throwing you some clothes. "Yeah, whatever, i forgive you. Get dressed and make me some dinner, quick" he said with arrogance, condescension dripping from his voice. He was happy that you were finally noticing that you shouldn't be stubborn with him

𝐃𝐈𝐕𝐈𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐒 𝓑𝗒 @lil-liaa

[fancyfeathers]

Always Prey But Never A Bird

Based on the Yandere Batfam w/ Wife/Mother!Darling & Daughter/Sister!Darling series

Previous Chapter <- Chapter Four -> Next Chapter

You woke up with a groan, your chest feeling so much heavier than before, your head felt as if you had just slammed it against a brick wall. It felt hard to breathe and your right arm and leg felt numb. You shifted on the bed you laid on, opening your eyes and you were blinded by the light above you which drew another grown from you.

“No, no, no, don’t move.” You heard a voice that you could not fully process as a hand came onto your upper chest, pushing you back onto your back, it was probably Dick’s voice you think, or maybe it was Tim. “You’re pretty badly injured from the crash, the old man is pretty upset right now, probably best to not to push anymore buttons tonight.”

You slowly came to, your vision clearing up and you would have felt sick if you did not feel terrible already. You laid on a very comfortable bed, your old bed, your current bed was rough, something you could just barely afford after saving expenses for other things. There was an IV in your left arm and bandages on your right arm, leg as well if you had to guess but your lower body was covered with a blanket. Your clothes had been changed, a pair of pajamas you remember having just got a day before you left. You turned your head to see Dick sitting there, a chair pulled up to your bedside, he had changed his clothing, black sweatpants and a dark blue shirt.

“What happened-“

“You skinned the right side of your body on one of the bridge wires, tore right through your suit, along with a bruised lung.” Another voice added on, Tim Drake, he was sitting on the other side of your bed, opposite side of Dick. “You could have died if it wasn’t for Dick.”

“At least I wouldn’t be here.”

“Someone tried to kill you and that’s what you have to say? God…” You heard Tim sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose. “You can’t even be grateful for having your life saved.”

“They weren’t trying to kill her, someone who was trying to kill her like that would have just tried to take a shot at her.” Dick spoke to Tim, speaking as if you were not even lying between them. “They wanted her alive, but they failed their mission cause she went flying off the bridge and would have died.”

“Can you two just shut the hell up, I already have a headache.” You threw your head back on your pillow, closing your eyes, but you were certainly aware enough to grab Tim by the wrist when he tried to brush the hair out of your face. “Don’t talk to me… just get out.”

“Nah, Bruce said not to leave you alone.” Dick responded, his fingers prying yours off of Tim’s wrist. You groaned at hearing his words, keeping your eyes screwed shut while trying to drown out the throbbing pain in your limbs. “You should try to eat or drink something, I think Alfred made you something in-“

“I’m not hungry, pass.” You felt a creak in your bones as you turned your body around onto your non injured side. The moment the side of your body shifted onto the bed you felt Tim’s hands on your skin, shifting your body and his body to bring your head to rest on his lap as if you were some small kitten who needed to be held. “Where are my things?”

“Why do you need them?” You heard Tim ask from above you, his fingers coming to run through your hair, scratching at your scalp. “You’re not going back out there like this.”

“My friends… they could be in danger-“

“They don’t matter right now-“

“They matter to me, Dick!” You cut your oldest brother off when he cut off your answer to Tim’s question. “If anything happened to them I would never be able to forgive myself.”

There was a thick silence in the room after your words, you heard the chair Dick sat in shift against the wooden floor of your room as he stood up.

“Bruce has your gear right now, he’s reviewing the footage from it to see who did this to you. I’ll see if he’ll let you use it.” You heard the door to your bedroom open and close after Dick’s words in response to your shout.

“…What happened to you?” You heard Tim ask, his fingers pausing in your hair. “You used to be so sweet.”

“I was only like that because if I acted up I would be punished.” You sat up, pushing his hands off of you and your right hand pulled out the IV out of your left arm, and you could hear the sharp intake of breath from Tim beside you. “Don’t think I never knew you put cameras in this room or that I never realized that when I misbehaved at all or pushed any of you away that you would spike my meals with a sedative and call my teachers at school and just tell them I was sick.”

“You never listened to us!”

“I shouldn’t have to! I should have grown up with just my mom because that is what she wanted to do!” You stood up, slipping out from the bed, you glanced at Tim and he had shifted as if to catch you as if you were going to fall. You were in slight discomfort but you had built an extremely good pain tolerance over the years so you were fine, but clearly they would never recognize your current strength. You scoffed at Tim’s worried reaction to you standing up on your own, shaking your head. “You still think I am weak… oh my god fuck you.”

“You know you’re not supposed to say things like that.” Tim scolded you at your usage of foul language. He stood up from your bed, reaching out for you, his hands coming to grip both of your shoulders. “Just stop-“

You leaned back, shifting your weight so you fell back, dragging Tim back with you. You extended your left leg up so it kicked him right in the gut, knocking the air from his lungs and sending him flying and crashing into your bedroom mirror, shattering it and digging into his skin.

“I will say the good thing about being seen as weak by you all is that I am always able to take you all by surprise, especially now, like I said that to Dick to get him out of the room.” You spoke simply before grabbing the chair Dick was sitting in just moments ago and hurling it at your bedroom window, breaking it with an extremely loud shattering sound that echoed through the room, probably the manor. You saw out of the corner of your eye, Tim slowly getting up so you did not waste a second, you went running to the window, jumping out.

You heard Tim shout your name, your birth name as you landed on the ground, but you did not stop running. You ran straight to the back of the garden, you knew that behind a bush, against the tall iron fence that surrounded the manor, there was a divot under the fence that you dug when you were bored as a child. It was perfectly hidden from view so that no one else could see it or find it, even now it was still there, water and rainfall over the years only making it deeper so you could crawl out of it still.

By the time you were on the other side of the fender you could hear shouting from back at the manor, at least Tim told Dick by now if not the whole house if they did not hear the shattering of the mirror and window. You did not look back, just kept running and running…

_______________________

“Hey, stop squirming so much!” Nettle scolded you as he pressed a disinfectant covered cloth against one of your broken window induced wounds on your arm. You had made it back to the warehouse in one piece due to running into Clove by chance when she was looking for you as her civilian self. “I’m almost done, ‘kay?”

“…fine…”

You sat on the dining room table while Nettle cleaned your wounds from the jump from the window, the others were all near, Foxglove digging into a pear for her breakfast as she leaned against the kitchen counter, Clove laying across one of the couches and Henbane’s lap as the two of the scrolled on their phones. Nettle snipped off a bit of bandage after he wrapped it over your wound on your arm before setting the roll of bandages and scissors down in the medical kit.

“There, all done, that wasn’t so bad was it?” Nettle asked you as he held his hand out to you to help you down from the table, you just mumbled out a response in thanks, far too tired to form actual words. “Let’s get you to bed-“

“My room is too far.” You whined, glancing up at the metal staircase on the back wall that led to the rooms which were old storage rooms that you renovated into your bedrooms. You let Nettle lead you to one of the couches instead, helping you lay down on it and pulling a thick weighted blanket over your shivering body. Your whole body was in pain now, you were barefoot when you slipped away from Wayne Manor which resulted in your feet ending up being fifty shades of messed up, bruised and bloodied. “Thanks, Nettle.”

“Anytime.” Nettle sat down on the ground next to your couch. He glanced up at you with a smile. “You’re off patrol for the next week.”

“You’re fucking kidding me.” You groaned, throwing your head back which drew laughs from Clove and Henbane on the opposite couch.

“Look Mr. Austen needs to make a new suit for you and the tech is custom made because your old one is back… ya you get my point.” Foxglove chimed in, her voice trailing off. “But hey, you could take some time off for yourself, go get drinks, maybe have that boyfriend of yours over that you visited the other night.”

“H-how… how do you know about that?” You shot up, groaning in slight pain as you moved too quickly and your response drew laughter from everyone. “H-how- I turned off my comm line…”

“No you didn’t.” Foxglove spoke, her voice full of laughter. “No, you see you turned your camera in your mask on, looks like the rush of the moment got to you both.”

“…you… you all heard us have sex…” You lay there on the couch, wide eyed in the realization.

“Heard it… and saw some of it.” Clove answered and your face turned the brightest shade of red. “But hey he is really cute, definitely a keeper.”

“…my best friends saw me have sex with my boyfriend I haven't seen in four years.” You stared up at the ceiling and buried your face in your hands. “I wish I fell off that bridge.”

“Hmm well if you want you can have him over tonight, show him around while everyone else is on patrol and Foxglove is working the comm lines, have a nice stay at home date.” Clove suggested as she sat up from Henbane’s lap. “I think I picked up a really good red wine if you two want to split that.”

“Clove, thank you for your idea, but his idea of a stay at home date is getting food from a five star restaurant and watching a movie in his home theater. Or sometimes he’d order chocolate covered strawberries and we would hide in his mother’s office when one of my siblings, normally Tim, came looking for me.” You explained and there was a long silence from your friends as the reality of your old life set in. “And that red wine you bought cost fifteen dollars, the stuff his family bought cost five hundred dollars at the very least. I just- look I don’t know about him coming here, I mean we live in a warehouse, a nice warehouse but still, he is rich, like one of the oldest families in Gotham rich.”

“Well then… I’m sorry for what’s about to happen.” Clove said in an awkward silence taking hold of the room. “I messaged him on one of his social media accounts and asked him to come over and surprise you since you are sort of stuck here… I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine… he probably never saw it anyway, he’s busy-“

“Not too busy for you.” You made the mistake of looking away from Foxglove, not seeing her get up to go get the door with her crutches and letting in the guest that came knocking. You all turned your heads to see the familiar blond boy you spent that night with just the other day. Gabriel was let in through the back door, carrying something that you assumed to be a gift basket, all dressed up in his thick wool coat and scarf along with those Italian leather gloves he always wore. He smiled at the sight of you laying down on the couch, he set the gift basket down beside the couch and bent down to press a kiss to your lips as you opened your arms to him in your tired state. “Hi angel.”

“Hi love.” You responded, before gesturing to Gabriel and looking at all of your friends. “His is my boyfriend, Gabriel Christel. We met back in middle school when I first moved to Gotham after my mom married my father and then we started dating in high school and well you all know the rest.”

“It’s lovely to meet you all, thank you for looking after her.” He looked around at all of them before his eyes fell over to Clove and a look of recognition came across her face at the sight of her. “You’re Clove, right? Thank you for reaching out to me, I think we are going to be very good friends.”

“I hope so.” Clove smiled as she stood up from the couch, glancing around at everyone else in the room. “We… we should go, we got patrol and… ya… you two have fun.”

