#let me know what you think and PLEASE SHARE IT!!!

[lovebugism]

✶ ┄ HOLY GRAIL !

summary: in ancient rome, where survival is determined by the whims of a mad ruler, the empire's beloved general gives you – his first and only love – to the crazed emperor to ensure your safety. (6k)

pairing: marcus acacius / fem!reader, emperor geta / fem!reader

contents: established relationship, strangers to lovers, angst, hurt/comfort cw for mentions of war and violence, mentions of sex work, swearing, smut 18+ (dubcon, m receiving oral, unprotected sex, cuckholding, exhibitionism) (this is a pretty dark fic so pls heed the warnings!!!)

Marcus Acacius was the name on the lips of a thousand fallen empires. His ledger ran a deep scarlet color, which dripped like proof from his sword. The war had destroyed the General over the years — had turned the man into an empty thing filled only by untamable ghosts. The relentless battle had wrung his boyhood from his body like a slow, merciless death. Any remaining innocence has since been replaced with violence.

Rome made a legacy of his grotesque evils, turned him into a saint. Marcus Acacius did not want to be a saint. He did not want to be angry; he did not want to be cruel. He only wanted to love and to be left alone with his tenderness. His mouth filled with blood instead.

You loved him like all doomed, grotesque things are meant to be loved. In the dark. In the shadows of war. In the depths of the soul.

“This is me,” he confesses, the great General Acacius, returning to you like a ghost to its haunt. “This is who I am.”

His golden armor is sullied from a victorious battle, tainted now with blotches of soil and dried blood that’s not his own. His dirtied, unholy fists tremble at his sides as he fights the urge to cross the threshold of your quarters to meet you. Marcus knows he doesn’t deserve to be held by you now. Not when he still wreaks of death.

He can still feel the breath of a fist on his bruised cheek, but the way his sword felt plunging through the beating heart of an enemy soldier plagues him most of all. 

“Love turned on me long ago— It is not a burden I compel you to carry.”

So, please, do not love me, he doesn’t say. I only know how to destroy you.

You smile at him, eyes soft with sympathy, and cross the threshold of longing with an admirable effortlessness. You cradle his weathered, war-torn face in your palms, willingly staining your delicate hands with the blood stained there.

“I love you despite. So I imagine I’ll carry it anyway,” you coo to him, gentle eyes locked firmly with his heavy ones. “And I’m certain you love me in return, regardless of what you think the siege has made of you.”

“There is naught I can do about it,” Marcus admits, words heavy with choked-back emotion. He melts into your touch but continues to deny himself the want to hold you back. “Not while I still oversee this campaign. Not while there is a war to be won—”

“We love each other, don’t we?” you interject, pleading eyes searching for emotion behind his dark, stoic gaze. Marcus swallows hard. His scruffy chin scrapes your palm as he nods once in response. You grin and say the unforgiving truth out loud. “So fuck the war.”

You pull him down by his face to press a kiss to his unclean lips. Marcus rests his shaking hands over your waist and lets you build cathedrals in his mouth with your tongue. The blood in his teeth turns to holy water. 

Marcus long understood that bringing you to the city would be his last act of love.

Keeping you in the heart of Rome was the only way he could ensure your safety, with the surrounding towns still under merciless siege. The people there were docile, and loyal most of all to the General who had won them a thousand wars. They would not hurt you because it was not in their kind too, and because they feared General Acacius’ wrath as much as they respected his mercy.

This was known to everyone in Rome except its Emperors.

Geta and Caracalla ruled together following their father’s untimely demise but shared not a brain between them. They were boys, after all, the oldest being hardly two-and-twenty –– it was in their nature to talk more than they listened, and to pretend as if they knew the world despite never leaving the city walls. 

They were as cruel and as stupid as anyone who wished to rule an empire would be.

But the two of them relied heavily on their General to keep the restless public at ease. It made it easier for Marcus to bring you with him, knowing he had the trust of the most powerful men in Rome. He knew Geta kept meticulous care of his most precious gifts — all Marcus had to do was get you there, really, and the Emperors would do the rest for him. 

It was simple, but it was not easy; though he imagines no war ever has been or would be. Both of you had survived, yes, but neither of you had been spared. Bringing you here was a testament to that, which you seemingly could not comprehend. You were as soft and green as the countryside he plucked you from, too naive for politics.

Marcus tells himself that this was the merciful decision, anyway, as he gives you a tour of Caracalla’s labyrinthine gardens — the place farthest from the feasting hall where the noblemen dined. Hidden behind climbing leaves, free from prying eyes.

“I can’t imagine why you would be so apprehensive in bringing me here. It’s beautiful,” you marvel aloud as you walk ahead of the man guiding you. 

Your sandals pad faintly along the cobbled trail as you skim your palm over the bed of blooming roses. The petals feel like silk against your skin. You pluck one from the soil, careful to avoid its thorns, and hold it up to your nose. You turn to face Marcus with the crimson flower resting on your cupid’s bow.

“And it smells better, too,” you quip softly, tilting your head to your shoulder as you smirk behind the budding rose.

Marcus just barely manages to bite back his own grin until you reach out for him, tapping the delicate flower against the bridge of his strong nose. He exhales hard through his nostrils in place of a laugh.

Your giggling comes carried on the breath of a warm summer breeze — a symphony of salty ocean, dainty florals, and the pretty oils you’d bathed in. The wind billows through your thin, white gown and creates music with rustling leaves. You squint one eye when the setting sun peeks through the swishing tree limbs, bathing you in a golden-hour aura. 

You’re as beautiful as sin. Sweeter than death. Smiling at him like this is the beginning of something that died the moment you entered the city walls.

Marcus clears throat and gently guides your hand away. His cautious eyes flit around the vacant garden. He’s constantly looking over his shoulder, you find, despite being the strongest man in all of Rome. You feel safest at his side, so you don’t know why he always looks so frightened.

“I know you are drunk on youth and immortality, petal, but we cannot get ahead of ourselves,” he advises, all stiff and stern, though the term of endearment spills effortlessly from his mouth. “We’re in the city now. So we must play the part. Like we discussed.”

He speaks to you with an unintentional sort of vagueness that makes you bow your head like a scolded child. Your arm falls limp at your side. A scarlet petal slips from its stem and hits the unforgiving stone.

“I know,” you murmur with a poorly hidden frown that conveys otherwise. Your sheepish gaze flits from the ground to Marcus’ unwavering stare and to the ground again. “I just thought— whenever we were alone, that we might—”

“We aren’t alone. We must behave as though the city is full of eyes. Understand?”

“I can’t,” you confess, peering up at the General from beneath your lashes. 

Marcus’ chest stings, like the fiery sun blazing his newly-fashioned armor. “What do you mean you can’t?” he bites emotionlessly.

He looks like a corrupt sort of angel in this light, unnaturally handsome and hopelessly wartorn. He was as hard as the earth below your feet — a statue made of clay, iron, and marble — cold to the touch and melting only for you. 

His heavy eyes were so brown they looked almost black, and they shone with a perpetual sort of gloom. His gaze swam with the prophetic darkness of a man who’s seen too much, though you often felt like you could drown in its void. For a man so adept at killing, he looked at you with a remarkable softness.

It wasn’t as shallow as physical desire. It was something far more cruel. You wanted Marcus Acacius the same way flesh wanted to knit itself together over a healing wound. It was simply in your nature to love him. 

“I mean, it’s impossible,” you ramble with a concerned furrow to your brow. Your grip on the flower’s papery stem tightens until the bulb rattles with the force. “How am I to be here with you but not touch you? That’s like asking the seasons not to change— It’s unnatural, and it’s cruel—”

Marcus swallows hard, adam’s apple bobbing in his throat. His hands begin to ache with the urge to touch you. He balls them into fists instead.

“It’s the only way I know to keep you safe!” he confesses, words sounding heavy in his mouth. His eyes flit across the garden in a paranoid search of something that isn’t there. “Emperor Geta will take care of you. I know he will. And his brother is a half-wit, but he is kind when he wishes. He’ll take a liking to you, I’m sure of it—”

You interject his anxious rambling with a stubborn shake of your head.

“I can’t be someone else’s,” you murmur, voice as wet as the tears glittering in your wide-eyed gaze. “I don’t know how.”

“You will learn,” Marcus tells you with an emotionless stare. Not because he’s sure you will, but because he knows you have to. “For me.”

Your pretty features swirl with anguish. “Marcus…” you whisper his name in a feeble whimper caught in your throat.

He does not soften at your emotion like you’re used to. He’s practiced apathy for so long that it comes naturally to him now. He bites his tongue to keep from kissing you and lets the blood stain his teeth all over again.

“If not for your own sake, then for mine. The Emperors would have my head if they understood the pretenses I brought you under.”

You flinch at his words, perhaps finally understanding the weight of the unforgiving world in which you live. The surest example of such cruelty stands before you now, in the only man you ever loved now using your purest devotion as a means to keep you pliant. But your anger for the merciless arrangement is long eclipsed by your yearning.

“Then I will,” you tell him, rigid with a glacial disposition Marcus hasn’t seen before now.

The choices here were few. Either you were slaughtered outside the city walls by soldiers and pillagers, or you were slaughtered within them — in the metaphorical sense that burns physically in your chest now. 

Being without Marcus feels like a fate worse than death, but you want him so desperately to live. So much so that you’ll fall on the sword of your longing and bleed out at his feet. Knowing that you’re under the same sky would have to be enough for you. 

You can’t tell which it is — sacrifice or self-slaughter — but Marcus knows it isn’t as poetic as all that. 

Death is death.

Emperor Geta staggers drunkenly down the spiral stone steps of the west wing of his castle. The path to his chambers is illuminated by several dwindling torches hung along the brick walls. The subtle squeaking of his leather sandals sounds much louder in the quiet — filled only by crackling flames, a distant dripping noise, and the song he slurs under his breath. 

The latter ceases suddenly when he stumbles to a stop at the sight of General Acacius. The man stands like a statue outside his bedroom door — arms crossed behind his back, old spine perfectly straight — like the obedient guard dog he is. 

The thought makes the Emperor’s lips curl into a crooked smile. “What are you doing here, dog?” he calls to the General as he approaches him, voice echoing down the soulless corridor.

“Your nameday present, your majesty—” Marcus answers and tries not to make a face when the Emperor stands before him. The bittersweet scent of wine stains his breath, overwhelmingly so. Geta was never one to practice temperance. “—I was told to see that you got it.”

The younger man hesitates. “From my uncle?” he wonders aloud.

Marcus nods wordlessly in response.

Geta pauses for a moment. His wide, glassy eyes flit over the General’s shoulder to the arched doorway behind him. His stomach swirls at the thought of what may lie inside. The last nameday present his uncle sent from overseas was a monkey his younger brother has grown much too attached to.

“Well… What is it?”

Marcus swallows hard and steps aside. “Look inside, your majesty.”

Geta takes a deep breath in and swings the creaking door open. His bedroom is lush with crimson silk and golden candlelight, familiarly fragranced with cinnamon and sweet myrrh. It’s accompanied by something foreignly floral, a feminine rosy-lavender that catches his attention before his eyes ever find you.

He steps through the threshold and finds a strange girl standing by the window, before a platter of fruit and wine — bathed half in the silver beams of a full moon, and half in flickering orange flames. 

White silk adorns your frame, so delicate it’s nearly see-through. One of your shoulders is mouthwateringly bare, and there’s a slit in the fabric that rises to your hip. You look as pure as a dove, though you’re so obviously built for sin.

The ground sways beneath Geta’s unsteady feet.

You crunch audibly into an apple before you realize anyone’s there. The juice runs down your chin before you swipe it away with the back of your hand. Only then do your eyes lock with the Emperor’s, who seems equally stunned to see you there. You tense and say nothing as you hide the bitten fruit behind your back.

“It’s a woman,” Geta observes to no one in particular, though his dark eyes have not yet wavered from yours.

Marcus stands behind him and nods — hands still clasped behind his back, heart still pounding against his ribcage. “Yes, your majesty. In plain terms.”

“Well,” the Emperor glances over his shoulder. “What does she do?”

“Whatever you want,” the General answers, though the words taste like vinegar on his tongue. He swallows the bitterness down like bile and leers at you, looking upon his lover as though she were a stranger. “You need only ask.”

Geta, satisfied by his answer, turns back to you. His initial surprise has ebbed into something more pleased, diabolically so. His pink lips curl into a sneer as he walks slowly towards you, eyeing you up and down with curious eyes — a predator stalking its prey.

“Is that true?” he asks you, voice ringing through the quiet room. “Or is he confusing you for a dutiful hound?”

“A dutiful whore, your majesty,” you correct with an acquiescent smile, following the story as Marcus intended. 

The half-truth comes easily to you. Not a lie exactly, but not the whole tale either. You’d spent many of your years working in a brothel on the outskirts of Rome. You were a young woman, unmarried, without family or viable prospects — whoring seemed the most obvious decision then, though it feels so long ago now. 

You’d waited your whole life for something, for Marcus, though you hadn’t expected it to kill you when you found it. You won’t die a saint if the crazed Emperor decides to take your head, but perhaps you could be a martyr. Perhaps that’ll be enough.

Fear beats through your body like a second heart, but your eyes never waver from the Emperor’s. It’s easiest to meet his gaze. He feels more like a human that way. 

There are flecks of gold in his dark eyes, and dark strands in his gold hair. He’s got stubble on his long neck, spots on his broad nose, and wrinkles on his forehead. Not quite as perfect as the pristine white-gold armor would let on.

His eyes flit down your form once more. Something sparks in the deep brown of them, a flicker of silent realization. He spins suddenly on the heel of his sandal to flash Marcus an accusatory glare.

