#its because of all the times he kidnapped him

[tinylilacbun]

I feel like the whole kidnapping situation would give reader so much stress in the first few weeks that her little side would sometimes slip out, even tho she tries to repress. She would whimper and try to suck her thumb as a self soothing habit almost unintentionally, and everytime jj tries to gain her trust and replace her thumb with his, she would slap his hand or jerk away. But as the months go by and the "trust" comes, he would be the one cuddling her and giving her his thumb (even at the times he's the reason she's sad, because he's manipulative like that)

You're trying so, so hard to keep your composure. It's been days or even weeks, you don't even know anymore, having completely lost a sense of time in this cramped bedroom, at least you know when it's day or night thanks to the windows that are sealed shut.

Your mind has been screaming at you to regress, to get a break from the constant stress you're being faced with but keep telling yourself that you can handle this, that you'll find a way out and everything will be over.

JJ makes sure you're always confronted with your little space to give you no choice but to regress at some points, just like the pacifier that's laying on the nightstand that you don't dare to touch and give him the satisfaction that he's getting to you.

Or the plushie that you keep throwing across the room whenever he places it back beside you, and the only source of warmth is the colorful blanket with tiny bunnies printed on it.

As the time passes by JJ checks up on you more often during the day, not just to give you food water, or taking you to the bathroom when needed, because your resolve begins to crumble the more he's being gentle with you.

You're so in your head that you don't even notice when your thumb makes its way into your mouth, closing your eyes as you soothe yourself and try to blend out the way the handcuff on your left wrists that's attached to the headboard digs into your skin.

You don't even flinch when you feel the bed dip, only opening your eyes as you feel a hand running through your hair, seeing JJ sitting beside you with a soft smile on his face.

Your body doesn't even tense up as it used to whenever he is near, you even start to appreciate the little bits of affection he gives you.

You've made so much progress without even realizing, not flinching away or talking back to him as you did at the start.

You're completely overwhelmed with everything lately, not understanding what's going on in your head, why you can't bring yourself to claw at his face or keep fighting his every attempt of being close to you.

The tears start to slip before you can stop them, sniffling into the pillow as you sink into that familiar floaty feeling you always have whenever you regress.

You don't even resist when JJ moves to lay down beside you, carefully manoeuvring you to cradle you in his arms, covering you with your blanket as you quietly weep into his shirt.

"Sh, I know, it's okay. Papa's got you." He murmurs, his chin resting on top of your head as he rocks you back and forth gently.

Papa. He keeps addressing himself with that title. You don't even know his real name, he never mentioned it or found it necessary to tell you since he'll only be papa to you, nothing else.

JJ's has waited so long to get you to this point, to make you crave his comfort, the way he assures you that you don't have to worry about anything anymore, that he'll always be there to protect.

He slowly grabs your wrist to pull your thumb out of your mouth, quickly replacing it with his before you could protest, breathing out when you seem to accept it and nuzzle more into his body warmth.

"There we go. You're all good, little bun." He hums, reaching into his pocket with his free hand to get out a set of keys, carefully unlocking the cuff around your wrist for the first time in weeks, tracing the red mark before wrapping his arm around you again.

He presses a kiss against your hairline, getting a little more comfortable on the bed with you cuddled against him, tucking the lovey - that he stole from your house just before he kidnapped you - into your arms, smiling when you instinctively hug it closer to your chest. "Things will get better, you'll see. As long as you behave we could have it real nice."

[nottivagos]

syn: "Poor, scared little bunny. You'll never stop running."

wc: 2.3k

tw: dark themes, +18 mdni pls and ty, stalkers, kidnapping, drugging food, manipulation, physical harm, stockholm syndrome, unhealthy relationships, obsession, overall really bad & immoral.

an: i don't really know what to put here. i really enjoyed writing this fic despite the dark aspects to it, and i'm v. thankful for the love for stalker!carlos <3

taglist: @orangeblossomsintheair

Run, Rabbit, Run. || CS55

Stillness. The only noise came from the droning ticking of the antique clock that sat on the mantelpiece, collecting dust like a chronic hoarder. Wide eyes glued to the window, hawking over the freshness of the green lawn, flurries of colour the flowers in the bed showed because of the spring bloom. It had been a while since you’d seen a flower out in the wild, you thought.

Bunnies are beautiful creatures. They go silent when they want something, or when they get hurt. Maybe that’s why forced hickeys of red and blue blotched your skin, why your hair was dishevelled and unkempt, why your pupils were dilated whilst eyes wide and lifeless as boney hands subconsciously fidgeted with the empty paper cup, ripping it into smaller pieces, as it kept trembling in your grasp.

You couldn’t remember the feeling of glass on your hands, the coolness of the material in your palms, the sensation of a distant memory. Replaced by the roughness of paper rubbing against your fingertips. Carlos said that you could be only trusted with paper. It was safer, he said. You couldn’t be trusted with glass, he said.

His rules became the norm, the changing subtleties in your routines, embedded into the back of your mind. It was as if you'd been re-wired, happily for his own dark pleasure. You didn’t mind. You’d stopped minding a while ago. He loved you, that’s all that mattered. This life was happy. Not like your one before him.

Hell, you didn’t even know anything anymore.

Brain turned to mush, conditioned to not make decisions on its own, your own life like modelling clay in his hands, this domesticated haven you were living all created by his own desire to keep you. Cherish you. Have you. 

Muddled thoughts swam constantly in your mind, causing yourself to be unable to think properly. Shaky intakes of breath following, the shallow rattling of your lungs could be heard in the lifelessness of your lounge area. Eyes continuously glued to the window, watching the people walk in the warm sun, skin slightly reddened from the rays shining down.

Arms hugged your legs as you sat on the couch, like you usually did every day. Sometimes you’d hear the subtle clang or movement from Carlos in another room, but typically it was silent. Solitary in your own home. The typical homely four walls acting like a cold prison cell, reflecting the psychological confusion simmering in your mind.

‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎— ⟡ — ‎‎‎‎‎‎

It was hard to pinpoint when it had started. The past fear blurred by this fantasy you were living in now, as if Carlos hadn't done all those fucked up things to you. You were the right girl, the one that came into his life at the right time too. Naive, pretty, let down by past partners— the full package of a victim prone to manipulation. 

Carlos was infatuated. Mesmerised by your presence, your beautiful smile, the giggly laughs you produced when he got you a little too drunk (on purpose of course), the way your body complimented the outfits you wore a little too well. He was a creep, a love-drunk freak. 

It was innocent, you thought. A guy actually had an interest in you! He was such a breath of fresh air to the jerks that you’d been with before. He'd even mentioned that, holding you against your words in a heated argument you’d both shared. Using your drunken, emotional words to his advantage when you'd told him all teary-eyed that someone hadn’t cared about you in this way for a long time all those months beforehand. Yes, he was a little older than you, but why did that matter? He obviously acknowledged you for yourself, and you couldn’t help but cling onto that feeling.

It definitely wasn’t odd that Carlos knew when you needed him most. Or, just affection in general. Your mind just took it as him being a caring neighbour, the gifts or little treats just out of generosity and affection. Definitely not an obsession and the messed up yearning that followed. 

He knew your schedule more than you knew it yourself; work, eat, sleep, repeat. Sometimes on the weekends you’d go for a run, probably a New Year’s Resolution, he’d inferred. You’d meet friends occasionally and host at your house, too. He knew when your face lit up at certain foods you loved as you ate them with such raw joy, the way you played some specific songs louder than others when you heard them on the radio— you gave him an inch of your happiness, and he took the whole mile.

You weren’t sure when it fully changed though, when the kind acts became more intense, more horrifying to your friends when they raised their concerns about your new ‘lover’. If you could even call him a lover, to say the least.

Carlos was charismatic, a true gentleman waiting in the wings ready for his time to pounce. It just took time. Time he didn’t want to take, but he knew he had to console the rabbit and gain their trust before making any abrupt movements. Or they’d run away. A risk not worth taking when you were so close to being in his grasp forever. The lengthy process was like you, an innocent bunny timidly chewing on grass, whilst his wolf hid away, contemplating on when to pounce. 

And when he did, he thought it was beautiful. It was so refreshing that you’d complied with such ease. You’d spent the evening together, Carlos innocently offering to cook a meal for you both as he’d witnessed your fatigued body trudge into your home. The thought was kind — well to you, at least — but the motive behind the action was far from it.

All he had to do was slip a few sleeping pills into your food and you were gone! The sight was beautiful to see. His eyes darkening at the realisation that his plan was working ever so smoothly with no interruptions made a little smirk appear on his lips as he watched you ever so intently. The increased drowsiness added to your already underlying tiredness, and you were even a sweetheart for incoherently mumbling that you “could finish your food” when he asked if you needed to rest.

A broken phone now smashed on his dining room table as you finally fell into a deep slumber, it wasn’t as if you’d need that again, that would be living in the past, not in the present with him. And only him. He’d made sure to get you another one, of course, he’d even gone out of his way to contact your parents that you were “going away on a business trip for a few weeks”! Little did your parents know they’d never see their little girl ever again.

The rest you didn’t know. Your head lulled downwards as soft snores followed. Carlos’s large arms came to cradle you, hands clawing underneath your thighs as he rested your snoozing self to his chest. Watching you sleep in his embrace was angelic, a sight he aspired to remember forever and have burned into his dark mind, the car ride to your new life made him giddy with excitement distorted with the acknowledgement that you’d never be out of his grasp. Always his, forever.

His little bunny, so innocent and fragile, that he was going to provide a better life for. Like the wolf of him should. To guard and protect before fully going in for the kill. He’d taken your aspirations for living in “a little quaint cottage in the middle of nowhere” literally. He wanted anything for his girl, and if that would make her happy, he’d happily make it happen for you.

— ⟡ —

Stockholm Syndrome was the best way to explain your reality from then on. You'd developed a little coping mechanism to help ‘count down’ the days until someone came to save you, but in all, you'd just trauma bonded with Carlos instead. You'd come to sympathise with him, this ‘life’ he'd created for you actually painting itself as heaven. A happiness you couldn't describe as your old life faded into nothing. 

The barrages of “you know I love you, right?” and the desperate “don’t leave me please” burnt into your mind. The empowering guilt behind his pathetic pleads entrapped you more than Carlos physically did, and you couldn’t help but feel ashamed of your selfishness for wanting to run away. So you learnt to stay silent. Just like Carlos wanted.

You were so sucked into your thoughts that you didn’t even acknowledge Carlos coming into the room. Your nails hovered in front of your mouth, the nervousness in your stomach churning into acid in your stomach, your cuticles practically begging to be chewed to alleviate the stress and confusion swallowing your thoughts whole.

”Princesa, you’re thinking again,” the thick accent cooed from beside you, cupping the shredded remnants of your once-used cup from your lap, before discarding them on the wooden coffee table beside him. ”Tell me what’s wrong,” his voice was soft; caring, even, but there was definitely an undertone of a command there.

Your eyes followed the voice, daze-like as you met his doe brown gaze. Blinking, your eyes adjusted to the sight, before mumbling whilst still a little disorientated, “Nothing’s wrong. Just.. preoccupied.”

The sigh that followed was gentle, despite it having a bite of annoyance at your lie. “Come here,” he murmured in response, patting his lap with that wolfish smile, “I don’t bite.”

The first thing you learnt whilst being with Carlos. Do as you were told. If he knew what was best for you, it was the best for you. Bunnies were shy little things, they didn’t know what was right, but your wolf did. It didn’t help that you’d been craving the intimacy, which was Carlos’s initial plan, so you complied, your smaller body crawling over to his larger one, perching on his lap like it was second nature.

“Good girl,” he praised, the rumble of his low voice vibrating as you rested your back against his chest. Large hands came to rest on your thighs, the feeling of his calloused palms trapping you in his caged embrace sent bolts of electricity surging through your body.

You’d become so accustomed to the sweet nothings and gentle words that it was like a spark set off in your brain, you following the words like a moth to a flame. Hooked on his every syllable and low delivery, the fear that if you didn’t that he’d become angry. You hated when he was angry; your bunny forced into conformity, silenced and quivering in fear whilst his wolf barked, ready to eat you whole.

“You wouldn’t lie to me, right? Would you, mi vida?” he murmured again, pressing hot kisses against your jaw, the pecks causing your skin to burn with a bubbling intensity. “You know I don’t like it when you lie,” he continued, his voice holding a warning tone, you could sense that, “I care about you. There’s no need for you to lie, corazón.”

That mutter against your skin made your throat dry with fear. Wide eyes paced around your surroundings, an uncomfortable lump forming in your throat as you just let him touch you. Calloused fingertips trailed down your sides as burning lips attacked your already bruised nape, leaving even more scorching marks after subtle nips of his teeth onto your skin.

“I’m not lying,” you responded, your voice a breathy whisper as your body shivered whilst Carlos’s lips hovered over your reddened neck, hot breath fanning onto the skin. “I’m fine, honestly,” your mumble followed, trembling hands playing with the hem of your dress nervously.

He sighed again, this time more agitated as he pulled your back flush against his burly chest. “You are lying, nena,” his voice took a more harsh tone, biting back, as you watched his jaw tense subtly.

A pit of dread formed in your stomach. A sickening feeling churned and churned, your skin becoming pale at the sight of his angry state. You didn’t want him to become angry. Not again, not after last time. You’d only just healed from last time, you couldn’t go through that again. And what do pathetic little bunnies do when they’re scared and overwhelmed, unable to think for themselves, you may ask?

They cry.