“We will.” You replied to Clove as she pulled Henbane up from the couch and Nettle quickly followed behind her as well, going to get changed and prepared before patrol. You looked back up to Gabriel who was standing over you and as soon as he saw your eyes were on him, he kneeled down onto the carpet, on eye level with you so you could press a kiss to his cheek, just under his eye. “Hello handsome.”

“Hello beautiful-“

Gabriel was cut off by the sound of someone clearing their throat and you both turned your heads to look at Foxglove standing just a few feet away with her crutches due to her injury on her foot that she was recovering from. She smiles at Gabriel, looking him dead in the eye.

“I like you a lot, but hurt her at all and we will destroy you.” She spoke those words with a smile, but there was a certain chill about them that would probably even make your father shudder. “Do you understand?”

“Yes ma’am.”

“Good boy.”

_______________________

“My bedroom is the last one on the left.” You spoke as your boyfriend carried you on his back, one hand reaching back and holding your thigh and the other carrying that gift basket, your arms wrapped around his neck. He pushed open the door and stopped for a moment, before walking forward and setting you down on the bed. “Thank you, lovey.”

He looked around your bedroom as he came to sit down beside you. Old floorboards creaked beneath his weight, the walls were brick with white pants covering them, slowly chipping away from the top down. The ceiling was high with all sorts of pvc pipes and air vents, the windows were tall but the glass was thin. The bed was an iron bed frame, polished and then painted over black and then the dressers and nightstand were all sorts of different pieces you found and painted over the years.

“Foxglove is downstairs on the comm lines tonight.” You said as you laid down on the right side of the bed, propping yourself to sit up against your pillows. “So it’s just me and you until patrol is over.”

“Ya… I suppose it is.” He set the basket at the foot of the bed and reached in and pulled out a bottle of red wine and a glass, you watched as he filled up the glass halfway and handed it to you. “Here you go, dove.”

“I love you.”

“Mmm, are you saying that to me or the wine?”

“Both.” Small laughs escaped from both your lips and he wrapped his arm around you as you took a sip of the red wine from the glass. You sighed and leaned your head on his shoulder. “I missed this… I missed this a lot.”

“So did I.” He replied to you, there was a palpitate pause in the air and he took a deep breath in and out. “Angel… how long are you going to be doing this?”

“Doing this?”

“Living in a warehouse, being a vigilante, hiding away from everything? I mean look at you, your body is so fucked up and I don’t even know what caused most of it.” His voice took on a heavy tone of concern which felt like a large weight on both of your shoulders. “I want to settle down and have a life with you, I don’t want to worry about where you are.”

“I… what are you saying?” The air left your lungs as you watched Gabriel stand up from the bed and walked over to your side of the bed, reaching into his coat pocket and pulling over a small navy blue velvet box and getting down on his knee.

“Marry me.” You just stared down at him and a bit of a bashful smile came across his face as a small chuckle slipped from his lips, shaking his head slightly. “It was my great grandmother’s ring and I know I couldn’t ask your mother or father for their blessing but no one hardly sees your mother anymore and your father… well he doesn’t like me and well I don’t know if they know you’re around anymore and-“

“I… I don’t know…”

[eliza-and-her-monsters]

begging anyone for Vi x reader x Ellie

ANYTHING.

PUH LUH EASE

WUH LUH WUH

i’ve got you bestie you just might wanna have that therapist on speed dial, okay? soz… 🫣

death doesn’t discriminate

Vi x reader x Ellie

Summary: you were never jackson’s best fighter, you never had to be. you were of course taught the basics of self defense, and if you ever were being attacked and it was between you or them it had to be you… every single time. you just never expected to ever have to put those skills to use… unfortunately though whenever patrol goes awry and you encountered a group of bandits you had to, making your very first kill. obviously after the event you’re left traumatized, and its up to your girlfriends to pull you from the aftermath.

Contains/TW: takes place in the tlou-verse with arcane crossover characters because obviously, innocent and super sheltered reader, i’ve seen the discourse but i AM making it to where ellie CAN pick the reader up (because fuck you that’s why! 💜), told in 1st person, polyamory, set in jackson post-joel death HOWEVER obviously ellie didn’t decide to hunt down ms. girl again. mentions of murder, blood, and just gore in general and HEAVY implications of suicidal ideation. ((this is not meant to romanticize suicide in any way, i’m writing from my own personal experiences. if you or someone you know is struggling please get help. you are loved 💜)) Heavily based off of the song listed below including its lyrics that are obviously not my own creation but def wish they were 💔

WC: 2.2k

You think at some point you would grow used to death, it was always leering. Either a subtle shadow hanging by the back door or growing to overtake the whole compound. In some cases it was merciful, swiftly ending your pain through broken pleas or just pure exhaustion. But in other cases, and the ones I found to be most common, it was known to be rather violent.

I was surprised I even remembered what to do whenever the time came. A dreaded audition it felt like as I slowly trailed Ellie’s gaze to the switchblade in my back pocket, the cold press of a gun against my temple. I don’t think I even processed what had happened until I was backing away, staring at the dead body before me and the still warm blood now coating my hands. My breathing came out in startled gasps, shrieking in traumatized fear the moment I felt her arms wrapping around me from behind.

“It’s me, baby, it’s just me.” She whispered, taking me into her soothing arms even though I tried like hell to fight her off at first leaving streaks of blood in the shape of my hands against her shirt. She only held my trembling body to her chest as I tried to hold back the sobs.

‘You made one kill. Everyone here has at least made one kill. It shouldn’t affect you this much. You’ve lived your whole life letting other people do the dirty work for you, you should be able to make one kill. One measly little kill of a man who would’ve killed you had you not acted so fast.’ I guess I was the only one left who didn’t think the world was that black and white though.

~

I felt catatonic as we made our way back to Jackson, Ellie’s arms holding most of my weight. I half wanted her to leave me there, leave me there to bleed and be ravaged by whatever found me first. She never would though, even if it did mean she’d have less deadweight.

Vi never was a fan of the two of us going out on patrol without her. She always considered herself our guard dog, even over Ellie who could no doubt hold her own at this point. Many nights we still spent dozing off against her while she whispered to us that we were ‘her girls.’

“Vi, emergency.” I heard Ellie speak, my head a dull weight against her chest as she carried me through the front door.

“This is the last time the two of you go on patrol without me, I mean it this time, Els.” I heard her seething as her heavy boots nearly shook the whole house. “Is she hurt? Are you hurt? What the hell happened?”

“I’m fine but she… she had to-” Ellie held the words back, not wanting to speak them in front of me as I felt my body being placed on one of the old ratty recliners. Dead eyes staring forward, like every ounce of light had been winked out a long time ago.

Vi’s own soft blue eyes drifted downwards to the dry blood coating my still shaking hands, the quickest moment of understanding filling her expression. “Oh, baby, I’m so sorry.” She murmured, the sentiment enough to bring forth a cascade of tears that I had been holding back until we were safely concealed in the walls again. “You did good though, doll, I need you to know that. You did amazing. Remember what we said, if it’s them or you it has to be you every single damn time.”

I sniffled through the ugly sobs with a shake of my head, I disagreed though I suppose I would always disagree. “She should’ve left me out there.” I finally spoke again after I had what felt like the inability to.

Quickly and without hesitation I could feel Ellie’s hand wrapping around my chin, gentle but firm as she turned my head to face her. “No, you aren’t allowed to say things like that.”

“Why not?” I shook my hand, eyes stinging and burning with tears as I watched her kneel in front of me with what looked like a wet washcloth.

“Let me get you cleaned up.” She didn’t answer me, carefully dabbing at my bloodied hands to wash all of the evidence away. Even though part of me wanted it to stay, tattoo the remnants of blood on my hands until I remembered who I was.

“Tell me why you shouldn’t have left me.” My voice shook as I repeated the question. Push until they finally said the truth. Push until they finally agreed to throw me to the wolves. Push and push and push… “I’ve been nothing but deadweight since I got here.”

“No.” Vi almost growled next, wrapping her own larger hand around my chin this time while I only stared back in defiance. “You are not deadweight, you are valuable and needed and- and we need you alive! I need you alive!”

“Darling, you don’t have to be a fighter to be important.” Ellie spoke next, much gentler than Vi had but still stern nonetheless.

It was hard to find a purpose to live in the apocalypse, I wasn’t sure where everyone found one. I knew Ellie had always had some terrible sense of self importance with the immunity. I guess over the years she had tried her hardest to transfer that to me. Some days it worked. Some days were good, amazing even. Gentle and soft days where I could dream about a world before the infection. A world I’m not sure I or Ellie ever remembered. Some days though, days like today, being reminded of that thought really changed things.

Vi had always been an ‘alive out of spite’ kind of person. Then one day Ellie and I rolled up into Jackson and turned her world upside down and shifted things for the better… that’s how she would tell it at least. She was slightly older, tougher, rough around the edges, but deep down I think she was secretly just lonely. She took us underneath her wing just as quickly as we arrived, all too happy to open her doors for us and things grew and built from there. But no amount of love or care I was given from the two was enough to cover up the fact, if I went outside of the walls something disastrous always managed to happen.

I was just simply deadweight. A bad luck charm if you will. These things never ended well.

“Baby, you’ve just had a bad day.” Vi shook her head as she took my own into her calloused hands. “That’s all it is, my love. We’re in the times of survival now, it’s kill or be killed and… I’m not losing either of you.”

I choked on another pathetic sob, hating myself more and more for every single one. Nevertheless though Vi pulled me into her, muffling the sounds of my cries into her shirt. Traumatized and shaking cries that I rarely actually allowed myself the luxury of, so whenever they came, they came all at once.

~

I fell asleep early that night. Vi running Ellie and I a bath to wash all of the dirt and grime from the disasterous patrol from our bodies. At some point I lost the strength to cry, but I felt like I had lost the strength to do most things. At some point over my sleeping body I had heard Ellie whispering to Vi though, to hide all of the guns, knives, switchblades, anything that could ever be used as a weapon. A mental patient in the middle of the apocalypse. Oh the irony.

“You think she would actually do something to herself?” Vi whispered in her hushed tone while Ellie gnawed anxiously at her already chipped nails.

“Yeah, I do.” She answered with a shuddering breath. “This is worse than Seattle and I- I already thought I was gonna lose her then- Vi, I’m not taking anymore chances.”

“Hey, listen, we’ll take care of her, okay? We’ve got her. We always do.”

“I hope so.” I could hear the rustling of clothes, no doubt an embrace she probably needed. An embrace they probably both needed. And I hated that I was the one who brought them there.