“Is she your whore, General?” he lilts into the heavy silence. His brows raise when he receives no answer from the man across the room. “The question was not rhetorical, Acacius.”

“No, your majesty. She is not mine,” Marcus answers, then clears his throat when the words get stuck there. It’s like he’s plunging a knife through his own heart. He can feel the cold sting of the sharpened blade and the burn of the blood on his skin. “Though, I don’t believe whores belong to anyone.”

A boyish chuckle spills from the Emperor’s mouth. “No. They don’t,” he says with an airy giddiness. “Not before now, anyway—”

Geta spins back again, pleated skirt fanning around his pale thighs. His smile fades with an eerie swiftness. “What are you waiting for? Undress,” he commands with a wave of his ringed hand.

Your wide eyes flit instinctively past him to Marcus, who still idles in the doorway. Only then does he realize how long he’s been staring at you. He forces himself to glance off in another direction, but his gaze keeps finding yours — like a magnet, or a planet with its own gravitational pull.

Your eyes lock, and the only thing you hear is each other, though neither of you has spoken a word. This is the only way, you hear his voice in your head as clearly as your own. This is the only way to stay together. The only way to survive.

Geta mistakes your fear.

“Don’t worry about him, little dove,” he coos, and taps the bottom of your chin with his fingers — as soft and petaled as your own. He smiles when your attention turns to him again, speaking loud enough for the General to hear. “He’s only the guard dog. And good boys get scraps, don’t they, Acacius?”

Marcus’ face screws like he’s tasted something sour. He’s grateful the Emperor isn’t looking at him to see it. “They do, your majesty,” he monotones.

“So you will watch. And report to my uncle how his lovely present fared,” he calls to the older man, though his eyes remain locked with yours. You tense when his pale hand reaches suddenly for your face. He holds your cheeks in his fingers until your lips jut in a soft pout. “Let’s hope I don’t have to send him back your head, little dove.”

He says it with an absentminded effortlessness, as though it’s something he’s done before. 

Still, you manage a small smile and blink up at him with innocent eyes. “What good is a dead whore, your majesty?” you quip.

Geta’s grin widens.  “Precisely. Now undress.”

You reach for the singular sleeve of your slip with trembling fingers. Your right hand sweeps across your left shoulder, skin blazing with fear and anticipation. The fabric trails down down down your arm before falling to your feet in a puddle of milky white silk. Your bare body glows silver and gold between moonlight and flame. 

Goosebumps pebble over your skin despite the humid summer night as Geta circles you like prey. His eyes trail slowly down your form in time with his rhythmic steps. The sound of his sandals scrapping the stone floor, crackling candlelight, and subdued breathing are the only sounds in the quiet room for several long moments.

The Emperor disappears behind you, and you forget how to breathe. Your wide, wet eyes find Marcus once more — pleading, though for what, you cannot say. His face reveals nothing but wrath burns in his gaze.

Geta reappears at your right side. You smell grape wine on his breath when he nears you, breathing heavily through his mouth as he reaches out to touch you. His ringed hands smooth over your collarbone. Your breath catches in your throat. He smiles as though your fright pleases him.

“You’re skittish for a whore,” he muses, playful in a way that makes your stomach wrench. “Are you sure the General didn’t bring me a virgin?”

You swallow hard as his hand trails down your body. Over the swell of your breast, skimming his thumb over your taut nipple, before tracing the expanse of your ribs. His fingers run down your stomach and past the thatch of hair between your legs. They dip finally between your thighs. 

Geta hums a faint moan at the velvet feeling of your pussy. The way your lips part for his fingers, silky skin warm and wet to the touch. 

“I’m whatever you want me to be, your majesty,” you answer, breathing hard through your nose when he pulls his hand away — a warmth you find yourself begrudgingly grieving.

“I need only ask…” the Emperor coos, running his middle and pointer finger over your bottom lip. They shine with the honey you leak despite yourself. Your mouth parts, and he rests the pads of them on your tongue. “…Do I not?”

You nod wordlessly through the salty fingers in your mouth, trying to imagine their Marcus’.

Geta smiles when he parts from you. “Undress me,” he demands. 

You work at his tricky armor with nervous hands and bated breath. 

You unclasp his cape first. The white fabric, now free from its chain, falls heavily to the floor behind him. Your fingers have gone noticeably clammy as they struggle with the sleeves of his tunic. It takes you a beat too long to loosen the laces at his shoulders. The cloth falls finally and puddles around his feet, leaving his lean body on display before you.

His torso is lean and mostly hairless, save for splotches of chestnut on his sternum and stomach. His skin is smooth and flushed from the alcohol. His stomach is slim but noticeably full. The Emperor is well-taken care of, though his subjects outside the keep suffer from the consequences of war.

Your trembling fingers curl around the hem of his loincloth. His pale skin is warm to the touch, boiling with desire while you freeze over with fear. You crouch before him as you drag the garment down his scruffy thighs. You hear Geta sigh above you when his half-hard cock meets the cool summer night air. 

He’s paler there compared to the rest of his golden body, though the mushroom tip glows a faint strawberry-red color. A vein trails in jagged lines to the base of his heavy cock, fading as it reaches the thatch of dark blonde hair at his pubic bone. He’s not nearly as thick as Marcus, though not many people could hope to be — but he is long and thin and soft like velvet.

“How do I look?” Geta wonders as he steps out of his loincloth. He tilts his chin to his chest to peer down at you, on your knees to untie the intricate laces of his sandals. You blink up at him with wide, uncertain eyes. “Without my armor,” he adds, then repeats. “How do I look?”

You realize, then, that he wants your praise. Though you’re unsure why, you’re not in any position to deny him of it. “You’re a— a very handsome man, your majesty,” you respond cautiously, with a wavering smile.

You hear his breath catch at the compliment. The corner of his mouth flickers upward, and his nostril flares as he takes a deep breath in. 

“Well, go on, then,” he insists suddenly, nodding his head to egg you onward. “Good whores don’t keep their masters waiting, do they? You don’t want to see me impatient, little dove.”

You wrap his stiff cock in a tentative fist, averting your gaze as you give an experimental kitten lick to the bulbous, strawberry tip. Your tongue swipes away the pearlescent pre-cum beading there. The salty tang is foreign on your tongue, sweeter and thicker than you’re used to.

You imagine your lover when you take the Emperor’s cock in your mouth. A practiced form of dissociation that comes naturally to you now. 

You focus on the way the stone floor digs into your knees as you cup his balls in your hand — a desperate attempt to finish him quickly. Geta shudders when you swallow him whole, burying your nose in the coarse thatch of hair at the base of his cock. His head tips back as he groans at the ceiling.

“You are a proper whore…” the Emperor moans with a delirious smile. He tilts his flushed cheek to his freckled shoulder to sneer at Marcus, then frowns when his eyes meet the back of him. “Are you distracted, General?”

The man keeps his back turned and his eyes trained on the wall, counting the bricks there to distract his racing mind. His mouth snarls at the Emperor’s words. His hands ball into fists as he fights to keep his composure.

“Just giving you your privacy, your majesty.”

“Nonsense!” Geta laughs, loud. “You should watch! You should observe— so you know what to tell my uncle.”

Marcus can hear the mischievous lilt in the younger boy’s voice. Like it’s all just a game to him. Like you’re just a whore to be played with, and like Marcus’ only hope of companionship is warfare. Both might’ve been true once, but not since you find each other.

The general smacks his lips against his teeth. “As you wish,” he deadpans and spins on the heel of his sandal.

He’s strangely grateful to find the Emperor’s body obscuring your own. Geta’s lean, pale form towers over your kneeling one — back muscles flexing, hips thrusting, fingers knitting in your hair.

But Marcus can still hear the sounds of your mouth on the other man’s cock. The room fills with heavy breathing, wet noises, and the Emperor’s unabashed whines. Embers of envy burn in the General’s empty chest. A wildfire of want and wrath rages behind his ribcage.

You swallow with Geta’s cock in your throat and squeeze softly at his balls. You hear his breath hitch just before a lengthy moan spills from his parted mouth. Several loads of salty cum spit down your throat a second later. The man shows you little mercy as he holds you by your hair, keeping your nose pressed to his pubic bone. You take shallow breaths through your nose and try not to choke.

You pull off of him when he lets you go. A string of saliva threatens to keep you connected. You take a deep breath in and swipe at your swollen mouth with the back of your hand, staying on your knees while the Emperor tilts his head back. He exhales a breathy laugh of relief at the ceiling. You peer up at him with wide, wet eyes, still so uncertain of your fate.

“Proper whore, indeed,” Geta muses, almost to himself, as he drops his heavy head once more. 

His flushed chest sparkles with a foreign feeling at the sight of you beneath him — eyes teary and fearful, lips swollen and rosy, features flushed with sweat and sex. His cock jerks, still sensitive but threatening to harden again. He grips himself with a loose fist.

“On the bed,” he instructs suddenly, then grins madly at your shock. “You didn’t think I was done with you, surely. Not until I mount you like a mare, anyway— Treat you like the bitch in heat you are…”

Geta cups your warm cheek in his free hand. His touch is strangely gentle as he cradles you there, right before he smacks gently at your jaw to urge you upward. 

Your bare feet pad towards the bed, then. Geta swats your ass as you go and laughs when you squeak in response. You fight the urge to look at Marcus, lest you see the rage burning in his eyes — lest he see the heartbreak swimming in yours. 

Marcus watches you crawl over the silken sheets, both of you sporting similar far-off gazes. He feels a bit like a ghost now. An empty, invisible thing, doomed to watch the rest of the world go on without ever being able to live in it. It’s dreadfully symbolic of how he’s lived most of his life, and how he’s spent the years loving you. Because even if a ghost is full of love, the only thing it knows to do is haunt.

The silk pillow feels cool under your burning cheek. The mattress dips under the Emperor’s weight when he kneels behind you. His ringed fingers smooth over your ass and down the arch of your back. He treats you with an uncharacteristic sort of tenderness, as though he were molding you out of clay.

“You are a pretty thing, aren’t you?” he whispers under his breath. “And timid, too… I like that…” 

Your pussy clenches at his words despite yourself. Geta’s chest swells with pride accordingly. ���You don’t have to be scared, little dove. I’m going to take such good care of you.”

Despite his words, he does not bother to ready you for his cock when he positions himself at your pulsing entrance. You hadn’t expected him to, of course — not many men were as kind as Marcus in that way, who often treated your pleasure as if it were his own. But the slick sticking to your thighs has made your pussy more than pliant. Your velvet walls swallow Geta’s cock with a pulsing vigor.

The Emperor groans as he fucks into you, savoring every inch as he buries himself to the hilt. His ringed fingers dig into the plush of your waist, as though you were a toy he didn’t want getting snatched away.

“Look at the hound!” Geta giggles boyishly to himself. “He’s itching for a feel of you— I just know it.”

Marcus remains as still and stoic as the battalion trained him to be. He reveals nothing on his face, though his skin prickles with flames of envy beneath his armor. 

Marcus Acacius was not a jealous man. His love for you was a testament to that. He visited the brothel you boarded in and spared the same coins as every man in the establishment did. But it was different now. Because the Emperor does not deserve you, and he forces Marcus to watch as if he knows it, too.

Something within him seethes, like a feral animal trapped behind his ribcage, desperately clawing its way out.

“Look at him,” Geta snaps when he sees you staring at the wall, eyes glassy and glazed over. He’s grinning all over again when your gaze snaps to Marcus’. 

The soldier’s weathered eyes burn with tears then. General Acacius has faced death a thousand times over, but it wasn’t quite as heartwrenching as this. His wrath simmers to a boil. He swallows it down like fire.

This is her salvation, he tells himself. This is how she survives.

Your features twist with the anguish of being seen as the Emperor lays himself over your back. His slick chest sits flush with your spine, pinning you to the mattress. “I bet he can taste you now. Smell you,” he murmurs in your ear, chapped mouth brushing the shell of it. “His mouth is salivating at the thought of putting his tongue on you— Isn’t it, dog?”

Marcus swallows through the emotion threatening to strangle him. He blinks away stinging tears and feigns an air of nonchalance. “It would be… impolite to talk so brashly about something that doesn’t belong to me, your majesty,” the General responds. Obedient. Loyal like a hound.

Geta grins wide. “Good answer, Acacius.”

When the Emperor finally fucks into you, it’s with a sloppy sort of precision. There is no rhythm or care to his thrusts. He is led only by his blinding pleasure, like a man who has only ever fucked playthings and his own fist. He props himself on one forearm and curls the other beneath you, holding your breast in his ringed hand.

Geta’s flushed cheek presses against your own while he slides in and out and into you again. You hear his groaning as you feel it rumbling in his chest, still laid against your back. You stare at a framed portrait on the wall across the room and wait for it to be over, even as your body refuses to dismiss its simmering orgasm.

Your swollen clit ruts against the silk sheets with each of the Emperor’s sloppy thrusts. You can feel a wet spot forming beneath you, and your stomach twists at the thought of seeing proof of your own pleasure. 

His balls smack your leaking cunt, creating a symphony of lewd noises — moaning, whimpering, clapping, smacking. Marcus thinks the sounds of war were more merciful than this.

“Do you understand what that means, little dove?” Geta croons into your ear, words choppy through his labored breaths and irregular thrusts. “You belong— to me now… So whatever you used to be— whoever’s you used to be— no longer matters.”

He thrusts once, hard, and shudders above you with a choked-back groan. You grit your teeth to swallow down your own noises of pleasure. The assault on your clit, though unintentional, is still yet relentless. You feel the distant white-hot burning feeling begin to swell in the pit of your stomach. A coil about to snap.

“Fucking me— Making me feel good—” the Emperor pants, punctuated by his hips against your ass. “—Is your only duty now. Understand?”

You nod, cheek running over the silk cushion as you grip it in your fists. “Yes, your majesty,” you gasp.

