#giving victorian lord

[picked-stitch]

Barry Keoghan in Burberry at the 2024 Met Gala

[remvamp]

fem chuuya mwah mwah mwahh

[sunnygander]

ive got the worst/best substance reaction combo cos i take an elephant dose and feel nothing but have giant loser hangovers for 2 days. best in terms of like, aversion to substance use. worst in terms of. like everything else

[anachronistic-falsehood]

just realized that if i’m drawing all the gung ho guns in dresses i’m gonna have to draw leonof the puppetmaster. what. the fuck do i even do with him

[brooklyn-babylon]

all the sins you didn’t have

by brooklyn_babylon / @twopoppies (E, 100K)

It’s 1880, and premier danseur Harry Styles is running out of time. At twenty-five, he’s fast becoming too old for the lecherous benefactors who frequent The Paris Opera Ballet’s infamous backstage, and the only way to ensure he isn’t left penniless or rotting away in a brothel is to secure a permanent patron.

Enter Lord Louis Tomlinson: wealthy, young, handsome. And, unfortunately, a notorious rake. Harry strikes him and his gigantic ego off the list immediately… At least until they realize they have a common set of enemies and a common goal: revenge.

Though their ruse starts smoothly enough, the decadent freedom of Belle Époque Paris gives way to the rigid social rules of aristocratic Victorian London. Can a relationship that started as a calculated deception withstand the harsh realities of societal expectations and family duty to become a love more honest and profound than either has ever known?

[patrice-bergerons]

I was at the national maritime museum today and I feel like we as a fandom are sleeping on just how many bonkers victorian fads (pre-expedition) Fitzjames would buy into with his full chest and how much situational comedy it could cause in fix-it aus where they make it back to London in one piece.

Just to give examples– Lord Nelson and his death were so monumental in public consciousness, that a ton of commemorative plates, mugs, trinkets and other memorabilia were created to celebrate him, both before and after his death.

(Yeah, that's a wholeass clock depicting his death).

I know that was a while ago by the 1840s but Brits love Nelson and tell me JFJ does not own at least one such cup or a small and tacky statue perhaps, to prove to everyone how English and patriotic he is. I want fitzier to move in together, only for Francis to find 5 of these while unboxing James’s belongings from before the expedition.

Similarly, long before Nelson's death, when he won that battle in the Nile– well read for yourself:

Once again, this is a good 40 years ago so I'm not saying James would have done this himself BUT my point is that Brits of that era were unhinged in so many ways as compared to our sensibilities. Whatever equivalent trend was going on in the 1840s ought to be researched, because you know our girl would be doing it with his full chest. The possibilities are endless. We have a duty to embrace them.

Apparently, there was also quite the appetite in the public consciousness for arctic/polar expeditions, including, once again, commemorative plates, which I humbly think should feature more prominently in post-canon fix it fics.

LASTLY this painting of Nelson fighting a polar bear took me out. Petition for post-canon fitzier to come across it in some hall or museum and absolutely lose it lmao

[ravensmadreads]

OHMYGOD-

Denim on Denim

A Seams x Grays crossover

Summary: Joel tries to get a haircut - but it turns out he can’t do anything in the QZ without getting into a fistfight, and you’re lucky enough to be in the audience.

Warnings: Mildly spicy thoughts, two sexy men fighting, language, reader was a hairdresser prior to the outbreak and has a nickname related to her job, no use of Y/N, no physical descriptions of reader, very lightly edited.

This oneshot can be read independently of the two series, but for the full experience, I recommend reading at least Grays. This is a post-outbreak AU of Grays, and is set before Seams Joel leaves the QZ. Part of the Shiv's salon drabbles.

Word count: 2.7k

Notes: A whole year after my random thoughts about how Joel's hair looks that good in an apocalypse and a random notif on this post that reminded of it, we finally get Joel to Shiv's salon... or do we? 🤷🏻‍♀️ I had a blast writing this oneshot - it's a bit silly, a bit spicy, I hope you enjoy it ❤️

‘Goddamnit.’

Joel swipes viciously at the curl hanging over eyes, like a boxer at a punchbag. Try as he might to slick it back, every time his shovel hits the dirt, the hair uncoils, bouncing obnoxiously in his field of vision.

He needs a fucking haircut. Tess usually does it for him every month or so, but she’s been in a mood - snapping at him, keeping him at arm’s length, she hasn’t even been to his apartment for two whole weeks.

This time of the year is hard for her. He knows all too well that he’s the same every September. They’re in each of their own time loops, a cage within the trappings of the QZ.

‘You look like you need a trim, bro.’

Joel barely glances up. He knows the guy, they share a surname after all. People call him Ben, or Benny, and even an old man like him knows he’s a good-looking son of a bitch.

They work the same shifts sometimes, and he knows Tess has crossed paths with him at the illegal fight nights. Joel has also seen him a few times at the bar, where he’s usually surrounded by even more good-looking motherfuckers.

Joel knows he’s a damn flirt too. He always has pretty words for Tess when he sees her. He’s harmless though, and he supposes that she deserves sweet nothings from at least one Miller since he’s no good at them.

Realising he hasn’t responded, Joel grunts noncommittally, self-consciousness prickling the back of his neck.

‘I know someone, she was a professional hairdresser before all this.’

Joel ignores him and keeps shovelling.

‘If you tell her you know me, she’ll give you a good rate.’

More shovelling.

‘Alright man, my shift’s up. See you ‘round.’

Five steps, and Joel sighs, digging the shovel into the dirt.

‘Wait.’

Joel stands on the doorway, and stares.

There’s an actual backwash in the corner of the dingy living room - well, living space. There are no doors in the tenement apartments.

‘You waiting for it to say hello back, or what?’

His eyes snap to yours, a scowl drawing his brows together.

Not that you look at all intimidated, one eyebrow arched high and an amused smile sitting lopsided on your lips, which he will admit throws him just a bit. He’s not used to having to work for it.

Giving you a tight nod, he takes two steps into the apartment. He recognises the layout, a mirror of his own, which is a few blocks away.

Closing the door with a flourish behind him, you ask brightly, ‘You’re here for a haircut?’

He’s about to answer when something winks at him, and he looks up, momentarily blinded by the reflection of afternoon light in the cracked mirror that hangs over a battered styling station.

Your apartment has windows that don’t look directly onto the next building, and sun floods the space. Even light is a real rarity in the shithole of a QZ, where everything indoors is dingy. He idly wonders if you had to bribe someone -

Distracted, he catches the sliver of a shadow moving from the corner of his eye a split second later than he would if he was on high alert. On reflex, his fingers find the hilt of his knife and he whips it out in a wide arc, swinging to his left where gunmetal catches the afternoon light.

‘Drop it!’ he barks, the same moment as the other man growls, ‘The fuck are you doing in my home with a knife?’

To Joel’s bewilderment, you chuckle somewhere to his right, amused. ‘C’mon guys. Dramatic, much?’

‘He snuck up on me,’ Joel growls defensively.

‘Frankie, put your gun away, dude’s just here for a haircut - I’m assuming anyway, he never did answer my question.’

‘Yes, I’m here for a haircut,’ he snaps, resheathing his knife. ‘Fuck would I be doin’ here if not?’

‘Fuck should I know, dipshit?’ retorts Frankie, tucking his gun in the back of his jeans. ‘You always bring a knife to your haircuts?’

‘D’ya always threaten to shoot paying customers?’

‘No, we definitely do not.’ You step into the space between the two men in case they get snippy with each other again. ‘Who sent you?’

Your customer crosses his arms, and you can’t help noticing the fabric of his shirt stretching across those broad shoulders. ‘Blondie.’

‘Blondie?’ you frown, confused. ‘Oh wait, you mean Ben? I thought I recognised you. I’ve seen you at one of his fights, with your wife? What’s her name now -’

‘Tess,’ he replies, then promptly looks like he wishes he’d stopped himself before he answered. ‘She’s not my -’ he trails off, and it’s clear he doesn’t like how you’re reading him at the moment, grumbling, ‘None of your damn business.’

‘Hey, you watch your mouth around my lady, old man,’ warns Frankie, ratcheting up the tension again.

Squaring his shoulders, the man seems to grow two inches. ‘Or what?’

Suddenly aware of being caught in the crossfire between your protective husband on one side, and this gruff, silvered stranger on the other, heat bubbles unbidden under your skin, the unexpected reaction from your body catching you off guard.

Biting your lower lip, you clear your throat, and somehow you sound steadier than you feel when you dispense the orders. 

‘Ok, this is enough. Frankie, sit down over there,’ you say, pointing him in the direction of the couch on the other side of the room. ‘And you - since you’re Benny’s friend, two ration cards.’

‘’M not his friend,’ he almost spits out that last word, as if it tastes weird.

You give him a pointed look. ‘Three ration cards, then.’

He huffs, and hands you two from his back pocket. ‘Fine, I’m Benny’s friend.’

You grin. ‘If you’re besties, it’s one.’

‘Don’t push it.’

You back off with a chuckle. ‘Fine, not besties. Maybe next time. Now sit.’

Joel does as he’s told, awkwardly, in the styling chair, a relic from the pre-outbreak days. It creaks dangerously under his weight, and it wobbles, slightly off-kilter. The cracked leather is warm from the sun, which seeps into his skin, and he finds himself wondering when was the last time he went to a hair salon.