A moment passed and I had nearly managed to doze off again somehow in in the midst of it all just before I could feel the bed slightly dipping behind me. “Just me, you’re safe.” Ellie warned, waiting on my already exhausted muscles to relax before she slid her arms around me from behind. “I need to talk to you, okay?” She whispered against the back of my neck, my heavy eyelids fluttering open for a brief moment. “It’s okay, you can close your eyes. And you don’t have to talk if you don’t want to just… just listen, okay?”

Her fingers gently stroked soothing lines along with arms, the sensation only making my eyelids want to droop even further. “I’ve always had a- a really strong urge to protect you, Vi and I both have. A-And I think you know that. So if you wouldn’t have killed that man I wouldn’t have hesitated. He doomed himself. The moment he laid a goddamn finger on you he doomed himself. And Vi would’ve done the same thing and I think you know that too. Hell, he wouldn’t have even gotten the chance to if Vi was there.” Her fingers slid through my own, a soft yet possessive grasp.

“I know you think I gave up looking for Abby because you were reckless a-and you got hurt and you ruined things. And you were reckless, and you did get hurt but… you didn’t ruin things. You- You just changed things, for the better.” Her lips brushed against my neck, an innocent gesture though had me tilting my head to grant her more access all the same. “You saved me, baby.” She muttered, burrowing her face right into the crook of my neck as she pulled my back in closer to her chest. “I- I could’ve spent my whole life hunting that girl down, because- T-Tommy did ask me to, you know?” Her voice cracked, the feeling of small tears dripping onto my skin, a very simple way to get them to spring up into my own eyes all over again. Just whenever I thought I had been all cried out.

“You- You actually told him no?” My bottom lip quivered as I slowly twisted around to face her, just to feel her own calloused hand against my face. “But I thought you- you promised-“

“It’s not going to bring him back, love.” She shook her head, glancing downwards as if in mild shame. “But whenever you went after me in Seattle and- you got hurt…” she brushed her fingers along the jagged scar slashed into my arm that she was more or less cradling. “I know you were knocked out and you don’t remember a lot of it but… i-it really scared the fuck out of me, y-you know? Like I could lose you. I-I could really honestly lose you and… nothing is worth that, baby. Not a single thing is worth that.”

Tears swam in my eyes as she pressed her lips to the wet streaks that stained them. “You’re an angel, my love. An angel on this absolute fucked up planet and I-I pity every single person that doesn’t get to know you like Vi and I do, you know?” She briefly disconnected her hand from my face to brush away her own tears only to let it snake through my hair as she tugged me back into her chest. “You’re innocent, and you’re kind and you didn’t let any of this take it away and- I hope you never do, honestly.” I felt her chest sinking as she took in a heavy breath and held me to her almost for dear life. Like she was afraid I’d slip away the moment I let go. “No amount of self-sought fury will bring that back… I’ve tried. S-So please, I know it’s hard to find a purpose in this life but… please baby, please stay with me. With us.”

I curled up to her side, resting a heavy head right against where I could feel her heart thumping so softly. The other side of the bed dipped and while I might have flashed back to that moment briefly Ellie’s arms wrapped around me so protectively were enough to pull me back down to earth. At least for a moment.

“My girls.” Vi’s voice followed next, her arm nearly long enough to stretch over the both of us as she brought us close to her with ease. I felt my back pressing against her muscular chest as she settled down next to us, taking her usual trusty spot closest to the door as always.

It was hard to promise survival during the end of the world, even safe within the walls of a community. But for that night I at least promised I wouldn’t do it on my own accord. Someday, somewhere, something would kill me, but it wouldn’t be at my own hand.

No amount of self-sought fury will bring back the glory of innocence.

Credits: dividers by @saradika-graphics

[ave-immaculata]

1. I think it's condescending and degrading to women to imply that a woman couldn't sincerely, from a place of intellectual freedom, come to hold a position you disagree with, because you didn't feel like your position was strong when you held it or that she must be letting her emotion override her ability to reason soundly and independently.

2. You're right, I don't think you're claiming that women are pro-life because they're evil. I think you're calling them hysterical and brainwashed, which is frankly more insulting.

3. Just because you didn't feel the strength of pro-life arguments (maybe you only knew of weak ones, felt that pro-choice arguments had more weight, etc.), that doesn't mean this is a universal secret feeling that all pro-life women have, or that there are no good pro-life arguments. I used to be pro-choice and in hindsight see how weak the arguments I was compelled by were. But that doesn't mean I believed them purely because I was emotionally invested and brainwashed by the pro-choice men (and women) in my life. Other people may see their political opponents as inherently brainwashed, and it's unproductive.

4. Okay? Sure? I think women who seek abortion should be punished similarly to how any mother is when she kills her own child, after a period of grandfathering the law in and people getting used to the change, why it changed, etc. Those women aren't necessarily punished as harshly as other child killers because of a multitude of factors. But yes, they should be punished if they were of completely sound mind.

5. I've never said women are too stupid to understand what abortion is, but there is absolutely a degree of dehumanization that many people internalize in order to be able to act with violence (in a multitude of situations). The woman might know that her fetus is a living human being, she might just be actively suppressing that knowledge because it would impact her decision to have them killed (sort of how you explained you suppressed your knowledge that your pro-life position was weak to be able to continue to hold it).

6. It's not just men who are pro-life and explaining why this position makes sense; most pro-life people I know are women. Do I think people on both sides get taken in by weak, but punchy arguments? Yes. Do I think people on both sides take the topic VERY seriously and defend it more passionately than other issues? Yes. Do I think the only reason a woman could sincerely be pro-choice is because of men brainwashing her? No. I don't think that poorly of other women.

7. I appreciate that your post was trying to spread empathy, given how heated the discussion often gets. I don't appreciate the infantilization you did it with, implying than maniacal men have told us what to believe.

8. No one's a lost cause. St. Jude, pray for us.

If you ever wonder how in the literal fuck could a woman be pro-life? Remember women are taught to let themselves go through hell to help everyone else. Even just to please everyone else. Women are taught they must go through unimaginable torture to "save babies." They get convinced they are "saving babies." While men sit here laughing at us openly admitting they just hate women and wanted to control us.

[blushweddinggowns]

Eddie guessed that it was his own fault for waiting the last second to get a new one. He thought that he’d be able to wait it out. He was on the edge of graduating from his apprenticeship at the shop, so, so close to being able to afford the apartment completely on his own. But then his boss had to go and make it clear that nothing was happening until the New Year, a solid three months away.

His paycheck to paycheck life style wasn’t gonna cut it for that long. And that's how we found himself desperate enough to post a Craig’s list ad. What did he think was going to happen? That he’d get the creme of the crop? No. The only applicants he’d had were a chronic cigarette smoker who couldn’t wait to light up until after the apartment tour, a middle-aged guy who immediately told him that his ferrets free-roaming around the house was a non-negotiable, and some dude who wore polo shirts and looked like he fell out of a highschool rom-com. 

He should have chosen the smoker. But no, he had to go with the eye-candy. Despite the fact that he knew Steve would never look twice his way, even with the low odds that he even liked men. 

But he couldn’t help it. 

Eddie had been a failure when it came to romance ever since he moved out of his uncle’s place. Twenty-four years of conservative small town bullshit, all culminating into a completely lack of ability when it came to getting laid. Three more completely dedicated to making something of himself out in the city. He hadn’t been prepared to ward-off the model with the puppy dog eyes and the sob story of his last place flooding. 

Though in his defense, it wasn’t just from his extremely horny mind. Steve seemed polite enough when they first met. He was surprisingly sweet for someone openly wearing Ralph Lauren. So when he said that he could move in immediately, Eddie was sold. He didn’t even think to question Steve paying his first month of rent in cash. He was just relieved the worry about getting kicked out was officially gone. 

The first week had been fine enough. Eddie met a few of his friends who were helping him move in. It was a gaggle of twenty-one year olds, oddly enough.

“I was their babysitter,” Steve had sighed when Eddie asked about it, his eyes fond, “They got a little too attached. Now I’m an underage uncle for life.”

It was cute, another point towards Eddie’s slight pining. But then, Steve went back to work. 

Eddie didn’t care that he worked a night shift. He could understand that, tip-based work was pretty lucrative. He was pretty sure Steve was a bartender or something considering the crazy hours. He could handle a few bumps in the night while he got situated.

What Eddie couldn’t handle was Steve’s multi-hour long, middle of the night routine. He’d get home at three a.m. 

And yeah, maybe Eddie hadn’t been totally upfront about the downsides of this place when he got Steve to sign the sublet. Despite the price, their walls were paper thin. The advertised “soundproofing” of the place had only applied to hearing the neighbors. You could hear everything in this place, from the front door to their insanely loud showerhead. A fact that he assumed Steve would catch up on without Eddie having to act like an RA. 

With him and Gareth having basically the same schedule, Eddie had forgotten just how loud things could be. But Steve quickly gave him a reminder. Without fail, he’d hop into the shower first thing, the sound of the water pounding against the ceramic more than enough to wake Eddie up. Not to mention the singing. The good quality of his voice did not make up for the fact that it was tortuous at night. 

But it didn’t stop there. No, then he’d go to his room and talk for hours. Eddie had no fucking idea what kind of freak was sharing a five a.m. time table, but it was killing him. Whoever it was knew how to rile Steve up like no other, his laughter so clear through out the night that Eddie couldn’t focus on anything else. It was a lot, it was intense, and Eddie was losing his fucking mind. He tried to find time to talk to him about it, be civil about the whole thing. But when Eddie woke up Steve was dead to the world. When Eddie got home from work, Steve was already gone for his own. 

That’s how he found himself here. Wide awake for the fourth night in a row while Steve’s voice streamed through the walls. Every passing second had his pathetic crush on the man dissolving more and more. The last bastion between Steve and Eddie telling him to fuck off. 

an excerpt from my soon to be exchange fic. Of course I'm an extension needing bitch 😩😩😩

[nanamineedstherapy]

Third Wheeling Your Own Marriage

F!Non-Sorceres Reader X Gojo Satoru X Nanami Kento

Summary: You should be overjoyed that Gojo Satoru & Nanami Kento are your husbands. But you feel your skin crawl as you become the third wheel in your own marriage.

Trigger Warnings: Verbal abuse, grief, and loss, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Found Family, Redemption Arc, Mild Violence, Emotional Hurt, Disassociation, Depression.

A/N: Before you start reading—Daddy Toji is here!!! Rejoice!!!

Welcome to Lobotomy Kaisen: Existential Crisis Edition™! 🎭 This chapter has everything: unhinged family banter, unexpected sweetness, and emotional trauma disguised as plot development.

Let’s get into it before Megumi sends the SWAT team after us!