Geta presses his smile to the apple of your cheek. He can feel you leaking around him. You’re enjoying this just as much as he is, to be sure. A proper whore, indeed.

“Now… Take my spend like a good bitch, and thank me for it—”

He fucks you harder, and your face twists with a pleasure you’re too weak to fight away. 

Your gaze falls instinctively to Marcus as your orgasm threatens to swallow you whole. Your eyes squeeze shut in a feeble attempt to hide. Your mouth parts with a silent moan as you cum around the Emperor’s cock.

“Thank you, your majesty,” you whimper obediently into the pillow as you tremble beneath him. “Thank you.”

Geta buries a whine in your neck when he cums again. He gives you only two pitiful, warm loads but still possesses more stamina than your Marcus. He stills, then shudders, then rests his unforgiving bodyweight on top of you when pleasure makes a puddle of him. And of you, you assume, as a mixture of your spend leaks out of your cunt and onto the sheets.

“Write to my uncle, Acacius—” Geta slurs into your skin, heavy through labored pants. “—A thank you for my nameday present.”

Marcus forgets, until then, that he can still be seen. He felt more akin to a corpse hidden in the walls, forced to spend his afterlife in a merciless purgatory. His heart has stopped beating, frozen over, and now sits dead in his chest. He will never be as gentle as he was with you. He will be bloodied knuckles and pulsing wounds. Rough and cruel and angry.

“Yes, your majesty,” the General nods, thankful that it’s over now.

Geta rolls off of your body and onto the empty spot beside you — not shy about his nude form or yours. The sudden lack of warmth makes you shiver. 

“And tell him to send another— To keep the General’s bed warm, too,” he says, patting your ass with his palm before smoothing tenderly over the skin. “One whore’s as good as any other, I’m sure.”

Marcus flinches at the thought of being with anyone other than you. He couldn’t hide the look of disgust if he tried. It makes the Emperor laugh loudly in response.

“Oh, did you— Did you want to try this one?” Geta muses knowingly, pointing to your limp body, still trembling beside him with the aftershocks of your orgasm.

“No. No, no, no— See, this one’s mine,” he corrects the General as if he were a child. “And it would be impolite to touch something that belongs to me, would it not? It would be treasonous, even.”

“Yes, your majesty,” Marcus nods, lip flickering in a mere hint of a smirk as his plan finally comes to fruition. “It would be.”

The Emperor sees you now as his property, and no one hurts what belongs to him without meeting a certain death. Marcus is comforted only by the thought that nothing can touch you now. Not even him. But perhaps that’s the price he pays for love. Perhaps, in the end, love is grief.

“So best tread lightly, Acacius,” Geta warns with a crooked smile, petting you like a dog. “I’d hate for someone to get hurt.”

[amastarxoxo]

ㅤ          ㅤ          ㅤ   ˇ ✿ ՚՚ love is my curse ՚՚  ഒ

part 2 of worthless talking

thank you sm! i honestly didn’t think that worthless talking would be THAT good to most people and angsty(?) cause i was never good at writing angst. but thank you so much everyone !! and im almost at 200 followers! thank you very much and thank you arcane for being the glow up of my account ( now i just have to worry about what to write after arcane officially dies ) so if i end up doing the mini series considering it a 200 followers special ( ? maybe )

making up with arcane characters after arguing

S1! jinx , S2! vi , S2! caitlyn , and ekko x fem! reader

reconciliation , hurt/comfort , mentions of abandonment issues ( jinx ) , friends → lovers ( vi ) , mentions of marriage ( caitlyn ) , lover boy! ekko , cursing , mild suggestive ( vi )

masterlist ૮ ྀི ◞ ◟ ა navigation

not proofread or requested

JINX

the past few days have been quiet. too fucking quiet. especially for jinx. by now, she would have a talking to her hallucinations or blowing something—anything up but she being held down by something, this agonizing feeling in her chest by she hasn’t had a clue of what is it. she going on her daily routine to see what’s so off. when she wakes up, she wakes up next to you; she always talks to you; when she’s collecting parts, it’s always with you; when she’s making another invention it’s with—you. that’s the issue. jinx cursed at herself for her realization that she pushed you when she promised herself that she wouldn’t. no wonder she’s been so “unstable” according to sevika and silco.

she immediately dropped everything, forgetting about the fishbones project and left the lair. and immediately went to your place. she took out her spare key and immediately searched up and down, every corner for you but your house is empty. she was starting to panic, why aren’t you home? did you just get up and leave? she didn’t think her actions would hurt you that bad, she just wants to apologize for what she done, she didn’t mean it. “Jinx?” a soft voice creeps up behind her, “what are you doing?” jinx snaps her head around, tears resting on the edge of her eyes. “baby…” jinx breathes out.

You placed your bags next to the front door and closes the door behind you. suddenly jinx tackles you into a tight hug, sobbing into your shoulder, wrapping her arms around your waist. you pull her in close, letting her have her moment. “what’s wrong J?” you asked her softly, as she starts to cool off, small sniffles and tears drying up on her face. “i…i thought you left me after that argument we had.” her grip tighten around you. “please don’t leave me…i’m so sorry i didn’t mean to call you annoying o-or you were nagging me i promise and i—” you smash your lips into hers, causing her to softly melt into the kiss and share the warmth of the tight embrace. you slip out of the grasp of her lips and stare at her flushed face with a smile. “im not going to abandon you my love, im always going to be here.” jinx held your hand tightly, “i’m sorry.” you reciprocate her action, “i love you.” “i love you too.”

VI

another day, another lost at the pit fight. no amount of training until she sore, drinking her sorrows away, destroying her life is making the pain go away. no matter what she does, she always recalls the scared look you gave her, it sends a shiver down her spine each time. the horror of herself that you had to experience firsthand. the side that she didn't want you to see; caitlyn, whatever; but you. she deeply regrets that she lost her cool with you, off all people it just had to be you. she didn't bother drinking or training today, she can't. she can't even sleep without your face flashes in her thoughts. strolling around the undercity doesn't help much besides giving her some fresh air of the city she was raised in. she doesn't know how but she ended up at the brothel.

walking down the hallway, rooms filled with variety of sexual activities, workers and customers; she didn't care, she just ended one person right now. she walked past the other offices, she knows you mostly handle the money and service of the other workers for the customers. looking through the office window, she sees you looking over some paper works and envelopes filled with money. she twisted the door knob and closes the door behind her as she enters your office. you glance up at now black haired girl, her pink hair seeping through the tips and ends of it. "how can i help you, violet?" she tenses up and her breath hitches as you use her full name. "it's vi for you."

"who?" vi walks around your desk, you watch her cautiously, she hooks her arm around yours, pulling you up and off your desk chair. making you sit on the desk and pinning you down with both of her arms you trapping in between, "viol-" "vi. say my name correctly." she hovers above you, she slips herself in between your legs. your heart pounding in your chest, "fine fine, vi, what do you need?" vi chuckled dryly, " i want you, sweet." you scoff, "me? or that piltover girl?" vi grabbed your waist, "listen, i realized i was wrong; i care for you, and i love you, not caitlyn." her hands move to hips, pulling you in closer to her, "you were always there for me, even when you had nothing to do with me and caitlyn's mission you were there as always. and i'm sorry for taking that for granted and im sorry for calling you a prostitute." her thumbs absentmindly rubbing circles into your skin, she leans in closer and presses her lips against yours, pulling you into a soft passionate kiss; filled with love and affection. you pull away slowly, "I forgive you."

CAITLYN

you lay restless in your bed at home, away form caitlyn, you don't want to believe she's actually cheating, but the way she act together, maddie is always close to caitlyn, always touching, acting shy around your fiancee. you would always try to find time to bring it up but with the things going on with jinx and ambessa, your time with her lessen to almost nothing, even at night, she's always exhausted and out of breath. you're so lost in your thoughts you didn't even notice you were crying until a maid rushed to you side.

caitlyn could barely focused on the work in front of her, when she's training with ambessa, she seemed so distracted and distant from everything, according to the ambessa, "you do not come back until you're back on your feet, commander." the silence hung in the air. "we need not distractions for justice." that the last thing caitlyn heard before she left and went home to her office. maddie returned, he usual soft and comforting aura, it didn't feel like anything in the first place, but that's how maddie tries to come off. "commander, are you alright? you've been staring at the paperwork for 15 minutes now." maddie nervously chuckled. "I'm fine...just.."she rubs her temple in a pain and annoyance. "excuse me, i have to go see someone." she gets up and grabs her coat and leaves without hearing anything from maddie.

she knocked on the front door of your home, waiting patiently for you, she hears small shuffles and movements behind the door, she hears a faint metal sound; you're looking through the peephole. "what do you want caitlyn?" you open the door in a slight crack, enough for her to see and hear you. "hello...dear, you don't look well." caitlyn's face filled with worry and regret, voice low. "I'm fine." swiftly caitlyn, pushes the door open and pulls you into a tight hug. the cold air from outside slips into your home, causing you to shiver. "I'm sorry..." caitlyn started, "i never noticed how maddie was acting until recently, i assure...no...i promise you that I'm not cheating on you; maddie doesn't compare to you. never has and never will." you broke out into small sobs and sniffles, "I'm sorry...I'm so sorry.." caitlyn caresses your head gently, soothing you as you cried in her chest.

EKKO

since you recovered from that night, you kept your distance from your boyfriend, even on patrols with you, you stayed nearby but kept a small distance between you two, and of course he noticed, i mean he had to with the whole firelight community scolded him for lashing his anger out onto you.

another night again with patrolling with him, and you sat down at the top of the tunnel, where you got stabbed at but this same time, you're with your boyfriend; who seems extra tensed knowing this is where you go hurt. where he failed to protect you, when you didn't listen to him. you notice that he is shaking, violently. you hesitated but reached out and touched his knee, he stares at you in shock.

"calm down, ekko, if you're aren't fit for patrol then we could call-" "no!" he blurted out, "no...that won't be necessary, i'm fine." he continued on. the night sky and cool breeze surround the both of you. "I'm sorry-" you both said at the same time, you stared at each other. "it's okay-" it happened again. you chuckled, the blush rising on your face and also his. "i love you, fire." he kisses your forehead and cheek. "i love you too.." you pulled him into a soft kiss, officially calling this a good night.

tags : @sseleniaa @woldangnight

©︎ A M A T E R A S U. all rights reserved. please don't plazarize, copy, or steal any of my works without my permission, thank you !

guys say thank you to my mother who allowed me to finish this on her laptop or else you wouldn’t have seen this at all this week nonetheless this early .

[penny-anna]

#Okay but. This also implies Ratchet going back and just. ‘alright everyone. line up. it’s STI testing time’ and #possibly finding out that one of his friends has been fucking cars. someone asks why they have to do crotch rust tests and he’s just.#‘…there was a car with crotch rust’ ‘a car with crotch rust?’ ‘a car with crotch rust.’ ‘…someone’s fucking cars????’#‘sighs. nods. someone’s fucking cars’ ‘and you think it’s one of us???’ ‘well it’s either one of you or there’s a car fucking decepticon #on the loose!’ and that’s how they find out they need to start looking for a car fucking decepticon

obviously they are professional about it

Optimus: alright before you all go we have a couple of health-related announcements

Optimus: firstly, I'm not going to ask anyone who's guilty of this to identify themselves, but: if anyone has been using earth vehicles of any kind for the purposes of sexual gratification, please stop immediately. it's unsanitary and frankly it's unbecoming of an Autobot.

*a number of hands go up*

Optimus: you can ask questions when we're finished

Optimus: moving onto the next announcement, Ratchet is going to be carrying out crotch rust testing today and you are all requested to attend

*many more hands go up*

Optimus: Sideswipe?

Sideswipe: did someone frag a car and give it crotch rust

Optimus: those were two unrelated announcements

Sunstreaker: okay but someone fragged a car and gave it crotch rust right??

Optimus: I didn't say that

Jazz: I didn't know human cars could get crotch rust

Ratchet: no-one said there was a human car with crotch rust

Wheeljack: Ratchet when you find out who fragged the car please please tell me

Ratchet: this is just a routine crotch rust check-up and I'm not sharing anyone's private medical information with you

Wheeljack: whisper it in my ear I won't tell :)

Cliffjumper: can I be excused on the grounds that I inspected my crotch very thoroughly this morning and there was no rust?

Ratchet: asymptomatic infections are still contagious Cliffjumper

Cliffjumper: aw darn :(

Optimus: does anyone have any questions that don't relate to the last two announcements. yes? Mirage?

Mirage: I don't see why I should have to let Ratchet look at my crotch just because one of these idiots fragged a car

Ratchet: annnd Mirage just volunteered to go first. c'mon.

Mirage, as the other Autobots jeer at him: aw, what?

imagine you're a mechanic in the Transformers universe and you have a car come in with engine trouble so you open it up and the engine is just full of some kind of weird fast-spreading rust. never seen anything like it before

so you're like. hmmm. and you call the Autobots like 'hi I know this number is supposed to be for reporting possible Decepticon activity but I've got some kind of alien bullshit going on and I don't know who to ask'. they hand you over to Ratchet and Rachet is like 'hm I think I know what that is but let me come run some tests'

SO Ratchet comes over and has a look at the engine and is like yeah as I thought. its crotch rust. and you're like 'crotch rust??' and he's like yeah its crotch rust. its a. well I think humans call them STIs? its like that.

so you're like '..........are you telling me a Transformer fucked this car' and he's like yeah. looks that way. and you're like 'what in the world' and he's like I don't know. people are freaks. anyway we don't want this stuff spreading so I'll be back tomorrow with the right nanites. keep it away from the other cars.

he comes back the next day like okay so I have good news and I have bad news. you're like 'well what's the good news' and he's like WELL I spent last night testing all the autobots for crotch rust and they're all clean. so you're like 'does that mean the car wasn't fucked' and he's like oh no the car was definitely fucked there's no other way this could have happened.

so you're like 'wait. are you saying a Decepticon fucked this car?' and he's like yes. we have a Decepticon fucking cars. and they are giving the cars STIs. thank you for bringing this to our attention here are the nanites goodbye.