Sarah used to love cutting his hair. She always made an afternoon out of it on one of his rare days not working overtime, putting the music on, setting up her Barbie mirror on the dining room table, and having him pick out a hairstyle from a magazine (it never looked anywhere near like the photos). She’d even put a disposable raincoat over him like a hairdresser’s cape. She really wasn’t any good, there’s a reason why Tommy didn’t let her anywhere near his curls, but he always wore her handiwork with pride -

So lost in his thoughts, he reacts purely on instinct when, for the first time in decades, fingers other than his own find his hair.

Swivelling around, he’s out of the chair in a split second, fingers wrapped tight around your wrists. You yelp as he pushes you back against the wall, which he sees from the shape of your lips but doesn’t hear over the blood pounding in his ears.

Joel barely holds you there for a second before he’s yanked backwards by a hand on the back of his collar, and he stumbles, crashing into the adjacent wall. He barely misses the fist heading towards his face, ducking just in time to save himself what would undoubtedly have been a broken nose.

He barrels into the younger man with his shoulder, expecting him to tumble back, and is surprised when he doesn’t budge. Joel’s aware he’s got a few years on him, but he more than holds his own against punks that age on the daily. This guy clearly has a background in combat, and it’s taking Joel everything to stay on his feet.

In the meantime, you’re still plastered against the wall, dazed by your customer’s reaction. Heck, you haven’t even gotten his name yet before he literally jumped you. He’s a skittish one, that’s for sure. 

You smile at the memory of Frankie’s first time with you at the salon - he’d give this guy a good run for his money. Lucky for him, you’ve always been good at wrangling the nervous ones.

Speaking of, the two men are now literally wrestling in front of you. If you had to venture a guess by the grays in the hair, you reckon your customer is pushing fifty. He’s built like a fucking tank though, and he’s giving everything he’s got.

So you decide to watch for a little while. Boys will be boys, best leave them to let off some steam. Leaning against the wall, you get comfortable, and you think wistfully to yourself that Ashton would have loved this view.

You’re not sure how you missed that they’re both wearing denim on denim, and you would struggle to pick out which is your husband if not for the hat on his head. Yes, the damn cap survived the apocalypse with him.

They are remarkably similar in build, though your customer seems to stand just a couple of inches taller. His biceps flex and bulge through the shirt sleeves as he scuffles with Frankie, teeth bared; meanwhile, your husband plants his feet, jeans stretched tight over his adorable little ass, trying to hold the man back long enough to throw a punch.

If the room was warm when they were trading barbs, it’s positively sweltering right now.

All you can see are broad shoulders and fabric bursting at the seams, grappling fingers and clenched fists. Back muscles rippling through denim, teasing slivers of skin and soft bellies when shirttails ride up and jeans fall low. The cheerful afternoon sun kisses their skin golden, casting long shadows across the creaking wooden floor.

And they’re not quiet. Throaty grunts as they jostle, panted breath peppered with cusses, fuck’s and sons of bitches as they wrestle for control.

Suddenly, you’re the one who’s out of breath despite not moving a muscle.

As much as you would’ve loved to stand and watch, you can tell both men are starting to get winded. You don’t exactly want the show to end, entertainment is hard to come by in the QZ, let alone of such a visually stimulating variety, in your own living room. But you think you hear the older man wheeze, their shirts are now stained with sweat, and the frantic energy they started with turns heavy with lethargy.

With a rueful sigh, you speak up, ‘Frankie, come on, that’s enough now.’

He growls, ‘No fucking way. He tried to hurt you!’

‘He barely touched me. It was just his PTSD acting out.’

‘I don’t have PTSD,’ the man protests, shooting you a glare before dodging an elbow.

‘There’s no shame in having PTSD,’ you admonish him. ‘Or in getting help.’

‘Why don’t you give me a hand then?’ he scoffs, tipping his head at Frankie.

‘Yeah, looks like you can use it,’ your husband taunts him.

‘Sure you can’t, asshole? Can’t even take down an old man on your own?’

‘I hope you're hungry, 'cause you're gonna eat your words, asshole -’

Hands on hips, you roll your eyes at the exceedingly average trash talk. ‘You know what? I tried asking nicely - I’m going in.’

It’s a tight squeeze, but somehow, you find a space between the elbows and shoulders and knees, and you wedge yourself in. It’s hot and humid between the two men, who are still trying to get at each other, despite the fact that you now have one hand on each of their chests, trying to pry them apart. Trapped between the two solid walls of chest, their raw strength vibrates through you, through harsh panting breath, the musk of sweat and man, and denim rubs rough on your bare skin where you’re pressed up against them.

It’s not hard to imagine being in this position in an entirely different situation, with the axis tilted, on a softer surface. Heat prickles all over you like needles, and unbeknownst to you, your thighs press together, and your panties start to feel sticky -

‘What the fuck are you doing?’ asks Frankie, incredulous as he looms over you, still grabbing onto the other guy’s shirt.

You bat your eyelashes at him, then crane your neck over your shoulder to wink at the other man. A little spiral of a curl dangles over his eyes as he glares at you, puffs of warm air hitting the shell of your ear. 

Knowing that your best chance of breaking off this nonsense is to wildly offend both men, you purr, ‘Making a delicious sandwich ‘cause I’m famished -’

Frankie flushes bright red instantly, and he roars, ‘Get your filthy hands off my wife, son of a bitch!’

Not that his hands are anywhere near you (a trategy), nonetheless, the man jumps five feet back, as if you burned him. He may deny Tess being his wife, but the look of absolute horror of being accused of touching you speaks volumes.

You can tell he would have doubled over catching his breath, hands on his knees, if not for his pride. Stubbornly, he stands tall, hands on hips, chest heaving.

‘Bit jumpy, are we?’ you quip.

‘You always that handsy?’ he retorts.

‘Can’t help myself with beautiful curls like yours,’ you wink, and your smile widens when he flushes.

Frankie throws up his hands in disbelief. ‘Shiv, I’m standing right here.’

‘You always are,’ you tease, pressing a kiss to his pinched lips. ‘Now, go take a walk, you've made enough of a scene.’

‘I’m not leaving you here with him -’

The older man scoffs. ‘Don’t worry, I’m not interested in your woman.’

You feign indignation. ‘Hey! That’s hurtful.’

‘You should be, jackass!’ Frankie gripes, and promptly looks as confused as the other man at his own pronouncement.

Taking his hand, you pull him towards the door. ‘Go on babe, you were going to have a drink with Pope anyway. I got everything under control.’

‘Alright,’ Frankie relents, but not before he points a menacing finger at your customer. ‘If he tries anything -’

‘I know where the gun is,’ you finish his sentence.

Pressing one final kiss to your lips and throwing a glare over your shoulder, Frankie turns and leaves - and you preen at the knowledge that he trusts you can take care of yourself.

Once the door closes, you smile. ‘So… should we start over?’

 The man snorts. ‘I’d say.’

‘I’m Shiv,’ you say, but you don’t offer him your hand. He doesn’t seem to be the handshaking type.

He picks up on your perception, studying you with curious eyes. ‘Joel.’

Pushing the swivel chair back to the styling station, you gesture at him to retake his seat, and this time, you make sure his eyes are on yours in the mirror while you stand over his shoulder.

‘Hair’s a bit long, huh?’ you remark, eyeing the ringlet over his eyes.

‘It’s drivin’ me nuts,’ he admits.

You hold up your hands this time, giving him plenty of notice. ‘May I?’

He nods, and you start small, wrapping the spiral around your index finger with a grin. ‘I wasn’t just saying it, y’know. You do have beautiful hair.’

He shifts awkwardly, the chair squeaking, obviously uncomfortable with compliments. ‘Dunno. I’m all gray and shit.’

‘As someone wise once said, grays are sexy as fuck,’ you assure him. Running your fingers through his curls, you study the texture critically, noting the blunt ends and uneven thickness. Nothing a professional haircut can’t fix. ‘Trust me, I’m very wise.’

He hums, unconvinced, but you can see the lines around his eyes crease in amusement. ‘If you say so.’

You wink at him in the mirror. ‘When I’m done with you, Tess will have the hardest time keeping her hands to herself.’

‘What makes you think she doesn’t already?’

It takes you a moment to unfreeze, stunned by his retort. At his arched eyebrow, you burst into laughter. ‘You’re a sassy one, aren’t you, Joel?’

He huffs, half-amused, and shakes his head. ‘It’s a haircut, not a miracle.’

You squeeze his shoulder, grinning when he doesn’t jump at the contact. ‘Trust me, I’m just that good at my job.’

More notes: If you enjoyed this oneshot, I wrote a series of drabbles of Shiv giving other Pedro boys haircuts - you can find them in the Grays masterlist 🩶 I may write more for this universe and some point if inspiration strikes again, thank you for reading!

And if you wanted an inspo shot of Joel's hair, here you go ❤️

Dividers by @firefly-graphics

[hometoursandotherstuff]

This Queen Anne Victorian in Columbus, WI is, if you ask me, a bargain at $635K. It has 5bds, 3ba, and you must see the interior.

It's a very large house, but have you ever seen an entrance like this with 2 separate stairs? Isn't this stunning?

There's so much architectural detail and this fireplace is magnificent.

The brick fireplace in this sitting is unusual. Normally, I would expect to see it in a home of a different era.

Even though it's a bit darkish, I don't mind the wallpaper. It's what would've been in this home back in the day.

It's furnished with the dark antiques of the era that are museum quality. The draperies the rooms a kind of heavy look.

I have to say that the antiques are magnificent, though.

The dining room has beautiful wainscoting. Everything in this home is original and the coffered ceiling is also pretty.

The enclosed front porch entrance is so lovely. Can you imagine this as a conservatory full of plants?