Also, I know I said this ending was supposed to be only 3 parts, but it spiraled into a huge monster, so it will be 3 more parts, but it's already written, so hopefully the updates will be consistent every 2 or 3 days. :)

Previous Chapter 6 (alt ending 1.2) - Veiled Realities (Tumblr/Ao3)

Chapter 7 (alt ending 1.3) - Sapphire Echoes

Gumi: Why did you invite them to your place?!

Gumi: I’m coming over, and if I find them there, I’ll kill them!

// Playlist

The sunlight was golden, warm, and gentle, streaming through the large windows of a house you didn’t recognize but somehow felt like home. The faint scent of jasmine lingered in the air, mingling with the soft hum of laughter as you walked outside the house.

“Alright, gremlins,” Gojo announced, spinning on his heel. “Today, Daddy is going to teach you how to fight. It’s all about flair and finesse.”

Nanami, standing a few feet away with his arms crossed, let out a long, suffering sigh. “You’re not their only father, and they don’t need flair. They need discipline and control.”

Gojo turned, gasping like Nanami had just insulted his very existence. “Discipline? Control? What are we, accountants?”

“I wasn’t an accountant; I was an investment broker. There’s a difference; I wouldn’t expect your non-college graduate ass to understand,” Nanami deadpanned, adjusting his glasses.

“Exactly my point!” Gojo shot back, pointing a finger at him. “That’s why they need me. To balance out your boring lectures.”

“Balance?” Nanami arched an eyebrow. “You’ve never balanced anything in your life, including your own emotions.”

Their nine-year-old daughter, golden-haired and mischievous, stood between them, bouncing on her toes with excitement. “Daddy, can I use Ratio to mess with people? Like... cut the hair of the boy I like?”

Gojo’s grin widened, his sunglasses slipping down his nose. “Now that’s my girl. Even I didn’t think of that!”

Nanami pinched the bridge of his nose. “No. You cannot use cursed techniques for petty pranks. It will get you suspended or arrested.”

“But what if it’s a really good prank?” She countered, her hazel eyes sparkling with mischief.

Gojo crouched down beside her, whispering loudly enough for everyone to hear. “Don’t listen to him. Petty pranks are the best kind.”

“Absolutely not,” Nanami snapped, his tone sharper now. “You’re already too much like him.”

The girl beamed, taking it as a compliment. “Thanks, Dada!”

You, standing off to the side, covered your mouth to stifle a laugh. “You have given birth to female Gojo, Ken. She’s your little chaos gremlin. Just accept it.”

“She’s your chaos gremlin too,” he muttered, shooting you a look that said he blamed you for this. Gojo was very smug about the fact, not even attempting to hide it.

Meanwhile, their son stood off to the side, arms crossed and a perpetual frown etched onto his face. His white hair fell into his blue eyes, which were narrowed in quiet judgment.

“This is stupid,” he muttered, his voice carrying all the weight of some adult who thought he knew better than everyone else.

Nanami turned to him, his expression softening slightly. “What’s ridiculous?”

“All of it,” the boy replied, gesturing vaguely at his sister and Gojo, who were now snickering about the ethical implications of using ratio to cheat at board games. “They’re wasting time.”

Gojo overheard and gasped. “Wasting time? I’m teaching valuable life skills here!”

The boy didn’t even blink. “You’re teaching her how to be annoying.”

“Exactly!” Gojo said, throwing his arms wide. “And what’s more important than that?”

“Literally everything,” the boy replied flatly, his tone so deadpan that even Nanami’s lips twitched in amusement.

“Alright, enough talk,” Gojo declared, clapping his hands together. “Let’s spar. Chaos Gremlin versus Mr. Rainy Day.”

Their daughter lit up, bouncing on her toes. “Yes! I’m gonna crush you!”

The boy sighed, stepping into position. “You’re going to lose.”

“Over my dead body,” she shot back, her energy already crackling around her.

Nanami and Gojo stood on opposite sides of the field, both offering advice at the same time.

“Focus on control!” Nanami called out.

“Forget control! Style is everything!” Gojo yelled.

You stood between them, arms crossed. “How about we let them figure it out without shouting conflicting advice?”

Both men glared at each other but stayed quiet—for about five seconds.

The sparring began, their cursed techniques clashing in a brilliant display. The boy moved with focus, his infinity stretching around him. His sister, on the other hand, darted around unpredictably, her movements wild but effective, her ratio blades slicing through the air like a scalpel.

“Don’t just stand there, Emo Kid!” Gojo hollered. “Go for the win!”

“Precision,” Nanami muttered under his breath, his eyes locked on his son. “Wait for her to make a mistake.”

“She doesn’t make mistakes,” Gojo countered. “She’s perfect.”

“You’re impossible,” Nanami replied, his voice flat.

//

When the sparring ended, both kids were panting but grinning, their energy buzzing in the air around them.

“You did great,” you said, taking both their hands. “Both of you.”

“Better than great,” Gojo added, ruffling his son’s hair. “You’re unstoppable.”

Nanami knelt beside his daughter, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “You’ve improved. But don’t get cocky.”

“Too late,” she replied, grinning up at him.

Letting go of your hands, the children ran ahead, their laughter blending with the rustling leaves as they played with their blobfish plushies.

The sun dipped lower in the sky, casting a warm glow over the scene as it settled into something softer, something whole.

You watched them with awe, your heart full to bursting. “They are beautiful.”

Gojo winked at you. “Of course they are. Look at their parents.”

Nanami glanced at you, his hazel eyes warm. “You’ve done well.”

The sun was now setting, casting the world in hues of orange and pink.

Gojo slid an arm around your shoulders, pulling you close. “See? Told you we’d make a great team.”

Nanami stood on your other side, his presence grounding. “You should sit,” he said softly, gesturing to a bench beneath a blooming cherry blossom tree.

You sat, watching the children play as the two men sat beside you, their presence comforting and familiar.

The boy turned, his bright blue eyes locking onto yours. “Mama, are you happy?” he asked, his voice carrying an innocence that made your chest tighten.

Tears pricked your eyes as you nodded. “Yes, sweetheart. I’m very happy.”

The world shifted abruptly. The warmth of the sun faded, replaced by the cold gray light of dawn filtering through your bedroom curtains.

You opened your eyes slowly, the weight of the dream pressing against your chest like a heavy stone.

Your cheeks were damp, but as you raised a trembling hand to touch them, you realized your eyes were dry. No tears fell. You were too numb for that now.

The laughter, the warmth, the love—it had all been a cruel illusion. The reality of your empty arms and silent home was suffocating.

Sukuna’s voice broke the silence from the doorway. “Another bad night?”

You didn’t answer, your gaze fixed on the sea outside the window. The waves rolled endlessly, a reflection of the ache in your chest.

“They’re still yours,” his words a faint echo of something he’d said before.

But they weren’t.

And they never would be.

---

// Playlist

Few years ago

The streets glistened with rain, neon signs shimmering in puddles as the faint hum of late-night activity drifted through the cool air. You walked at an easy pace, your heels clicking softly against the pavement. The buzz of alcohol warmed your veins. Tonight, the world seemed softer, its edges blurred, though your mind remained sharp, processing everything around you with clarity.

Gojo Satoru leaned lazily against the post, his white hair catching the glow like freshly fallen snow. Beside him, Nanami Kento stood with his frown deepened by the chill in the air.

“She’s late,” Gojo said in Japanese, glancing at his phone. His voice carried a teasing lilt, though his gaze lingered on the street, betraying his anticipation.

“She doesn’t strike me as someone who cancels plans without notice,” Nanami replied evenly, though his hands tightened slightly in his coat pockets.

Gojo smirked. “Oh? Nanamin’s been paying attention.”

“Don’t call me that.”

Before their banter could escalate, you turned the corner, your long coat swaying with your stride. Your hair, tousled by the breeze, framed a face softened by warmth and openness, an unusual sight for someone as composed as you.

Gojo’s eyes lit up as he nudged Nanami, practically bouncing on his feet. “Nanamin! It’s her! Pretty hoodie lady!” He exclaimed in English, pointing at you like a kid spotting their favorite toy in a store.

Nanami groaned audibly, pressing his palm to his face. “Could you not yell across the street like a lunatic?”

But Gojo wasn’t listening. He was already halfway to you, his enthusiasm cutting through the chill like a warm gust of wind.

“Hey! Pretty hoodie lady!” Gojo’s voice rang out.

“Gojo,” Nanami called after him as he followed. “Don’t run off—”

But you didn't hear and turned in the direction Nanami was coming from.

You suddenly collided with your nose smushing into something firm and expensive-smelling.

“Watch where you're going, you...”

“Careful there,” Nanami’s voice came, smooth and tinged with dry amusement.

Gojo skidded to a halt, his grin growing impossibly wider.

You took a step back, studying them with a raised brow. Recognition flickered as you met their gazes. “Oh, it’s you two.”

“You remember us!” Gojo exclaimed, his English broken but still managing to convey his excitement. However, it was better than the last time. Had he been practicing?! His voice carried a note of pride, as if he’d accomplished something monumental by being memorable.

“Oh, it’s mysterious hoodie lady,” Gojo added, adjusting his sunglasses.

“Fancy seeing you here,” Nanami said, his tone measured, though his eyes flicked over you briefly, assessing and ensuring you were unharmed.

“Gentlemen,” you replied, a small smile tugging at your lips. “Fancy bumping into me.” The alcohol humming through your veins lent a teasing edge to your voice. “But I’m not mad—unless you’re boring. Then we’ll have problems.”

Gojo tilted his head, squinting in confusion. “What she say?”

Nanami sighed, his patience thinning. “She’s challenging you not to be boring.”

“Ohhh!” Gojo’s grin widened, his excitement bubbling over. “I am never boring!”

Nanami questioned. “We didn’t mean to disturb you.”

“You’re not disturbing me,” you replied, your voice warm but measured. “Though, I didn’t expect to see you two again.”

Gojo grinned, his English fumbling but earnest. “We... walking! Saw you!”

Nanami raised an eyebrow, muttering under his breath, “Walking, my ass.”

You chuckled softly, your eyes briefly catching Nanami’s. Without the hood obstructing your vision, you saw warmth and intensity, like the first rays of sunlight breaking through winter’s chill. His gaze wrapped around you, offering solace in a chaotic world, igniting a warmth within you that spread like a soft glow. In that fleeting moment, it felt as if he had touched your soul, awakening a longing for something deeper, something beautifully profound.

Your gaze shifted to Gojo, his eyes peeking over dark sunglasses—a brilliant blue that seemed to hold entire galaxies within them. Time stood still, the world around you fading into a soft blur. You had never seen such eyes—vivid and alive, sparkling with mischief and depth, as if they could read the very essence of your soul. They were the kind of eyes poets raved about, capable of igniting a fire in your heart and weaving a spell

You quickly looked away from the radioactive orbs in the name of eyes he had; it seemed the alcohol was getting to you.