[livebeforeyoulearn]

Where Do You End? Where Do I Begin?

Warnings: Fluff, Soft Smut, 18+

Word Count: 2.2k

Summary: After a long day, all you want is to feel Alexia.

Request

ib: ‘melt’ by kehlani

-

Today had been utterly exhausting, a marathon of meetings filled with droning voices and meaningless jargon, business calls that drained your patience, and men who seemed barely competent in their roles. They lacked the simplest common sense, and by the time you walked through the door of your shared home, you felt the weight of the day pressing against your shoulders. All you wanted was Alexia. The comfort of her presence, the grounding of her touch, the release of tension only she could provide. You wanted to hold her, to feel her warmth against you, to pour yourself into pleasing her – because in doing so, you’d find solace too.

Now, you lay sprawled across the bed, your body draped over hers as if you could fuse into one being. Her skin glows faintly, her chest rising and falling with a steady rhythm that soothes the restless ache inside you. Her eyes are closed, her expression serene, still lost in the aftershocks of the pleasure you’d just given her. Your hair, a tangled mess, mingles with hers in a way that blurs the lines between you. 

Your fingers trace the tattoo on her inner left arm, moving in absent, reverent patterns. The inked design feels almost as familiar as your own skin. You and Alexia are so attuned to each other, so deeply entwined in every sense of the word that it’s hard to remember that you’re two separate people. It’s as though the world doesn’t recognise one without the other. You wonder fleetingly if others see it too; when they think of her, do they picture you somewhere close by? The thought makes your heart swell.

Your touch shifts, fingers gliding from the soft skin of her arm to the curve of her shoulder and up to the delicate ridge of her collarbone. Your caress is featherlight, intimate, a silent declaration of love meant only for her to feel. Her breaths are deep and even, and you unconsciously sync your own to hers, your chests rising and falling together as though tethered by some invisible thread.

These sacred pockets of time where it’s just the two of you are rare. Her demanding schedule and your equally relentless job often keep you apart. But when you have her here, like this, the world fades. You cling to it, knowing it’s fleeting yet wishing it could stretch on forever.

Her head shifts slightly, her cheek pressing against the top of your head as she plants a gentle kiss on your forehead. Her fingers brush away a few stray strands of hair from your face, her touch as tender as her voice when she whispers, “Are you tired?”

You shake your head, nuzzling closer before pressing a soft kiss to her chest. “Are you?”

Her lips curve into a lazy, satisfied smile. You can’t help but giggle, the sound light and full of affection, knowing exactly how drained she must feel after what you’d done for her.

Leaning up, you press a lingering kiss to her lips. When you pull back, she surprises you by cupping the back of your head, holding you in place. Her lips press more firmly against yours, her kiss deepening as if she wants to draw every bit of your soul into her. Before you know it, she’s rolling you onto your back with an ease that takes your breath away, her body hovering over yours.

Her knee slides between your legs, pressing against your core just enough to draw a soft moan from your lips. The sound is caught by her, swallowed into the kiss as she applies more pressure, coaxing another from you. You try to lift yourself onto your elbows, craving the closeness, but she pushes you back down, her palm gentle yet firm on your shoulder.

“Let me do this for you,” she murmurs. Her gaze locks onto yours, her smile soft yet commanding in its tenderness. “You’ve had a long day. Just relax, mi amor.”

With a sigh, you nod, surrendering completely to her as you sink deeper into the bed, allowing her to take the reins.

She starts with a soft kiss to your cheek, her lips warm and lingering as if savouring the first touch. Then her head dips lower, her breath brushing against your neck before her mouth begins its delicate work. Her kisses are tender at first, a gentle pressure against your skin, but they quickly deepen. She sucks softly, her tongue darting out to trace invisible patterns, followed by the slightest graze of her teeth.

You can feel her love in every movement, it’s raw, intimate, and utterly consuming. It’s something you’ll never grow tired of.

Her kisses wander lower until her mouth reaches your chest. She places a lingering kiss over your heart before moving to take your nipple into her mouth. Her free hand moves to your other breast, her fingers kneading gently, sending ripples of pleasure through your body. Your hand instinctively threads through her hair, your fingertips brushing against her scalp as you look down at her.

Her hand begins a slow descent, fingers brushing down your sides and then over your upper thigh. She traces circles there, her touch maddeningly light as she inches closer to the spot where you ache for her most. You shift beneath her, your thighs parting in silent invitation, but she takes her time, relishing the journey as much as the destination.

Eventually, she lowers herself fully, her body stretching out between your legs. Her arms wrap around your thighs, holding them open with an ease that makes you feel exposed and cherished all at once. Her lips find the sensitive skin of your inner thigh, placing soft kisses there. Each one feels like a promise, her devotion spelled out in every touch. She moves slowly, torturously, until finally, her mouth reaches your clit. She presses three soft pecks before taking it into her mouth and sucking with a perfect rhythm.

A gasp escapes you, your head falling back onto the pillow as the pleasure starts to build. Her tongue and lips work in perfect harmony, slow and intentional, her movements designed to drive you higher. “That feels so good, Ale,” you whisper, your voice breathless.

She hums in response, the vibration resonating through you, amplifying the sensations. Your fingers tighten in her hair, needing more of her. Her tongue moves lower, teasing at your entrance, and you pull her head closer.

You feel her smirk against you, a small, knowing curve of her lips that sends a flush of heat through you. It’s that same teasing smile she gives when she knows she’s driving you wild, when she knows you’re at her mercy. “Patience, amor,” she rasps, her voice a husky whisper against your skin. The sound alone makes your breath hitch, and you bite your lip, forcing yourself to obey her, to let her take control.

When her tongue finally plunges inside you, it’s as if every nerve in your body ignites at once. She moves with precision, devouring you in a way that leaves you helpless, lost to the overwhelming pleasure she’s giving you. Your back arches off the bed, a soft cry of her name spilling from your lips. It becomes a chant, breathy and desperate, a prayer offered only to her.

Her thumb joins in, rubbing firm circles over your clit in perfect sync with her tongue. The added sensation sends you spiralling, the pleasure building until it’s too much to contain. “Fuck, Alexia. Don’t stop,” you beg, your voice breaking with need.

And she doesn’t. She keeps her pace steady, unrelenting, driving you higher until you shatter beneath her touch. Your legs clamp around her head, holding her there as waves of pleasure crash over you, your entire body trembling with the force of your climax. She stays with you, guiding you through it, her tongue and thumb working until the sensations become too much. You nudge her away, your body oversensitive and trembling.

Alexia places soft, grounding kisses along your thighs as you come down, her touch gentle, reassuring. Slowly, your breathing evens out, the haze of pleasure fading just enough for you to open your eyes and meet her gaze. She smiles at you, a soft, satisfied curve of her lips, before crawling up your body.

“Strap?” she asks hesitantly.

“Okay, but be gentle,” you reply.

“Vale, gentle,” she promises with a soft smile, leaning in to give you a lingering kiss. She stays for a moment before she rises and you watch as she grabs the harness, the way she adjusts it around her hips, her eyes flickering to meet yours.

When she crawls back onto the bed, her weight presses the mattress just enough to snap your focus back to her presence. She situates herself between your legs, her hands finding your thighs and beginning a slow caress. Her fingers trace over your skin, her eyes trained between your legs, dark with thought. You can see her considering every movement she’s about to make, every touch she’ll deliver.

“Ready?” Her voice is soft, barely above a whisper, as she looks up at you, searching your face for any hesitation.

You nod, your heart pounding as you give her your trust. “Ready.”

Her lips curve into a smile that’s as reassuring as it is alluring. She shifts slightly, positioning the toy against your slit. The initial contact sends a shiver through you, her movement of coating the toy in your essence. Her eyes never leave you, watching the subtle changes in your expression as she begins to press it inside.

The stretch is slow and steady. Your teeth catch your bottom lip as your eyes flutter shut, then open again to find her watching you. She’s always watching, making sure you’re okay, making sure you feel good.

Her hands settle on either side of your waist as she leans over you, her body close enough that you feel her warmth. She starts with a gentle rhythm, sliding the toy in and out of you, her movements measured and precise. You both glance down, watching the space where your bodies connect, the intimacy of it all heightening the moment.

She keeps her word, her thrusts firm but unhurried. It doesn’t take long for the pleasure to build, your earlier arousal intensifying every sensation. She knows your body so well, knows exactly how and where to touch to bring you the most pleasure. It’s like she’s mapped you out in her mind, memorised every reaction, every gasp.

Her head dips to your neck, her nose brushing your skin as she nuzzles into you. Her breath is warm and uneven, and you feel the subtle increase in her pace as her movements grow more intentional. You kiss her temple, wrapping your arms around her shoulders, pulling her closer. Your legs hook around her waist, holding her in place while still giving her room to move.

Her lips find your jaw, trailing soft kisses upwards before returning to your neck. Each press of her mouth feels like a declaration, a silent claim that you are hers as much as she is yours. The pressure builds as she begins to thrust harder, your whispered, almost desperate, “Harder,” urging her on.

“Harder?” she asks, her voice husky and teasing. You hum your affirmation, and she obeys, increasing the intensity of her movements. The change makes you cry out, your nails digging into her back as she hits a spot that makes your entire body tremble.

The sound she makes – a heavy exhale that’s more a groan than a sigh – only spurs you on. Her teeth sink into your shoulder in response, a mix of pleasure and possession that makes you shudder beneath her.

You hear her moan softly as the base of the strap presses against her clit with every thrust, bringing her closer to her own release. Her breathing grows heavier, more laboured. “Fuck, I’m close,” she admits, her voice breaking slightly.

You pull her even tighter against you, your hands roaming over her back, needing to feel her as she reaches her peak. Her thrusts become erratic, desperate, her hips rocking into you with an intensity that leaves you breathless. Her body begins to shake, and her moans grow louder.

When she finally comes, her moans spill into your ear, her teeth sinking deeper into your shoulder as she rides out her climax. The mixture of pain and pleasure makes your head spin, but you try your best to focus on her – the way her body tenses and then relaxes, the way she clings to you in her most vulnerable moment.

Her movements slow but don’t stop entirely, her focus shifting back to you. The pleasure she’s been building within you crests, and your body trembles as you reach your own release. Your hands clutch at her, your face buried in her shoulder as the waves of your orgasm crash over you.

Eventually, her hips still, and the two of you lay tangled together, breathing heavily, your bodies slick with sweat and glowing with satisfaction. She brushes soft kisses along the mark she left on your shoulder, her lips featherlight and filled with apology and affection. She trails kisses up your neck and finally captures your lips in a sweet, lingering kiss.

When she pulls back, her eyes meet yours, full of love. “I love you, mi amor,” she whispers, her voice soft and sincere.

You smile, your fingers threading into her hair as you reply, “I love you too, Ale.”

[sinsirellaxx]

Slytherin Boys – They Hurt Your Feelings

Warning: Toxic!boys, not proofread, cheating, etc.

Enjoy!

Mattheo …

… watches you with disinterest as your eyes grow wet with unshed tears. He’d just told you that he simply forgot about your birthday and had spent the whole day with some random female students.

… shrugs his shoulders when you ask him whether he is being serious. “It’s not that big of a deal – I simply forgot.”

… groans when you start pointing out all the times he stood you up and neglected you for the sake of being with other people. “Please – not this again.”

… plays the “If I’m really such a bad boyfriend then leave”-card.

… will smirk if you decide not to leave.

… will quickly get up from his bed if you actually turn around and slam the door behind you as you rush out of his stinky teenage dorm.

Theodore …

… sits on the edge of his bed, completely unfazed when you confront him about the girl you saw him kissing. “You’re overreacting. It didn’t mean anything.”

… doesn’t try to explain himself, running a hand through his hair as if the conversation is exhausting him. “Merlin, can’t you just drop it already?”

… scoffs when your voice cracks, and tears spill down your cheeks. He is obviously annoyed by your display of emotions, “Honestly, this is pathetic. Do you have to cry about everything?”

… rolls his eyes when you demand answers. “You weren’t exactly keeping me entertained. What did you think was going to happen?”

… doesn’t even try to stop you as you storm out of his dorm, muttering under his breath about how dramatic you are.

Lorenzo …

… lets out a mocking laugh when you trip over your words in front of his friends, your cheeks burning with embarrassment. “Did you seriously just say that?” he sneers.

… dismisses your protests when you pull him aside after the incident. “Oh, come on, it was just a joke. Don’t be so sensitive.”

… refuses to acknowledge the hurt in your eyes as you try to explain how humiliated you felt. “If you can’t take a little teasing, that’s on you.”

… crosses his arms when you demand an apology, shaking his head. “No one else would’ve made such a big deal about this. Maybe grow a thicker skin.”

… rolls his eyes when you walk away, but for a fleeting second, guilt flickers in his eyes before he brushes it off.

Draco …

… sneers at you in front of a crowd after you tried to share your opinion during a heated debate. “Why don’t you leave the thinking to people who actually know what they’re talking about?”

… watches your face fall as you try to defend yourself, a cruel smirk playing on his face. “You’re embarrassing yourself, you half-blood.”

… doesn’t care about the tears in your eyes, cutting you off with a wave of his hand. “Oh, don’t start crying now. You’re acting like a child.”

… shrugs his shoulders when you call him an ass before storming off.

… feels the slightest pang of regret later, but he buries it deep down, convincing himself you were overreacting.