This cute little room would make a nice home office.

Looks like they started working on the walls in here. Original light fixture and lovely fireplace.

What a great bath. Look at this. It's so pretty and vintage.

Oh, my. I'm in love with the kitchen. It's so big, and check out the stove. This is an original kitchen. I wonder if the big counter on the right will convey.

This is so elegant. I have to say that this home is special.

Wow, it's like a museum. I like how the fireplace is next to the bed. On cold nights, it kept them toastier.

Wow, look at the twin beds. This room is very large, but I can't help looking at the antiques.

This is truly a beautiful home and here's a bonus- it has central air conditioning. On some real estate sites it's been removed from the market b/c it's been for sale for over 235 days. So, it's time to give it a rest, I guess. Maybe if they modernize it, paint all the wood black, and the walls gray, remove all the antiques and let the agent Photoshop modern furniture in, it'll sell. Oh, Lord, I hope not.

https://www.fultongrace.com/home-details/2622771/902-park-avenue-columbus-53925-wi/

[thethirdromana]

Christmas is coming, so what weird Victorian Christmas cards would Dracula characters send?

Mina Harker:

Mina, who hangs out in graveyards, sees no contradiction between the message on the card and the dead robin picture.

Jonathan Harker:

I'm going all-in on the fanon that Jonathan loves cats.

Abraham van Helsing:

He sends this post-canon with a jokey message inside. Van Helsing was never particularly good at reading the room.

Lucy Westenra:

Lucy selects this card for Arthur. It's romantic, isn't it?

Quincey Morris:

Quincey sends this to Arthur and Jack in memory of their adventures in Siberia.

Arthur Holmwood:

A relatively sophisticated card for the young lord, who always chooses Christmas cards with dogs on.

Jack Seward:

A sad kitten for a wet cat of a man.

RM Renfield:

I trust I don't need to give a reason for this one.

Sources for cards: The Museum of London, BBC news, BBC Radio 4, and Art Matters podcast.

[1dfanfictionbookcovers]

all the sins you didn't have by Brooklyn_Babylon ( @twopoppies )

It’s 1880, and premier danseur Harry Styles is running out of time. At twenty-five, he’s fast becoming too old for the lecherous benefactors who frequent The Paris Opera Ballet’s infamous backstage, and the only way to ensure he isn’t left penniless or rotting away in a brothel is to secure a permanent patron. Enter Lord Louis Tomlinson: wealthy, young, handsome. And, unfortunately, a notorious rake. Harry strikes him and his gigantic ego off the list immediately… At least until they realize they have a common set of enemies and a common goal: revenge. Though their ruse starts smoothly enough, the decadent freedom of Belle Époque Paris gives way to the rigid social rules of aristocratic Victorian London. Can a relationship that started as a calculated deception withstand the harsh realities of societal expectations and family duty to become a love more honest and profound than either has ever known?

[lord-emerson]

Sign-ups for Lord Emerson's Lonely Hearts Club are Live!

Garlands, paper cranes, ribbons and wreaths — so much to delight the eye as the city prepares for this year's Feast of the Rose. As if the constant bombardment of pinks and reds wasn't outrageous enough, a number of similarly coloured fliers have begun showing up in shop windows across London. They all pertain to the holiday too, of course. And they promise an evening that participants won't be able to soon forget...

ʙᴀɴɴᴇʀ ᴀʀᴛ ʙʏ ʟᴇᴛᴛᴇʀs-ᴏғ-ғɪʀᴇ

Willkommen, bienvenue, welcome!

Sign-ups for Lord Emerson's Lonely Hearts Club are now open! This is a fan-run Fallen London roleplay event, where you can exchange in-game letters with fellow players, all within the context of a Victorian speed dating night. It will be running from February 1st and it will last the entire month of February as a way to celebrate The Feast of the Exceptional Rose.

To sign up, simply fill out this form by January 29th. You can register any number of original characters, as long as they have an in-game account that allows them to receive messages from other players. You will also be able to specify whether you're interested in romantic or platonic interactions, since the event will be catering to both.

On February 1st, the event will officially open. In-game, it will take place at Caligula's coffee shop — I will be posting an in-depth description of the setting here on my blog when the time comes. Outside of the game, February 1st is when players will be receiving the name and contact information of their first roleplaying partner. They will be assigned two more partners over the course of the event on February 10th and 20th respectively. This is to give everyone a chance to talk to a variety of players (and hopefully guarantee that they can start roleplaying with at least one of them).

After they receive each name, players will then be able to exchange ideas about whether their characters have met before the event, discuss how they would first react to being sat across from each other at a table at LELHC, anything they want... and then finally start roleplaying if they wish. This part of the event is fairly loose, and it is up to each participant to create a scenario that they would enjoy writing about with their assigned partner.

At the end of the event, all participants will receive a closing letter from Lord Emerson, which may or may not include a prompt to encourage further roleplaying scenes between players. Though the event itself has a closing date, the roleplaying aspect certainly doesn't — players should feel more than welcome to keep the ball rolling beyond any of the deadlines mentioned.

The fine print: Though the writing featured in this event is meant to have a PG-13 rating (similar to the game), for safety reasons players must be aged 18+ in order to sign up. Furthermore, the form allows participants to specify any player(s) that they would rather not be paired up with. This information will remain confidential and their wishes will be respected, no questions asked.

For any further inquiries, Lord Emerson and I are always at your service. We hope to see you at Caligula's soon, so we can celebrate the Feast of the Rose together!

[natequarter]

concepts i think would be fun for a nuwho companion:

a historical companion. like a proper one. none of this wishy-washy victorian nonsense. give me a tudor carpenter. a twelfth-century byzantine soldier. a tenth-century arab scholar. something to sink my teeth into!!!

ok rant over. now i want a bog standard young woman from london type companion... from the 70s/80s. it would be an interesting point of reflection for doctor who i think

a time lord companion. initially pitched similarly to romana (only minus the whole bird on his head guardian nonsense), the same age as romana in her first appearance - only, as soon becomes clear, drastically different in character. this time lord, barely of legal age, is (or was) a cia agent and bears the scars of growing up during and after the time war. can the doctor get this cynical, traumatised child to realise they've been forced to grow up too fast?

a robot. or an android, whatever word you prefer. similar to nardole but like, more obviously a robot. their consciousness was originally a living human's, uploaded by accident after the human's death to a factory work robot. they have all the core elements of the human, but their personality is different - travelling with the doctor is an opportunity to process their severe identity issues

an alien historian. like properly alien. really interested in studying a niche period of earth history - perhaps one from our future, even

[sunflowervoltwentyeight]

Happy 28th! Here is my September 2024 fic rec, organized by word count, from longest to shortest. You can view my other fic recs here. Enjoy!

Godless, Graceless, and Young by kiddle / @bluejeanlouis (110k)

Seattle, Washington, 1991

It takes a special breed to have a slacker persona and still be a millionaire rockstar. Harry is about halfway there. He's the guitarist in a Seattle grunge band that could finally be headed somewhere, but he's also been sleeping on his bassist's sofa for the last three months and has been fired from every day-job he's had. Money doesn't equal success, but it does pay the bills.

When a job offer and a new lead singer stumble into Harry's life, he might be getting a lot more than he bargained for. Like a couple of extra gigs and a boy who can teach him more than just how to mix a few drinks, and it's gonna take a few band brawls and a whole lot of heart-searching to get there.

He's gotta have one somewhere...

Coax the Cold by mediawhore / @mediawhorefics (86k)

England, 1897.  

English Professor Louis Tomlinson’s passion for the occult has been a source of mockery and derision for most of his life. When he hears whispers of a travelling freak show newly established in London claiming the existence of a monstrous sea hybrid, half-man, half-fish, Louis sees it as his ticket to credibility amongst his peers. The summer he spends undercover working on the show, however, gives him much more than that.

Late Nights and Good Intentions by princelouisau / @princelouisau (71k)

“About last night,” Harry says suddenly, as if he’d been debating on whether to say anything. Louis whips back around to look at him.

“Do not finish that thought,” Louis says just as abruptly.

Harry looks at him oddly, as if assessing him. With a small frown, it seems the assessment is over. “I only wish to say that you do not have to dwell on it. The rest of the men will surely forget by tonight.”

“And you?” Louis asks, raising an eyebrow. “Will you forget?”

“I will remember every second of it fondly,” the Lord says, no trace of a tease in his words. or, a Victorian era au where Louis pines for his overprotective older brother’s very charming best friend.

For You, I Would Ruin Myself by wildestdreams / @thelavendrhaze (54k) WIP

It was the perfect last day of summer. They built sandcastles, wrote their names in the sand, and caught crabs, which they eventually let go when one of them pinched Louis and he was near tears. Afterward, they swam in the ocean, splashing each other playfully before moving toward one another in sync, lips pressing together in sweet kisses. When their skin turned prune-like, they returned to shore, laying out on their towels beneath the bright sun, snacking on fruit and chocolate while talking about everything and nothing.

At some point, Harry had shared, “I think this has been my favorite summer yet.”

“Why’s that?” Louis asked, a smile peeking out as though he already knew. He looked so pretty and cool with his sun-kissed skin and black Ray-Bans covering his eyes.

Harry rolled over on his towel until he was half-pressed against Louis and placed his palms on top of Louis’ chest, tucking his chin over them. “Because I had you.”

or

Harry’s unrequited crush on Louis turns into a whirlwind summer romance, only to leave him heartbroken in the end. Years later, a return to his hometown forces Harry to confront his past and the one person he was running from.