Nanami cleared his throat. “Can we walk you home? It’s late.” His tone even but laced with genuine concern

You nodded your head, your smile softening.

Unbeknownst to you, the men were nearly high-fiving behind you—at least they would have if Nanami weren’t busy trying to engrave your face into his memory. It had taken Gojo standing atop the tallest building to find you. They were supposed to leave the night they met you at the convention, but Yaga had yelled at them to come back every hour since. Yet, they still didn’t know your full name or anything else about you.

“He’s like a Samoyed in human form,” you mused aloud, tilting your head as you studied Gojo.

Gojo almost froze, blinking rapidly. “Samo... what?”

“A Samoyed,” you repeated, grinning. “You know, the big fluffy white dogs that are always happy and smiling?”

Gojo’s jaw dropped. “You think I’m fluffy?”

“Fluffy and cheerful,” you clarified.

Nanami snorted softly, but you turned to him before he could speak. “And you,” you said, gesturing toward him, “you’re... a grumpy Akita Inu. Specifically Hachikō.”

Gojo immediately burst into laughter, clutching his stomach. “Grumpy Akita! Nanamin, that’s so you!”

Nanami’s lips pressed into a thin line, his brows furrowing as he shot Gojo a sharp look. “Stop laughing.”

“But she’s right!” Gojo wheezed, wiping at his eyes behind his sunglasses. “You’re dependable and serious, waiting around like some tragic hero.” He spoke half the words in Japanese.

Nanami ignored him, his attention shifting to you instead, expression unreadable. “Hachikō, the dog known for its loyalty?”

You nodded, your tone softening. “Yeah. Always dependable, always waiting, even when people don’t deserve it. That being said, I wouldn’t wish Hachikō’s fate on you.”

For a moment, his expression flickered—something thoughtful, maybe even vulnerable, passing through his eyes before he nodded. “I see.”

Gojo, however, was still basking in the revelation. “Fluffy and adorable. That’s me!” he declared.

“Adorable is debatable,” Nanami muttered under his breath, earning another laugh from you.

Before Gojo could respond, you added, “Speaking of dogs, have you heard of Etah ?”

Both men’s curiosity piqued.

“Etah was the first dog to reach the South Pole,” you began. “She led Roald Amundsen’s expedition in 1911, surviving the harshest conditions imaginable. A Samoyed, of course—happy, dependable, and heroic. Out of 52 dogs on the expedition, only 12 survived tragically.”

Nanami was live translating for you and Gojo.

Gojo’s grin faltered, replaced by an expression of awe. “Wait, a dog did that? Like, first to the South Pole?”

You nodded, your gaze steady on him. “Exactly. She led the way, braved the cold, and ensured the expedition’s success. And after all that, she lived out her life as a cherished companion to royalty.”

Nanami’s brows rose slightly, his stoicism softening as he murmured, “A testament to loyalty and resilience.”

“Exactly,” you agreed, your excitement bubbling beneath the surface. “She’s a symbol of courage and adaptability. Like Hachikō, but with a touch of adventure.”

Gojo leaned closer, his sunglasses slipping down his nose. “So, you’re saying I’m like Etah? A heroic, adventurous dog with a happy ending?”

You smirked, tilting your head. “Sure, if you can brave the cold and not get distracted by every snowflake.”

Nanami’s lips twitched into the faintest smile. “I think you’d get lost in the snow, Gojo.”

“Hey!” Gojo shot back, his grin unwavering. “That’s what I’d have you for, Nanamin. My loyal Akita, leading the way.”

Nanami sighed heavily, but the faint flush creeping up his neck didn’t escape your notice.

“Of course you’d need him,” you teased, your tone light but cutting. “Not every hero dog gets to live out their life with royalty.”

Gojo’s grin turned thoughtful, a rare flicker of sincerity breaking through his usual bravado as he spoke in half English, half Japanese. “Well, if you’re the royalty, I’m in.”

Nanami muttered something under his breath, his gaze flickering to you for a moment longer than necessary. For all the absurdity of Gojo’s antics, he wasn’t entirely immune to the pull of your presence.

“So, you both are sorcerers?” You asked, walking ahead. You were curious about their techniques. Otherwise, you would have ignored them as Megumi had advised.

Both men froze for a moment. Then Nanami cleared his throat. “Ah, yes. It seems your friend told you about us.”

“All good things, I hope!” Gojo chimed in.

You glanced at him, amused. “Something like that. If it’s okay, could you explain your techniques to me?” You asked, still looking ahead, your expression serene.

Gojo leaned toward Nanami. “What’s she saying now?”

“She wants us to explain our techniques,” Nanami replied in Japanese, his voice deadpan.

Gojo blinked, clearly delighted. “Oh! You want to know my power?”

“Yes,” you said, your tone calm but your eyes sharp.

Both men noted your reluctance to discuss the man with the sea urchin hair, but Nanami was feeling unusually chatty, so he began explaining while Gojo confused you the entire time and interrupted every few seconds with exaggerated gestures and broken English, insisting that his “Infinity is best!”

As the conversation continued, you noticed how Gojo’s childlike enthusiasm and Nanami’s quiet attentiveness complemented each other. There was something grounding about their presence, something that made the world feel a little less chaotic.

“I’m starting to see why you two balance each other out,” you said, your lips twitching with amusement.

Nanami’s gaze flicked to you, a faint softness in his eyes. “Balance isn’t the word I’d use.”

Gojo, oblivious to the subtleties, beamed. “She thinks we team!”

Both men were observing your wit.

“She’s interesting,” Nanami said lowly to Gojo in Japanese, his tone understated but firm.

Gojo grinned, his gaze lingering on the back of your head a few steps ahead. “Interesting doesn’t even cover it.”

//

They hadn't planned for this. The warm glow of overhead lights reflected off the rain-slick streets outside, adding a cozy intimacy to the atmosphere. You, Nanami, and Gojo were tucked into a booth near the window, the warmth seeping into your hands as you warmed them on the small portable heater near the table.

Nanami sat across from you while Gojo had wedged himself into the seat beside you, his energy a contrast to the café ’s tranquil ambiance.

“You seem... relaxed tonight,” Nanami observed, his voice calm but tinged with curiosity. His gaze flicked briefly to your flushed cheeks before settling back on your eyes.

“I’m in a good mood,” you replied, the mischief in your tone evident as you leaned back against the booth. “A productive day, good company, and now, a surprise reunion.”

Gojo perked up, resting his chin on his hand as he leaned in closer. “You like surprises?”

“Depends on the surprise,” you replied, a small smirk tugging at your lips as you met his gaze. “This one isn’t bad.”

Nanami cleared his throat, steering the conversation. “You mentioned good company earlier. Were you out with friends?”

“My CHRO,” you said casually, taking a sip of your drink.

Gojo frowned, his brows knitting together. “CH... R... O?”

Nanami sighed, his tone weary but patient. “Chief Human Resources Officer.”

“Oh!” Gojo’s face lit up like he’d just solved a riddle. “Office talk!”

You chuckled softly, your smile enigmatic. “Something like that. But enough about me. What about you two? What brings you out tonight?”

Gojo tilted his head toward Nanami, grinning. “Fate!”

Nanami groaned under his breath. “Don’t mind him. We were... exploring the city.”

Your raised eyebrow and faint smile told them you weren’t convinced, but you let it slide.

The server approached, her eyes lingering on Nanami and Gojo a moment too long as asking them, ignoring you. “What can I get you all tonight?”

You grinned, too tipsy to notice the slight snub. “Surprise me.”

Gojo continued looking at your smile subtly—which wasn’t very subtle to Nanami—his voice rude. “Same for me.” The server’s pettyness had not escaped his six eyes.

Nanami ordered black coffee, his tone clipped as usual. He wasn’t trying to be rude; people often misinterpreted his demeanor as arrogance or indifference. Well, the indifference part was true.

You stared at him in mock disbelief. “Black coffee? At this hour? You’re the most boring person I’ve ever met.” You didn’t really mind; hell, you chugged black coffee by the gallon on work nights; you just wanted to see how he’d react to teasing.

Nanami arched an eyebrow, his lips curving ever so slightly. “And yet, here you are.”

Damn, he was smooth.

Your laugh rang out, light and melodic, catching Gojo’s attention. His grin softened as he glanced at Nanami, something unspoken passing between them.

//

After some time, the three of you stood near the counter. The waitress smiled and handed over the bill with a smile directed solely at Nanami and Gojo. You, however, were laser-focused on the receipt, your eyes narrowing as you reached into your coat pocket.

“I’ve got this,” you said firmly, already pulling out your wallet. It’s not like you didn’t let people pay for you. Paying for you was a privilege they hadn’t earned yet. Men had a way of starting to expect things after spending even a little money, and you had learned that the hard way.

“Absolutely not,” Nanami countered, already pulling out his own wallet. His tone was calm, but the sharpness in his eyes screamed ‘ chivalry or death .’

“Wait, wait, wait!” Gojo interjected, his sunglasses slipping as he reached into his coat. “I got this! Sugar mommy powers activated!”

You blinked at him, momentarily thrown. “Gojo, you can’t be a sugar mommy. You’re a sugar baby at best.”

Gojo gasped, clutching his chest as if you’d mortally wounded him. “I’m offended! I’m both!”

Before you could respond, Nanami stepped between you two, his wallet already open. “Enough. This isn’t up for debate. I’ll handle it.”

You weren’t having it. “You think I can’t pay?” You challenged, stepping closer to Nanami like you were about to square up.

Nanami blinked, caught off guard. “This isn’t about capability. It’s about manners.”

“Oh, hell no , Nanami,” you snapped, whipping out your American Express Centurion Card like a weapon. The black card gleamed under the café lights as you waved it in his face. “You think I can’t pay? Watch me!”

Gojo, delighted, leaned toward Nanami and whispered in Japanese, “She’s challenging your honor, man.”

Nanami shot him a glare before turning back to you. “It’s courtesy.”

A mischievous grin tugged at your lips. “Then courteously let me pay.”

Gojo, now leaning dramatically over the counter, held up his own card—a flashy platinum piece that looked like it had seen better days. “Mine’s shinier!”

“Shut up, Gojo!” Both you and Nanami barked simultaneously.

Nanami placed his card on the counter, only for you to slap it away with a quick flick of your wrist. “Denied!”

Gojo cackled, tossing his card onto the counter like it was a poker chip. “Bet you can’t top this!”

You scoffed, “Oh, you wanna play? I brought backups.” Pulling your wallet open wider, revealing the JP Morgan Reserve Card, the Dubai First Royale MasterCard, and the Coutts World Silk Card nestled inside. 