The waterworks followed. Soft sobs turned into wails as your throat burned with fear, tears falling down your reddened cheeks as your hands pathetically came to wipe them away. Carlos’s eyes softened in that moment, looking down at you with a sympathetic look as you shuffled in his lap, now straddling him whilst clinging onto him.

“I’m sorry—” you hiccupped, sobs breaking your voice “—I thought, I just—” you tried to reason, your brain stopping you from comprehending your own thoughts, “I— I don’t— know—” you continued to sniffle into his chest, as a large hand came to cradle the back of your head gently.

“Oh, nena,” Carlos tutted, chin resting on the top of your head ever so slightly. “Hush, it’s okay,” he cooed, pressing a soft peck against your hair, “Shh. You don’t need to explain it right now.”

“B-but I—”

“But nothing,” his voice was stern, though it held some softness to it. “Just let me hold you, princesa. Please.”

You mustered a nod, another sniffle following as Carlos cradled him to your chest. Heart fluttering at the intimacy in that moment, you nuzzled more into him. You were such a confused little bunny, your little mental breakdown explained that even more, and he couldn’t help but chuckle. He’d got you right where he needed you.

Innocent.

Utterly helpless.

And dependent on his every word and action.

like stalker!carlos? consider sending me an ask in my inbox to be added to the notebook! - notti <3

[bedouinpoet]

Leader, lover, sir, and broken dream Part 2

Part two of the three. Hope you enjoy my lovelies. Part three coming soon.

warning: 18+ only, smuuuut 🫣dom Hotch, mentions of drug and alcohol use, cheating.

Chapter 2, High on Hotchner

1 year later…

You and Hotch never spoke of that kiss after that, you secretly hoped he was more willing to fight for you. But the case went by easy enough. You found the supposed “short white dude” however despite his insecurities he didn’t match your profile especially when you realized the unsub was a woman. You and Reid figured out it was Victoria Baird’s friend Lindsey who had been doing the kidnapping and murdering, jealous of the attention the girls had, feeling she had deserved it more, you found Victoria alive, and the case was a classic profile. After that case you and Reid got closer, he’d invite you to movies in the park every Sunday, and your friendship grow and you were so glad to have an uncomplicated love, a friendship, and even though you two were just friends, when around Hotch, you made sure to hug him more, lean your head on his shoulder, tease him. Maybe you wanted to punish Hotch, or maybe you were just a glutton for punishment, but you wanted Hotch to be jealous, you wanted him to fight for you, to want you, maybe that was toxic but you felt like he deserved it. However even that didn’t last, because one year after that Kiss Aaron Hotchner moved on, and got a girlfriend, Beth. And you couldn’t even deny it, she was great, great with Jack, great for Hotch, clearly made Hotch happy but it seemed everyone else already knew about Beth except you, you were the last to find out after supporting him during his triathlon. At first you were gonna ignore it, brush it off but it simply kept biting at you, finally Pen made a good point that you couldn’t argue.

“if you and Hotch are actually gonna at least be friends then BE friends, that means TALKING! My lovely lovely iron heart girl. Actually talking, even about the icky uncomfortable talks about feelings-“ she had a point so here you are waiting, waiting for Hotch to be alone and once Garcia leaves she gives you a thumbs up and whispered “good luck” and you make your way to his office. You tap gently on his door, but it’s enough to get his attention. He looks up at you in momentary surprise but quickly reverting back to his usual serious disposition. “Y/n? What’s up?” You stand awkwardly in front of his desk, trying desperately to not remember all the things you two did on that desk, and his chair, and the sofa, and the floor. You sit down so he doesn’t see your legs shake as you get hornier, closing your legs and you clear your throat. “I just wanted to talk to you about something if that’s okay?” “of course” he puts his hands on his desk casually and you refuse to look at those stupid sexy big hairy hands. “Hotch….why didn’t you tell me about Beth? I mean….it just seemed like everyone else knew about her? Specially Dave BUT me, and I thought we agreed we were gonna try to be friends-friends mention that sort of thing Hotch-“

”do they?” His tone seemed accusatory and you didn’t get why but his face remained the same furrowed eyebrow way “what?”

“Well you said friends say these kind of things but when I asked you on repeated occasion what’s going on between you and Spencer Reid, you tell me its none of my business or accuse me of only asking because I am jealous.”

you feel your cheeks flush with shame but that heat then turns to anger and defence “that’s different Hotch and you know it-“

“how so?”

you feel your attitude showing up even though you told yourself not to make this an argument, every time you two have spoken you end up bickering “because I’m not accusing you of boning a co worker AGAIN first Morgan then Reid, Jeeze it’s like you think heaven forbid someone could just be friends with me without me wanting to fuck em!? And for your information no. Me and Reid are just friends. Close friends sure, but friends….and if that’s seriously why you didn’t tell me about Beth that’s pathetic and petty as hell!”

You feel in your gut you crossed the line by calling him pathetic and petty as he clenches his fists almost shaking. His eyes became an absolute storm. For a moment you want to push that storm further, you want him to punish you for such ‘insubordination’ but you feel yourself stop, he’s with someone you remind yourself, this isn’t a game. But that look, that dark foreboding, domineering look that drives you crazy and it gives you the courage to not back down. As he continues

“you really expect me to believe that? I see how you two are together, always hugging, hands on each other-“

”yes because we’re FRIENDS! I hug my friends, I’m like that with Morgan too and with Pen, my love language is touch you know that.” He scoffs “well that’s pretty unprofessional in the work space-“ you raise your eyebrows in absolute shock you can’t help but laugh, that feeling of Deja vu again becoming overwhelming but this time you aren’t backing down, you wont give him the satisfaction of submitting. “Are you fucking serious right now? I think we both know that argument is null in void Hotchner or are you forgetting the last time we had this talk, as I recall THAT time it was jealousy and you speak of professionalism here when you didn’t give much of a shit about professionalism when you bent me over that desk and fucked me to next Tuesday!? And you know what I think that’s what this is about…I think you ARE Jealous still!” You spot a blush on Hotch’s cheeks, as his eyes darken at the mention of what he did to you but then he averts his eyes for split second. Then he re builds his composure, his confidence resurfaces when he scoffs and rolls his eyes “Don’t be ridiculous y/n….i am your boss, no one else speaks to me the way you do and yet maybe that’s my fault I let it happen too long and you think this behaviours is ok-“

“Don’t scold me like a child and your diverting-“ your blood begins to boil over.

“Then stop acting like one! And I’m not jealous of anything, I have nothing to be jealous of” his face falls in guilt as he sees the pain in your eyes. That struck you far harder than expected with absolute burning venom to your veins. It takes the breath out of you and the fight out of you too. You feel you really may have been stretching it thinking he still cared for you in that way. You stand up, your body moves as your mind shuts down. “Y/n where are you going?”

“I didn’t come to argue Aaron….I mean Hotch….I just want to be friends” your feel tears in your eyes yet you can’t seem to cry. You finally look at him as his voice turns gentle “y/n I-“

“its fine Hotch….I’m sorry for overstepping, I thought we were friends I guess I was wrong….see you Monday Boss”

with that you left. The idea of staying in any proximity to Hotch was something you couldn’t bear right now…

…

You spent the first two hours at home crying and drinking, then drinking and reading, then putting on your tv flipping through channels, passing every romance movie with venom and hurt. Until you finally land on one your favourites “Ha! Halloween movie marathon perrrrfect Fuck romance” you slightly slur to the empty room, you order a pizza and some wings and start to watch, after having some wings you feel yourself slightly sober up. That’s when you remember you have a few joints somewhere hidden in the kitchen, you rummage through, desperate for a new distraction. What were you thinking, acting so cocky with Hotch!? Thinking he was jealous when he has…Beth. You finally find the pack you hid for a rainy day and dam it was storming in your mind. You sit down and light up the first joint, after the fifth puff you’re already glad you remembered these little delights when ‘knock knock knock’

“fuckl!” You whisper blowing out your puff waving the smoke away like that will get rid of the smell,

knock knock knock

“yes yes yes alright I’m coming!”

You open your door roughly only to stop dead almost losing your breath as you see Aaron Hotchner, disheveled, tired eyes, standing at your door ‘fuck…I am too damn drunk and high for this’ you think as anxiety fills you that Hotch, a unit chief of the FBI, Aaron Hotchner a fricken Profiler will definitely spot the dilated pupils, the smell, your change in character….have you been standing here too long?

“um y/n? M-may I come in?” You move aside still scared to talk like you’ll shout “I’m stoned as fuck right now dude” so you stay quite as he steps inside, his faint smell of cologne makes you want to swoon into his arms. You notice even his clothes are disheveled, his tie loose around his neck, no suite jacket, shirt wrinkled, now your scared

“Urrrmm….Hotch? What’s wrong?”

those joints are really starting to kick in and all you could think is how thirsty you were and not just for water, hoping this will be quick visit so you can help yourself. You also really need to sit down.

“Nothing….i just- y/n I hate the way we ended things today, can we please just talk? Please?” You feel your breath quicken but you can’t say no to his pleading. But you did way too much weed for a serious conversation “are you okay?” You just nod “water want some?” Is all you Can say. He smiles thankfully“sure thanks”

“cool…sit down I’ll bring us”

you fill your cup and chug it down for dear life then fill it again and a cup for Hotch.

You start to whisper to yourself “don’t trip don’t trip don’t trip” you slowly give him the cup as your eyes widen as you realize how fucked you are, you see all the bottles on the table in front of Hotch….and the joints. You notice a slight knowing smirk pulling at his lips

“thaaaat….is….medicinal” the smirk becomes a full blown laugh like honey “did you ever really believe that when someone told you the same lie?”

“Nah, I usually look the other way when it comes to weed, what are you gonna do cuff me?” You wink and his eyes turn from light laughter to darkness, your mouth is dry but your panties become wet.

“You know you shouldn’t admit that to me, I’m your boss”

you shrug sitting down next to Hotch and lift one of the fresh joints “we’re off the clock and this is my home, right now you’re just some dude who knows where I live” he merely laughs and shakes his head “ok fair point” he starts to watch you intently as you lift the joint to your lips, in your mouth as you light it up. Being the brat you are you take a deep inhale. You look back at Hotch and smirk “want some?” You offer it to him and he seems clearly hesitant.

“Oh sorry you probably have to go to Jack I wont keep you-“

“actually Jack is having a sleep over at a friends house and….well Beth lives in New York now”

“Oh….im sorry that must be tough with your schedules”

He looks away from you and you fear you said something.

“Yes I suppose but I go when I can and vice versa”

“that’s good at least…so….since you don’t have to drive I repeat the offer….want some? You can crash on my couch if you want….unless your scared, goody two shoes” low blow but thankfully his laugh shows he knows your teasing and he takes the joint and inhales like a pro. Your shock evident as he laughs and inhales again.

“Aaron-I don’t know your middle name- Hotchner….have you smoked weed before?” You puff twice before handing it back to him….He tries to not cough as he laughs

“goody two shoes? What are you twelve? Who says that now?” You find yourself laughing uncontrollably, a proper laugh, that rolls off you effortlessly. You haven’t felt this in a long time “maybe, now answer the question doody head” you take the joint from him. He laughs and shakes his head

“Well I wasn’t always the ‘goody two shoes’…I used to actually be the problem child when I was young, I was always getting into stupid trouble…” he paused like deep in thought, you shuffle closer beside him and nudge his knee “so? What happened to make the Hotch we all know and love today?” You hope he didn’t notice you saying love and he clearly doesn’t as he takes two rather large puffs and passes it back “I grow up…I figured I had two choices, keep making the same bad choices or be the person my family needed me to be after my dad died. I had to be there for Sean and mom and I wanted….I wanted to be good enough for Haley” he trails off again and you allow the moment of silence for her… and for him. Finally you clear your throat passing it back “well…sounds like little Aaron was pretty smart and I’m glad he made the choices he did or else we wouldn’t have you” you kiss his cheek like it was the most natural thing to do…Fuck your stoned, why did you do that? Hotch blushes and smiles flustered, his smile allows you to breath a little…”thanks y/n”

“Any time hun”

you look into those velvety chocolate eyes, his eyes are blood shot but his pupils become so dilated you wonder if that’s all the weed or if, like you, he’s horny as hell, your eyes dart between his eyes and mouth and you notice him doing the same, staying on your lips long enough to make you lightly lick them. You feel as if times stopped and the air is heavy, the room closing in. Hotch opens his mouth to speak a few times still flustered “I should-“

“yea”

and without a thought you grab his shirt and kiss him like there’s no tomorrow, you stop only for a moment to make sure he is ok but as you looked at those eyes, that handsome, painfully loving and brave face, without thinking you say. “I shouldn’t have turned you away….i was in so much pain that day and I was scared, even though I wanted you….want you…so bad…I need you right now Aaron” his eyes darkened looking at your pleading horny filled eyes, you were so wet it was uncomfortable sitting so still.

“y/n-“ he searches for what to say, so you stop him “please ….Aaron”

Hotche’s breathing hitches at the sound of his name, you can tell he’s holding back, like an animal in a cage, but that cage is wavering. You start to squirm needing to feel his touch so bad. You damn near pout lightly caressing his leg. “Fuck it” he growls as he grabs you by the neck and pulls you in for a kiss that feels like it can consume you. His touches rough, needy, possessive he grabs your jaw holding it tight as he growls “open your mouth baby” you obey without question and he puts two fingers in, you suck them desperately, he quickly hisses as you start to palm the hard-on that’s fighting against his pants. He stares at you sucking his fingers like it’s the hottest thing in the world “fuck sweetheart the things I want to do to you”

“do it…do all of it…punish me sir please I need you” he shoves his fingers back in your mouth this time rougher, like he’s angry.