Tarnished but so Grand by tilthesundies / @tllthesundies (32k)

Louis hides in places. Harry always finds him.

I'll Be Your Love Tonight by dinosaursmate (20k)

“I don’t know how I’m ever going to walk away from you.” “So don’t.” Harry ran a fingertip over Louis’ thigh. “Stay with me.” - It's the summer of 1999 and Louis Tomlinson has been abandoned at a house party. A dispute over Smirnoff Ice and several night buses later, Louis is unsure how he'll ever walk away from this lovely, curly-haired boy.

Green in the Morning and Blue Afternoon by wildestdreams / @thelavendrhaze (14k)

“Harry,” Louis whispered beside him.

Harry hummed, his hand coming up to stroke Louis’ back. Louis was still on top of him, his body sagging against Harry’s, heavy and warm, and Harry loved it.

“I don’t think it was a one off.”

“Me either, Lou.”

or a Friends AU.

A Few of My Favourite Things by sweariwouldnt / @sweariwouldnt (8k)

Harry and Louis do cat sitting.

[captainsparklefingers]

One of the things I'm taking away from the second go round of Dracula Daily (and particularly from David Ault's excellent performance in Re: Dracula) is how much I like Lord Arthur Godalming.

Like. On the surface and the first time round he stands out the least of Lucy's suitors, and given how much time we hear from Jack, he can come off the most developed. Quincy, of course, gives us a heck of a lot of personality with relatively little (again, compared to how much we get from Jack). Arthur, though, doesn't have the same volume of words to develop, nor the instantly clear personality. He's just Lucy's fiancee, Jack and Quincy's friend, the heroes of light's wealthy benefactor.

But God, this poor man. He's suffered several immense losses in a very short period, been forced to see the woman he loved as a monster, and then had to put her down so she could rest in peace. Beyond the emotional burdens of such losses, he has to deal with the legal matters and the settling of affairs for three different people, probably doing whatever one needs to do to take his father's place in the House of Lords (something I know absolutely nothing about but I assume there's things to do there), AND the earth shattering revelation the supernatural is real, monsters do exist, and the one who killed Lucy is still out there.

And all of that while having to abide by the Victorian standards of manhood. Stalwart, strong, showing no emotions that could make him seem weak.

I think the scene in September 30th, where Mina comforts him and finally he has the chance to let go of all of these burdens he's felt he must carry alone, all of the grief and sorrow he's been forced to carry, he can for at least a moment put aside the mask of manliness society insist he wear and just let himself be a man who has lost his father and his fiancee within days of each other, who is dealing with situations beyond belief.

Obviously we've seen him cry and grieve before but it always felt like he was stifling it to a degree because, well. He only has his male friends to lean on now and the stupid proprieties of society mean he can only lean so much. But now he's had a chance to finally let go, made a connection with Lucy's dearest friend and a new sister of choice. He has his friends, he's finally been allowed to mourn in the way he's truly feeling...and now he's ready to help in whatever way possible to avenge Lucy.

Arthur comes off to me as a very strong character, a man driven by great love, who's emotions, as constrained as they may be, are one of his greatest strengths (and, of course, every good monster hunting group needs a financial benefactor). He's not a flat character at all, he's not forgettable character. Lucy loved him for a reason and, I think, in the moment his grief finally breaks, we get a glimpse at that.

I think that one of the good things of Dracula Daily has been making people realize how good of a character Jonathan Harker is, how pop culture has done damage to the true character of Lucy and Mina…I think we should add that its done a good job of making one care for a character as Arthur, who at first glance seems flat and boring.

Or at least it's made me appreciate him more. And I still want to know how he and Jack and Quincy became friends and what sort of shenanigans they got up to before the events of the book.

[melkyt]

Idea idea idea, *bounces*

Royalty AU

*fans Law like a proper victorian damsel before he swoons from low iron xd*

So Luffy, a noble that comes from old money who acts down to earth and chill, he is working at the stables when Law sees him

Law who is raised by the likes of Doflamingo, 'the help is inconsequential', still he is polite and curt as he is with anyone. Which catches Luffy's attention. Most royals & nobles treat him like crap when he tends to their animals.

Law is on autopilot. He is there to show his face as a bachelor to high-society but he has no interest in marriage of anyone, especially not when it means giving an heir to the likes of Doflamingo. He stopped getting along with the man when he got old enough to understand the ways of manipulation of the royal courts. They play the smiling game but there is a mutual distaste common to any noble familial relationship.

Still he is there, just so he can keep his place in the family and funding for his studies/clinic. He is also there to see if the lord to be crowned king is as much a threat as he is made out to be, or just a kid playing ruler.

As he spends time in the capital waiting for the main festival and coronation of the next lord. He often comes to the stables to read and be away from it all.

Luffy is there everyday, and makes it a point to talk to anyone who visits. Law being there for hours, means that Luffy more often then not talks at him but doesn't expect any answer in return. He is just ranting about anything that pops into his head.

Law overtime cant focus on his books and listens to Luffy's ramblings that are often out there and more exciting then he has heard come out of anybody's mouth in a long time. Law doesnt like listening to most people, so this is a change.

They spend days like that and sometimes Law asks questions, which just makes Luffy glow because someone is interested in his yapping? Sign him up to stop his work and excitedly tell Law about things like his favorite food or this cool thing he heard about, the biggest things he ever hunted etc

Fastforward to the coronation.

Law knows he is leaving after so he decides to say goodbye to Luffy but he is nowhere to be found. Which puts him in a bad mood all day. He doesnt even try to put on the pretense of flirting with the noble ladies that approach him. He is cold and distant, more then a little rude. He made atleast one of them cry.

The evening drags on and all he wants to do is check the stables one more time. He can see the lights from the castle. Yet being cold is fine but leaving the party will surely get him in hot water, and Doffy might even cut off his funding for a year. Law did not care that he did not have food or a roof over his head but the patients he takes would suffer the most.

So he stays, half paying attention as the new Lord is announced. The candles dim as the center of the dance hall is illuminated. The large curving stairs come into focus as the Lord enters the area.

Law blinks. He can't believe his eyes. The lord is Luffy, the dirrty ragged wild man he has gotten used to all cleaned up with an intricate crown on his brow and a bright smile. Law like anyone heard that he got the throne through war that has wrecked his nation for five years. It was a bloody time that made everyone fear him.

It is almost hard to believe that the happy joyful stable boy Law has grown close to is the bloodthirsty strategist that united his kingdom under one banner and plans to keep going. In that moment Law understands why Doflamingo sent him here and why he was worried.

Luffy can play the royal game better then any of them. If Law believed him to be nothing but a servant this entire time, and now he is a King with all the regal bearing that comes with it.

Luffy singles out Law and asks him to join him on the stage and by his side as an advisor. Law swallows as the attention turns to him.

Law going from a no-name lordling with no real title, to the Sun-Kings most trusted people. He does not go back to Doflamingo after that, as at that point what he hss to lose pales with what he can gain by saying yes to Luffy.

Not to mention saying no to someone like Luffy is political suicide, and even if Doffy chafes at the idea of Law no longer being availible to use as a marriage pawn directly to increase his power, he stays quiet and plots behind the scenes on how to take Luffy's throne using Law.

The intrigue of it all. Plus the drama of Law acting different towards Luffy now that he knows he is King and not a servant, which makes Luffy salty.

They have alot to figure out with plenty of dramatic things like assassination plots, societal stigma over their stations that Luffy doesnt care about, and Law scrambling to keep up with how things are different now and trying to handle Doffy alone so he does not distrub Luffy's quote on quote 'plans'

Law taking his job as advisor very seriously when Luffy just wants to be his friend like they were and maybe something else in time ;3

[starsinmylatte]

𝚃𝚑𝚛𝚘𝚞𝚐𝚑 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚂𝚖𝚘𝚔𝚎 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝙵𝚘𝚐

Here is my submission for @kentopedia's wonderful Love Through the Ages collab!

➻ Summary: Trapped in the gilded cage of Victorian high society, you were determined to rebel. You ran the streets in disguise at night and threw yourself into your work as a typist for Scotland Yard during the day, rejecting the label of “quiet, submissive woman.”  Further rebuffing the ideals of your time, you scoffed at the idea of love and marriage, but a certain blonde Detective Inspector always seemed to make your heart flutter. You’re assigned to work a case under him, and your feelings only grow more complicated… but will your budding romance be able to survive one of history’s most infamous murderers?

➻ Pairing: Nanami Kento x afab!Reader

➻ Rating: Explicit (18+, minors DNI)

➻ Word Count: 8.2k

➻ Warnings: Explicit sexual content and Discussions of the Jack the Ripper case/thematic elements related to the case/time period (rape, poverty, etc.)

➻ Song recommendations (in order):

Toxic- From “Promising Young Woman” Soundtrack performed by Anthony Willis  Les feuilles mortes- Jean-Michael Blais The Swan- Camille Saint-Saëns

➻ Author's note: I did a ton of research to make sure I had my details correct, so there are tons of easter eggs hidden in the fic. I had a lot of fun with this one!

Join my taglist here!

Colors flew through the air as you tossed various skirts, bodices, and any other accessories unfortunate enough to catch your ire clear across the room. They hit your quilted bedsheets with an audible thunk as Misato shook her head at your antics, tsking at you from the corner. 

“Love, you’ll be late if you carry on like that. Wipe that scowl off and pick one already.” 