Gojo’s jaw dropped, his English breaking. “You... you have... many shinies !”

Nanami’s eye twitched as he reached for his card again, but you weren’t having it. “Stay in your lane, Mr. Black Coffee!”

“Don’t push me,” Nanami warned.

“I’ll will,” you shot back, your grin unhinged.

Finally, Gojo stepped back, holding up his hands in mock surrender. “Okay, okay, you win,” he said, nodding toward your Centurion Card. “Black card... scary.”

You smirked, triumphant. “Damn right.”

Nanami glared at Gojo and asked him in Japanese, “Don’t you have that card too?”

Gojo rubbed the back of his head and answered, “I do, but I forgot it in Japan.”

Nanami, however, was far from relenting. “This isn’t over,” he muttered, placing his Rakuten Bank Super Premium Card on top of yours with the quiet determination of a man who had never lost a battle of principles.

“Nanami,” you said, leaning closer, your tone deceptively sweet, eyelashes fluttering up at him, like you were asking for a puppy and not his honour, “are you really going to do this?”

“Yes,” he deadpaned.

“Fine.” You whispered in his ear, slightly closer, with your villainous energy directed at the wrong man. “But I will win.”

If Nanami was a weaker man, his resolve would have cracked.

Gojo, watching the scene unfold with stars in his eyes, clapped his hands together and yelled in Japanese. “This is the best date ever.”

Nanami was too busy not to get a hard on in public to glare at Gojo.

The poor cashier, overwhelmed, finally chose your card just to end the madness. You released Nanami with a victorious grin; your card already swiped.

“I told you,” you said smugly, slipping your wallet back into your coat pocket. Then took out your pen to sign.

Nanami sighed heavily, pinching the bridge of his nose. “You’re impossible.”

You laughed. “Don’t worry, Nanami. Next time, you can fight me for it. Winner pays.”

Gojo whispered loudly in Japanese. “She’s rich, Nanamin! Like, sugar mommy rich!” All his dreams of finding a fractos mother were coming true even though he was already rich.

Nanami groaned, his chivalry bruised but intact, ears red.

Gojo ignored him, turning to you with a wide grin. “You... pay for my snacks forever?”

You tilted your head, amused. “Why? Can’t you afford them?”

Nanami, sensing an opportunity, leaned toward Gojo and said in Japanese, “She asked if you’d like to pay her back by taking her trash out.”

Gojo’s grin faltered. “Trash?” he echoed, confused.

You chuckled, sensing the exchange but choosing not to pry. “Don’t worry, Gojo. I won’t make you do anything you don’t want to.”

Gojo’s grin returned in full force. “I love you!”

Nanami was grateful Gojo didn’t know English for ‘I love you’ yet, or you’d get a restraining order.

As the transaction completed, the two men subtly—or not so subtly—took stock of your outfit to try and assess how rich you were in order to conclude what you did for a living.

“Shoes,” Nanami whispered to Gojo in Japanese.

“Designer,” Gojo answered after a glance.

“Coat?”

“Custom.” Gojo replied, then asked, “Watch?”

“Limited edition.”

Gojo’s eyes sparkled as you turned back. “You... very stylish!” he declared in his adorable English, giving you a thumbs-up.

You raised an eyebrow, clearly amused. “Thank you, Gojo. You’re very observant.”

Nanami sighed. “You’re enabling him.”

“I think it’s endearing,” you replied with a soft laugh, your gaze briefly meeting Nanami’s. “Besides, you two are fun. And rare.”

Gojo turned to Nanami, grinning. “She said we’re rare! Like Pokémon!”

Nanami muttered something under his breath, but his ears were bright red now.

As the three of you stepped back into the rain-kissed streets, Gojo bounded ahead, clearly pleased with the outcome of the evening, while Nanami lingered at your side, his mind still piecing together the puzzle of who you really were.

“You’re quite mysterious,” Nanami remarked finally, his voice low enough that Gojo couldn’t hear.

You smiled knowingly. “And you’re quite perceptive.”

Nanami’s lips twitched into the faintest smile as Gojo spun around, his arms outstretched. The conversation shifted as the three of you continued walking, your strides falling into an easy rhythm.

You briefly caught Nanami’s gaze before glancing up at the night sky. “It’s a nice night, isn’t it? You can even see a few stars despite the city lights.”

Nanami followed your gaze. “Surprising, given the light pollution.”

Gojo squinted at the sky, then at you. “They pretty like you.”

Nanami’s eyes widened.

You laughed; the sound light and melodic. “Not quite; you are the star.” You paused, thinking, then continued. “Like our sun—bright, strong, impossible to miss. You keep things alive, but you burn so intensely that it’s hard for people to get close enough to truly understand you.”

Gojo’s grin faltered, something unreadable flickering in his expression. “Sun... me?”

You nodded, turning to Nanami. “And you... you’re like a lighthouse. Constant, steady, always guiding. People only notice when they need you, but you’re always there, no matter what.”

Nanami stiffened, his stoicism betraying a hint of vulnerability. “You have a way with metaphors.”

You smiled, shrugging. “Maybe I’m drunk. Or maybe I’m just observant.”

Gojo perked up. “You ultraviolet rays.”

You looked at him, speechless.

Nanami smacked his head. “That’s rude.”

Gojo rubbed the back of his head and explained in Japanese, “What? It provides vitamin D synthesis, photosynthesis, and regulation of biological rhythms. She is smart and strong. Tell her in English.”

Nanami sighed and translated as you blushed, glancing at Gojo, who looked particularly proud of himself.

But Nanami wouldn’t back down easily. “I think you are like the North Star; you provide direction and clarity to those around you. Constant in the night sky, you are reliable. Most people might not notice you for your worth, but your influence is profound, much like how your contributions, though sometimes invisible, are vital and impactful.”

You hid your face in your collar, turning away as you walked, your blush deepening.

“So,” you asked, breaking the awkward silence after a beat, “what’s your favorite food?”

“He likes sandwiches, and I love sweets!” Gojo exclaimed immediately, his enthusiasm palpable.

You grinned. “Me too. In reasonable quantities.”

Nanami exhaled faintly. "Oh, thank God.”

You ignored his quip, focusing back on Gojo. “Do you like dark chocolate?”

Gojo nodded fervently. “Yes! With... strawberries!” Nanami hummed in agreement as well.

“Good taste,” you said approvingly. “But since you like sweets, I think you’d enjoy something from my country. It’s warm, soft, and melts in your mouth. Perfect for a night like this.”

Gojo’s eyes lit up. “I want! You make?”

Nanami tensed at Gojo’s words. “Please forgive him; he’s too enthusiastic.”

You tilted your head, studying Gojo while waving away Nanami's concerns with your hand. “Maybe. But first, lower your Infinity.” Then turned to Nanami and added, “And your ratio thing.”

Nanami’s brows shot up. “That’s a strange request.”

Gojo hesitated, glancing between you and Nanami. “Why?”

You shrugged, a teasing glint in your eyes. “Because I asked nicely.”

Gojo huffed, muttering something in Japanese that sounded suspiciously like “fine,” before lowering his Infinity.

Without warning, you lunged, fingers digging into his sides as you tickled him mercilessly. Halfway through, you felt his hard muscles—he looked built, like a well-defined wall.

“W-what?!” Gojo shrieked, laughter bubbling uncontrollably as he tried to fend you off. “Stop! Evil lady!”

You stepped back, smirking. “I wasn’t expecting you to agree so easily. You trusted me so adorably—I couldn’t resist. Consider this a free lession.” You laughed, then your tone softened. “But really, I wanted to touch your hand. I wanted to know how your skin feels.”

Gojo blinked, his laughter fading as his cheeks flush. Nanami was trying to hide his face.

You extended your hand to both men. “Come on. If you’re interested, I’ll make you that sweet. It’s worth the walk.”

Nanami sighed. “Are you sure? We don’t want to impose; it’s pretty late.”

You smiled and nodded.

Both men immediately offered their hands to you.

These two would go to war for you—just for your smile, no hesitation.

//

By the time you reached your place, the warmth of the alcohol had faded, leaving you pleasantly sleepy.

“You two are coming in,” you declared, unlocking the door.

Nanami frowned. “That’s not necessary—”

“It’s cold,” you interrupted, pushing the door open. “And I’m making sweets. Come in or stay out, your choice.”

Gojo practically dragged Nanami inside, kicking off his shoes with a grin.

The warmth of your penthouse greeted you as you led them inside, shedding your coat. The men had noticed the extreme security while entering your building, and your place looked expensive, leading them to deduce you were more than averagely wealthy.

“Make yourselves comfortable,” you said, heading toward the kitchen.

Gojo immediately flopped onto your couch, poking at the cushions, while Nanami stood awkwardly near the door, his posture still composed.

“Do you always invite strangers into your home?” Nanami asked, his tone laced with mild disapproval.

“Only the ones who lower their Infinity and that cutting thing for me,” you replied with a grin.

Nanami sighed but his lips twitched, hinting at a smile. “It’s called ratio blades.”

You nodded, washed your hands and began preparing the syrup and dough.

As you worked, Gojo wandered around your living room, poking at your figurines—most of them from your own company’s games—and photos. “Cats! So many cats!”

“I like cats,” you said simply, rolling the dough into perfect spheres.

Nanami joined Gojo, his gaze landing on a framed self-portrait you had taken a long time ago. “Did you take all these?”

You nodded. “Photography’s my thing. Cats are my favorite subjects.”

Their attention shifted to a large portrait of you and Megumi from an event. He stood stiffly looking at you while you smiled at the camera, his parents in the background. Gojo scowled at Toji’s face.

The smell of caramelized sugar filled the air as you carried a tray of warm, syrup-soaked sweets to the table, and Gojo immediately forgot about Toji.

"Careful, it’s hot,” you warned, placing the tray on the coffee table. The men took a seat on the couch opposite you.

Gojo’s eyes sparkled as he picked one up, blowing on it before taking his first bite. A soft hum of delight escaped him. “This is heaven. Marry me!” He exclaimed in Japanese.

Still Nanami choked, shooting Gojo a glare. He took his time with his dessert, his expression softening with each bite. “You weren’t exaggerating. This is excellent; he likes it too.”

You leaned back with one for yourself, watching them with a small smile as you chewed your own. “Glad you like it.”

The three of you sat in companionable silence, the warmth of the room and the dessert lulling you into a state of drowsy contentment.

Without much thought, you curled up on the couch across from them, yawning and closing your eyes, unintentionally dozing off with two strangers in your house.

“She’s like a cat,” Gojo murmured in Japanese, his voice softer than usual.