“want me to punish you for being the pretty little tease you are hmm? Want me to punish you for all your insubordination, looking at me with those eyes, wearing those dresses, showing off what I can’t touch, you know how much that killed me? Trying to make me jealous huh?” All you can do is gag just wishing he’ll use his cock soon, he takes his fingers from your mouth grabbing you by the neck “answer me baby…I wanna hear what you want” you stutter, trying to think of words as you feel his touch like a drug under your shirt moving up to your breasts (thank gosh you decided not to wear a bra right now) he pinches your nipple “answer me y/n” he pinches harder and you shout “fuck! Yes….yes sir I want-fuck- I- need you to punish me, fuck me, let me taste please sir” if this was anyone else you’d feel pathetic but with Aaron….it felt right, you wanted it and more so right now with how high you both were, every touch felt like an orgasm you just needed more. “p-pl-please…Daddy”

It was the first time trying that nickname but it had the effect you hoped for. Aaron growled and gave a gutteral moan and his lips was on yours, this time biting your bottom lip so hard it bled, he stood up and his every action just got you wetter as he looked down at you, slowly taking off his belt “be a good girl, take off your shirt now” you feel yourself shake at his gaze as you take your shirt off slowly, anything for more. He unzips and lowers his pants and boxers just low enough for his cock to spring out. You forgot how big his cock was you swallow at the idea of having it down your throat, excited as you see the pre cum glisten his tip. Hotch grabs your jaw tight forcing you to look up at him. “Open wide sweetheart….wider” you open as wide as you can, your tongue sticking out to finally get a taste. He smiles down at you like a sight to behold “mmm good girl, you’re gonna take my cock like my good slut and you don’t stop till I say so….nod that you understand and agree babe” you nod repeatedly just needing to feel it. Without warning he shoves his cock deep down your throat, you gag and choke but you just want more as you put your hand at his base, he doesn’t let up, he pulls your hair thrusting hard….you wanted punishment, he’s going to give it to you

“fuuuuuck y/n your mouth feels so damn good! Fuck that’s right take it baby…you wanted to get me jealous huh? Knew it would drive me crazy seeing Reid and Morgan’s hands on you- fuck!” His legs almost buckle when he thrusts so deep your nose touches the little hairs at his base and you gag

“fucking take my cock and remember who you belong too”

hearing his possessiveness through his guttural moans as he grunts and thrusts deep down your throat drove you crazy, you had to touch yourself or you’d explode. You put your hand down your shorts and you rub your clit, moaning and gagging on his cock, his hands tight gripped on your hair. You hear Hotch’s laugh, a dark, horny laugh “you just can’t wait huh sweetheart? Your pussy needs it huh….what does your pussy need baby tell Daddy?” He finally lets you breath, the tip of his cock playing on your lips, slapping your face

“you sir, please, my pussy needs you Aaron please”

he cups your face the first moment of gentleness and for a moment you think he will give in. He rubs his thumb on your bottom lip, smirking with dark eyes like he has plans. “You really thought I was gonna make it so easy? Tsk tsk tsk you’re gonna suck my cock a little longer and no touching that clit unless I say-“ you start to whimper “but-“

“no buts, give me your hands” you obey reluctantly, confused and excited for whatever he has planned. He grabs your wrists with one hand, grabbing his belt with the other. You watch in excitement, heated, needy awe as he ties your hands together. He keeps a hold of your tied hands while he uses his other to continue pulling your hair. Full control of your body. His breathing staggering as he orders

“open”

you obey taking every inch until you gag, the moment he hears those sounds he thrusts harder and harder. Your throat burns but you don’t want it to stop, even for water, you feel tears start to roll down your cheeks, your spit down your chin, all of it just makes Aaron rougher, his breathing ragged as his thrusts become more sporadic. You know he’s close you suck his cock like your life depends on it. “fuck y/n!” with that final thrust you feel his cum down your throat and coat your mouth. He thrusts a few more times just to make sure every drop is down your throat. As he gets out he closes your mouth “swallow babe” you do “again” you do and open your mouth just to prove you swallowed it sticking your tounge out. Hotch takes his opportunity putting your tongue in his mouth kissing you as he takes off your shorts. Caressing every part of you then pinching your nipples hard enough to make you shout “Aaron!” He pinches again as he kisses down your neck biting hard at your pulse point….you know he’s gonna leave a million marks and it only turns you on more.

“A-Aaron please I need you I-i can’t wait please” your pleading evident in your entire body as he looks at you with those caramel eyes and you know he’s given in. He kisses you gently “let’s go to your room it’s time your pussy got some attention sweetheart”

his boxers and and pants already off the only thing standing between you and Aaron Hotchner’s naked body is his dress shirt and loosened tie…you take his hand leading him to your bedroom, as you smile back at him you see Hotch taking off his tie, and unbuttoning his shirt with one hand….fuck what those hands could do. The second you close the bedroom door after you, Hotch pins you to the door hard enough to knock the wind out of you and no time to take a breath with his lips on yours again, you start to pump his already hardening cock as you feel his fingers tease your clit at an excruciating pace, you can’t remember the last time you felt so good and remember that it was always like this with Aaron, like he knows your body and every weak spot you have. You grasp his hair for support as he sticks two fingers in you relentlessly and you grab his hair harder as he groans. “sir..please no more teasing I need you so bad”

with your final plea he lifts you and takes you to the bed, putting you down and in that moment he’s on top of you, you feel an overwhelming sense of warmth, this feeling like everything is right, he looks in your eyes and you can see he feels the same way “y/n- I-i love you”

your heart pounds at the unexpected confession and you feel speechless all you can do is kiss him over and over as he adjusts himself to your entrance and thrusts home. First at a slow pace allowing you to adjust to his size, but then he stays at that pace to tease you until you wrap your legs around his waist, just wanting to feel every inch of him stretch you, with that his pace turns relentlessly harder, and harder and harder as he pulls your hair and bites your neck, your shoulder, cupping and squeezing your breasts as you moan his name over and over as he groans and grunts, and praises “you feel so good honey so fucking good” it’s like candy to your ears and you can’t get enough as you feel that coil inside you about to snap, you scratch down Hotch’s back and you clench his cock, moaning in unison as you orgasm on him and he fucks you through it. Your entire body shakes and you feel Aaron’s pace go harder and faster as he chases his own high. Until he’s about to pull out but you keep your legs wrapped around him

“y/n I’m about to cu-“

“in me please I wanna feel it” with that permission he lets go thrusting hard and deep making sure his seed is deep inside. For a few minutes you both just stay there. His head nuzzles in your neck as you play with his hair, his cock softening inside you. “I think you should sleep in my bed tonight….couch is too far away and I’m cold”

he laughs in your neck “oh I see, I’m supposed to be just your heated blanket?” You nod excitedly

“yup…no other reason Mr Heated blanket you run hot I need heat it’s like free heating”

he laughs again and you could listen to that sound for eternity as he stands up and you feel his warmth missing and it makes you whimper he leans in to kiss your forheard “I’m just getting us some water sweetheart….that was a lot of marijuana you need to stay hydrated, do you need anything else honey?”

You try to think but all you do is stare at that man’s body so you smile and shake your head “just hurrry I’m cold” he takes a moment to look at you and leaves. You start to really get cold so you snuggle under the blanket making sure to keep the space for Hotch as he comes back in. He hands you a cup “drink” you take the cup “thanks” you’re about to put it down when “nun uh uh drink, that pretty mouth and throat worked hard today. Need to hydrate baby…” you smile, your heart..you feel cracks in that wall you built up. He takes care of you, he understands you, like no one has ever understood you and your after care is a piece of heaven. You drink some of the water and lay down as he does the same, taking you in his arms and holding you as close to him as possible. you both doze off in bliss….until the next morning when everything hits and everything falls apart…

to be continued

[letsgobarbs]

The Wedding (Acacius Marries His Priestess)

Summary: This is part of the His Priestess universe but can be read as a stand-alone. Acacius marries his Anaticula.

Pairing: Marcus Acacius x Former Vestal!Reader (No use of y/n, terms of endearment are used.)

A/N: Anaticula means little duckie/duckling. Vestals were initiated at ages 5~7ish and served the temple for 30 years before they were permitted to marry, and Acacius is described to be a decade older than the Reader in the original story. I had meant for this to be a nice, fluffy wedding. But then I got my period in the middle of writing this and this grew progressively hornier... so it's a wedding and the wedding night.

Warnings: PDA, loss of virginity, oral sex (both receiving), eating ass (f!receiving), cum eating, unprotected p in v sex, discussions of having children, food play.

“You must cry.” The Vestal begged.

“Why must I cry? I happen to be very happy today, the tears are not forthcoming.” His anaticula sounded almost petulant, this was not the first time they were having this discussion. Acacius gently stroked his thumb over the side of her finger; their right hands were bound together by wool ribbons, fingers interlocked. 

“The bride has to cry during the wedding procession, show some reluctance and modesty—”

“I am so joyous, I would skip to my husband’s home if I could.” Acacius snorted into his cup of wine, spilling some of the liquid over its edges. He made no effort to suppress his chuckle as he placed the wine down to wipe at his mouth. His lips were still curled into a grin, he found he hadn’t been able to restrain it since he awoke this morning. He cannot decide which sound is sweeter, his name on her lips or her address of him as husband.��

“—it is Roman tradition.” Her friend insisted. 

“I don’t believe I would like to invoke the Roman tradition of kidnapping women for marriage.” Oh, but Acacius had wanted to invoke it several times a day leading up to their wedding. They had been reduced to chaste kisses and clasped hands, always chaperoned by a hawk-eyed matron who would squint at the most gentle caress he dared to share with his betrothed. Now his wife. Her father and brother had insisted it was for his own safety, so their anaticula didn’t attack him again as she had in her office— forcing an honourable man to wed her, they had teased. 

Acacius felt they were having far too much fun at his expense. Because all this honourable man wanted to do was haul her over his shoulders and carry her off to the nearest cave. He wanted to hide her somewhere, not even share her shadow with the world; keep her trapped underneath him until all she could see was him. Alas, he had to settle for buying a domus near her father’s home. He has ensured nobody would interrupt them for the next few days so he could take her over every surface, wall and square foot of the floor before letting her up. Let their pleasure and love strengthen the pillars of their home.   

He had spent over a decade with only his hand for company, but now the few meagre weeks of abstinence riddled his brain with insistent need. His skin buzzed with excitement, a current working its way up his limbs, as it would before a battle, at the very thought of having his Priestess to himself tonight. He had thought up so many ways to unleash that tigress he had encountered in her office.

“You know it is not just about that… The lares will be upset. Your household deities have guarded you for so long, they will be upset to see you spurn their protection for the gods of your husband’s home. You must cry to let them know you do not leave them willingly.” Acacius paused at the words, he had no lares; there were no spirits of ancestors or deceased family to call upon. 

He had been orphaned young, his whole family was lost to illness and he hardly remembered them. He had long lost faith in the deities and gods. But perhaps marriage was making him sentimental, even if ineffective and symbolic, he did not want his Priestess to go without protection. The shrine in his new home was fashioned with a single wooden statue of Vesta he had carved, it bore a distinct likeness to his Priestess, along with rose-scented incense— reminiscent of her scent. However, he couldn’t invoke her own spirit to protect her now could he— that was for his protection.          

Acacius had given up his previous tools of protection. All his equipment had been military commissioned; as a General, he did not believe in using a weapon that his soldiers could not afford; sometimes well-made weaponry was the difference between life and death, and his life was not more valuable than any of theirs. His gladius was the only weapon he had owned— the very one he had used to defend himself in the Colosseum.

Acacius had melted the sword to make two identical daggers— one of which he had gifted to his Priestess as a betrothal gift, the other he had kept for himself. An engagement ring had also been made from the same metal, which she now wore on the third finger of her left hand where it would connect to her heart. It had felt right to slide that ring onto her finger; it was only fitting that the woman who had rescued and protected him had a piece of the blade that had guarded him. He had vowed to never fight another war. After all the victories and bloodshed across the world, he had returned home to submit at her merciful feet. And there had never been a defeat sweeter than losing himself in her, especially not when he had won her too.   

There had been enough metal left over to form a thin betrothal medallion, engraved with their visages sharing a kiss along with two clasped hands on its back. He knew his Priestess wore the medallion around her neck, a gold chain could be seen disappearing into her tunic, the disk surely nestled between her bosom. Acacius wondered if he should convince her to place the token in their shrine. After all, their love had protected and sustained them both through difficult times. He knew it would guide and watch over any children or descendants they might have.

“Did you want me to cry, Acacius?” She asks him as she draws closer, resting their bound hands on his thigh, easing the stretch of the muscles of his arms and shoulders. He really should unbind their hands, they were sitting beside each other, so he had to stretch his arm across his torso to grasp her hand. But judging by how tightly she held him, she did not want to let go either.

He shook his head no, he did not believe he could stomach seeing her reluctance to marry him even if it was feigned. He had even offered for them to stay with her family if she was unwilling to part with them since she had lived apart from them for the last three decades. 

“Are you sure? I could shed some false ones… maybe get closer to the smoke so it would make my eyes water”—Acacius kissed the irresistible little moue off her lips—“If I don’t cry then everyone will say you have married a disobedient wife who will tyrannically dominate your home.” She continued her exaggerated words anyway. She didn’t know that he planned to acquiesce to all her commands and requests, he could swim across oceans blazing with fire just to see her smile— he had done worse for much less. 