You shot the maid another half-hearted frown, looking as grim as a young woman clad in only her chemise, garters, and stockings could. Misato strode over with matronly confidence, snatching the next garment out of your hands before it could grace the top of the pile. She held the bodice up, inspecting it in the clear morning light before giving a brisk nod. 

“Right then, this will do. It’s posh enough to keep your father happy without all those extra frills and ruffles you hate. Grab that skirt, and let’s get on with it.” 

You did as you were told, albeit extremely unenthusiastically. Misato hummed soothingly, draping the familiar weight of a corset around your waist. This was a dance you knew the steps of all too well. You fastened the busk up quickly before bending down to grasp at the foot of the bed, adjusting your decollete into the supporting garment. Misato tightened the laces systematically, just as she had done for every year you’d been old enough to dress as a woman. 

Standing back up, you moved your body around, wincing and rolling your shoulders as you reacclimated to the squeeze of the steel boning. 

“I’m sorry,” you murmured, dropping your head in apology at the sight of her soft frown. “I know I’m bull-headed, and I know it only causes trouble for you.” 

With a gentle sigh, the maid slipped a muslin camisole over your head before moving to fasten a bustle around your waist. “I understand, love. But you’re a woman of society, and you’re to dress as such. Now, bear you in mind, I’d rather die than see you in trousers like the men, but I think there’s a middle ground to be found yet.”

You smiled at her, grateful for the affection, “I know, but I’m still glad to hear it.” 

“Who knows… Maybe you’ll finally attract a husband who’ll let you run as wild as you’d like.” The older woman teased you, pinching your cheek affectionately as she slipped several layers of skirt over your head. Her loving prodding pulled an imperceptible flush across your cheeks, and you distracted yourself with the buttons of your bodice. “Lord knows some of those peelers can’t be too horrible to look at.” 

“Love,” you scoffed, choosing to ignore the way your mind immediately wandered to a certain stoic, blonde detective, “is for little girls who still believe in fairy tales.”  

You continued on, selecting a hat from a drawer. “I work because I want to do something important… something beyond embroidery and gossiping at garden parties. There are people out there who need help, Misato.”

The maid laughed softly, pinning your hat at a perfect, jaunty angle. “I’ve known that since you stood at the height of my knee, but I can still hope to see you happy.” 

You bade Misato goodbye with a quick kiss on the cheek, finally venturing out from your family’s warm, comfortable house to wait by the road for your carriage. An icy breeze brushed past as soon as you stepped outside, ruffling through your skirts and causing you to shiver. As you waited patiently, the damp air slowly seeped under your multiple layers of clothing; the strangely oppressive chill only took a few moments to carve beneath your skin like an icy dagger. 

Normally, little birds would flitter throughout the small yards alongside the street, filling your morning commute with their cheerful racket, but there was only silence today. Your only companions were the ever-present fog and smoke that blanketed the city, but today, they seemed so much thicker than usual, making the overcast sky feel even more bleak. 

Thick tendrils of gloom trailed over the cobblestones, swallowing the flickering gas lights one by one. There were no people on your street this early, no signs of life to be seen anywhere. Another shiver shot down your spine, but this time, it had nothing to do with the cold. The world was grey and eerily silent as the fog finally reached you, blanketing your entire body with frigid mist. The downy hairs on the back of your neck began to stand on end; everything felt off… like an ill omen.  

A moment later, the clacking of hooves on the cobblestone echoed throughout the street, and a familiar carriage finally appeared in the gloom. You barely waited for it to come to a stop before you opened the door and climbed in, not caring to observe the proper etiquette. 

“Cold, miss? It’s a chilly mornin’ innit?” The driver chuckled, shouting loudly as he snapped the reins, urging the horses to return to their steady gait. “Don’t worry; we’ll get you back inside soon enough.” 

“Ah, yes… It is a bit chilly.” You smiled and brushed your actions off with a laugh, but the feeling of dread still weighed heavily on your heart. 

Even the horses seemed restless, rolling their eyes and tossing their well-groomed manes back and forth as they plodded eastward. You were grateful to finally see some sense of normalcy as you reached Victoria Street, where people of all ages milled around, setting up their businesses both on and off the street. Shops opened their doors, and street vendors set out their wares, squabbling loudly over placement and price. You smiled wryly as a young boy snatched a steaming pie from the corner of a table, eyes shining with delight as he shoved the greasy pastry into his mouth. He disappeared into the teeming crowd with the shopkeep still blissfully unaware of the theft.

The sight was as endearing as it was heart-wrenching; the cute little boy probably stole out of sheer necessity. If he hadn’t stolen the pie, there was a good chance he wouldn’t have eaten at all today, even in this area of the city. You suddenly felt guilty that you had the privilege of being able to turn down breakfast. 

“So much needs to change,” you murmured, drumming your gloved fingers against the lacquered side of the carriage. Most of the people from the upper crust simply wanted to hide the poor away; their attitude was just to keep them out of sight and out of mind.

Your thoughts continued as you looked off into the alleyways and then glanced eastward to where the worst parts of London were concealed. If your family had their way, you’d have never known those parts of the city existed; you’d have been kept on a pedestal in the opulent West End. To them, all you needed was decorative knowledge meant to accent your pretty face and attract a rich husband, but no one had counted on your tenacity. You had been too intelligent, too fierce of a little girl, always demanding answers from your tutors, rejecting their half-baked excuses about the world and how it worked. 

 Before long, you figured out that not all people grew up similarly. You fished stories out of maids and butlers, learning about how other people suffered in the cruel workhouses and filthy alleyways hidden in the background of the city you loved. But the most appalling thing by far was how little your parents and their wealthy friends seemed to care.  

When you turned ten, you convinced Misato to help you sneak out for the first time, mainly by threatening to go even if she refused to be your accomplice, and from that night on, you began exploring the real London. When your parents thought you were safely locked away in your room practicing embroidery, you were actually exploring the streets wearing ragged clothes “borrowed” from the nearest bin. It was dangerous and wholly irresponsible for a lady like yourself, and if anyone found out, your reputation and life would be ruined forever…. So, of course, you loved it.

“It’s no wonder I ended up here, in the last place a ‘lady’ should ever be.” You murmured, smiling as the carriage finally jolted to a stop outside the stately, brick-and-stone building at 4 Whitehall Place. The driver opened your door with practiced ease, and you entered Scotland Yard’s world of cops and criminals. 

“Odd, there’s so few people here…” You murmured, arching an eyebrow in curiosity as you walked in and reached your desk. 

Typically, the station was filled with men waiting on their orders for the day or waiting to go on patrol. The few men who were present milled about restlessly, and most wore the trademark blue peeler uniform. However, two men were notably different; they were dressed in everyday clothes and stood off to the side of the Chief Inspector’s office. If you didn’t know better, you could’ve guessed they were gentlemen who simply wandered in off the streets. 

“I haven’t seen those two before. They must be detectives.” You pieced together, noting the tension that hung heavily around them. 

The two men were certainly young to be detectives, but one seemed more experienced and slightly calmer than his counterpart. They each wore black frock coats and trousers, but from there, the appearance differed. The composed man had kind eyes and tawny, disheveled hair covered with a bowler hat, whereas his friend sported a red vest, fluffy hair, and no hat. He looked younger and full of nervous energy; for some reason, his hair seemed oddly…. pink?

You sighed, chalking it up to a trick of the light as you set up your desk for the day. In a valiant attempt to neutralize your own nervous energy, you began to clean your typewriter, stealing glances at the young detectives, trying to parse together what was going on from snippets of their conversation. 

“Do you really think- how long will it take?” 

“I don’t know, just wait and see.” 

Suddenly, two more men you did recognize walked into the room without fanfare. Chief Inspector Yaga led a tall, serious-looking blonde man over to the others, and your heart fell through your chest at the expression on his face. Not many of the detectives treated you well, but in all the time you’d worked there, Detective Inspector Nanami Kento had never failed to greet you with a small smile and a polite greeting every morning at the bare minimum. 

This morning, however, his expression could have cut through stone. The stoic man’s lips were set into a cold, hard line, and he didn’t even notice your presence. His dark eyes glittered in intense concentration, and the two young men snapped to attention as soon as he approached them.

Something has happened. Those aren’t the eyes of the gentleman I know… that’s the gaze of a detective entirely focused on his case.

Scotland Yard and its detectives were no strangers to tragedy and brutal events. They carried the weight of investigating the most unspeakable acts people could inflict on each other, but you had never seen DI Nanami look quite this grim. You watched the four men talk quietly for what seemed like ages before they finally walked over to your desk. Chief Inspector Yaga looked you up and down with a critical gaze as if to size you up. 

“How can I help you this morning, sir?” You met his eyes calmly, the feeling of dread rising, squeezing your heart once again. 

“You’ve been with us for almost two years now, correct?” His gruff voice rumbled through you like thunder promising an oncoming storm. 

“That’s correct, sir.” 

“And you’ve never had any-” He paused, gesturing around as if searching for the correct word, “trouble with the cases up until now?” 

Nanami’s chiseled jaw clenched as the Chief Inspector questioned you. He seemed to be looking just past your face, staring at a spot on the wall in a manner that seemed as though he was willing it to spontaneously catch fire. You didn’t try to hide the way your brow furrowed in concern at the question.

“Trouble, sir?” 

He sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. Deep, dark bruises were blooming under the man’s eyes; it looked as if he had gotten little-to-no sleep for weeks. “I know you’ve certainly heard… more than a few disturbing things in your time here. The paperwork you tend to has details of crimes, and you’re around the men every day….  God knows they don’t know when to hold their tongues.” 