Nanami studied you. “A very drunk cat.”

“But she can hold her liquor.”

“Except for turning into a frat bro dying to fight people.” Nanami deadpaned, making Gojo chuckle.

They sat in silence for a while, the only sound being the soft hum of the heater as you completely dozed off.

Gojo broke the silence first, still speaking softly in Japanese. “Hey, Nanamin. Think she likes us?”

Nanami glanced at him. “Us?”

Gojo shrugged, his grin a little softer. “You know. Like... us us.”

Nanami sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I didn’t plan for this.”

“Neither did I,” Gojo admitted. “But... I don’t hate it.”

Nanami glanced at Gojo, then back at you. “Neither do I.”

“Let’s see where this goes,” Gojo said softly.

Nanami nodded, his usual frown easing.

Just then, your phone rang loudly, startling you awake. You apologized to the men, "Sorry, I dozed off. It’s been a long day.” They smiled, still shoving sweets into their mouths occasionally—well, mostly Gojo.

You fished your phone from your pocket, accidentally cutting the call. Rubbing your eyes, you opened it to find:

Gumi: I thought I told you to stay away from those two?!

Gumi: Why did you invite them to your place?!

Gumi: I’m coming over, and if I find them there, I’ll kill them!

Gumi: Why the fuck are you cutting my calls?!

Gumi: I swear I’m beheading them.

You immediately stood up, startled. “You need to go!”

The men looked at you, confused.

“I can’t explain! Just please go right now!” Panic surged through you, serious enough to pull you out of your drunken sleepy haze. They put the sweets down and got up to leave, but you yelled again, “Not from the front door!”

Nanami groaned as you practically pushed him and Gojo through the back door and slammed the door into their faces.

Just then they realized something.

They still didn't really know anything about you except that you were observant, made them sweets and would fight to pay for others.

//

The silence that followed after you slammed the back door was short-lived. You took a deep breath, your heart pounding, as you tried to regain your composure. The faint sound of the heater humming did little to ease the tension building in the room.

A knock on the front door shattered the calm. It wasn’t a polite knock—it was authoritative, demanding.

You sighed, muttering under your breath, “God help me...”

You barely had time to brace yourself before the door swung open with a force that sent it rebounding slightly on its hinges.

Megumi stood in the doorway, his tailored suit pristine, but his face was anything but composed. His piercing blue eyes scanned the room like a predator assessing its territory, his jaw clenched so tightly you swore you heard his teeth grinding.

His gaze landed on you first, narrowing as he took in the faint flush on your cheeks and the slightly disheveled state of your hair. “You’ve been drinking,” he said flatly, the accusation sharp.

His gaze swept the room like a hawk, narrowing when he spotted the faint remnants of the sweets you’d shared with Gojo and Nanami.

You crossed your arms, meeting his glare with a raised eyebrow. “Good evening to you too, Megumi.”

“Don’t start,” he snapped, stepping into your living room. The air seemed to chill slightly as he moved closer, his presence both imposing and familiar.

The faint scent of alcohol clearly irritated him further. “You smell like a distillery. And there are cursed energy signatures everywhere. They were here, weren’t they?”

Your stomach twisted as his words hung in the air. He wasn’t asking; he was stating a fact.

“I drank earlier, but not with them. And yes, they were here,” you admitted, leaning casually against the back of the couch. “And they left.”

Megumi’s eyes darkened, his frame tense as he stalked further into the room. His presence felt heavier than usual, the weight of his restrained fury palpable. “I told you to stay away from them,” he growled, his voice low and dangerous.

“You did,” you replied calmly, meeting his glare without flinching. “But I don’t recall signing a contract.”

His voice was quieter now but no less intense. “What were they doing here?”

“Eating sweets,” you replied simply as if his looming figure didn’t faze you.

Megumi’s jaw tightened. “You’re joking.”

“Not at all. They’re big fans of dessert,” you said with a faint smirk, your nonchalance clearly irritating him further.

“Do you have any idea who they are?” He demanded, his voice rising slightly.

“Two sorcerers who are surprisingly bad at hiding their curiosity,” you replied, your tone calm.

Megumi’s lips pressed into a thin line as his gaze swept the room. Without warning, he moved past you, scanning every corner with the precision of someone who missed nothing.

“Gumi,” you said, following him as he moved toward the kitchen. “They’re gone. I’m fine.”

He ignored you, his eyes scanning the area as if expecting to find Gojo or Nanami hiding behind the fridge.

When he turned back to you, his expression was a mix of frustration and something deeper—something protective. “You don’t understand what they’re capable of,” he said, his tone clipped. “You’re not a sorcerer. You can’t handle this.”

“I’m not helpless,” you countered, crossing your arms. “And I don’t need you babysitting me.”

His fists clenched at his sides, his shoulders taut with barely restrained anger. “You think this is about babysitting? You’re the only person I care about besides Mom,” he bit out, his voice cracking slightly. “Do you know how easy it would be for them to hurt you?”

“They’re not going to hurt me, Megumi,” you said, your voice softening.

He scoffed, his frustration spilling over. “You don’t know that. They’re sorcerers. They live in a world where people like you—people without cursed energy—are collateral damage.”

You stepped closer, your tone steady but firm. “And your father lived in a world where he killed innocent people, Megumi. Including that girl.”

The words hit like thunder, and for a moment, the room was silent. Megumi’s jaw tightened, his eyes flashing with a mix of pain and anger.

“That doesn’t mean that white-haired freak gets a free pass,” he said finally, his voice low.

“No, it doesn’t,” you agreed, your gaze unwavering. “But it also doesn’t mean you get to project your anger onto me.”

“They’re dangerous,” he hissed, taking another step forward. “Especially him.”

You tilted your head, your gaze steady. “Gojo? He seems harmless enough when he’s not shoving sweets into his mouth.”

Megumi’s fists clenched at his sides. “Harmless? He killed my father.”

You flinched at the reminder, guilt creeping into your chest.

Megumi’s hands flexed at his sides; he calmed down his breathing immediately, eyes softening. “You don’t get it,” he said, his voice rough. “I can’t lose you too.”

“You’re not going to lose me,” you said gently, placing a hand on his arm.

He stiffened at the contact, his gaze dropping to your hand before meeting your eyes. For a moment, his anger seemed to waver, replaced by something raw and vulnerable.

“I can’t protect you if you won’t listen to me,” he said, his tone quieter now but no less intense.

“You’ve always protected me, Gumi,” you said softly. “But I need you to trust me too.”

He let out a heavy sigh, running a hand through his hair. “You’re impossible.”

“And you’re overbearing,” you replied with a small smile.

After another tense moment, Megumi’s posture relaxed slightly. He looked around the room one last time, his eyes lingering on the remnants of the desserts you’d shared with Gojo and Nanami.

“They’re idiots,” he muttered.

You chuckled. “Agreed.”

“I’m increasing security around your building,” he said, his tone leaving no room for argument.

You rolled your eyes but didn’t protest. “Fine. But only if I still get to pet your shikigamis.”

His lips twitched, the faintest hint of a smile breaking through his frustration. “Deal.”

“Next time, call me first.”

“Noted.”

"Come, mom asked you to stay over for the weekend; let’s go.” He said, extending his arm with a faint twitch of a smile on his lips.

“Oh great. I haven’t seen her in a few weeks.” You followed him.

Before closing the door, Megumi looked directly at a particular window in your penthouse.

//

As you both left, the tension in the room finally eased.

From the shadows outside, Gojo and Nanami peeked around the corner, their expressions a mix of curiosity and disbelief.

“He’s scary,” Gojo whispered in Japanese.

“He knew we were here; he could have fought.” Nanami thought out loud.

Gojo then added sagely. “But also... she’s kind of hot?”

Nanami sighed.

“Do you think she’s single?” Gojo mused as Nanami dragged him away.

---

Many Years Ago

It was a warm afternoon, the kind where the sunlight filtered through the trees and painted the grass in dappled patterns. You sat on a park bench, your knees pulled to your chest as you tried to block out the world. The faint sound of children laughing reached your ears, but it felt distant, like it belonged to another reality.

“Hey.”

The voice was small, hesitant. You looked up to see a little boy with dark, spiky hair and eyes that seemed far too knowing for someone his age.

“You’re sitting here alone,” he said matter-of-factly, his head tilting slightly. “Why?”

You hesitated, unsure how to respond. “I just... like the quiet.”

The boy frowned, his brows knitting together. “You’re sad.”

Before you could deny it, another voice interrupted. “Megumi, don’t bother strangers.”

You looked up to see a tall man approaching, his broad shoulders and confident stride impossible to miss. His piercing eyes softened slightly when they landed on you.

“Sorry about him,” the man said, ruffling the boy’s hair. “He’s too nosy for his own good.”

“It’s okay,” you said quietly.

The man studied you for a moment, his gaze lingering on the bruises peeking out from beneath your sleeves. His expression darkened, but his tone remained calm. “Where are your parents?”

“They’re around,” you said quietly, looking away.

The boy—Megumi—plopped down on the bench beside you, completely unfazed. “You don’t like them, do you?”

“Megumi,” the man said warningly, but you shook your head.

“It’s fine,” you murmured. “He’s right. I don’t. They wanted a boy; I came out a girl.”

The man’s fists tightened hard enough that you heard a faint crack, then he crouched down, his gaze level with yours. “Listen, kid,” he said, his voice low but firm. “You don’t have to stay in places that hurt you. You know that, right?”

Your throat tightened, and you nodded, tears stinging your eyes.

From that day on, Toji Fushiguro became a constant in your life. He didn’t say much, but he showed up when it mattered—bringing food, letting you crash on his couch when things got too rough at home, and always making sure you knew you had someone in your corner.

Megumi tagged along wherever you went and was always watching out for you in his quiet, observant way. His sharp wit and occasional bursts of kindness became a source of unexpected comfort.

You felt a sense of belonging, a family forged through shared struggles and unspoken bonds. But when you learned of Toji’s death, the loss hit you hard. It was a wound that ran deep, leaving a lasting impact on Megumi, who never truly recovered from it.

And when you cut contact with your family after a particularly horrible night at eighteen, Megumi’s mom helped you get on your feet, offering support until you could stand on your own.

For a while, it felt like you’d found a family.

---

// Playlist

Before you left to get married

This was supposed to be a moment of excitement—a new chapter—but instead, it was tainted by the look in Megumi’s eyes.