Acacius watched the sway of her earrings, the metal catching the light from the setting sun behind her. He hadn’t been able to look away from her since he had lifted her flammeum for their wedding ceremony. The flame-coloured veil glittered around her, casting a warm golden glow upon her skin. His priestess was not one for dull colours, but she looked radiant in her white tunic and stola. 

He pressed a soft kiss to her cheek, then trailed gentle pecks all the way to her ear where he nibbled on the soft, petal-like skin of her ear lobe before he widened his jaw, tongue reaching out to capture her earring into his mouth. Acacius savoured the coolness of it in the warmth of his mouth as he gently suckled on the jewellery, relishing the shiver that went down her spine. He nuzzled the loose coil of hair behind her ear, knowing she enjoyed the scrape of his beard on her skin— he heard the hitch in her breath. He released the earring in his mouth, letting its wetness streak across her neck.       

“You can cry for me… later when it is just the two of us.” He whispered to her. But his words did not have the intended effect on her. He watched her eyes waver before skittishly looking over his shoulder, her own shoulders tensed and curled away from him. Acacius retreated and saw the nervousness painting her face, her lips pursed and brows slightly furrowed. 

He playfully nudged her nose with his, “What is it, anaticula?” 

He heard the harsh gulp of her throat, her eyes frantically looking around for the right words. When she looked at him again, her gaze was hesitant and embarrassed. His Priestess cupped his jaw with her free hand, her fingers pinched his earlobe in retaliation before her thumb softly stroked under his eyes. Acacius melted into her loving touch, his eyes drooping shut. 

“You woke so early today…” She smelled of her gardens— flowers, herbs and fresh earth. 

He had awakened well before dawn, but he felt rested and replenished. Usually, the bride and her mother would collect flowers from their garden to weave a wreath on the day of the wedding. But his anaticula’s mother had already passed away. He knew the other matrons of her family would gladly help her, but Acacius had wanted to weave her wedding crown himself. He had decided so when he saw her wear a wreath the day she was to be unjustly punished for unchastity.  

He had sneaked into her room, woken her up with cakes collected from the kitchen before stealing her away to the gardens so they could make her wreath. He had chosen marjoram for honour, love and joy; rosemary for fidelity and loyalty; lavender for devotion; sage for long life; verbena, basil and mint along with roses, lilies and violets. The crown had ended up a bit too heavy but she wore it with grace. 

“And you also went hunting with my father and brother.” An animal had to be sacrificed for the wedding. Acacius had decided to hunt a wild boar himself. The entrails of the animal were read by the auspex for omens and the approval of the Gods. It would not have mattered what the auspices prophesied, he would have hunted every animal in the city until the omens were read in his favour. But the first boar had been enough, the omens had signified a joyous and lasting marriage. After the offerings had been made to the gods, the animal was cooked for their wedding feast. 

“Then you cooked in the kitchens as well.” He hadn’t cooked, he had made the bread needed for their wedding ceremony. It was not supposed to be made by the groom. But in the absence of his Priestess, during the months he had believed her to be dead, Acacius had perfected making bread in the kitchens she used to feed the poor. He had wanted that bread to be offered to the gods, he had wanted that bread to be fed to his bride. It was another token of his devotion. 

“The ceremonies were so long.” She was right, Acacius thought the Pontifex Maximus would never stop talking and praying and chanting. He suspected the man dragged out the wedding ceremony solely out of spite that his Priestess had lied about her death. But he had not heard a single word of the chief high priest, his Priestess had stood before him and he was lost in her adoring, twinkling eyes.

He had always believed her eyes to be wondrous, always bright with mirth and mischief, they found joy in the smallest pleasures of life. A single gaze from her could fall on him like a soothing salve as well as disturb his constitution— make him restless with need and desire. His heart always trembled when she looked up at him through those full lashes. But today her eyes had looked so captivating with the kohl lining them that Acacius had almost stumbled in an effort to get to her. He had blindly signed their marriage contract, unwilling to take his eyes off her for too long.

The only time he had lost sight of her today was when he had cried during her consent of their marriage, his own tears blurring his vision. Theirs was a union of equals, he would never make demands on her wealth and personhood, and she was free to keep the name her parents had graced her; all Acacius had wanted was a chance to spend his remaining life by her side, and the privilege of belonging to her. So he had been dumbfounded and overwhelmed when she had forgone the blessed and auspicious name Gaius to lovingly and proudly take his name during her vows. 

Ubi tu Acacius, ego Acacia. Where you are Acacius, there I am Acacia.

He had not deserved the honour, the name meant very little. It was not what his parents had called him; neither was it a name that held any high esteem in terms of legacy and social standing, nor was it the name bestowed upon him by the people. Acacius was always preceded by General and it was a name tainted with the blood of the innocent. But she had taken that piece of himself he was most ashamed of for herself. And in doing so, she had breathed a new life into it— she was what gave his name honour and worth.

And he was proud to be her Acacius. Ubi tu Acacia, ego Acacius. Where you are Acacia, there I am Acacius.

He had broken the bread he had made over her head, careful not to drop crumbs in her hair, before handing over half as an offering to the Gods. Acacius had fed her that bread, her teeth gently grazing his fingertips, affectionately nipping at them, before she had taken the same piece to feed him. And the bread was sweeter where she had bitten into it. But far sweeter was her mouth when he had sealed their marriage with a kiss. 

There was a rightness, a sense of tranquillity, that had settled about him at the conclusion of the ceremony as their hands were being tied. For the first time, Acacius had been content and at peace. His mind was serene, devoid of the usual demons that haunted him; his heart could taste the rising joy within him, and he could pluck the excitement from the air.  

“So you must be very tired tonight…” Her words had tapered into mumbling, which was so unlike the woman he knew. Acacius figured she was hoping to avoid their wedding night which was a surprise since she was so receptive to his advances. 

“One of the women gifted me this… salve. Some ointment they got from a trader.” He knew he wouldn’t need to pry for answers, she would work her way to telling him her concerns eventually. 

“And all the other matrons have been looking at me with these faintly pitying looks. At first, I just thought it was because I did not have a mother… but they sat me down last night for the most interesting conversation.” Her hand left his face to pick a grape before offering it at his lips. Acacius obediently accepted the fruit in his mouth. 

“They said my wifely duties would be very difficult.” She looked at him, as if awaiting a reaction.

“Why? I plan to be the most amenable of husbands, dulcissima.” He dropped an affectionate kiss on her palm. 

“Because of your size, Acacius. They said you would be very big, like a bull”— Acacius choked on the second grape she had shoved into his mouth, a strange sound between a strangled laugh and a cough escaped his mouth—“And it would hurt me very much but I should just lay back and endure. I do not want to endure…” 

Acacius took a moment to appreciate her aggrieved face, “Anaticula, did you not enjoy our play in your office—”

“Yes, about that. It is most uncommon I am told. But that bodes well for our marriage—” he huffed a laugh at the sagely nod she gave, he would have loved to hear her explain to an elderly matron how he had kissed her between her legs. Was that why he had been receiving odd and appreciative glances all day? He felt a flush climb up his neck, how many women had she told?

“I did enjoy it… but do men do it to compensate for the pain after they have taken their pleasure?” He blinked at her, it wasn’t an unreasonable conclusion based on what she knew.

“I assume… it should not be too difficult, right?” She said, almost as if convincing herself, “I’m told it is quite nice sometimes…”

“I swear to not do anything that doesn’t please you tonight, dulcissima.” 

“Everything you do pleases me.” She gifted him a soft smile. 

“Even when you believe it will hurt you?” He couldn’t help but tease her. 

“I know you won’t mean to.” And she sounded so certain that he felt a tender spot in his heart give away. He could still taste her essence on his lips. If all she allowed him tonight was to drink from her nectar, he would happily pass away on his knees with his head still buried between her thighs.

“Carissima, I will enjoy our nights together, and I expect you will find your pleasure as well. I will ensure it, because it brings me more joy and gratification than you can imagine—” 

“Can the newlyweds please be mindful that the guests are trying to eat their meals?”

His wife reared back with a soft gasp before turning to face her brother. Acacius was pleased to know he held the same effect on her as she had on him. Because he had been heedless of their wedding party all day. Their guests had been raucous, tittering and chatter filled the air; the wine flowed freely and the food was plentiful. Many people had come up to speak to them, but the conversations never extended beyond pleasantries and congratulations. 

After all, he was no longer an important political force and the highest echelons of society still didn’t know of his Priestess’ influence amongst the people. It was baffling how disconnected the aristocrats could be from those they considered lowly. Moreover, their guests were too busy ingratiating themselves with their young Emperor who was in attendance with his mother.

His wife had pointed out no less than three women who had thrown themselves at Lucius, quietly snickering to him when they were rejected. According to her, a prospective paramour had tough competition in both Fortuna and Ravi— who shared a very interesting history. His anaticula loved gossip, it was the most endearing thing about her. And she had informed him with great relish how both Macrinus and Ravi had been lovers once who chose to lead very different lives after earning their freedom. Macrinus had been different then, but he had slowly rotted and corroded just as his owners had. Ravi would go out of his way to help those Macrinus owned, Lucius and Fortuna included— grieving for the man he used to be. She believed the Emperor would be sharing his lovers. Acacius didn’t care as long as none of them came to disturb him and his wife. 

Acacius pulled his wife to stand, urging the wedding to its final ritual. He unbound their hands, so she could pray to the lares of her father’s home and bid them goodbye. He wordlessly assured their household gods that he would take care of her and keep her happy while leaving an offering of food and coins at their shrine. He watched as his wife’s eyes glazed over with tears, helplessly his hand found her arm offering her warmth and comfort. 

“If the lares are unwilling to part with you, tell them they can find you in my home.” He whispered to her. The words pulled a teary huff of laughter from her. 

“I miss my mother.” She quietly confessed. And Acacius felt his heart break for her. He gently wiped at the tears on her cheek, his nose stinging with his own tears as she leaned into his touch.

“She would have been the happiest at this match”—Her father told her, as he handed his wife a clay mask resembling her mother’s face—“take her with you to your new home. Let her guide and protect your family.” Acacius was grateful for another addition to their shrine.

He could think of no better protector than her mother. Acacius had been young and barely literate when he had arrived in Rome and the woman had shown him enough grace and favour to educate him along with her children. It was at her behest that her husband had trained him as a soldier. As a General, he had learned that diplomacy and negotiation prevented unnecessary bloodshed. While he was no politician, these were skills he had learned as a youth when he had watched the woman run her household and business. He remembered anaticula’s mother to be remarkable, shrewd and protective— qualities that he was grateful ran to her daughter as well.        

She lit a torch from their hearth and passed it to the matron of honour before her father and brother tearfully embraced her to say their goodbyes. As he had no family of his own, this man— his mentor— had served the role of his father in all the wedding rituals while his wife’s brother had served as her guardian. There was an uncertainty in the air, even as the guests had begun the wedding chants and songs. As a groom, he was supposed to put on a show of forcefully ripping his bride from the arms of her family. But he knew his wife did not agree with this particular tradition so he waited for her lead. 

She reached out for him and he pulled her closer by the hand, kissing her knuckles as she stood by his side. But instead of walking together, Acacius stooped to carry her, his arm coming under her hips to offer her a perch, another arm supporting her knees. He shouldered past the curtains and flower garlands on the archway of their door to walk out onto the street.

The entire city seemed to have shown up to see her married; in addition to the passers-by, those who used the charitable services she offered had shown to throw honeyed almonds and walnuts at the newlyweds— shouting their blessings and good wishes for her. Her arms found purchase on his shoulders as she looked over them to wave at someone in the crowd. His wife, overwhelmed and astounded at the love people had for her, buried her face in the crook of his neck, and his skin burned with the tears she shed there. Acacius soothingly rubbed her hip and placed a chaste kiss on her arm. He couldn’t help but feel so proud of the woman he loved. 

She sniffled and collected herself as they neared the neighbourhood crossroads, “Acacius put me down, we have to worship the shrine at the crossroads.” He heaved her higher in his arms to readjust his hold on her and bring her closer to the shrine at the crossroads. She placed a ceremonial coin to the protective gods of the shrine along with some food a boy had carried for her. 

Her friend Aquilia, another former vestal, served as the matron of honour and led their group to his home. While her marriage was not as long as was required for the role, her husband’s love for her had persevered through the three decades of her duties in the Temple. Acacius liked the man, he had vowed to take no other woman in his life and had kept his word. Although, he was still upset that all of the Vestals had suspected his anaticula was alive when he had believed her to be dead, but they had not thought to inform him. 

“Surely you don’t intend to carry me all the way home.” She spoke into the curve of his shoulder. He most certainly will carry her to their home.

“I’m too heavy, you’ll tire yourself.” He didn’t grace that with a response. He had carried men heavier than her; in the heat of the battle he had lifted drawbridges and ship towers. She should know better than to question her husband’s strength, he hadn’t earned his physique without the heavy labour. 

She gave a resigned sigh, he felt her warm breath down the back of his neck. She nuzzled behind his ear, and took a deep breath before her tongue lapped at the sensitive skin. Acacius shivered and his knees weakened, his grip instinctually tightened on her so she would not fall. 

“Carissima, wait… we are on the street.” He hissed through his teeth while she quietly laughed. She could not have tasted anything other than the light sheen of sweat he had worked up in the warm evening. His anaticula picked a honeyed almond stuck in the folds of his toga and apologetically offered it to his mouth, Acacius did not forget to kiss her fingertips for the gift. She took another sweet treat for herself that had been trapped in a crevice between them. 