You nodded along, still confused and growing exponentially more concerned. His words were true; you’d certainly heard more than your share of gory details from the policemen as they returned from their patrols, whether it was just accidentally overheard or they told you directly as if it would impress you. 

“Well… It is never enjoyable, but I deal with it in the same way the men do, sir.” You pointed out deftly, unwilling to seem fragile. 

Nanami remained grimly silent, but a small smile played across the corner of his lips as Yaga watched you closely. After a moment of silence, the burly DCI sighed again. “Then there’s a job for you. I am about to ask more of you than I would like to, but you’ve excelled at your current position, and this situation calls for related skills.”

For the briefest moment, you could’ve sworn that you saw Nanami’s fist clench at his side. Still, the stoic man stayed silent as Yaga continued on, “You’ll be working under DI Nanami, and your main responsibility will be to organize and keep a running record of the evidence as it comes in. You’re to help them keep track of any papers they need to revisit during their investigation. Other duties will be assigned as needed.”

Yaga nodded stiffly and walked back to his office, shutting the door firmly as if to signal the finality of his decision. You looked up at Nanami with concern, as the man had barely moved since he arrived at your desk; he still looked silently furious. “Are you… do I need to do anything right now?” 

His mood seemed to shift to calm in an instant. “No, nothing right now. I’ll have a file to give you as soon as I return, but I do need to introduce the case to you so that you’re not blindsided when you… see it.” 

Nanami motioned for the two young detectives to step forward, “First, this is DC Itadori, and this is DS Ino. They will also be working under me for this case; if you have any issues and I’m unavailable, you can go to them.” 

The two young men tilted their heads in polite acknowledgment as they were introduced, each giving you a small smile, almost like the one Nanami usually reserved for you.

Ino spoke first, “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Miss. Even under these circumstances.” 

Itadori nodded enthusiastically, “Yes! It isn’t often we get to work with a-”

“And I think it’s time for us to go secure transportation to the scene. You’ll have to excuse us.” Ino butted in quickly, placing a firm hand on Itadori’s shoulder and hauling the young man away, blatantly ignoring his noises of protest. 

You turned back to the Detective Inspector, whose expression was unreadable as he sighed, “He means well. Please forgive him.” 

A small, reassuring smile touched your lips as you gazed up at Nanami, “I’m not offended, Detective. I’m no shrinking violet and a bit of levity won’t go amiss every now and then.” 

Your small quip made the blonde man chuckle lowly despite the situation. “I’m well aware. But this case….” His expression shifted once again. “I don’t like involving you in it.” 

Hurt shot through you, stabbing through your heart with a dull ache. You had worked alongside him for two years, and he’d never seemed like the other men who constantly doubted your abilities for the supposed sin of being born a woman. You liked this man; you had trusted him.

“Do you really not think I can be of help?” You frowned as indignation seared through your veins.

You must’ve looked truly hurt because Nanami shook his head. “It has nothing to do with ability. You should know that I hold your abilities in high regard, but…” he said softly, “this case- it’s nothing like you’ve ever seen before, and you should never have to see things like this. No one should.” 

Your firey attitude froze instantly, turning to shame as you realized his true intent. “Forgive me, I’m used to….” 

A flush crept across your cheeks as you took a deep breath, smoothing the fabric of your skirt and regaining your professionalism.

Why is it so easy for me to make a fool out of myself in front of you? 

“ I understand,” he murmured, studying the typewriter in front of you with a strange intensity. “You may as well come into my office and have some tea.”

–

It took you no time at all to understand exactly why everyone seemed on edge and why the Detective Inspector was so affected by the case. You had read files of violence, murder, and rape before, but what Nanami had to sit down and tell you was beyond all of that. There was a monster, some sick freak brutalizing and murdering women throughout the streets of Whitechapel. He toyed with and desecrated their bodies, and all evidence suggested that he had acted multiple times and was going to continue unless he was caught or killed. This wasn’t some random act of criminal violence or murder of passion committed by a jilted lover…. this was something only the devil himself could be capable of.

The warmth of the teacup against your hands brought you some comfort, but you couldn’t bring yourself to drink any of the tea. Your stomach roiled violently; you were suddenly immensely glad you’d skipped breakfast as Nanami softly explained what had happened to the women and the events that led to Yaga deciding that you’d join his team. 

“They found another body this morning,” he spoke plainly, but his deep brown eyes roamed over your face, his expression full of gentle concern. “Worse than the last, even.”

You glanced at the thick file in front of you, your stomach lurching as your eyes landed on the sketch of the previous victim. If it was only growing worse… God, you couldn’t even imagine…. The room suddenly felt too hot, your corset too constricting as you leaned forward, fighting the bile that rose in your throat. 

Nanami was by your side instantly, his large hand warm and soothing on your back as he knelt beside you with surprising grace. “If you don’t want to do this…. I understand. I swear I do. Just say the word, and I’ll have you home.”

It took a brief moment, but you swallowed thickly and straightened up, your eyes glittering in determination as you gazed down at the kneeling man. “No. I can’t- I won’t- sit idly by, knowing I had a chance to help, even if it’s just in a small way.” 

An entire moment passed as the two of you stared into each other’s eyes. Nanami rested his hand on yours for a brief moment, giving it a gentle squeeze, and you could feel your brain short-circuit. You were much closer to a bachelor than society would deem appropriate, but the desire to uphold proper values wilted against your need for comfort. 

The moment was over quickly, and the Detective stood, brushing dirt off his tan pants. “It’s time for me to head out to the crime scene. I’d like you to use my office while I’m gone.” 

Nanami gave you an achingly soft smile, the exact smile you had craved before he tugged his coat on, slid his unique, round glasses into place, and left the room. 

–

Weeks turned into months, but the monster who called himself Jack the Ripper still hunted the women of Whitechapel. It didn’t take long for the press to run with the story, drawing more attention to Jack than his victims. An endless flow of letters and tips began to pour in every day, and the monster had even penned a few himself, mocking the police for not being able to catch him yet. 

You spent every day working beside Nanami, who insisted you move into his office, claiming you could work more comfortably there. The attraction you felt towards the stoic detective grew as you spent more time with him, sharing the intimate workspace. He was always so busy and stressed beyond measure, but he was unfailingly kind and considerate of you. In return, you went above and beyond your assigned duties to care for him. You ensured that Nanami ate as regularly as possible, brewed him tea when he was having a particularly hard day, and provided him companionship. 

You had always known that Nanami was intensely intelligent and focused, but he truly gave all of himself to this case. Unfortunately, the Ripper seemed to be a shade able to pass through walls for all the helpful clues he left behind. You watched, feeling utterly helpless, as the pile of bodies grew and the dark circles under Nanami’s eyes deepened. Despite putting on a brave face, he seemed frustrated and permanently exhausted; if you had to guess, he even slept at his desk some nights. 

As the case progressed and even more women were killed, Nanami made it a point to make sure you were safe, even though you lived on the opposite end of London from where the murders occurred. You reassured him that you’d be fine, but he still gifted you a small firearm, a Derringer, that you kept tucked in your handbag every single day as both a good luck charm and a deterrent. The detective also insisted on escorting you home at night, and on the rare nights he was unavailable, he sent Ino or Itadori in his stead. 

However, most nights, you only waited inside for an hour or two before sneaking back to the streets. You were convinced the people who frequented the bustling pubs and taverns of Whitechapel had to have more information. Many people weren’t keen on sharing any information with the police, but you knew they’d talk amongst themselves and certainly to a pretty girl at the bar. You knew it wasn’t smart, but you were determined to help in every way possible; too many women were living in fear. However, a small part of you did know that you were also desperately trying to ease Nanami’s burden. 

Even though you were determined, you still felt incredibly guilty about the situation. It would undoubtedly drive Nanami mad with worry if he knew what you were up to, but you promised yourself that it was safe enough, that you’d always sneak back home before nightfall. You had even planned only to visit pubs on Whitechapel Road itself, knowing that proximity to the main road made your outings safer. Weeks passed as your covert outings continued without a hitch, but one night, everything changed. You had been far too distracted by the bartender you were conversing with, and before you realized it, the sun had fully set. You might’ve been right on the main road, but you were alone in Whitechapel after dark, where the monster was certainly lurking in the shadows.

Every bump in the night made your heart seize in fear as you started down the street, desperately heading back toward safety. You managed to make a decent headway, but the sound of a familiar voice stopped you dead in your tracks. Nervously, you glanced around to find DC Itadori at the building right in front of you, blissfully unaware of your presence as the young man chatted with a passerby.

You knew that the proper thing to do would be to approach him for help, to admit that you had made a mistake, but you couldn’t ignore the small voice in the back of your mind that whispered, “You know he’d tell Nanami, right?”  

Telling DC Itadori would be bad enough, but the thought of his mentor being disappointed in you or even hurt by your actions made your heart lurch. 

“It’ll be just a quick detour,” you promised yourself as you turned and headed down the closest alleyway.

Your journey was fine for the first few minutes, but it didn’t take long for you to garner unwanted attention. Your dress lacked the finery you usually wore, but it was still the dress of a respectable woman, and this dark alley was no place for any woman. Drunken men leered at you from every shadow, trying to coax you closer. You ducked and weaved your way out of their clumsy attempts to grab you, but you were forced to run down alley after alley to avoid them. The familiar weight of the Derringer that you’d tucked into your garter was the only comfort you had as you fled deeper and deeper into the heart of Whitechapel. An icy chill crept down your spine as you grew painfully aware that you’d gotten lost in the maze of alleyways. 