The terminal was too bright, too sterile. Every sound—footsteps, muffled announcements, the scrape of luggage wheels—echoed like a dull ache in your head. You stood by the departure gate, clutching your boarding pass, trying to steady your breathing. You had said goodbye to Megumi’s mom, but Megumi had disappeared since the day you told him you’d accepted the proposal to get married to your husbands. He didn’t pick up calls, didn’t respond to texts, and wasn’t at his office or at home. You wanted to say goodbye before you left, make amends so that he visited you for both your and his life's major occasions, or without reasons. You didn’t go out of your way to hurt him, but you hated yourself for it. He was right to have expected something of you when all those years ago his father had been nothing but kind towards you.

Then the storm came.

“Leaving just like that?”

The voice froze you in place, laced with a hurt you hadn’t anticipated. Turning slowly, you met Megumi’s gaze. His 20-something frame was taller, broader like his father, than the boy you’d met all those years ago—a sharp-edged man you’d always known he’d become. He looked disheveled, as if he had been drinking; his coat and tie were absent, his sleeves rolled up, and a few top buttons of his shirt were undone. But his eyes... his eyes still held the same piercing clarity, now clouded with betrayal.

You swallowed hard. “Megumi—”

“Don’t.” His voice cut through the distance between you, and you flinched. “Don’t start with excuses.”

“I’m not making excuses,” you said softly. “I’m doing what I have to do.”

"What do you have to do?” He laughed bitterly, running a hand through his spiky hair. “You’re leaving everything—everyone—for them. You’re marrying the man who killed my father. And the other one, who just stood by and let it all happen.”

The words hit harder than you’d expected, slicing through the fragile composure you’d been clinging to. “That’s not fair,” you tried, your voice trembling. “You know it’s not that simple.” You stepped towards him.

“Then what is it like?” he snapped, stepping away. “Because from where I’m standing, it looks like you’ve chosen them over everything else. Over me. I thought you were better than this. I thought you cared about me.”

“You’re my best friend, Megumi. You always will be,” you insisted, your throat tightening. “I do care about you.”

“Do you? You are moving to a whole other country for them! Do you even know the language properly?” His voice cracked, and for a moment, he looked like the boy you’d met in the park all those years ago.

Tears welled in your eyes. “I’m not leaving you, Megumi.”

“Yes, you are.” His tone was flat now, his expression hardening like a wall slamming shut. “You’ve already made your choice, and it’s not me.”

“I’m not doing this to hurt you,” you said, your voice barely audible.

He scoffed, the hurt radiating off him in waves. “Doesn’t feel like it.” He sighed, looking away from you, and continued, “You’ve made your choice, and it’s not me. So, go ahead. Leave. But don’t expect me to be waiting when you come back. The next time I see you, it’ll be at your funeral.”

The words hit you like a punch to the gut. Tears pricked your eyes, but you forced yourself to stay composed. “I’m sorry you feel that way,” you said quietly. “But I hope one day you’ll be able to forgive me.”

He turned away sharply, his shoulders tense. “Don’t count on it.”

The words hung in the air, heavy and final. You opened your mouth to respond, but nothing came out. He strode away without a backward glance.

You stood there, the sounds of the terminal fading into a dull hum, your heart splintering under the weight of his parting words.

Nanami came to you and held you close while Gojo took care of the luggage.

---

Present day

The sea stretched endlessly before you, the waves lapping softly against the shore under the dim light of a waning moon. You sat on the edge of the wooden dock, legs dangling over the side, your hands resting limply in your lap. The salt in the air clung to your skin, but you barely noticed. Your eyes, glassy and unfocused, stared at the horizon, seeing nothing but the fractured pieces of a life that had slipped through your fingers.

The memory of Megumi’s words cut through the silence, a cruel echo of a bond you thought unbreakable.

"The next time I see you, it’ll be at your funeral."

You swallowed hard, the phantom weight of those words pressing against your chest. You’d believed so fiercely that he’d understand one day at the time and shared history would bridge the chasm your choices had created.

But you were wrong. He was right.

Your fingers tightened into fists as the guilt churned inside you. He had tried to warn you and begged you to stay away from the men who had dismantled your life piece by piece. And yet, you had brushed him off, convinced of your own strength and autonomy. You had taken his trust, his family’s kindness, and burned it in the fires of your hubris.

When your HQ in Japan was nearly razed and your life reduced to ashes, it wasn’t the men who betrayed you that haunted your thoughts—it was Megumi. You had been too ashamed to call him yourself, delegating the task to an employee with shaking hands. Yet, despite everything, he had come through.

His company’s security solutions had locked down your global offices in a matter of hours, protecting millions of lives. He didn’t ask for thanks, didn’t even reach out to you directly. It was as though he’d swept in like a ghost, solving the problem before vanishing back into the shadows of your shared past.

And still, you couldn’t bring yourself to reach out. What could you say? That he’d been right all along? That you missed him? That the absence of his sarcastic remarks and overprotective nature felt like a gaping hole in your already fractured soul?

You wondered if he thought about you at all. Did he have friends now? Or had he become like you—an isolated workaholic, buried under the weight of responsibility and regret?

Behind you, Sukuna sat silently on the dock, leaning back on his palms. He hadn’t said much since dragging you here, content to let the waves and the stars speak for themselves. He was steady, an immovable force in your crumbling world.

Sukuna sighed, his fingers drumming against the wood. “Still thinking about them?”

Them. Your twins. The children you’d lost.

“They are still yours,” he had told you, the words a faint echo now, lost in the cavern of your grief. They didn’t heal you, but they lingered, a reminder that some part of you had existed in them, however fleetingly.

The nightmares came every night. You didn’t tell Sukuna, but you didn’t need to. He was always there when you woke up drenched in sweat. His strong arms would pull you close, his voice steady and grounding.

“They’re gone,” he would say, the words harsh but real. “They’re not coming back. I’ll kill them if they do.”

You never asked who he meant. You didn’t care.

The therapy sessions were supposed to help. Sukuna drove you to every appointment, his presence looming in the background like a silent guardian. He never asked you how they went, never pressed for details. He just waited, scrolling through his phone or staring out the window until you returned.

But the numbness refused to leave. It clung to you like a second skin. You hadn’t spoken to Sukuna in months, not really. Your words had dwindled into hollow gestures—a nod, a faint smile, a muttered “thanks.”

He never complained. He just stayed.

Now, sitting on the dock with the sea stretching endlessly before you, Sukuna shifted closer. His knee brushed yours, a subtle reminder of his presence.

“You ever gonna talk again?” He asked, his tone light but probing.

Your lips parted, but no words came. You couldn’t bring yourself to speak, to admit that you missed someone else’s presence just as much as his.

Megumi’s face flashed in your mind—his eyes, his cutting words, the way he always seemed to know what you needed before you did.

Sukuna’s gaze flicked to you, his eyes narrowing slightly. “Who’s on your mind?”

You turned your head slightly, meeting his gaze for the first time in hours. “No one,” you lied, your voice hoarse from disuse.

He didn’t push, but the slight tightening of his jaw told you he didn’t believe you.

The stars above reflected faintly in the dark water, their light distant and cold. You wondered if Megumi ever looked at the stars and thought of you, or if you were as distant to him now as they were to the earth.

A/N: And that’s the emotional rollercoaster for today, folks! 🎢 How did you guys feel about Megumi and the airport scene. Drop your votes, share your feels, and get ready for the next chapter—it’s gonna be sending y'all to therapy.

Next Chapter will be out in 2-3 Days.

All Works Masterlist

Tag-list = @lady-of-blossoms @stargirl-mayaa @dark-agate @tqd4455 @roscpctals99 @sxlfcxst @se-phi-roth @austisticfreak @helloxkittylo @itoshi-r @kodzukensworld @revolvinggeto @luringfantasy @xx-tazzdevil-xx

If I missed to tag anyone, please remind me.

[bambooswordwielder]

Imagine how SVSSS looks to anyone who's not Shen Yuan or even Luo Binghe.

Imagine being another Qing Jing disciple, crying while trying to write in perfect calligraphy about a poem about some lake and moon and you glance at your seat mate and it's some random kid analysing every inch of your Shizun's backside instead of analysing the poem assigned to him. You, as a good Shixiong/Shijie, of course slap him on the shoulder and try to scold him for his disrespect, but when that kid turns to face you, you swear he gives you the most dirty, 'you-are-just-an-ant-to-me-just-die' glare that somehow makes you feel like the temperature in the room dropped to -18288383838 degrees before he turns right back to 'admiring the view'.

You then later find out that your Shizun used to whip him nearly every other day and used to force him to sleep in the wood hut. You start writing an essay about the effects of Stockholm Syndrome.

Imagine being an An Ding senior disciple, tired from all the budgets and paperwork that's been assigned to you before now being sent to Qing Jing peak to had over a form that your Shen-Shibo has to fill out. When you knock on the door, you hear a loud crash and you swear you hear a voice yell out in some unknown language you've never heard of before the door slams open and the most ethereal, noble, and breathtaking man stands before you. With a paper stuck to his forehead and ink stains all over his face.

He fills out the form while cursing out your Shizun and you try to mention the piece of paper but he doesn't hear you before he's off back into his hut. As you leave, you swear you can hear him yelling once again in some unknown language at something about 'Mission' and 'Points'. You don't think you want to know about them if the tone and insults your Shen-Shibo uses when talking about them sounds far too similar to how he was before his Qi Deviation. You certainly hope he stays the same and doesn't revert back because Inter-Peak relations have been so peaceful.

Imagine being one of the healers at Qian Cao, constantly moving as you rush to heal everyone and their mothers of diseases and injuries you swear should've killed them. One day demons invade Cang Qiong and it seems floods of disciples enter your peak injured and battered. You're busy bandaging up a wounded Xian Shu disciple before suddenly Liu Qingge himself slams in with Shen Qingqiu of all people in his arms and suddenly now everyone's attention is on the peaklord who apparantly got infected with without-a-cure!? HOW!? HE TOOK IT SO HIS DISCIPLE WOULDN'T GET HURT!? SHEN QINGQIU!?

After a whole a lot of stress of moving the peaklord to a room, your Shizun, Mu Qingfang and the Sect Leader himself soon arrive and you're able to return to healing the other disciples. A few years passed and life at Qian Cao has regained some level of normalcy until some-fucking-how Shen Qingqiu bloody dies and his former disciple, Luo Binghe — the same kid who was crying outside his door the day his Shizun got poisoned — has stolen his body and now won't let anyone take it back to be buried. You hear a loud thud outside the building and in comes Liu Qingge, bleeding from every single part of his body with his arm seemingly snapped at some point. Your Shizun rushes to him and before you realise it, Liu Qingge has been bandaged up and has once again disappeared once again. You hope to never see that sight again.

Liu Qingge would return every single night with more wounds than you've ever seen, more scars than should reasonably fit on a person's body, and a thicker stench of blood and death than any person living should have. You feel like vomiting. You wish he would stop. Your Liu-Shishu doesn't.