Acacius finally set her down when they approached the new domus, allowing the Pontifex Maximus to utter some more prayers while his wife smeared the fat of the boar to honour Ceres, and the fat of a wolf to honour Rome on their doorposts. She tied the wool strings that had bound their hands to the handle of the door. He felt the first stirrings of impatience, to be so close to their home and not have her to himself was making his hands twitch. 

The guests clamoured to warn her to not step on the threshold as she entered her new home— doing so would insult Vesta and bring bad omen. But Acacius simply lifted her again, with an arm under her waist and knees so that her feet were as far from the threshold as they could be and carried her into their home. 

Only their family followed them inside and watched her light the hearth of her new home with the fire from her father’s home. Acacius extinguished the torch and threw the wood at the audience gathered at their door who rushed to catch it. 

It seems his wife was becoming impatient as well because she had begun the prayer and offerings at their shrine without him. Acacius bent to unlace her sandals, removing the single coin she had stashed in her footwear and placing it at the feet of the wooden Vesta in the shrine.

“Does that statue… look a bit like me?” She murmured. She had yet to discover the depths of his devotion. 

Acacius offered her a lamp and a bowl full of water, “I give you fire and water”—she touched both items—“You are the Domina of this household and master over everything that resides within its walls, including your husband, Carissima.” 

He kissed his wife before turning to his guests, resolutely ushering them out of his home and unceremoniously closing the doors on their teasing and obscene jeers.

You stared at the nuptial bed. It was small— too small. It would barely fit just Acacius, and that too only in width, because one end of the bed lifted into a curve they would have to rest their back against so their feet didn’t hang off the other end. Or perhaps this wasn’t the nuptial bed because it was here, out in the open courtyard, rather than in your husband’s sleeping quarters. But the bed was finely made, with sturdy wood and soft cushions decorated with roses and crocus petals— a current tingled in your belly at the sight of the aphrodisiac flower. That won’t be needed.

Acacius returned in a huff after seeing off your guests, plopping down on the chaise— because really this can’t be called a bed. You looked down at him, resplendent under the glittering moonlight; it made the grey hairs in his curls glimmer silvery. The torches around the atrium cast playful gold shadows across his face. Instead of a white toga as was the custom, he had chosen to drape the red cloak you had made for him all those years ago, its gold embroidery gleamed against his tanned skin. 

But it was his eyes, that made your heart flutter with the verses of love you didn’t have words to express. Acacius managed to make even the cold, luminous moon burn bright and hot in his eyes. Sometimes the way he looked at you still made your heart feel raw and vulnerable. You had waited thirty very long years for him to simply look at you— to recognise you. While you had loved him for as long as you could remember, never once had you hoped for his love too. Your younger self would be in disbelief had you told them one day he would be your husband.     

“Are you hungry?” He asked while stretching out his hand for you. 

You hurriedly shook your head, your insides were suffused with enough love and awe to sustain you for a lifetime. He pulled you to sit on his lap, his thigh felt strong and firm under your bottom. 

Acacius stroked your back, his hand was large and warm as it reached up to cradle your neck; his fingers calloused and firm as they massaged away any tension. Your head lulled back over his hand, a soft sigh escaping your mouth. He leaned forward, another hand coming over your waist pulling you closer into the heat of his chest. You gasped as Acacius kissed along your exposed neck, his beard deliciously scraping against your sensitive skin as his lips lingered over your beating pulse before reaching your upturned chin. He playfully bit your chin. 

You turned in his arms until both your legs framed his waist and you had straddled his lap. You pulled at the wool of his toga, removing it from his shoulders so it lay spread beneath him before your hand slid into his hair; the curls wrapping around your fingers as you claimed his lips with yours. The force of the kiss pushed him down until his head was leaning over the backrest of the chaise.

What you lacked in experience you made up for with need and desperation. There was a groan from his chest and his arms wrapped around your waist to haul you closer to him— something hard was prodding at your thigh. You reverently traced the shape of his lips, feather-soft kisses to the plump cushion of them, light licks over the swooping edges. But you craved more, more, more. You needed to feel his tongue against yours, you needed to be closer somehow. 

Your hand wrapped around his throat, fingers barely reaching the sides of the thick muscles. His heartbeat thundered on your fingers and then onto your palms as you slid your hand up to cup his wide, square jaw. You dug your fingers into his jaw to pry his mouth open. Acacius parted his lips to allow you to explore his mouth, you stroked and delved deeper in the chase for his tongue. He closed his lips around your tongue and suckled. His tongue met yours now, teasing and confident before he released you, placing a gentle kiss to the tip of your tongue and then on your closed lips.

“How do you want me, dulcissima?” He purred against your lips. 

You did not know what he asked of you, “Desperate.” You answered honestly. 

Acacius laughed. A loud, free sound that made your heart race. 

“For you? Always.” He promised as he guided your hips to sit directly on that hard, throbbing part of him. He did feel large.

“I will not do anything you do not wish me to, anaticula. Tell me, what do you want from me tonight?” His tone was breathy as if words were difficult for him. 

“Everything.” You didn’t want to waste another second. It didn’t matter how much it would hurt, but you needed a part of Acacius within you, physically and in every other way you could possibly consume him. 

“Are you sure?” He confirmed even as his hands had already unpinned your veil allowing it to fall behind you. But he waited, for permission, for something as small as a nod while he fingered the Hercules knot tied at your waist— a sign of your chastity.  

“Yes.” Your voice barely about a whisper. Acacius pulls the wool at your waist, both hands fisting your girdle around the knot, and breaks it with apparent ease instead of untying it. He then pushed your stola down over your shoulders until it pooled at your waist. Anticipation curled in your belly as he slowly pulled at the tiny bows that ran down your shoulders and along the sleeve of your tunic. Each tug of string was a sensual display of possessiveness and desire— his eyes were raptured on the swathe of skin as more of you was exposed to him. The tunic too fell at your waist, pooling over his lap and yours; only a plain binding lay between him and your breasts. And instead of unwrapping you, slowly as all his other actions had been. Acacius swiftly and impatiently tugged the fabric down. 

You both gasped at the movement, the cloth dragged across your sensitive nipples causing them to stiffen and bloom towards Acacius. The winds were blowing colder in the night than they were during the day. A shiver ran down your spine as you sat bare on his lap, he made no moves. Acacius just stared with intoxicating eyes; they roved over your body, studying your face, the slope of your neck, the expanse of your chest, the curve of your shoulder, the length of your arms and the swell of your belly until finally, they settled on the betrothal medallion that hung in the valley of your breasts. 

Even as you held still for him, allowing him to look his fill, the experience of being displayed thus was new and uncomfortable— no man had seen you this way. But it was not unwelcome. He looked breathless and awed, his hand faintly trembling as he brushed your nipples with the back of his fingers. The touch was so light, lighter than a feather, but it incinerated you, it sent a fiery current down to your womb which contracted; there was an insistent throb between your legs. 

But whatever sensation you felt seemed dwarfed by his reaction. Acacius shuddered. His eyes were wide and glassy. You placed a hand over his heart, its pace wild and erratic. Abruptly, he dug his fingers into your waist, lifting you off his lap and stood with you. Your clothes fell to your feet, and you fisted his tunic to guide it over his head. You regretted that he chose to wear the tunic that fell to his calf, the longer fabric took a few scant moments longer to be pulled over his head but the wait was torturous. His underwear swiftly followed yours on the floor. 

Acacius was better than anything you could have ever imagined. Better than those marble statues of gods and heroes, better than art and most certainly better than those erotic drawings you bought on the streets. He looked unworldly, bathed in both the cool of the moon and the warmth of the hearth. He had been stripped to his basest form now both hardened warrior and wild beast with the eyes of a man in love. Your husband. 

You laughed then, wide and happy, “You are divine, Acacius.” 

He answered with a chuckle, light flickering over the dimple on his cheek, “You do not see yourself, carissima.”

He held nothing of himself back as he allowed you to touch him; he sighed as you caressed his scars as if you relieved him of the pain, his breath hitched as your fingernails raked over the hair on his chest, he gasped as you scraped over his nipples. The planes and hills of his body leaned into your palm as you explored all the ways he was different from you.   

He did not stay still under your ministrations for too long and his lips fell on yours without reserve, his hands cupped your ass using it to pull you closer towards him. Your arms wrapped around his neck like a garland of love, a hand buried in his hair in a silent command for him to never stop kissing you, another hand exploring his broad shoulders, the stretch of his back and the bulk of his arms. You decided Acacius had to be naked until the sun rose tomorrow so you could study every freckle and spot on his body.

His kiss was raw, elemental— there were no gentle explorations and tentative touches. Acacius claimed and conquered, his lips on yours were hard and insistent while his hands on your body were rough and restless. He touched where no decent man would linger, using your delighted and shocked gasp to enter deeper into your mouth; you clung to his shoulders to keep up with his pace and only his hands held you upright. 

A calloused thumb grazed your nipple before he pinched and pulled at the sensitive flesh. You bit into his lip, giving it a sharp nip in response and Acacius groaned into your mouth. He kneaded the flesh of your hips, but his fingers slipped as they moved to the inside of your thighs. You were dewy and wet for him, the hairs and skin surrounding your sex were covered in slick moisture. 

He lazily explored your folds, his fingers parting and squeezing as they pleased until he bought his tips right against the bundle of nerves at the apex of your slit. You ground your hips against his curled fingers when he stilled his motions, desperate for the friction as your pleasure built, steadily climbing up your spine while he nipped under your jaw before receding to watch the sway of your hips to and fro, to and fro over his hand, smearing it with more of your sticky fluid. 

“Please…” You begged him. And Acacius moved his fingers then, in dizzyingly tight circles on your nub, his calloused finers offering just the right roughness needed for your muscles to seize. Warm currents coursed through your veins as you trembled and shuddered through your release in his arms— your skin overheated against the cold air. The hair on his chest dragged against your erect nipples causing more of your limbs to twitch; he held you close through your pleasure, his fingers unrelenting until the little bud was oversensitive to touch.

You rested your weight against him, your legs feeling too soft under you and took his flat nipple in your mouth wanting to give him the same pleasure he gave you. You gazed up through your lashes as he brought the hand that had been between your legs close to his mouth and groaned as he licked a wide strip from the side of his wrist to the centre of his palm. Your tongue lapped over his nipple to mimic the movement before encircling the little peak, you toyed it between your teeth and Acacius greedily shoved three fingers into his mouth to taste you— a soft breathy moan escaped him. 

He pulled you off his nipple, your lips making a soft pop sound as they left his flesh slightly red. His hand curled into your braids as he pulled you by the head, “Taste yourself on my tongue, anaticula. Sweeter than honey…” 

Your tongues met again in a dance of their own before you suckled his tongue as he had yours, drinking him in. You weren’t particularly sweet, but something about your taste mixed with the spit of his mouth sent a heady thrill through your body which made your toes curl. His hands roamed your body again, finding the spots and places that were sensitive, he lingered there with light touches and tender caresses— surprising you entirely when he sharply pinched your waist. You pushed deeper into the strength and heat of his body as your waist rolled with his unruly touch. Acacius swallowed the surprised moan from your mouth. 

He had always been so… staid, controlled and solemn that you had expected Acacius to be such in his intimate moments as well— respectful and gentlemanly. There had been a wild, unpredictable demon that had come out to play in your office all those weeks ago but you had attributed his actions then to the high tensions and unresolved conflicts. But he was here now, lurking in the dark gaze of his desire, the tremble of his lips and the urgent grasp of your body. He could barely contain himself. 

And it made you realise just how much of him you had yet to learn. Like the rest of the world, you had seen the dignified General. You knew the reluctant conqueror and the grieving soldier. You had met the loyal friend, the protective family, the kind elder in him. But you were unacquainted with this man before you— unrefined and almost savage under the influence and vulnerability of his own wants and impulses.   

It filled you with a childish, stupid sort of rage to know that others had seen him as such. He had lovers before you, while you were trapped in a temple. He was so familiar with the female body, while you had to flounder for answers. It made you all the more resolved to erase all those previous embraces and lovers from his mind. You clutched him closer still, his cock insistently pressing into your belly, the tip leaking and smearing a wet patch across your skin. 

From this day forward, there will be no other for either of you. It had been an entirely new discovery to know you were a jealous, shrewish sort of wife who could not even bear that her husband thought about another lover even in passing. Should your husband ever tire of this marriage, he will have to squeeze the life out of you himself to be free of you. And this realisation was entirely unsurprising, that you would be content with such a death. You only had one life and one heart but if you had more, those too you would gift to Acacius.   

You guided him to sit on the chaise again, and despite his forceful and desperate advances, he went obligingly— never once pulling his mouth away from yours, pulling you to sit on his lap. But you evaded his embrace and knelt between his feet the only way you knew how; like a devout priestess kneeling at the altar of her deity— like a lover submitting at the pulpit of her beloved. 

Your eyes trained on his phallus, you had seen the male form before on statues, art and even in ceremonial rites to ward off evil; but you had never seen one quite as wide or large as his— your fingers barely touched as you wrapped your hand around him. He hissed as you gripped him and stroked to its base, pulling some of the skin and exposing the angry bulbous head that was leaking clear beads of liquid. You moved to taste him as he had tasted you, but his hands framed your face, halting it in its descent. 

“What are you doing, anaticula? That is not for wives to do.” Of course, it wasn’t. It hadn’t been the old matrons who taught you how to suck a man’s cock. No husband from a respectable household would expect this from his wife. But you wanted this. And before shame could eat away at your courage you confessed to your husband. 