Blaise …

… snaps during an argument, his voice icy and sharp. “You’re so goddamn needy all the time. Do you ever stop to think about anyone but yourself?”

… watches as your eyes widen, but instead of softening, he doubles down. “Oh, now you’re crying? Of course, you are. That’s your solution for everything, isn’t it?”

… crosses his arms and leans back, clearly unimpressed by your attempt to defend yourself. “You always have to play the victim, don’t you?”

… rolls his eyes when you try to leave the room, grabbing your wrist. “Don’t walk away from me. We’re not done here.”

… later sits alone, the weight of his words sinking in, but his pride won’t let him admit he went too far.

Tom …

… grips your wrist too tightly during an argument, his voice low and venomous. “You will not walk away from me while I’m talking.” You had been fighting due to his treatment towards your muggle-born friends.

… shoves you backward when you try to push past him, his eyes cold and unfeeling. “Don’t test me, darling. You won’t like the consequences.”

… watches you stumble, your eyes wide with shock and fear in annoyance – you knew what you were getting into when you agreed to be his girlfriend. You knew who he was.

… sneers when you try to regain your composure, his tone dripping with condescension. “Wipe that pathetic look off your face. It doesn’t suit you.”

… takes a step closer, his shadow looming over you as his voice drops to a dangerous whisper. “Do you think they’d risk anything for you? Those mudbloods you’re so desperate to protect?”

… brushes past you with deliberate force when you don’t respond, his shoulders rigid, muttering, “You’re lucky I don’t make an example of them for your insolence.”

[artbymesa]

I was just gonna put this in the tags, but maybe this will help someone else to share my story if anyone else feels less alone. And it got long. I was a valedictorian in highschool. I would not recommend it.

Take it from me-- Do well in school, absolutely. Please try to do well in school. Please. But Do Not let it destroy your mental health the way I let it. I had a very unhealthy relationship with it and tied it to my self worth.

(Story time under read more if it helps anyone)

Oversharing time-- it was my priority in highschool. It was a goal I set for myself to prove I could do it, and if I didn't, I think I saw myself as a failure. This was mostly self imposed, and theres probably a psychological explanation for this I wont get into for the sake of length. But I thought if I could at least do this, I had something on paper that I could point to for myself in a sort of external self validation or worth. "I dont know what metric to gauge myself on, but at least I accomplished this". Call it a method of self soothing, I suppose.

It led to almost daily panic attacks that I could not publically control. The whole nine yards, too. It was exhausting and physically draining. If I were honest with me-- I isolated myself. More human contact, more going out with friends, more of me being the one to make the point of reaching out to other people would have made a world of a healthier difference. My focus might not have been so singular and borderline obsessive because it was the only thing i held onto. It put me in a horrible place mentally, and it has severely affected my adult life. I am still trying to unlearn the "if I mess up learning how to do this on the first try, i am a failure" when its like....just learning how to pipe icing on cupcakes or something. I tied my worth to my ability to learn, and that can become extremely unhealthy in a hurry. Especially when I already had mental health issues that were at odds with learning quickly-- like panic attacks that come on fast and wipe my memory and ability to think clearly. Its like I chose the hardest thing for my brain to do, and that was the metric I weighed my self worth on.

What I told myself at the time was some variation of "if I do this, i'll have the best chance at financial support or a full ride for college." That doing this means I will become self sufficient.

That's not how it works, and thats not how it worked.

I got a $1k grant, which was nice, but nowhere near the full ride or anything close to the "heavens of opportunity rain down upon me" sort of thing I had hoped for in my head.

Valedictorians make for good metrics for the school. Attendance records make for good records for the school. Not in any way saying kids SHOULDN'T try to do well in school (please for the love of god, we need every scrap of education we can get in this country), but please find a healthy medium too.

Doing well enough in school and not letting it destroy your mental health do not have to be mutually exclusive. A 3.5 is probably good enough. That was the cut off for one of my bigger transfer scholarships later down the road, transfering from one college to another. Nowhere did I have to continue maintaining a 4.0.

Besides. I didnt get a 4.0 by retaining functional information. I got it by gaming the system of how testing worked.

The example I use is a very dry history class in college I had. Our final exam was the culmination of all of our final tests. Same questions, same answers. I did not remember the content. I did not learn anything. What I did? I remembered the first three words of the question and the first three words of the answer, and remembered them by association. And then I forgot it all within the hour.

In the meantime, foster your friendships. Good friendships. This can create business connections in the future. Kindness and community will get the majority of people further in life than being any kind of top of your class, I promise you.

But most of all, be kind to yourself and treat yourself gently.

are you or have you ever been a straight-A student?

[kabuki-writes]

And All Eyes Were Set On Brutus

chapter: 3 chapter 1 | 2

pairing: emperor geta/emperor caracalla x acacius' daughter!reader

summary: After their visit of the Colosseum, Marcus Acacius worries even more about his beloved daughter. Meanwhile a dangerous rumor finds its way into the Emperor's ears.

warning(s): NSFW | mention of violence | mention of alcohol | swearing | sexual implications | semi-edited | english is not my first language, faults may occur | please let me know if i missed anything

Note: Thank you all for your ongoing support and your comments on my previous chapters✨🙇‍♀️! I really enjoy to write this fic as a Geta and Cara stan myself and it honors me that you continue to share your love for these two and this fic. I really hope you like this chapter as well, because this time it gets a little more... spicy.🌶️

word count: 3.6k

Rome was becoming nothing more than a painful cage for General Acacius. From the very first day he had to wear the white armor of victory, he felt like a slave with no other choices than to watch how everything he had known changed for the worse. He despised himself for not being able to protect his own daughter from the eyes of the Emperors, that were now set on her. He should've never taken her with him, he should've sticked with his principles. But then again, what choice did he even have, when he faced an order by the most powerful men in the world.

There was no chance to defy them openly, speaking up now would bring danger to his whole family as they would have to face the consequences of Marcus Acacius' actions. He wasn't so delusional and naive to think that the anger of the Emperors would only befall him alone, no, they weren't like that. So when the day came and a senator stepped forward to the General, he hesitated. Geta and Caracalla were beloved by the people as they gave them victories, bread and games - as long as the plebs had that, no one gave a damn about who sat on top. For them it was all the same, but the senate was different.

After the death of Emperor Commodus, the senate reestablished the Roman Republic, but wasn't able to secure their power. Many cities and regions took their chance to rebel against Rome as most of the generals refused to serve the new order - that included Marcus Acacius as well, who quickly sided with his old friend and brother-in-arms Septimius Severus, the father of the now ruling Emperors Geta and Caracalla. They took their legions and marched on Rome, where Severus took the power from the senate again only one year after the rebirth of the Republic. Acacius did believe in Severus, he did believe in the vision his friend had for Rome as well as his strength and wisdom as Emperor. Nearly two decades he was not disappointed while he served his old friend as a close advisor and his first general.

The senate got reduced to nothing more than a theater stage, with no real power or influence. And Acacius was sure that they would forever hate him for the service he did to Severus. Yet men like Gracchus must've sensed that the general was getting more and more delusional given the current reign of the twins. So the politicians approached him carefully and together they formed an alliance in the shadows. Their plan: Overthrowing the two Emperors and install the Republic again. Acacius stood never on the side of the senate... but nothing was as terrible as Geta's and Caracalla's tyranny. And if that is a way to protect his daughter and his family from them, he happily claimed himself a Roman Republican now.

Coming from one of his nightly visits at senator Gracchus' home, Acacius noticed that there was someone still sitting in the inner garden of his Roman city residence. He took off his cloak and approached you slowly as you watched the turtles in the small pond between the plants and flowers, while the water of a small fountain rippled in the silence. "Your mother told me, that you were sitting here the whole day", he said with a low tone, careful not to scare you with his sudden appearence, before he took a seat right next to you on the stone bench. When he watched your face, he saw all the thoughts that were probably going through your head after the situation in the Collosseum yesterday. For a long moment, the two of you simply sat in silence, while one of the turtles walked along a mosaic before it fell into the water.

"I am not a child anymore, i don't want you or mother to protect me any longer", you suddenly whispered, before your head turned to your father. In your eyes he saw how you struggled to maintain your neutrality as you faced the danger that may come over you, if you'd accept this new attention further. "And yet i don't know how to deal with... them? I suppose i cannot refuse any of this?" Your question carried a sense of pain, because you already knew the answer and it was equally as hard for your father to shake his head in response.

"I thought so...", you mumbled and leaned forward give one of the turtles a leaf of salad you had snached from the dinner table earlier. Acacius had seen many battles and many terrible things, but nothing was harder than to see you like this. And nothing was harder than to feel helpless. All he could do was laying his hand softly and reassuring on your shoulder.

„You’re my daughter, y/n. And you’re right, even if I want it to, I can not protect you anymore… all I can promise you, that it is going to be alright."

He searched for a way to fix all of this, even though he couldn't tell you how. It was better this way as it would only drag you deeper into the dead end that your own father had already set up. The mere thought about it made his heart grow even more painful.

"Do you regret it sometimes?", you suddenly asked, looking at the vibrant clear water of the pond. "What do you mean?"

"That you marched with Emperor Severus back then?"

This question wasn't easy to answer, it was written on Acacius face, as he turned his face to the turtles and sighed.

"I did believe in Severus... i still do. Under him, Rome was able to secure itself and become strong again. What comes after that now - only time will tell. But what i know is that i have to leave in a few weeks with my troups again. An order of the Emperors."

It wasn't a particular surprising news, but nonetheless your fingers digged themselves into the fabric of your toga-like blue dress, while you still hept your head high. Despair was no useful emotion and not a good thought right now. You needed to stay calm, stick to yourself and find a way on how to deal with all of the things that were happening. As you'd said you were no child anymore - you will find a way out if this, even without your father.

You didn't say a word in response, however you closed your arms around him as the fear that with him being gone it could get even worse, lingered on your mind. Little did you know that the world you had known was already on the brink of falling apart.

_____________________________________________

The smell of incence, wine, sweet perfume and sweat filled the rooms of Emperor Caracalla's chambers, while naked bodies moved themselves to the rythm of a small group of musicians. The melodies of their instruments mixed themselves with the moans of the men and women in ecstacy, the worshippers of Bacchus - god of wine, euphoria and madness. Drinking and making love was the way they prayed nearly every night as Caracalla found in it a way to escape the reality that almost drove him crazy. Here in his chambers, the only Emperor that mattered was him, the only word that was heard was his own. At least one small realm for himself, while he had to share the rest of the world with his twin brother.

But it was different this time, when he stared at the scenery with a mind clouded in intoxication. His breaths went ragged, while he sat on a bed decorated with velvet cushions, a young man kneeled between his legs and sent him to elysium with his tongue, while he was surrounded by beautiful slaves, women with golden chains, that decorated their naked breasts and hips. And yet even in a scenery like this, where he usually found a way to calm his restless mind, he was still thinking about her. Not only her, sadly - that goddamn General was another thought. The hero of Rome was no pleasant figure for him anymore, he was nothing more than a Brutus, but Caracalla was not the one to end up like Julius Caesar.

The mere thought of killing this treacherous son of a whore hit Caracalla's brain and made him cum into the mouth of the slave that had his dick deep in his throat. This peak of his pleasure would've helped him to relax if not one of the praetorian guards stepped in and walked with his black and lilac amror through the voyeristic scenery like it was a halluzination in front of the Emperor's eyes. Without a second thought, Caracalla simply pushed the young slave, who was still sitting at his feet, to the side and stood up. His hand quickly grabbed the white toga that layed on the floor which he threw over his own naked, pale body. "Why do you disturb me!?", he hissed, as if he wasn't already expecting him.

The soldier ignored the music, the slaves that layed on the ground and fucked each other, just as he ignored the half-naked Emperor right in front of him, who still wore his golden laurel crown and his jewelries. "Emperor Geta waits for you."

For a moment, the young man with the gingerblonde hair stared at his guard, before he nodded quickly, as if it got him out of a daydream. "Yes, yes i will come to him, i am right there, tell him that. And get that slave Marcellus here," he answered, hand waving him away before his tone shifted and he screamed at his 'guests'. "Get out, GET OUT OF MY SIGHT! NOW!" The music stopped immediately and all eyes were set on Caracalla, while the first slaves already got to their feet again. „NOW,“ he repeated in a louder and added in a hissing tone „…or I will claim your tongue with a dagger!“

Caracalla was impossible to read fully, just as he was impulsive. It would’ve not been the first time one participant of this nightly debaucheries had lost his tongue or another part of his body.

_____________________________________________

Emperor Geta waited in his embroidered night robe, which was half open, exposing his bare and pale chest. Sitting on a cushioned wooden chair, he stared with tired eyes out the window of the balcony, the darkness of Rome in front of him. Just as his brother he had someone in his chambers, but instead of a whole horde of slaves he had chosen one good whore with hairs that reminded him of you. It was just a dull replacement, he knew that, yet it was enough for a good fuck before he would’ve went to sleep.

If there was not his twin brother, who‘d call for him in the middle of the goddamn night. By the gods he hated to be disturbed like that, especially after countless of times his brother got him here only to share uninteresting - sometimes even paranoid - gossip with him, which Caracalla had heard from the mouth of one of his slaves.

When the curtains of the attached room opened and Geta saw his brother entering with his wild hair and only with a toga over his bare body, his nose twitched in anger. „Don‘t tell me you disturbed my sleep and called for my immediate coming while you were fucking whores at your damn orgy!? When you’re telling me that your problem is, that you can’t sleep now, I will cross you myself!“ Yes, it wasn’t the first time Caracalla had called him for such nonesense. And usually Geta had a lot of patience with him, given his psychological condition, but not tonight.