Thick, oppressive fog curled throughout the already cramped alley as you hurriedly turned the next corner, only to hit a dead end. Your blood ran cold, and tears of exhaustion and fear ran down your face as you glanced around, desperately trying to figure out where you were, but it was useless. The fog was too dense, and you were too lost. Two sets of footsteps were still following you. You could hear them approaching faster and faster,  and you shrank back into the corner in fear, reaching under your skirts for the cool metal of the pistol as a last resort-

Suddenly, you heard the sounds of a brief scuffle around the corner, followed by the sickening crunch of a nose shattering. A man yelled out in pain; you could hear him sprinting back down the alley as another voice rang out into the night, “Miss, are you alright?” 

You could’ve wept at the achingly familiar, husky tone as your Detective Inspector appeared out of the gloom, lantern in hand. 

“I seem to have made a mistake,” You managed weakly.

Nanami froze instantly at the sound of your voice. He raised the lantern to illuminate your tear-stained face, and a look of sheer horror broke over his handsome features. You crumpled against the wall, and the Detective Inspector rushed forward to support your body, his strong arms cradling you with breathtaking gentleness. 

“Are you hurt?” He asked quickly as his gaze scanned you over systematically, desperately searching your body for any sign of injury. 

“No, just cold, afraid….. and more than a little ashamed. Thank you for saving me.” You admitted meekly, fighting the urge to lean into his warmth. 

Nanami groaned audibly in relief, tipping his head back as if thanking god. His arms tightened around you slowly as he embraced you, holding you against his broad chest while you shook with latent fear. You flushed furiously as you reciprocated his embrace, drawing enough comfort from his presence for your heartbeat to calm. 

“You’re trembling,” he murmured, voice low and soothing. “let’s get you somewhere safe, and then you can tell me why you’re out here.” 

“I can’t go home. It’s too late; I won’t be able to get back in until morning when my maid returns. Perhaps I should rent a room here for the night? No one will know me this far out. I do have some money.” You rambled, trying to keep from crying even more.  

Nanami sighed, stepping back slightly to look into your eyes. “I’m not leaving you out here alone. It won’t be ‘proper,’ but I’d like to take you somewhere where I know you’ll be safe.” 

You felt a pulse of clarity flow through you, and you placed a hand on his muscular forearm, gently squeezing it in reassurance. “I trust you.” 

The detective’s warm, brown gaze softened as he saw the honesty written across your face.

“One more question, then. Do you think you’re up to walking? I could carry you, but that may draw more unwanted attention.” 

You shifted on your feet, testing them out. “I think I’ll be alright.” 

Nanami smiled down at you before deftly unfastening his tan, woolen greatcoat. He draped it over your shoulders with heartbreaking gentleness, ignoring your mild noises of protest as he secured it around you. 

“It’s cold tonight,” was all he said as he offered you his arm.

You held onto him tightly, instantly comforted by his solid frame and the quiet strength Nanami carried himself with, even in a tense situation like this. You had never been more terrified only moments ago, but now you felt safe and protected, almost warm despite the cold air around you. 

“Thank you…. It is quite comforting.” You murmured.

Nanami smiled down at you briefly before guiding you through the maze of alleyways, letting you dictate the pace. Funnily enough, the fog seemed to dissipate as the two of you walked down the streets of London together. You could see the stars twinkling above you, and if you didn’t know better, the two of you could’ve been a couple out on a nighttime stroll together. 

Time passed quickly as you walked together in comfortable silence, and soon, you arrived at a comfortable-looking townhouse near Bedford Square. Nanami unlocked the door without any preamble, ushering you inside out of the cold. He led you up the stairs into a tastefully furnished drawing room with a beautiful bay window that overlooked a moonlit garden.

“Please, make yourself comfortable,” he encouraged, leading you towards a plush settee. Nanami busied himself with lighting the ornate fireplace as you curled up against the arm of the furnishing, still wrapped up in his coat. You snuggled against the soft wool, surreptitiously enjoying how it smelled of his fresh, woody cologne undercut with the deeper scent you could only describe as his. 

As soon as Nanami finished tending to the fire, he began to pace around the room in a manner you knew meant that he was thinking deeply about something. 

“What is it?” You asked softly, almost afraid of the answer. 

He took a deep breath and stopped pacing, turning to look at you. Nanami’s expression held no anger as the firelight flickered across his face, but a profound sadness filled his beautiful brown eyes as he spoke, “I don’t think you understand what it would’ve done to me if you were the next body found.” 

You dropped your head, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes as Nanami continued his pacing, “When I realized it was you in the alley, I- I thought the absolute worst had happened.” 

He ran his hands through his hair, pacing even more frantic as he tousled the normally neat blonde strands. “You must know by now…. You have to know…”

Nanami turned to you once again, dropping his arms to his side in defeat. “I love you.” He rasped, voice raw with emotion. “I’ve known for months. I didn’t think I could court you properly until I caught this bastard, so I didn’t say anything. You don’t deserve to be associated with me if I fail, but after tonight, I just can’t take it anymore. I understand if you say no, if you need a better man, but-” 

He didn’t get to finish his sentence. In the blink of an eye, you flung yourself across the room and into his arms. Nanami caught you in surprise, scarcely able to believe he wasn’t dreaming as you clutched desperately at his sides. Uncontrollable tears fell from the corners of your eyes as you gazed at him in unabashed adoration.

“I love you too,” you confessed, “ I don’t think a better man exists.” 

That was all the encouragement he needed. Nanami smiled lovingly, softly as he leaned down to press a slow, feather-light kiss against your forehead. You sighed in bliss, and the detective breathed deeply as if he hadn’t had fresh air in months. Months of stress and fear melted away from both your bodies, the negative emotions paling in comparison to the warmth of your love. Nanami ghosted more kisses across your cheeks and nose, taking his time to savor every inch of your beautiful skin before finally pressing his lips against yours. 

The kiss was soft and sweet. Your eyelashes fluttered shut, and you acted purely on instinct, leaning further into his embrace. One of Nanami’s strong, steady hands moved to cup your waist, holding you like precious china as your lips parted from the chaste kiss. As you shared another intimate breath, his other hand slid under your chin, tilting you forward to capture your lips again. 

“Marry me.” He mouthed against you, voice rough with emotion. “Let me protect you, love you, worship you. I want to hold you in my arms, to keep you by my side until I die.” 

“Yes,” you nearly pleaded, clawing at the material of his blue vest in an attempt to somehow pull him closer. “Kento, please…. I’m yours.”

He groaned desperately at the intimacy of his first name on your lips as his hand moved from your waist to wrap around your back possessively. Nanami trailed his other hand to cup your jaw as he kissed you even more passionately, almost devouring you whole. You had kissed before, but it was only mild, adolescent flirtations with boys you didn’t bother to remember; it was nothing like this. This kiss was searing, threatening to burn you from the inside out if you stopped for even a second. Your chest lay flush against Nanami’s, your body moving against his in a way that made his trousers grow uncomfortably tight. 

Nanami realized instantly and broke the embrace, stepping back to hide the way his cock strained against the fabric. The desirous look in your eyes and your attempt to follow him nearly shattered his resolve completely, but he touched your shoulder gently. 

“It will get increasingly hard for me to remain the gentleman you deserve if we continue.” He warned breathily, a light dusting of pink gracing his cheekbones. “If you need, I can go stand outside until morning.” 

A whimper left your kiss-swollen lips. Your body ached in a way you’d never felt, craving the sweet burn of his touch in places you’d rarely explored yourself. The world felt hazy and syrupy as you tried to regain your mind, but it was a futile task. Your breasts felt heavy, your nipples sensitive as they rubbed against the fabric of your chemise. 

“That’s not what I need,” you pleaded, and Nanami shuddered. 

“Can you tell me what you do need?” He murmured, taking a tiny step towards you. 

“Kento, I-I’ve never done this before,” you stammer, blushing furiously and shrinking back in embarrassment. 

Immediately, Nanami is at your side, holding you tightly once again. “That’s nothing to be ashamed of, darling. I wouldn’t love you less either way. All it means is that we’re on equal footing here.” 

He pulled you into another hug, intent on soothing you further as your mind spun. 

“You’ve never….?” You questioned softly. 

“No,” Nanami murmured, “I haven’t been with anyone.” 

“That does make me feel better,” you admitted, biting the swell of your lower lip. “What I’m feeling right now is new…. strange, even. I want you to touch me so badly that it hurts.”

Nanami groaned again, pulling you against his broad chest; he could easily feel your heart racing, and he wasn’t faring much better. 

“Do you want me to touch you now, or do you want me to wait?” He asked, voice deadly calm. 

“I think I’ll die if you wait,” you pleaded, pawing against his vest again. 

He chuckled roughly, grasping your wrist and pulling it to his lips. Your breath hitched as he kissed the tender skin of your pulse point, savoring the way your pulse raced under his touch. Without further preamble, Nanami reached down for your skirts, slowly drawing the fabric up past the soft leather of your garters. He reached down, tracing up your thigh with his fingers until they caught the cool metal of the Derringer, which you had completely forgotten about. 

Nanami tugged it free as he kissed you once again. He smiled into the embrace, pulling you with him as he stepped over to set the small gun on a nearby table. You glanced at him in astonishment, unsure how he had known. As soon as the firearm was safely put away, he scooped you up into his arms with another soft laugh, “Darling, what kind of detective would I be if I didn’t know?” 

You smiled up at him, “I suppose you do have a point, darling.” 