“But… I want to.” Ever since you had felt his tongue between your legs, there was very little you had thought of. You couldn’t bear the idea of never sharing this intimacy with him.

“You can explore all you like later. I can’t— I won’t last if you toy with me now…” His thumb caressed the apple of your cheek, his torso hulking and leaning over your knelt form.

“But we have all the time in the world, Acacius.” You struggled against the hold he had on your face, and stretched your tongue out of the confines of your mouth when he wouldn’t allow you closer to him. You barely tasted that small drop on the weeping slit of his cock on the tip of your tongue with a short cat-like lick. Acacius shivered.

He spread his legs wider and gave you a chaste kiss on your lips before lowering your mouth to his cock. The tip of it nestled against the curved roof of your mouth, the flared head pressing against the wrinkled ridges behind your teeth and it already felt so full. It was ticklish if not altogether strange sensation and you took him deeper until he was touching the more sensitive and softer part in the back of your mouth, your hand coming up to stroke the rest of his length that was left outside. 

You realised you could do this forever as your eyes closed shut. Your tongue was pressed to the vein that ran along the underside of his cock which thrummed with his heartbeat. It was like you were holding his beating pulse, his very heart, in your mouth. You felt his thigh quiver under your hand, and you chanced a curious glance up at your husband to behold the sight of him trembling, his teeth clenched and jaw twitching with the effort to remain perfectly still. And yes, you realised, you could do this forever— just hold him in your mouth until he lost his composure and grew desperate enough to fuck into your mouth. 

Acacius frowned at you, he looked dark and forbidding, “I know that look in your eyes, put away whatever idea you just came up with, wife.” He spoke through gritted teeth and his chest racked with the effort to breathe. 

You started moving your head, slowly at first as Acacius guided your hand to stroke over his length as he liked— tightening your grip and twisting your wrist. You hollowed your cheeks to envelop his cock tighter and suck him deeper inside your mouth, relaxing your throat to adjust to the fullness in your mouth. Perhaps, your husband was to be cursed with the most selfish sort of wife because you stopped looking for his reactions, his cock was in your mouth for your pleasure alone and whatever he might glean from it was secondary in your mind. 

He smelled of musk, sweat, the floral powder used to scent his clothes and something so addictingly Acacius. You rubbed your thighs together, the arousal had pooled from between your thighs to coat your ankles and feet under your folded legs. You hated to feel him receding from your mouth, sucking him as your head moved up, swirling your tongue around him to taste him before coaxing him deeper into your mouth again. Experimentally, you brought a hand to the sac hanging heavily under his cock, testing its weight and the hairy texture of the skin, gingerly massaging it until it drew tight in your palm. 

His cock jumped in your mouth as his hands entangled in your braids to pull you off him. But you suckled him with a petulant whine, refusing to be wrested off him. A warm, salty and slightly bitter taste filled your mouth while he wrenched your head off him, the rest of his spend falling in spurts across your face and neck. What a waste…

Acacius glowered down at you, mouth agape and panting, “You are going to be the death of me… One of these days you will kill me.” His eyes were focused on your tongue as you licked the side of your lips to taste more of him. And he watched as some of his cum glittered on your skin as it trickled down until it was halted in its path by the gold chain hanging from your neck. He lapped at your skin, collecting his cum from the chain and depositing it into your mouth with what could barely be considered a kiss, his tongue surged into your mouth until you had cleaned his thick release off it.

You felt a smug satisfaction as you noticed that he was still shaking, a bit unsteady on his feet as he stood and lifted you onto the chaise. You thought you could consummate your marriage now, but to your confusion he knelt before you— his cock looking much flatter, softer. You felt your lower lip wobble as Acacius guided you to lean back. Was it supposed to do that?

“What did you think was going to happen?” He chastised you. 

“I had no reason to believe he would just go soft like that… can’t you make him go up again?” You whispered, a bit uncertain of the male anatomy. Would you not be able to consummate your marriage tonight?

Acacius leaned over to kiss your pouting lips, “It comes back faster when you’re younger.” 

You adoringly caress his bearded cheek as he smiles down at you, an uncertain vulnerability curved about that smile. You struggled to think of what to say to him, he could be old and decrepit and you would still be glad to have him as your husband. You had still wanted him a few short hours ago when you had been expecting pain and shame on your marriage bed, and you wanted him more now that he had shown you pleasure and wonder instead. You loved him not because of his prowess in bed but because of the simple fact that he was Acacius— steadfast, loyal, protective, kind, and loving, oh so loving.

But complex sentences evaded your mind as his lips closed around your nipple, he lingered there with his teeth and tongue before moving just a bit below to bite under your areola. He insistently sucked the flesh of your bosom into his mouth until it came away with a small bruise. His lips traversed down your body in a sensual dance of kisses, nips and almost painful bites. He spread your legs and groaned at the sight of your arousal smearing large patches of your limbs. 

“So wet for me, anaticula.” His voice was breathless.

“You’re perfect.” You settled for simpler words that were just as true. He was perfect. Acacius huffed a warm burst of laughter. 

“I’m glad you think so, wife.” He chimed even as his gaze seemingly searched for the sincerity in your eyes.

“I love you.” You offered him another nugget of truth. 

You watched as the colour rose from his chest to his neck, Acacius shyly smiled before obscenely licking at your arousal and suckling another bruise on the inside of your thigh. He was marking you.   

You squirmed with anticipation, feeling his hot breath on your cunt as he spoke, “Don’t worry, he’ll be back just as we have prepared you some more.” 

“Here, hold these for me.” He spread your thighs and pushed them towards you, your hands came under your knees to hold yourself open for him as he had commanded. 

His mouth on your cunt was a reunion like no other. Acacius remembered every sensitive spot and fold of your sex. But the swooping in your womb had more to do with the sight of him rather than the pleasurable feeling of his tongue on your slit— his mouth attached to your cunt, eyes glazed over with a half-awake and half-asleep look in his eyes, lashes gracefully fluttering as he tasted you, a patch of his cheekbone shimmering under the lamp light where the slick from your thighs had smeared across his face.                

Gone was the urgency with which he had devoured you previously in your office, he was instead languid and slow. But there was a fervour in his grip and his fingers painfully dug into the flesh of your hips. He toyed with one of the lips covering your opening, sucking it into his mouth and nipping it with his teeth before doing the same with the over. His tongue roved over your sex sometimes just the tip, lightly and ticklishly grazing over a sensitive spot, and other times he was insistent, tongue flat against your folds as he roughly lapped up your essence. 

You grew desperate as he purposely avoided that crest right at the apex of your sex that would ensure you would see stars behind your eyes again. And you grind your hips against his face, hoping to catch the needy spot against his nose, or his lips or even his chin— the lightest of touch there could set you off, you were so close, the tension curled so tightly inside you. There was a resounding smack in the air, it didn’t occur to you that Acacius would hit you until there was a tingling on the side of your ass, the impact making you gush into his mouth.

“Of course, you would enjoy something like this,” He murmured. And he laughed. He had the audacity to laugh as his lips closed around the exposed little bud, the vibrations of his amusement travelling straight into your nerves. You came undone with a shout, your eyes unseeing while your veins felt alit with delicious flames coursing through them followed by warm currents that doused your body in a dreamy languor. You lost your grip under your knees, letting your legs fall apart in the most inelegant fashion but still spread so wide for your husband. Acacius moved away with a teasingly tutting at you, and you whimpered at the loss.

“Hold them for me again,” He said. And you obediently took your position, hands under your knees, lifting your trembling legs so you were entirely exposed for him. 

Acacius took your clitoris in his mouth again, his tongue encircling the oversensitive bud. You felt his thumb gather some of your slick before going down to the ring of muscles far below your cunt. You gasped his name in surprise as his digit followed the same dizzying circles around the ridged fig-like skin surrounding that opening. 

“Is this alright? Do you trust me?” You gave a hasty wordless nod for both questions. 

Acacius pressed two fingers into your cunt and suddenly it was all a bit too much. His tongue flicked the bundle of nerves, the intrusion of his fingers felt foreign and the thumb circling your other hole was sending waves of pleasure to muscles you hadn’t realised could be used for such a purpose. He watched you restlessly whimper and whine with half-lidded eyes as you squirmed at his touch. He released the nub of flesh from his mouth, making soothing sounds as he comforted you. 

“Relax for me, let it happen, my love, do not fight it.” He said as he curled his fingers inside you catching some dormant set of nerves which threw you into another release. You came with a gasp, still shaking and quivering as he pressed soft kisses to the inside of your thigh. You hadn’t yet descended from the heights of your pleasure, your muscles feeling fuzzy and boneless when he flipped you over. Your head rested sideways over the backrest of the chaise as Acacius guided your own hands to your ass. 

“Spread yourself for me, wife.” His tone clipped and terse. You had thought yourself past surprise and shame but were still so unprepared for the feel of his tongue against your anus. His tongue burned hot against the ring of muscle as he held it in place while his fingers found their way inside your cunt again, three this time instead of the two before. And this time he lets you grind yourself on his face. You are mindless and hazy with pleasure, there is no real pace or rhythm to your hips.

His hand curved around your waist so he could curl his fingers into your clit, providing delicious friction as you swayed your hips. His fingers lazily dragged in and out of you, his beard scraped against your sensitive skin, and his tongue pressing hot and wet against the opening of your ass, burrowing inside despite your haphazard movements. Acacius gives you a deep hum of approval the more desperate and determined you grow in pursuit of another release. 

It crept up on you, steadily climbed your spine, long and drawn out rendering you utterly silent as your body gripped and convulsed barely being able to hold itself up. For several moments you were lost to the world, Acacius circled and patted the erect bud of nerves until you stopped twitching while another had soothingly stroked and petted over your shivering skin. He turned to lay you on the chaise, pressing an affectionate kiss to your parted lips and covered you with his own body, whispering soft praise and encouraging words as his legs entangled with yours— you gasped at the feel of his weight, another throb coursing down your sated sex, you clenched around the tip of his cock as he bullied his way inside.

As he had promised, it did not hurt. But you felt full, and far too relaxed and pliant to be overwhelmed even with the slight burn of the stretch. Dazed, you noticed the wet patch on the backrest where his hand gripped— you had drooled. It was worse, your release had coated his cloak underneath you, it glistened against his face and it dripped down his chin, his neck, his chest. 

“Dulcissima, you have to let me in, please— you’re strangling me. Breathe—” Acacius was tense, speaking through gritted teeth, his words breaking from his effort to breathe. And your body complied with his request, you could never deny him. And you felt complete once he had nestled inside you, filling not only your cunt but your heart and your soul. Your gaze was wondrous and awed as you held him inside you, you clenched around him trying to pull him impossibly closer still. 

He gasped before kissing you again, trying to hold most of his weight off you. You stay that way, connected in more ways than just the physical, locked together in both love and ecstasy— your hands exploring his warm skin and the strong contours of his body. A surprising laugh bubbled up your throat when you realised Acacius had broken into goosebumps, his hair raised alert and small bumps ran along his arms. 

His forehead pressed against yours and you nudged his nose with yours gazing into the eyes of your beloved seeing the love and adoration reflected there. He softly caressed your cheek and your temple, “I haven’t done this in years,” he confesses. Years?

“Good.” 

He chuckles at your response, “Good? It means I won’t last long…”

“You don’t have to. It is done, is it not? The consummation.” 

He pecks your nose, “We aren’t done until you come all over my cock, anaticula.” 

And then he moves, in sufficiently long and deep strokes that have your eyes rolling back, grinding his hips so the hair above his cock rubs against the erect nub above your opening. Your nails dig into his back, the coil of pleasure winding tighter at your core. 

“I’m sorry,” he whispered into the skin of your neck. 

“It doesn’t hurt.” You told him as your hips rolled to meet his thrusts.

“I’ve done you a disservice—” Why was he talking? Did he expect you to hold a conversation? All you could manage was a broken keen when he rubbed the most perfect spot on the inside. 

“You’ve been trapped in a temple for thirty years, you deserved to see the world, take a few lovers, but I have trapped you instead.” 

“No—” He couldn’t possibly be saying these things while his arm wrapped under you to massage your anus. 

“You can roam the world, freely conduct your business— take over Rome if you want to— I’ll follow you… anywhere. I’ll go.” He wiped the tears that slipped out of your eyes before continuing, “But this is what you will do at the end of every day, anaticula.”

“You will go about your dreams and ambitions and then you’ll come home every night into my arms, my bed, with my cock buried deep in your cunt. Do you understand?” He brutally snapped his hips into you while you responded with some sound between a sob and a laugh. 

“Say it, say it to me. Tell me you’re mine.” He commanded, his eyes overcome with a zealous light. His fingers dipped into the tight ring of your ass. You could feel his cock all the way in your throat.

“We’ll have to train this hole of yours open if you do not want children, carissima. This is where I will fuck you next. But you’ll take me, like a perfectly biddable wife— into your heart, into your body. It is my home, and you will not cast me out—”

“I want them— I want children, everything you give me— please please please— Acacius.” You begged. 

“I’m yours. Your wife, your lover, your whore— please, Acacius—” You weren’t sure what you were asking of him. But your husband, ever the provider, brushed his fingers against your clit and you shattered under him with a distorted scream. You convulsed and shook underneath him with no effect as his weight pressed down on you. And your husband followed soon after, shivering and groaning as he painted the inside of your cunt with his warm seed; your walls fluttered around him to milk every last drop of it. 