Caracalla stopped in an instant and looked at his brother with big eyes as if he tries to convince him that he wasn’t guilty of anything. „Yes, but- I had a reason for that!“ he insisted, which only fueled Geta's anger. „Lucinius, bring us the slave!“ Caracalla quickly said and the Praetorian guard who just had informed him about his brother came in with a skinny, yet tall young man. He was a slave but given the clothes he wore, it was clear that he had a higher rank within the household he was serving in.

„Who is that, one of your toy boys?“ Geta asked, eying the stranger he‘d never seen before. But Caracalla shook his head and stepped forth to place his hand on the shoulder of that slave.

„No! He is a slave from the household of senator Gracchus,“ he explained and couldn’t hide an almost devilish smile as this said slave was here for one reason alone - to tell them everything. „Marcellus, tell him,“ he ordered and whispered into his ear. „I promised you your freedom and a good amount of gold, to return to your family. You want to see your daughter again, right? So don’t disappoint me now.“ With those words he stepped back for a moment, giving the slave a moment to breath as he seemingly tried to find the right words. He was nervous, the way his fingers twitched and his eyes were glued to the marble ground under his feet.

"I... i am a servant in the household of senator Gracchus for nearly a decade now", Marcellus began and forced himself to look up into the testing eyes of Geta, who was growing more impatient with each second passing. "The General... General Acacius as well as a couple of other senators visit my master regularly in the middle of the night and they always retreat into a secret room in the cellar of his villa."

With an amused whistle Geta interrupted him. "Why should we care for the sexual escapades of a group of old men?", he hissed, but Caracalla threw in with a darkened shimmer in his eyes. "Wait for it, you will be furious, trust me! Continue."

Marcellus needed a second to calm himself down and stop to shake as he formed his next words. "When i brought them wine once, they stopped with their conversation as long as i stayed in the room, but when i was in the corridor, they spoke again. They didn't know that i was still there, so i just listened and- it was clear that they questioned you, my Emperors. They questioned your leadership and the general - i wouldn't dare to speak out loud such a blasphemy against your rule, if it was not what i've heard with my own ears."

Geta's face darkened with every new information Marcellus was telling him and slowly he realized why his brother was so eager to get him here. The laugh of his twin filled the room, which turned hysterical. "Tell him, Marcellus!"

"General Acacius and the senators Gracchus, Livinidus, Galba and Erebus plan to overthrow you with the legions that are under Acacius' command," he said and had to force every word out of his mouth, afraid of the anger that cooked like a vulcano in Geta. His hands formed fists and he bit his tongue. All this time, Acacius - the hero - was a traitor, a Brutus. And now he connected the dots, thinking about every time this General wined about going off to war. This maggot.

"And this is true!?", he asked in a loud, demanding tone. "If that is a lie, we will punish you in the most terrible ways you could imagine and feed you to the lions in the Colosseum!" Marcellus eyes were filled with tears of fear, yet he shook his head heavily.

"No, please! I speak the truth, i swear it! I swear it in front of Jupiter himself, please, you must believe me! I came to Emperor Caracalla, who promised me my freedom if i tell it here again. It is no lie!"

"Kill him", Geta ordered in a cold tone and before Marcellus could even scream, it was the blade of the Praetorial Guard that cut his head off from behind, making it fall to the ground like a ball of bones and meat, followed by his body. Under the resounding laugh of Caracalla, Geta ordered the Guard to leave them so that he could speak to his brother in private.

"You just read my mind, dear brother! I wouldn't have let him go either", Caracalla sang. "We should kill them all, that bastard Acacius and his old senate sluts! Let's cut off their heads and spike them on the Palatin for all to see!"

But Geta was already two steps ahead when he closed the distance between him and his twin. Yes, he was furious, it took him all restraints to not give in the urge of ordering their murder. "No," he said, which drew a questioning look on his brothers face.

"What no?! Those are traitors, TRAITORS! You've heard the same things i did!?"

"I did, but the senators are no danger. These old men talk about the republic which is nothing more than dust and ashes! A faded dream and without any backing, they just continue to shit themselves in the senate. When our father took Rome, the people cheered to him, because they didn't want a Republic but a strong Emperor to guide them, remember? The head of the snake is Acacius! He must die, and he will die, but not yet!", Geta started and turned to the balcony, leaving his brother for a moment as he stood in the darkness with his his white toga. "We need his legion, and we will make him our fucking dog, who has no chance to ever decline any order of us, if we have his beloved daughter. If he doesn't do as we say, then she will die."

But he will, Geta knew that. Nothing seemed to be more precious in Acacius' life than his family and especially his dear daughter. And this whole situation had a bonus for Geta, because when he turned to face Caracalla again, he announced. "I will force him with an order to marry his daughter to me!"

Caracalla froze in place, his eyes staring at his brother as if he just had a bad dream. "What?", he simply asked again, while his brother's anger turned into anticipation. "With a marriage we bind her to our reign and therefore we will bind the General. Acacius delivers us his own daughter and his own head on a silver tablet with his treacherous nonsense!"

Geta wanted to place his hands on his twin's shoulders, but Caracalla slapped them out of his way. "I don't accept this! NO! I DON'T ACCEPT THIS!", he screamed at him, which really irritated his twin. "Why can't I be the One to marry her!?"

There it was. For the first time, the twins revealed in front of each other that they longed for the same girl. And that made it complicated. Nonetheless Geta was still confused, why his brother reacted like that, so he reminded him of what Caracalla said all those years.

"You never wanted to marry? How many times did you told our father before he died? Every time he said to us, that we would need to find ourselves someone to take as a wife, you refused. You were too busy indulging in your late night activities and Bacchus rituals."

He stepped forward with an intense glaze in his eyes. This way of being instructive, while Caracalla was still his twin and technically even older than him, made his brother's mouth twitch in response to his next words. "May i remind you about the fact that i am the one of us dealing with most of the political responsibilities, because you always wanted to stick to your fun."

Those words were indeed true, as Caracalla hated those senate discussions, which lead to nothing and were only for show - an illusion for both the plebs and the upper-classes. Geta continued, but not without making clear that he saw himself worthier of you being his wife, bound in front of the gods. "All of that is fine, brother. I've always protected you from the boring senators and hypocrites of the Roman elite, while you collected the most beautiful slaves and enjoyed yourself. You have no duties, as long as i take them off your shoulders and finally shut up all the people, finally demanding a royal marriage after all those years. And given all of that, i do think i deserve to marry before you to present Rome an Empress."

Caracalla stared at him, straight into the eyes of his twin Geta and his fingers twitched. If he would just have a dagger now? But he had none right here and given the fact that his brother was always taller and stronger with his statue, it wouldn't make sense to start a fight. In fact he couldn't even argue against him, as it was true, he was never an Emperor that bothered himself with any political nonesense. Yet he couldn't shake off the urge to kill Geta for this. Again, he took a thing from him he wanted to own for himself - only for himself. Even though his twin showed his goodwill, as he always did. His hands layed itself on Caracalla's cheeks and he gave him a brotherly kiss on the forehead. "Don't worry, dear brother. I am not above sharing her divine presence with you. But she will always be my wife," he whispered, followed by a smile on his lips.

With those words he simply turned and left the room, leaving Caracalla, who was still wearing his white toga over his naked body, as well as the body of Marcellus alone in the dark. His mind got corrupted with so many thoughts in this very moment, but the most prominentely thought was anger. So he screamed hysterically and grabbed the table that stood at the side to throw it down, taking the vase on top and hurled it straight through the room, followed by the head of that damn slave. He hated Geta. He hated him so much and still they had shared the whomb of their mother, which made them share the same blood.

How long would he be able to hold the urge to murder his own brother - especially now as Geta claimed you?

_____________________________________________

Tags:

quuinyoung koshkahhh mmkkzz analves pandora-journey ange-olras tellynojelly targwh0re h3k3t onelemonoat whitenoise808 spooky-cupid dev1lbella onelemonoat hawraa-alzubaidi omg-hellgirl the-holy-pigeon

[reaper2187]

Caitlyn kiramman x female reader

The Shadows We Share

The Escape Plan

The path back through the corridors of Stillwater was tense. Vi kept sneaking glances at Y/N, as if to confirm she was real and not some phantom conjured by guilt. Caitlyn, on the other hand, was focused, her analytical mind already calculating how they would manage to get Y/N out alongside Vi.

“Caitlyn,” Vi muttered, keeping her voice low as they followed the warden. “We’re not leaving without her.”

“That complicates things,” Caitlyn replied, her tone clipped but understanding. “The more people we bring, the more attention we’ll attract.”

“I’m not leaving her here,” Vi snapped, her fists clenching. “We’ll figure it out.”

Behind them, Y/N followed silently, her stoic demeanor unshaken. She noticed the exchange but didn’t comment. Her mind was already at work, mapping the prison layout she had memorized over years of captivity. If this was her chance, she wasn’t going to squander it.

When they reached a secluded corner near the cell blocks, Caitlyn turned to Y/N. “Do you have any useful information about the guards or the layout?”

Y/N leaned against the wall, crossing her arms. “Useful? Yes. But I’m not handing it over without knowing what you’re really after.”

“We’re here to get Vi out,” Caitlyn said firmly. “You’re a...bonus.”

Y/N smirked faintly. “How flattering.”

Vi rolled her eyes. “Y/N, cut the cryptic crap. If you’ve got something, now’s the time.”

Y/N’s expression shifted, a flicker of something warmer—reminiscent of the sisterly bond they once shared. She relented with a small sigh. “Fine. The guards rotate every four hours, and the weakest point is the west gate. It’s minimally staffed because they assume no one gets that far.”

“That’s...convenient,” Caitlyn said, skepticism creeping into her voice.

“Convenience has nothing to do with it,” Y/N replied. “I’ve been waiting for an opportunity like this. You just happened to bring it to me."

The trio moved quickly, keeping to the shadows as they made their way toward the west gate. The air was thick with unspoken tension, especially between Caitlyn and Y/N.

“You’re awfully calm for someone who’s supposed to be an inmate,” Caitlyn remarked quietly as they walked.

Y/N glanced at her, her lips twitching into a small smile. “And you’re awfully chatty for an enforcer.”

“I’m just trying to figure you out,” Caitlyn replied, her voice steady. “You don’t strike me as someone who belongs in a place like this.”

“That’s because you don’t know me,” Y/N said simply. “But I know your type—Piltover’s best and brightest, always thinking you’re a step ahead. You’re predictable.”

Caitlyn bristled, but before she could respond, Vi intervened. “Enough. Both of you.”

Y/N chuckled softly. “Relax, Vi. I’m just getting to know your...friend.”

“Yeah, well, save it for after we get out,” Vi said, shooting them both a warning look.

When they reached the west gate, Y/N’s intel proved accurate. The area was lightly guarded, and the trio quickly dispatched the two sentries patrolling the corridor. Caitlyn’s sharpshooting combined with Vi’s brute strength made for an efficient team, though Y/N watched them with an air of quiet judgment.

“You two work well together,” she observed as they approached the gate.

“Thanks,” Caitlyn said, her tone curt. “Now, how do we get this open?”

Y/N stepped forward, examining the control panel beside the gate. “Leave it to me.”

“You know how to hack this?” Vi asked, surprised.

“I’ve picked up a few skills,” Y/N replied, her fingers moving deftly over the keypad. “Being locked up doesn’t mean you stop learning.”

Within moments, the gate creaked open, revealing the cold, misty expanse of the sea beyond. Caitlyn glanced at Y/N, impressed despite herself. “Not bad.”

“I aim to please,” Y/N said with a small shrug.

“Let’s move,” Vi urged, stepping through the gate. “We’re not out yet.”

As they made their way toward the rendezvous point Caitlyn had arranged, the silence was heavy with unspoken questions. Finally, Caitlyn couldn’t hold back any longer.

“You’re different from what I expected,” she said to Y/N, her voice carefully measured.

Y/N raised a brow. “And what did you expect?”

“Someone...less composed,” Caitlyn admitted. “Most people in Stillwater lose themselves. You seem like you’ve been waiting for this moment.”

Y/N’s gaze turned distant. “Let’s just say I’ve had time to reflect.”

Vi, sensing where this was going, decided to ask the question she had been avoiding. “Y/N, what happened after they took you? Why didn’t you try to contact me?”

Y/N’s jaw tightened, and for the first time, a flicker of vulnerability broke through her stoic mask. “Because I didn’t want you to see what I’d become.”

“What are you talking about?” Vi demanded, her voice rising. “You’re still you.”

“Am I?” Y/N’s voice was low, almost a whisper. “Do you know how many lives I’ve taken? How many people I’ve hurt to survive?”

Vi fell silent, the weight of Y/N’s words sinking in.

Caitlyn, however, pressed on. “And your brother? Where does he fit into all this?”

Y/N froze, her expression hardening. “That’s none of your business.”

Vi looked between them, confused. “Your brother? I didn’t even know you had one.”

“There’s a lot you don’t know, Vi,” Y/N said quietly. “And it’s better that way.”

As they reached the extraction point, Caitlyn’s contacts were waiting with a small boat. The group boarded quickly, the roar of the waves muffling any further conversation. Y/N sat at the back, her eyes fixed on the horizon.

Caitlyn watched her from a distance, her curiosity growing. There was more to Y/N than she let on—something dark and deeply personal. Caitlyn wasn’t sure whether to trust her, but she couldn’t deny the strange pull she felt toward the stoic woman.

Vi sat beside Y/N, her usual bravado replaced with quiet determination. “You’re coming back with us,” she said firmly.

Y/N glanced at her, a faint smile tugging at her lips. “If you say so.”