He sighed in bliss as you turned the affectionate nickname against him. You traced your hands up Nanami’s broad chest greedily, slipping them over his shoulders for support as you leaned in for yet another desperate kiss, unable to sate your desire for his lips. He somehow managed to walk and return the kiss at the same time, only stumbling slightly as he brought you into another room. 

You giggled against him, and he smiled, devouring the sweet sounds and eager to hear more. Nanami leaned down, setting you gently on his large bed. He pulled back to gaze at you in utter adoration, loosening his golden cravat and undoing the buttons of his blue brocade vest. He discarded them both, leaning forward to cage you between his arms as you drank in the sight unashamedly. 

“You know it isn’t proper for me to see you in just your shirtsleeves yet,” you teased, snaking your hands up his arms and growing bold enough to nip at his bottom lip. 

“I don’t think anything that we are about to do is too ‘proper,’” Nanami smiled affectionately as he circled his hands around your corseted waist, pulling you forward to sit at the edge of the bed. He unfastened your boots, caressing your stocking-covered feet gently as he set your shoes to the side. Afterward, his hands returned to your waist, meeting in the middle to trace over the small buttons of your green bodice. 

“May I?” He implored, voice low and breathy with anticipation. 

You nodded, biting your lip nervously. “Please.”

Nanami’s deft fingers began to undo button after button, exposing the other layers of clothing underneath as he went. You’d chosen to forego wearing a camisole, as none of your outerwear was fine enough to need protecting, so he was immediately met with the sight of your corset and the lip of your chemise beneath. The silken chemise you favored was thin enough to be nearly transparent, and Nanami’s breath hitched at the sight of your pebbled nipples peeking over the top of your corset. 

He knelt slightly, enraptured by the sight of your breasts rising and falling with every breath you took. Nanami stared at you ravenously as his breathing grew heavier. You blushed prettily, shrugging the bodice off as the once-stoic detective’s tongue darted out to wet his lips. His hands dug into the fabric of his duvet as he fought the urge to caress and kiss every part of your body. 

“I want to explore every part of you with my hands and tongue,” he confessed with a groan. “I can’t hold myself back much further, but promise that you’ll stop me immediately if I make you uncomfortable.” 

You noticed the pupils of his brown eyes were blown wide and dark with lust as he looked at you, fully enraptured but waiting for your response. His expression forced an involuntary whimper to tumble from your lips, and the heat in your core spiked once again. 

“I promise, but please… I didn’t think I could feel something like this.” You begged sweetly, guiding his large, warm hand to rest on the swell of your breasts.

He caressed the area gently, watching your face as his clever fingers explored your soft curves. You sighed in delight as he squeezed and traced the barely-covered skin, prompting him to investigate further. His fingertips grazed your nipple, and your back arched instantly, mouth parting in a perfect “O” at the waves of pleasure that shot through you. Nanami’s gaze grew half-lidded and hazy; he squeezed the small bud in response, and you outright moaned as your core clenched in need. 

“Feels good?” He purred, utterly shameless in wanting to learn your pleasure. 

You nodded vigorously, unable to speak, as you pulled his other hand to your back. He knelt on the floor, pulling you to stand over him as he reached around to unfasten your skirts and small bustle. They dropped to the floor, and he leaned forward to pepper kisses across your stomach and the tops of your thighs. You couldn’t feel his lips directly for the corset and chemise still in the way, but you could feel the warmth of his body close to yours. The intimacy of him kneeling before you, kissing your body so hungrily, made you throb with need once more. Acting on pure instinct once again, you began to rub your thighs together, desperate to relieve the ache.

He reached for the strings of your corset, successfully untying the knot. Nanami felt around for a moment before leaning back to look the silk and leather garment up and down. The detective chuckled lowly, “Would you mind helping me, darling? This is the first I’ve dealt with a corset, and I’m afraid it’s not as straightforward as the other layers.” 

You gazed down at him in adoration, guiding his arms to grasp different parts of the lacing. 

“Pull here…. and here.” You murmured, and the corset loosened under your combined ministrations, finally becoming loose enough for you to unfasten the busk. 

Nanami watched breathlessly as it fell. He grasped the hem of your chemise, the final major barrier separating him from your soft skin, and rose from his kneeling position to pull it over your head. Finally, you stood before him fully topless, and he shuddered in desire as he removed your drawers. 

He picked you up again, setting you back on the bed to work on the layers of his clothing. You whined in protest, wanting to undress him as he had explored you, but he simply shushed you, only speeding up his movements as he spoke through gritted teeth, “Darling, I promise you that we will have ample time for you to undress me later…. but right now, I need you, or I’m going to fully lose my mind.” 

Nanami was barely able to choke out the words as he threw his shirt aside, granting you a beautiful view of his muscular chest and the smattering of honey-blonde hair that covered it. His arms were just as well-built, and you bit your lip once again, squirming on top of his sheets as you watched him. Nanami hooked his fingers into the waistband of his trousers, drawing your attention to a patch of coarser blonde hair that trailed down his lower stomach, hinting at what you’d see next. 

You felt hot, fully and shamelessly filled with lust as you stared at the outline of his thick cock tenting the fabric. Nanami groaned as he saw your reaction, palming his erection as he started towards you, only clad in his trousers. 

“Lay back for me, darling,” he cooed, guiding you onto the mattress. It dipped beneath his weight as he joined you, running his fingers over your leather garters. He pulled them down with his teeth, pressing kisses to the bare skin that forced a litany of moans and pleas from your lips as he rid you of your stockings. Dimly, you realized the space between your thighs was sticky with your own arousal. Nanami realized a split second after you, trailing his fingers up to your core after disposing of the garters and stockings. 

“You’re beautiful, gorgeous…. Perfect.” His deep voice rumbled against your ear as he traced his finger through your folds. You shivered and moaned in response, your legs falling open even further, begging for him to explore more. He slid up on the bed next to you, leaning down to kiss your bare, sensitive breasts as he toyed with your soaked cunt.

Nanami carried on like that for a few minutes, noting that you grew the most desperate as he circled the small pearl of flesh at the top of your sex. He caressed it, noting with no small amount of satisfaction that his ministrations made you beg for more and whimper his name. Tension coiled in your stomach as he gently circled the puffy bud and kissed you passionately, relishing the taste of his name on your lips. It didn’t take long for that tension to snap in your stomach like an elastic band, and your back arched off the bed as you came hard. 

He growled praises into your ear, teasing his fingers into you as your cunt spasmed around nothing. “My future wife… a goddess.” 

Your eyelashes fluttered shut in a moment of discomfort that soon gave way to the blissful feeling of being filled. There was no pain as the other women had complained of; your world was a haze of syrupy bliss as your lover prepared you with his fingers, gently stretching your velvet walls. 

Nanami rutted his hips against the bed, delaying his own pleasure until you were ready for him to truly fill you. The two of you moaned and sighed, almost in sync. 

“You’re so soft and wet,” he cursed under his breath. “I won’t last much longer… Do you think you’re ready?” 

You leaned up to kiss him passionately, mouthing your desperate assent against his lips. Nanami unbuttoned his trousers, unclothing his lower half in record time as you lay back against the sheets, eyes fully glazed over with lust. He spread your legs, slotting his hips between them, and you felt the swollen tip of his cock kiss your needy sex as he positioned himself properly. The two of you were panting, moaning together like animals in heat as he pushed in slowly, desperately trying not to hurt you. You cried out at the stretch, digging your nails into his back, the pain pulling another guttural moan from your lover. Any discomfort quickly turned to blinding pleasure as he sank into you fully.

Nanami paused arduously, his cock twitching, desperately begging for him to move. 

“Tell me… when.” He forced the words out through gritted teeth, his expression almost a grimace as he fought the urge to thrust into you. 

The warmth and pressure of his body, the feeling of being stuffed full, the feeling of his cock twitching inside you… It was all too much. Your fingers scrabbled at his back, desperate for purchase, as you whined, high-pitched and needy in response. “Now, please- oh, God. Need you now.”

Nanami groaned as he began to move his hips slowly, dragging his thick cock along your velvet walls. He began to move slightly faster as you writhed beneath him, your mind too sex-addled to form a coherent thought or sentence as his swollen balls slapped against you. 

Your future husband fucked you slowly but thoroughly, filling the room with the salacious sounds of your lovemaking. A familiar tension began to build in your core, and Nanami groaned as your walls squeezed his cock. Unlike earlier, there was almost no warning as you shot straight over the edge of a mind-shattering orgasm, and you cried out desperately.

Nanami growled and cursed against your neck as your cunt milked his cock, desperately begging to be filled. 

“So close. Need… need to pull out.” He rasped, almost whining as he left the plush warmth of your sex. You watched him in a lust-filled daze, melting against his sheets as Nanami leaned back, furiously stroking his cock. He grunted and moaned shamelessly, hips still shallowly thrusting against his hand as he desperately sought bliss. His head tipped back as he panted; you could see a beautiful, rosy flush color his chest and neck, and you wanted nothing more than to kiss every inch of it. 

Nanami’s thrusts started to falter from their original pace, and you watched, wholly enraptured, as his brows furrowed and his perfect mouth fell open. He came a moment later with a hoarse cry; thick ropes of his seed coated his hands and stomach in spurts. He stroked his cock a few more times, fully milking out his orgasm before collapsing on the bed by your side. You both lay there in silence for a few blissful moments, basking in the warmth and security of each other’s arms.

“I love you,” you whispered, breaking the silence with a smile. 

“I love you too, my darling future wife,” Nanami murmured back, entwining his hand with yours.

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