“Daughters… wife. Give me daughters, ones who take after their mother in both looks and heart.” He prayed to you. Acacius stayed that way for several long moments, reverently kissing your warm and sweaty skin while you felt him softening inside you. You clenched around him in distress, hating the inevitable loss as he slipped out of you.

You had watched with great interest as he had stumbled away from you, admiring the sight of his ass, wishing you can sink your teeth into it. And with even more interest, you stared at his cock as he returned with a wet cloth to clean you both along with a tray of food he had prepared. The both of you had ravenously polished off the feast of olives, cheese, fruits, stuffed dates, spiced cookies, bread and sausages. Your husband had plied you with more wine before dipping his strawberries in your cunt to eat them; they tasted sweeter that way he had claimed and you hadn’t believed him until you had cleaned up honey from his cock which had tasted impossibly sweeter to you.

You lay on him, sleep still evading you because you knew you had to address his words when he had been inside you. Your back leaned against his chest, and Acacius had parted his legs to make room for your bottom between them. Another reason sleep was not possible, this chaise was too small for both of you— you told your husband as much. 

“You should have seen the one they brought before, it was much smaller… So I built this one.” He chuckled.

“You built this bed yourself?” You whispered, appreciating the work and polish under new light. You thought he only worked on smaller projects.

He hummed in response, “And the bed in our chambers. Don’t worry, I made that one palatial.”

“So why aren’t we there?” You laughingly demanded. 

“Because I wanted the heavens to witness our consummation, dulcissima.” And your heart fluttered again. 

“I still quite like this one, despite how small it is… It’s our marriage bed and I’ll be fucking you on it as often as I can.” Despite, how sated and spent you felt, heat still curled in your belly at his promise. 

“You know, Acacius”—you turned in his arms to face him, chin resting against the swell of his stomach, you gazed up at him with imploring eyes—“You have done me no disservice. I wanted to marry you.”

You couldn’t hold in the words any longer, “You can never imagine yourself as some chain around my feet… you make me brave. You bolster me, make me feel safe— like I will always have someone on my side.” 

He sweetly caressed your spine, “I’ll never give you cause to be disappointed in our marriage, anaticula.” 

“You couldn’t disappoint me if you tried, Acacius.” You struggled against the insecurities in his mind, before realising that only time will reassure him. 

“I love you,” Acacius said, not as a confession or a desperate sigh, but in the same steady way he would voice a fact. 

“I love you, too,” You whispered against his chest. 

“Are you sore?” He gently asked. 

You were, not just between your legs but also in your heart— you shook your head in denial. Just a little white lie because you knew that having him close, having him inside you could cure all ails. 

Acacius watched the sun rise, as he would on most days of his marriage— casting his wife in an ethereal glow, the rays shining down on all the marks he had left on her body while she languorously rode his cock to their shared bliss. 

[pinkyjulien]

▶ Johnny, Mikoshi, and SPI AIs

Years ago I bought some of the original TTRPG sourcebooks and only just recently started to really read through them 👀 It's a blast and I recommend every cp77 fan to get them!

I'm mainly focusing on the Cyberpunk RED era - it's set during the 2040's (2045) and exist as a canon, direct bridge between the Cyberpunk 2020 pen and paper, and the Cyberpunk 2077 game;

"[...] In addition, RED allows us to create something unparalleled in gaming history—a tabletop RPG that serves as the perfect onramp for the expanded and far future of the Cyberpunk 2077 arc. With threads looping forwards and back through the timeline, my partners at CDPR (Patrick, Adam, Marcin, Amelia—let's face it, the whole damned 600+ crew at the CD studio) and our crew at R. Talsorian Games have given you a deep, complex gaming experience you can explore on both the tabletop and the video screen." - Mike Pondsmith, Cyberpunk RED (2020)

In the Cyberpunk RED sourcebook, we get to read through the real events that took place in 2013, the kidnapping and "death" of Alt

"He's coming out of the Hammer, about midnight, and he sees them. Three punks,mohawks bright and bristly with reflected neon, wearing high-collared jackets; gang colors." - Cyberpunk RED, page 5

We also get to read the Arasaka bombing event, how Johnny really died- and who's responsible for getting him soulkilled... 👀

"On the other side of the room, Johnny crouches under a desk, fighting with his past between bursts of gunfire. I left Alt last time. Just abandoned her. Not again. Never again. Better to burn out, says the Hand. Yeah, Johnny says to himself—and he knows what he has to do." - Cyberpunk RED, page 121

I'm obviously not going to post the whole chunks here and DEADASS ENCOURAGE YOU TO CHECK THEM OUT FOR YOURSELVES - especially if you love Johnny, Rogue, Alt and the entire old crew, it's a real treat!

Anyway, the reason why I'm making this post is because I got further into the book and into the parts about AIs

We know our Johnny, the engram stuck in V's head, isn't a reliable narrator; we learn why and how in the previously mentioned stories on how these events went down - We also know that, well, our Johnny isn't really much of Johnny - He, and everyone who has been Soulkilled, are known as "SPI" AIs

"Soulkilled Pseudo Intellects (SPI) are AIs that were originally actual people but have had their consciousness digitized and now exist only on computers in the NET. The process is often not voluntary — Soulkiller programs produce this type of AI. Otherwise indistinguishable from Symbolic Analysis AIs, these "ghosts" were created in huge numbers as Arasaka put its infamous Soulkiller program to work targeting enemies and rivals alike. The majority of these SPIs have gathered in sanctuaries around deserted mainframes and city systems abandoned by Corporations or (as in the case of a number of bio-plague attacked cities along the Asian Rim) totally abandoned cities. Most of these "ghosts" just want a safe place to live; rumor has it that Alt Cunningham, the creator of Soulkiller and a digital ghost herself, has created a number of "ghost towns" in hidden places all over the remains of the Old NET. They pretty much want to be left alone." - Cyberpunk RED, page 263

We learn about other types of AIs in this section as well - but obviously this one grabbed my attention because, well, that's the Johnny we know - and that's also who, what V becomes after Mikoshi (talking here about the canon game events in some of the endings ofc)

It is so interesting and almost comforting in a way to read about this, to have a proper name and description of what we see and experience in game

I'm late to the party of course, I bet this was already a known thing - but wanted to share it here cause again, it was really really interesting to read and made me feel things hHHHH a lot to think about

[void-bitten-ghost]

WELL SINCE YOU ASKED @nonrebloggingviewerswillbeshot

I feel like it'd be for a game, or a challenge, maybe by a fellow crow Rook who wants to see just how much it'd take for The Demon of Vyrantium to actually break

Jokes on both of them, all it takes is just this specific person tying his hands up all pretty and shoving him down into a chair like they mean it and he's gone, life of conditioning/assassin training be damned

They don't even have to touch him. Hell if they're going for the whole kidnapping scene and he's blindfolded all they have to do is walk with the intention of him hearing it, circling around him, and his breathing is going to get heavier the closer they get

Tbh all Rook would have to do is look at him and he could probably feel it from across the room. He'd be so starved for contact that even that stare might do him in if he lets it, but that's not what the game is here. And gods, he tries. He has to try because this is becoming a lot more difficult than he expected it to be. When they'd been joking around about this, he'd been confident in his abilities, and theirs, enough to press. To ask for it under the guise of a challenge.

He is a fool. He is a stupid and very, very lucky fool to think he could've spent any longer than five minutes under Rook's capable hands and not break apart singing for them

But the knife. He hears it first. The whisper of them slowly, carefully unsheathing it. Then he smells the oils he uses and realises it's his blade, the one they gifted to him all that time ago, and his lungs stutter, lips parted in a quiet gasp.

"How did you--"

It's cold on his lip, pressing, a suggestion he shut up.

"You know how," they say, a smile in their voice that makes him melt. "The same way you would."

He keeps that knife safe on his person at all times, and they managed to take it without his notice. A hot flash of something enamoured and vicious flairs in his chest, making everything feel too warm, too tight, too much--

The blade is gone, but then so is his shirt's top buttons. There's a twinge of regret at the damage, but Rook soon soothes it in their own way, their breath, sweet like the torte they ate and sang his praises for, ghosting along his jaw.

"You're beautiful like this," they say, and he would never call himself clumsy, never, it's unbecoming of a Dellamorte, but the way he turned and chased their words only to reach nothing... it left him off balance.

"Rook," he very nearly begs, only some last shred of prideful upbringing keeping him in check.

"Yes?" Comes from the opposite side. He doesn't jump, but it's fairly close to something like it.

He says nothing. Only bristles at the cool air now hitting his bared chest. Rolls his shoulders back to open the shirt more and give them a better view.

He can play dirty too, but it seems to work a bit too well. The world bursts back into view when the blindfold drops, adjustment taking its sweet time while the blurred shape of Rook comes into focus.

I'm thinking what they're wearing is a surprise. Maybe a present he commissioned a while ago and lost hope in actually seeing them in. Something delicate in their colours. Either way, he's already on thin ice, so that might be the thing to push him into 'I might just beg/give you anything you want from me' territory. But then Rook brandishes that blade in a loose but confident grip, placing the tip just below his ribs.

Anyone else, he'd have killed them by now. Anyone else, he wouldn't have even gotten this far in the scene, having finished them off long before. But Rook was his (thiers), and he (they!) was Rook's. If Rook wanted his heart out and physically beating in their fist he'd lay down and show them which ribs to crack. He's that far gone.

But yeah, uh. Hm. Then the blade travels up. It scores a pink, spidersilk thin line between his lungs, over his clavicle, up his throat--

He can't even breathe by the time the skin warmed metal digs under his chin and lifts, bringing his eyes to their's and keeping him there, hot and sweating and so unbearably aroused he might actually have a panic attack holy fuck

Aaaanyway, God I need to finish veilguard

Yes I know he's a capable and professional killer for hire but I can't help but think that Lucanis is the type of man that if Rook were to run the flat edge of thier knife up his throat and tilt his chin up with the tip he'd fucking shake apart send tweet

[serenhob]

I will never get over the fact that Dante put Achilles in hell for *lust* like what?!

The Iliad literally begins with 'Sing O'Goddess of the wrath of Achilles, son of Peleus who sbrought countless ills upon the Acheans', the story is about Wrath as a whole. The wrath of the gods, the Acheans wrath and Achilles wrath.

At the start he takes his revenge on Agamemnon (deserved but also Achilles is probs worse let's be honest) by not fighting and actively encouraging the Trojans by getting his godess mother to convince Zeus (tbf this is kinda funy considering the reason he's mad is that Agamemnon refused to give his war bride back despite the fact Apollo was trying to kill them, like the hypocrisy. How dare you for letting our side down because your sulking that you don't get to keep your unwilling girlfriend that you kidnapped! Only I can do that) then when Patroclus dies he goes on his rampage and fights a river after it gets mad about him chucking dead bodies in it. Then he kills Hector and drags his body around the walls of troy like 9(?) Times before giving his body to his parents. And finally he gets murdered

You could make the argument that Dante meant blood lust but I'm pretty sure it's just the regular variety in that circle of Hell (correct me if I'm wrong)

And while Achilles went on his little revenge murder trip for his lover. It was definetly that wrath that was his downfall. Especially with how he treats Hector's body. (Its quite fun that the Iliad ends with 'And so the Trojans held a funeral, for Hector, tamer of horses' so is the ending of Achilles wrath ad the beginning of the end of the war) allowing Hector's burial signifies the end of his wrath.

Anyway, ye I hate Dante for this. One of Dantes favourite writers was Virgil who was Roman and wrote the Anead which focused on the Trojan Aneas who went on to find Italy and founded Lavinoum so saying the biggest hero on the Greek side was really lustful might be because he liked the Trojans better. Also this was essentially self insert bible fanfiction so should we really expect accuracy?

I mean I do

All this to say I'm Salty about this one particular decision he made (he was questionable as a whole but this is a specific literary gripe)

[headfullof-ideas]

I normally never post more of these so quickly after the last set, and I am shocked at how many people like the last set of Incorrect Quotes so fast. It’s probably Alpheus, who I feel I’ve gotten a better hang of, especially with the wires in his wetsuit. Anyways, have some of these goober cousins

[daisybell-on-a-carousel]

We should talk more about the fact Jason got swarmed and attacked by a mob as Robin, like??? Hello. He had to be left there because the mob was too violent with Batman near. He had to be taken to the hospital.

Look at those injuries!!

The next time we see him he's forcing himself out of bed and putting on the Robin costume thinking "I've gotta do what I can to help, even if it kills me!"

The next next time we see him he has walked into yet another violent mob

I cannot stop thinking about this story and the effects it probably had on him honestly. Do you think it's made him nervous in crowds, do you think it made him trust others just that bit less. How long do you think he was being attacked before he was found, the scene had cleared. "I've gotta do what I can to help, even if it kills me!",,,,

Just the concept itself! I don't know about you guys but being attacked and grabbed and trampled into unconsciousness sounds absolutely terrifying! Did he black out, still getting hit, thinking he was going to die? Knowing he couldn't defend himself as his injuries to took their toll? At their complete mercy?

1986-87 Legends, issue #2 (the attack), #3 (the hospital), #5 (getting up), #6 (defending heros from another forming mob)

2010 DC Universe: Legacies, issue #6 (flashback panel to Legends moment)

[fashion-foxy]

As someone who has been in the EAH and Descendants fandoms, here's my perspective:

Point 1) Descendants didn't get EAH cancelled.