As the boat sped toward freedom, Caitlyn couldn’t shake the feeling that their troubles were far from over. Y/N’s connection to Jhin, her past as a hitman, and the unspoken bond she shared with Vi were all threads waiting to unravel.

part 3 anyone? leave any requests you guys and also do comment because they are funny and i love interacting with you all

[xetlynn]

hii i have a little request for ekko like omg i love him so bad

so imagine winter times come around and you an ekko are in your shared room (the firelights bases ofc)

and he sees you shivering under your cover so he comes over and just cuddles all up under you

thennn a few words and giggles are shared and thingss get a little heated between yall and ykyk 🤗

I hope you wanted smut. That’s what I made.

Arcane Imagines- Ekko

Still Cold

⚠️WARNING🔞: SMUTTTT

[arcane] [main page]

Prompt: it’s cold, you need to be warmed up. (Established relationship)

Contains: hand job, oral m! Receiving. Afab. Whimpering, whiny sub Ekko:(

You shiver, wearing a few layers of clothes along with tons of blankets. Your nose practically freezing off since you feel claustrophobic if you put my face under the covers. You hear the door open to you and your boyfriend’s shared room. Steps coming towards me. “You cold or something?” He asks, You just scoff in response like it wasn't obvious.

He snickers, throwing the blankets off of you causing you to whine. “Oh shush, c’mere you big baby.” He climbs into bed, pulling your body on top of his.

”You’re warm.” You mumble, clinging onto him. “I’m so cold.” You complain, he puts the covers back over the both of you. 

“I know a way to make us even warmer.” He wiggles his eyebrows and you shove his face away from your neck before he got the chance to pounce on it with his lips. He got hard before he even got into the bed. “I’m too cold to think about that.” You huff, adjusting yourself on him so you were more comfortable. 

It didn’t help Ekko’s situation though. He needed you badly and you put yourself right over his crotch. He tensed up but nonetheless stayed quiet, rubbing your back to get you warmer. “My body aches from how cold it is.” You wiggle over top of him. Ekko lets out a low, almost inaudible grunt. “Stop moving so much.” He grabs your hips to keep you in place. “Sorry, sorry.” 

A few moments go by and you begin to understand why he told you to stop moving. You feel something poking against your core. Your lips lined into a smirk, deciding to mess with him. “Ekko, massage me again.” You look at him with a pout. His eyes met yours, he seemed extremely nervous. He never wanted to push anything on you, so when you said you were too cold to think about it he stopped and he tried to take the thought out of his brain. 

“Um, alright.” His hands move on your back again, you let out a soft moan, humming into his chest. The vibration only worsening his perverted thoughts. Your digits find his hips, going up and down his body in slow motions. He wanted to stop and shove you off of him. 

You were so soft, such a comforting body he just wanted to explore every part of you. Keep you warm and safe. His member twitches and you chuckle. His face flushes. 

“He sure has a lot to say.” You tease him, not looking at him as your hand goes underneath you, trailing all the way down to the place he needed you most. He lets out a gasp. 

Your smaller hand palms him through his sweatpants. “Pretty girl, please.” He whimpers, he pulls his arms up to his head, watching your focused expression. “You wanted to keep me warm, right?” A smug smile tugging upwards, “my hands are pretty cold.” You go to his ear, kissing it softly as the hand that was once palming him went to the waistline of his pants. “Gonna treat you so well.” You lay your head back down on his chest, moving your body slightly off of him so you could get a better view of your actions. 

Ekko watches as his girlfriend extracts his dick from his clothing agonizingly slow. Spitting on your hand before smearing it on his tip, mixed with his precum. “So cute.” You compliment. 

“Cute?” He huffs, your thumb rubs it over the sensitive mushroom top. “Mhm.” 

He bucks his hips up, desperate for you to touch him more. You take your hand away to shove his hips back down. “Be patient.” You sit up with the blankets over your shoulders. You spread his legs apart enough so you could sit in between them. You yank his pants off half-way, keeping them at his thighs. 

His orbs grow darker by the sight of you on your knees before him. Even though you're clothed up you are the only one to affect him this way.  

“What do you want?” You ask, your fingers dancing around his skin. “Take your shirt off. Please.” He mewls in a soft tone. “Then I’ll be cold.” Your bottom lip puckers out as you give him puppy-dog eyes. “I need to see them, they’re so beautiful.” He begs, his hand going down to his dick, using your spit to pump up and down. “If that’s what my boyfriend wants. I guess I can make some sacrifices.” You take off your sweater along with the tank top that was underneath. Flaunting your breasts. 

“Stop touching yourself.” You prod aside his wrist replacing it back with your palm once again. Stroking his cock while leaning over to pronounce your boobs out. “I was supposed to b-e warming- shit- warming you up.” He stammers, grabbing at your left tit, massaging it gently. “This is warming me up.” You giggle, laying a kiss on the cockhead. He squeezes his eyes shut as your tongue kitten licks him. 

Your hand is still kneading at the base. “I- ohmygooodd.” He groans. “Use your mouth.” He runs a hand on top of your hair, grasping at it. “Not very good manners.” You glance up at him. He holds a breath. “Please use your mouth pretty girl. Please.” He whines like a dog, rutting his hips up only to be knocked back down. “Patience, Ekko.” Your voice was soft but stern.

You’ve never acted like this before, it was new to him. He was normally in control. “Fuck, okay, okay.” He throws his arm over his eyes. You snigger, sticking your tongue out. You smack his cock on it repeatedly until popping it between your lips. Hollowing out your cheeks, sucking on his tip. 

You lower your head until your nose hits his pelvic region. His happy trail tickles you ever so slightly. You go back up then continue at a leisurely state. Frustrating him ridiculously. “[Name] please stop messing with me. I need more.” He tugs at your hair. “Mmmmhmmm?” Your noises pleasuring him. “I’m going to fuck your throat if you don’t do something.” He tells you through gritted teeth. 

The thought of him facefucking you aroused you. You felt the wetness in between your thighs even through all your clothes. You move your heel underneath your cunt. Pressing your butt down to feel the friction as you bob your head up and down on your boyfriend's thick cock. 

Now being more mindful of his needs. The slurping sounds with a mix of occasional gags. You hold onto the top of his thighs as you get faster. Ekko’s toes curling from your skills. He felt like he was about to cum at any moment. His abs tightening, flexing just for you. 

“[Name], pretty girl. I- oh fuckfuckfuck… I’m close.” Once again his pelvis went up. You weren’t expecting it causing your upper torso to contract as you gag. You lift up, his dick falling against his stomach. The saliva and pre-cum dribbling down your chin. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. I’ll be better. I promise.” He implores, his hands wandering on your chest down to your stomach. 

“Fuck my throat.” You vocalise, sounding raspy. “A-are you sure? You don’t have to do it because I mentioned it.” He double checks and you smile, pulling forward by his shirt kissing him. Your spit and his own liquid smudges across his mouth. 

You drop him back down on the pillows. He plants his feet down on the bed, lifting himself up a tiny bit and you put your mouth back on his dick. “You ready?” He bites his lip, your eyes look up at him. Your cheeks rise, making you seem like you’re squinting to show that you’re smiling. You give him a thumbs up. Both of his hands go to your head. 

He thrusts up into your muzzle, starting off tender you wink at him then his hips begin to accelerate. You hold onto his legs for support. His hands pushing you down as far as you can take him. 

“I’m going to cum! Fu-uuuuck!” He keeps the quick pace. Your pussy spasms at his moans and whimpers he made. “I love you so much, pretty girl. So so so much.” He breathes heavily. “Gonna let me spill into your throat? Swallow it like a good, beautiful girl that you are?” He questions you and you hum out. Slightly nodding your head. “Fuck, that’s my girl.” 

His cock convulses, his tip bruising your uvula. “Ohhh, love you, love you , love…” His voice gets cut off as he cums, his mouth hanging open with no noise coming out. His seed spurting down your throat as your nose pressed against his skin. He restrains you in place until his balls are completely empty. He roughly drops down and you swallow everything before coughing to catch your breath. 

His dick lays limp and his face looks fucked out. “Hope you know I’m not done with you.” You smirk, grabbing his soft cock and he whines, attempting to push you away. “Too sensitive, pretty girl.” He complains. “Mmm I’m still cold though.” 

He tiredly rubs his face realizing how long of a night he was about to have.

[creamflix]

IF I WAS A BAD BITCH, I'D WANNA F★CK ME TOO! ( THANKSGIVING EDITION )  ၄၃ gojo satoru x female reader x (female?!) gojo satoru 

18+ content, minors and blank blogs do not interact. established relationship. threesome featuring m & f gojo. switch gojo(s), sub reader. bisexual reader. lots of crack. groping, lots of making out. voyeurism and cucking, fingering (f. receiving), oral (f. receiving), use of onahole, brat taming, mindbreak, overstimulation, pegging, anal sex, riding, praise, competitive sex, creampies, use of dildo, double penetration pussy riding (go lesbians!), fem gojo calls herself "mama" #needthat,

THANKSGIVING SPECIAL!!! are you saying your thanks? either way, make sure to give your duo a kiss - and maybe something more? i wrote female gojo with @owwllly's version in mind, so please show them your love xx

dedicated as always to my pookie daph aka @curtins , my fav bi icon @sugoroo & my lovely taglist. eternally grateful for you freaks, please enjoy. ૮ ◞ ﻌ ◟ ა

— general masterlist ☆ read on ao3 ☆ series masterlist

thanksgiving. 

a time to reflect, to share warmth, and — what was it again? 

oh yeah — to give thanks.

you and fem gojo are nestled on the couch, wrapped in a cozy blanket, the quiet hum of a holiday special playing in the background. it’s a rare moment of peace, with your boyfriend out handling “very important jujutsu business,” or so he claimed before dramatically declaring that he’d return as the hero of hearts. 

whatever that meant.

“y’know,” she begins, her voice soft for once, her head resting against yours. “i’ve been thinking about this whole ‘thankful’ thing.”

you glance at her, surprised by the uncharacteristic sincerity in her tone. “oh? and what are you thankful for?”

she turns, her wolfcut framing her striking features as she gazes at you with a small, genuine smile. “i’m thankful for… you.”

your heart clenches, a warm flush spreading across your cheeks. it’s rare to see her like this, stripped of her usual snark and bravado. “really?” you whisper, touched.

“yeah,” she says, her voice dropping to a near whisper. “for your kindness, your patience, and the way you…”

she pauses, and you hold your breath, waiting for her to finish.

“the way you let me absolutely wreck your pussy —”

“oh my god!” you groan, shoving her tits with an annoyed smack.

big mistake.

“ohhh,” she purrs, a sly grin spreading across her face as she presses her hands over the spot you just smacked. “do that again.”

“no.”

“please?”

“absolutely not.”

she’s leaning closer now, her grin downright devilish. “c’mon, babe. it’s thanksgiving. give me something to be thankful for.”

you bury your face in your hands, torn between exasperation and the urge to laugh. why, why, did you think she’d stay serious for more than five minutes?

it’s not like you planned to start fondling her tits. really, it’s not. 

but somehow, somewhere between her outrageous comments and your exasperated attempts to shut her up, your hands found their way there.

“emotional support,” you mutter, as if trying to convince yourself. your fingers press into her tits, and she smirks.

“oh, totally. very supportive,” she teases, biting her lip dramatically. “honestly, babe, i should start charging you for therapy.”

“therapy?” you scoff, giving her an annoyed squeeze — purely on principle, of course. “you’re the reason i need therapy.”

“aw, don’t be like that,” she says, giggling as she adjusts herself to make herself more accessible.

“i hate you,” you mutter, but the warmth bubbling in your chest betrays your words.

“no, you don’t.”

“okay, fine. i don’t.”

she grins like she just won a medal. “thought so.”

somehow, between the bickering and teasing, the two of you dissolve into giggles, your forehead pressing against hers as you share that rare, quiet moment of understanding.

“you know,” you say softly, still laughing a little, “i actually really like you.”

her breath catches for a second before she beams at you, her usual cockiness replaced by something softer. “yeah?”

“yeah,” you admit, cheeks flushing. “like, a lot. but don’t let it go to your head.”

“too late,” she teases, leaning in to nuzzle her nose against yours. “you’re not so bad yourself, baby.”

and there you are, tangled up in each other, giggling like a pair of teens in love for the first time, your hands still very much not moving from their supportive position. ah, girlhood.

⋆˙⟡ —

"oh my god," she giggles against your lips, breaking the kiss for a breath as her nose brushes yours. "you’re, like, so soft. i mean, i knew you were, but wow."

"shut up," you mutter, but the heat rising to your cheeks betrays you.

"no, seriously," she presses, her voice lilting like a girl talking about her latest crush. "you’re, like, perfect. your skin, your lips — ugh. i could eat you up."

you roll your eyes, but the way her hands slide to your waist and pull you closer has your breath hitching. "is this how you get people to fall for you? flattery and... and..."

"and this?" she finishes for you, leaning in to nip your bottom lip before slipping her tongue into your mouth.

the kiss is messy, all tongue and heat, but there’s something dizzyingly intoxicating about it. her chest presses against yours, her muscles firm under your palms in a way that’s so different from satoru but just as addicting. your hands wander — her shoulders, her back, down to her waist — feeling every curve and sharp line of her body.

"you’re drooling," she teases, her lips pulling into a smirk as she pulls back just enough to speak, her breath fanning over your kiss-swollen mouth.

"shut up," you mumble again, though your voice is weaker this time, your fingers tangling in her wolfcut as you pull her back in.

she chuckles into the kiss, her hands sliding lower, tracing circles on your hips. "this is so high school," she whispers against your lips, making you laugh despite the fire pooling low in your stomach.

"oh, totally," you quip back, your voice breathy as she kisses down your jaw, her tongue flicking out to taste the salt of your skin.

her lips pause at the curve of your neck, her teeth scraping ever so slightly. "you’re, like, my first kiss," she says in a mock-innocent tone, though the way her hands slide up your sides betrays her act.