Yes, it kinda did. Eah media is a doll ad first and compelling story second. Descendants gets to be a story first and a doll ad second. Mattel (owners of the eah franchise) at the time of the Eah cancellation and the Descendants (2016 and 2015 respectively) the general public was growing more and more conscious of unrealistic beauty standards for women and had a growing resentment towards stereotypically feminine things (like dolls). This was obviously very bad news for a doll ad. On top of this, Eah's much more successful sister franchise, MH, was dropping in sales, leading Mattel to eventually reboot the series and resetting the lore (making Eah even less relevant). Finally, Mattel had the license from Disney to make Disney Princess dolls. During 2015, Mattel was obviously more focused on Barbie and MH than Disney dolls. This led to Disney not renewing Mattel's license and giving it to Hasbro. This, along with MH losing value, made Mattel lose a LOT of money. EAH, at this point, was on life support, but ultimately, the final nail in the Eah glass coffin was (in my opinion) the launch of Descendants. All of EAH's very small market share was very quickly taken up by Disney. When Disney had Hasbro make Descendants dolls, it was all over for EAH, resulting in its cancellation. Descendants didn't kill EAH but it was the final nail in the coffin.

Point 2) The Descendants movies are good.

Very subjective, I'm not going to say you're wrong for liking or not liking any piece of media, but I am ultimately writing an argument in favour of EAH. I will try to be as unbiased as possible, but I'm sure my biases will be made very apparent.

The original 3 Descendants movies were very good at introducing compelling themes, ideas, and characters, but they never could quite stick the landing and make a satisfying conclusion to anything they introduced. Off the top of my head, here are the most obvious examples in semi chronological order:

The Isle of the Lost:

Really cool fucked up dystopian idea! I loved the franchise focusing on villain kids who had done nothing wrong being imprisoned for life. However, the decision to bring down the barrier felt like it came out of nowhere as most of D3 was about Mal having to deal with actually figuring out how to rule and learning her actions had consequences and than the ending was "actually no the Isle is too fucked to keep" I agree with this but I do feel like they should have had SOME plan for if the hundreds potentially thousands of people imprisoned for 20 years decided they needed revenge.

Mal using magic to "fix" girls appearances:

Extremely cool! I love her being a fucked up fairy godmother in an attempt to get close to actual fairy godmother but the ending of the subplot being Jane is so insecure that she steals the wand felt like and empty twist. Also, Mal's apology felt very empty.

Mal spelling Ben into loving her:

Let me preface this with saying I love my boy Benjamin. Love this plot. The first date was sweat, yet it filled me with dread on first watch because I was sure Ben would at least be somewhat upset with her. Then the carriage scene! Him just casually saying he knew! The look on her face! His downright manic laughter! I was so excited! And then Ben said it was fine and he still loved her. All of the excitement instantly left my body. I feel like he should have been a little mad about it, but I guess he was operating under the assumption that she had a crush on him, and she never corrects him?! I guess we kind of got Ben blowing up on her in the opening of D2, but then he instantly blames himself. Like, Benny, no, she tried to erase your memory. This isn't your fault.

Uma spelling Ben into loving her/Ben being kidnapped:

I find it fucking hilarious that Ben is perpetually a damsel in distress with these movies. Something I don't love is that he is way too forgiving! Ben sweetie, no, she also spelled you into loving her. Don't jump into the water! I did love Harry and Ben's chemistry on the ship, definitely otp (not saying much cause I dislike pretty much everyone else). Basically, same complaints as Mal spelling Ben.

The OctoUma vs. DragonMal fight:

I was so hyped! Then Ben jumped in the water. No epic fight, and Uma just swam away. Missed opportunity.

D3 Audrey:

Love her being a villain. Don't love that she has no consequences for her actions.

Audrey cursing Ben:

Ben, did you not fucking apologize?! I get he was spelled but wtf man! At this point, just give up with women it's a lost cause, my dude. Same complaints with Audrey as Mal and Uma.

Overall, my rating of the original 3 Descendants movies is 5/10, definitely a crashed landing, especially with the 'Yay Girl Power' shit they were trying to do, which just made it so Mal, Uma, and Audrey didn't have to deal with consequences of their actions.

Point 3) Descendants Copied EAH

I think, at best, for Disney, they used very similar concepts and ideas. However, this never went to court, so I can't legally say Descendants is just straight up a copyright infringement. But the case MGA vs. Mattel, I believe, is relevant because the United States uses a thing called case law, meaning that the result of old cases can influence the result of new cases (extremely simplified explanation) . About the actual case, basically, the extremely simplified version of this case is that MGA had extremely popular doll line Bratz, Mattel saw that and said "yeah let's do that, but like Barbie," and made myscene MGA saw this and sued Mattel. Main talking points include:

- 4 characters all of different races (very weird argument makes a tad more since when you look at the dolls)

- Stylized bodies. For example: big lips, big eyes, small waist. (Basically true, Mattel straight up just made Barbie Bratz dolls)

- The fashion. (I mean, yes. Mattel doesn't dress dolls to look like teenagers. Especially not popular teenagers. This is Mattels only line where they look very much like popular girls. While MGA dolls are filled with pop culture references)

MGA lost the case. Which I take to mean that if it would go to court it'd be a similar situation where Descendants I'd different enough it legally wouldn't be an issue but fucking look at this:

Also Merlin Academy is reconning old Descendants lore to make it have basically the same destiny system as EAH. Also, not an especially big piece of 'evidence' but in the song Love Ain't it, the QOH says "...and fear is more important if we're gonna rule for centuries" which is similar to when the EQ says "it's better to be feared than forgotten." Both in the context of evil mom telling good daughter to take over the world with them. But who knows! It's just a serious of very similar concepts. I do ultimately think that Descendants was at least inspired by EAH as early Descendants' concept art is vastly different than what we got.

Point 4) EAH is not lacking in content

Very hard disagree. Our show got cancelled after a significant twist was revealed. Darling Charming and Apple White were revealed to be destined lovers after they kissed. I seem to recall a cut kiss between Harry Hook and Gil (check the actors Instagram) at least our show can have a queer kiss take place! "Just write fanfiction!" Is ignoring 1) we have and will continue to, and 2) we will never get a proper conclusion to the story. But I suppose this isn't something that you would get mad about since no Descendants movie has ever had a proper conclusion. (As I've established above.)

TL;DR - 1)Yes, it did. 2)Not really. 3)Depends on your interpretation of copyright law, but I think yes. 4) Eah got cut off after a major twist, so we are missing at least a warp up.

Nah cause why are EAH fans literally incapable of enjoying the show without bringing another film down?💀 “Omg I can’t believe they cancelled it for descendants—“ buddy, no they didn’t. There were no official statements of EAH being “cancelled”. Also, the descendants movies are good? And no, just because they share similar concepts DOES NOT mean that descendants was “copying” EAH. And idk why the EAH fandom is acting like they’re lacking content as if they don’t have, what, 5 whole ass seasons of the show? Also, if you’re “lacking content” so badly, then just make it yourself? Make edits, write fanfiction, draw fanart. You don’t gotta bring down a show that other people love just because you don’t know how to enjoy media without comparing it to other media💀

[g00seg1raffe]

So there was a post a while back about Ben Solo always being told "don't do (x), that's how uncle luke lost his hand" when he was a kid - and I raise you: Elrond and Elros being told "don't do (x), that's how Maedhros lost his hand"??

Like, at Amon Ereb when the twins were newly acquired and refusing to eat their vegetables and Maglor is Mag-mothering them until Erestor, feral half-sane clinically depressed anarchist Avari hostage/patient/infiltrator and Certified Little Shit, hits em with:

"I would listen to the Lord Maglor, winyamor, he well knows the dangers that come to young elflings who don't eat enough vegetables - after all, that's how his brother lost his hand."

Elrond looks conflicted. Elros squints suspiciously. "Truly?"

Erestor, practically comatose since the massacre but ultimately saved from Fading by the biological compulsion to fuck with you, lays a hand over his heart. "I would never lie about such a thing! Just what do you take me for? This is a true tale and a grave warning - the Lord Maedhros' hand was tragically lost in the days of his youth, whilst he was still growing as you are. He refused to eat his vegetables and so, cruelly deprived of the strength it needed to grow strong, his body started to fall apart! First his fingers, then his thumb, and then his palm and wrist - all turned blue and dropped off!"

"No!" Elrond gasps. Elros looks both terrified and impressed. Maglor's face is scrunched up into something that the twins probably interpret as pained - at reminder of the horrors of limbs falling off! - but is actually just him busting a rib trying not to laugh.

"Yes!" Erestor cries with relish. "And it never grew back. All because he didn't eat his vegetables. Isn't that right, Lord Maedhros?"

Maedhros, a looming terror at the head of the table, scarred and solemn and impenetrable as his fortresses, narrows his eyes consideringly at the unfolding shenanigans and the rascal behind it. His conclusion? Fuck it. He gives a slow, solemn nod. Completely deadpan and exaggeratedly formal, because it may have been centuries since he last had his brothers smothering laughter at political dinners but the Finwëan sense of humour, once caught, is not an ailment easily cured.

Maglor conceals his wheezes behind his goblet as Erestor nods sagely to the wide-eyed twins, who suddenly seem a sight more interested in their vegetables.

[pyrosomatic-metamorphosis]

something about qbad mentioning how much horror he put red team thru every time purgatory gets brought up... something about how proud dapper was of him.

like this is just my late-night read but- it feels like guilt qbad is trying to twist into pride. he keeps needling away at it. “i killed them all, over and over and over again.” “they were hunted by a monster.”

it’s like- reassurance. like a nail he’s trying o beat into his head. he’s had SO much trouble with legitimately hurting his friends, despite making that vow all the way back when the eggs first went missing, despite all the tree talk and the promises to save the kids no matter what. He never faltered with elq, and that protected them. He keeps faltering now. Sometimes he doesnt remember the code, or cucurucho, or skeppy. But that doesnt matter, right? Because he’ll protect the eggs. He’ll be the monster. he is the monster. he can and he will protect them even as his seams start ripping and he keeps breaking further and further apart. even at his worst, he’ll do whatever he needs to protect the eggs.

he’ll be the monster. wont he?

[quietwingsinthesky]

the apartmentverse urge to make the assassins weird immortals due to interacting with the apple who all survive to the modern day and have to Deal with mundane things like public transport…

[nie7027]

WAIT WHAT HOW DID WHISPERS FOUND OUT ABOUT WOLFGANG?? HE WAS THE ONE WHO HAD SHOWED THE LEAST TO HAVE SENSATE CONNECTIONS!!

will Riley and Nomi were obviously found out by the bpo and known to be connected (although I don't remember how whispers learnt about Nomi and Will being connected)

sun was probably the easiest to find out that was related to them since Nomi did a lot of hacking to help her which is something Sun couldn't have done on her own (and while the point of hacking is to leave not trace of you behind every person has its own style and no doubt the obp would be on the lockout for any hacking activity that smelled like something Nomi would do)

After that Capheus and Lito would be next in that order. Both showed out of the blue extraordinary capabilities that didn't make sense they knew and clearly marked them as sensates(just no way to know who they were connected to) just like the people visiting Capheus said. The only difference was that Capheus acts were widely known while Lito only had Dani and Joaquin as witness.

And finally Wolfgang mad Kala who showed it the less. In fact they didn't show it at all.

Kala with her perfect idyllic life never needed to make use of the others abilities (besides that one time will helped her defend herself at the temple).

And Wolfgang although did use the others abilities and pulled of amazing feats thanks to them all of those instances were stuff that would be credible he did on his own because they were in line with the type of person Wolfang is and what he's capable.

So yeah... HOW THE FUCK WAS HE FOUND OUT? While it made sense Lila would tell the obp about him she also said that the Cannibal was specifically looking for him!

So how???

Ugggh it really goes way too fastpaced in the last episodes and it doesn't make sense... the Wachowski sisters would never leave such a big pothole...

I know they had to skip a lot of explanations but...

Dammit netlix

[headphonemouse]

Ch. 427

Shin Yoosung pulling out premature grey hair on my head tackled the boy immediately.

I can't believe I forgot about kdj's premature grey hairs. Post epilogue dokjoong bald4bald

[dayurno]

To me ideal kidnap situation would Kevin and Neil (in a semi non violent aiming for the ramson scenario). Neil who has actual torture experience and does not shut up vs Kevin who is trying to get a good grade at being kidnapped. The kidnappers will be lucky if the police arrives before Andrew does.

i adore you people i truly do where else am i going to get an ask that starts so earnestly with “to me the ideal kidnap situation is…” SERIOUSLY. i feel like anyone who has motivation to kidnap kevin would probably not have it to kidnap neil just because the way i see it who kevin’s at risk of getting kidnapped by is stalkers or raven cultists (either fans or athletes themselves) who would ultimately not really care much for neil. BUT after neil’s dad kicks the bucket and neil tells the fbi everything he knows i do think neil would be put under an IMMENSE target for being a tattletale, and that would be a genuine concern of the moriyamas because his death would be an investment lost

to me the ideal (and funniest) situation is someone trying to kidnap neil and accidentally taking kevin along without recognizing him. can you imagine? you’re here for some fucked up kid of the butcher who put your entire livelihood as a criminal in danger and you happen to accidentally take a FAMOUS ATHLETE along. you were already wrong thinking no one would notice neil’s disappearance and now you have to deal with kevin day’s face blasted on the news everywhere because he went missing. like it’s seriously ridiculous. i think this kidnapper would probably just kill them and be done with it if i’m honest but since we’re having fun i will say that this person will dream of carcerary life if they ever encounter andrew minyard. kevin and neil get saved by moriyama agents eventually but kevin is never getting out of his house again