"you’re such an idiot," you laugh, tangling your fingers tighter in her hair.

but any retort you might have had is swallowed by her mouth on yours again, hungrier this time, her arms wrapping around you in a way that makes you feel like you might melt right into her.

it really did feel like something ripped out of a hormone-fueled teenage fantasy — the kind where you’d lie awake in bed, giggling to yourself and imagining what it'd feel like to be on someone's lap, their hands wandering with just enough teasing to make you squirm. 

only this time, it wasn't a daydream, and fem gojo’s giggles were very real.

her fingers skimmed your sides, occasionally dipping just low enough to make your breath hitch, her wolfcut brushing against your cheek as she buried her face in your neck. "you’re so cute when you try to act all tough, you know that?" she teased, nipping at the skin just below your jaw.

"oh, please," you shot back, though the way your hips shifted ever so slightly against hers told a different story. "i’m not trying anything."

"oh, no?" she asked, her tone dripping with faux innocence, her hands slipping under the hem of your shirt to rest against your bare skin.

"not at all," you countered, and then — because two can play at this game — you rolled your hips against her, slow and deliberate.

her breath caught, her giggles cutting off mid-sound. she pulled back to look at you, bright blue eyes wide with surprise, though her grin quickly returned, sharper than before. "oh, you’re bad."

"just a girl in a world," you murmured with a shrug, though the heat rushing to your cheeks betrayed your attempt at nonchalance.

"oh, this is happening," she declared, her hands gripping your thighs as she shifted beneath you, her strength evident in the way she lifted you just enough to press you down harder against her lap. "but don’t think for a second you’re getting away with this —"

the sound of the door slamming open cut her off, and both of you froze like guilty teenagers caught in the act.

there stood gojo satoru — your satoru — his hair sticking up in all directions like he’d just rolled down a hill, his glasses askew on his nose, and his uniform rumpled in a way that screamed, rough day.

his gaze darted between the two of you — your disheveled state on fem gojo’s lap, her hands very clearly under your shirt — and his mouth dropped open in disbelief. 

"what the hell is going on here?"

"uh, hey, babe," you started, voice weak as you tried to slide off fem gojo’s lap, only for her to tighten her grip on you with a smug grin.

"oh, don’t mind us," she drawled, looking far too pleased with herself as she leaned back, her hands finally moving to rest innocently on your waist. "just bonding."

"bonding my ass!" he snapped, stomping further into the room. "do you have any idea what kind of day i’ve had? and this — this is what i walk in on?"

"jealous much?" fem gojo shot back, her grin widening as she arched an eyebrow at him.

"jealous? jealous? i —" he sputtered, gesturing wildly. "you — my girlfriend — you — get off her!"

"aw, but we’re just getting started," fem gojo cooed, her fingers ghosting over your waist in a way that made your breath hitch.

"i’m gonna lose my mind," he muttered, dragging a hand down his face as he slumped against the doorframe.

for all her teasing and smug little quips, fem gojo made room on the couch as your boyfriend flopped down with all the grace of a tired golden retriever. he groaned dramatically, draping an arm over his face. 

"thanksgiving, of all days! and nanamin — don’t even get me started. one more complaint about efficiency, and i swear he’s gonna implode. poof. bye-bye nanamin."

you and fem gojo exchanged a glance over his head, her lips twitching with the effort to suppress a laugh. you, however, mustered up the best sympathetic nod you could manage. 

"sounds rough, babe," you offered, patting his knee.

"rough?" he huffed, shifting just enough to peer at you with his usual dramatic flair. "you don’t even know. i had to chase some cursed spirit halfway across town while nanami grumbled about how it was cutting into his cooking time. his cooking time! do i look like i care about how tender his turkey is supposed to be?"

"he’s got a point, though," fem gojo interjected, the grin she’d been holding back finally breaking free. "dry turkey’s a tragedy."

your boyfriend shot her a glare, though it lacked any real heat. "don’t take his side. you’re supposed to be me, remember? support your counterpart."

"nah, i’m gonna side with the one who knows how to cook," she retorted, nudging you with her elbow.

you snorted, biting back a laugh as you tried to keep your hands to yourself. which was harder than it should’ve been, considering fem gojo’s arm was slung casually around your shoulders, her fingers occasionally brushing against your skin in a way that made your stomach flutter.

gojo groaned again, throwing his head back against the couch. "you two are impossible."

"you don’t mind," you teased, your hand brushing his as you squeezed it gently.

"yeah, yeah," he muttered, though the faint smile tugging at his lips gave him away. "just keep your hands off each other while i’m here, alright? i’m not emotionally stable enough for this today."

"no promises," fem gojo quipped, earning herself another glare.

gojo turned to his counterpart with an air of uncharacteristic seriousness, the weight of his gaze enough to make even fem gojo pause mid-tease. "you know," he began, his tone grave, "this thanksgiving, I’d like to give thanks to you."

fem gojo arched a snowy brow, clearly skeptical. "me? are you sure? 'cause last time you gave me ‘thanks,’ it involved that dumb fight over who gets the last mochi."

"no, no, this is different," he said, his voice steady, as though he were about to deliver the most heartfelt speech of his life. "i’m thankful for your understanding... your cooperation… and most importantly —"

he suddenly straightened, his glasses slipping just slightly down the bridge of his nose. you didn’t like where this was going.

" — for letting me borrow her."

before you could even process what was happening, his arms shot out, and you were unceremoniously thrown over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes.

"toru, what the fu —"

"don’t worry! she’ll be back later!" he called over his shoulder, already bolting toward the bedroom at top speed.

"you’re welcome!" fem gojo shouted sarcastically from the couch, though her expression quickly soured as the door slammed shut behind you two.

inside, your boyfriend wasted no time, setting you against the door with a triumphant grin. 

"finally. do you know how hard it was to sit there, listening to you two flirt, without doing anything? i swear, that was torture."

"toru, you’re being —"

your sentence was cut short by the sound of fem gojo banging on the door like an unruly child. "hey! this isn’t fair! sharing is caring, you selfish bastard!"

"shut up!" gojo yelled back, clearly unfazed, as he leaned down to cage you beneath him.

the pounding on the door only grew louder. "i let you borrow her, satoru! don’t make me come in there!"

"go ahead and try!" he shouted, his focus zeroing back on you as a mischievous glint danced in his eyes. "she’s mine right now."

"both of you are insane," you muttered, burying your face in your hands as gojo chuckled, pressing a teasing kiss to your neck.

outside, the banging continued, punctuated by fem gojo’s increasingly dramatic threats. "i’m serious! open this door, or god so help me —"

"she’s not getting in," your boyfriend reassured you with a wink, leaning in so close that his breath brushed against your lips. "it’s just you and me, babe."

"for now," you muttered, shooting a wary glance at the door.

somehow, you knew this wasn’t over.

⋆˙⟡ —

fem gojo had always been an advocate for patience — something you had painstakingly taught her. waiting in line for mochi, waiting for a green light to cross the road, waiting for you to finish your work before annoying the hell out of you — it was all part of the lesson. 

but when it came to you? patience flew straight out the window.

"are you serious right now?!" her voice carried through the door, muffled by the thick wood but loud enough to be heard.

inside the room, your boyfriend’s lips curved into a wicked grin. “oh, she’s getting cranky,” he muttered, his breath ghosting over your ear. “let’s give her something to really whine about.”

you barely had time to protest — if you even wanted to — before gojo spun you around, pressing you firmly against the door. your cheek met the cool wood, and his hands were already tugging at your clothes with impatience, the sound of fabric shifting making your pulse spike.

“toru, she’s right there,” you hissed, but your words were quickly muffled by his lips trailing hot kisses down the back of your neck.

“yeah, that’s the point, babe,” he murmured, his voice dripping with mischief. his hands slid over your hips, steadying you as his own body pressed against yours. “don’t you wanna make her jealous?”

on the other side, fem gojo’s foot thumped against the floor in a tantrum-like rhythm. “i can hear you, y’know! i’m not deaf!”

“good,” your boyfriend shot back, raising his voice just enough to be heard. “i hope you’re enjoying the show.”

you whimpered as his fingers slid under the waistband of your pants, and he chuckled darkly, leaning in so his lips brushed against your ear. “you hear that, baby? she’s losing it out there.”

“you’re insane,” you managed, though your words came out breathier than intended, and gojo’s answering laugh sent shivers down your spine.

outside, fem gojo groaned in frustration, pacing. “i swear to god, satoru, open this door or i’m breaking it down!”

“and interrupt us? that’d be rude,” your boyfriend called back, his hands now sliding over your bare skin, making your knees weak. “just wait your turn.”

“wait my turn?!” fem gojo’s indignant screech was almost drowned out by your involuntary moan as gojo’s lips found that sweet spot on your neck.

“oh, baby,” he cooed against your skin, clearly enjoying your reaction. “don’t hold back. let her hear how good I make you feel.”

his words had you flushing from head to toe, but it was hard to argue when his hands and mouth were working in tandem to pull every noise out of you.

outside, fem gojo let out a dramatic groan. “you two are the worst! i hope you know that!”

inside, your boyfriend just laughed, the sound low and utterly smug as he adjusted your position, making sure every sound you made carried through the door.

“guess we’re putting your vocal cords to the test today,” he teased, his tone promising no mercy.

and from the way his hands and lips continued their relentless assault, you had no doubt he meant it.

⋆˙⟡ —

fem gojo slumped against the wall outside the door, arms crossed over her chest as she scowled in the general direction of the muffled chaos.

“i cannot believe i’m this annoying,” she muttered to herself, rolling her eyes at yet another high-pitched whimper from you, followed by a muffled chuckle from your boyfriend. “uggghhhh. this is unbearable.”

she wanted to stay annoyed, wanted to stomp off in indignation, but every time a particularly filthy noise escaped the room, her ears perked up, curiosity overriding her frustration.

“seriously? are you sobbing?” she whispered under her breath, her own cheeks heating up. “what the hell is he doing in there, and why isn’t it my turn?”

she leaned her head back against the wall, staring at the ceiling, trying to tune it out — but with you crying out so desperately, each sound more intoxicating than the last, it was impossible to ignore the heat pooling in her stomach.

“i hate this,” she grumbled, though the way her hand started to slip under the waistband of her panties said otherwise. “i really hate this.”

inside the room, gojo was grinning like a cat that caught the canary, his fingers working expertly as he leaned down to murmur in your ear. “you’re so loud, babe. think she’s out there listening? i bet she is. you’re driving her crazy.”

“s-satoru,” you choked out, your voice a broken whimper, tears streaking your flushed cheeks as he doubled down, drawing yet another broken sob from you.

outside, fem gojo’s jaw dropped as she heard you cry out again. she dragged a hand down her face, groaning in frustration. “this is torture. actual torture. and I’m supposed to be the sadist.”

her free hand, however, betrayed her as it dipped further, her breath hitching as she let herself get swept up in the symphony of sounds coming from the other side of the door.

“damn it,” she hissed, squeezing her eyes shut. “i really am a perv.”

inside, gojo glanced at the door with a smirk, clearly knowing exactly what was happening on the other side. he leaned down to kiss the corner of your mouth, his fingers not slowing for a second.

“you think she’s out there losing her mind?” he teased, nipping at your jaw. “bet she can’t help herself right now. you’re just that irresistible, baby.”

“satoru, please,” you sobbed, your voice cracked and wrecked as your body trembled against his.

outside, fem gojo let out an exasperated groan, her head thunking against the wall. “patience is a virtue, patience is a virtue,” she chanted under her breath, even as her own breathing grew uneven.

but as yet another filthy moan escaped you, her resolve shattered. 

“fuck it,” she muttered, her hands moving decisively.

because hey, a girl’s gotta do what a girl’s gotta do — even if it means being the world’s most shameless audio voyeur.

fem gojo bit down hard on her lip, eyes screwed shut as she tried to keep herself from whining too loudly. her other hand worked feverishly to rub her clit, her breath hitching every time she heard you sob or moan.

she hated this. hated how much power the two of you had over her right now, and even more, hated how much she loved it.

but then, as if to make it worse, her twin’s voice cut through the door, playful and teasing as always. “oh, you’re liking this, aren’t you? so messy for me, baby.”

“damn it, satoru,” she hissed under her breath, her hips stuttering against her own hand. she had no idea if he knew she was out here actively losing her mind, but the way his voice dropped an octave, low and sultry, made her suspect he might.

“spread her legs more,” she barked suddenly, her voice muffled but sharp enough to carry through the door. “don’t just tease her, for fuck’s sake. she likes it when you —”

her own breath caught in her throat as she accidentally let out a tiny whimper. she slapped her hand over her mouth, her cheeks burning in humiliation.

inside, gojo paused for half a second, a smug grin spreading across his face. “ohhh, i hear you out there, loud and clear,” he called back, his voice sing-song.

“shut up and do it!” she snapped, mortified but far too invested to stop now.

he chuckled, clearly enjoying himself far too much, before leaning in to murmur against your neck, his tone dripping with amusement. “hear that, babe? she’s giving orders now. should i listen to her?”

“s-satoru,” you choked out, barely coherent, your head lolling back as he continued his merciless assault on your senses.

“yes, jerkface,” his female counterpart spat from outside the door, her voice cracking slightly. “you should. unless you want me to —”

her own sentence broke off into a breathless moan, and she smacked the back of her head against the wall, cursing herself.

inside, gojo laughed outright, clearly having the time of his life. “oh, you’re really losing it out there, huh?”

“don’t make me break down this damn door,” she growled, though her voice lacked any real bite, considering she was actively falling apart on the other side.

“you’d probably trip over your own pants if you tried,” gojo shot back, his grin audible in his voice.

“god, i hate you so much,” she muttered, though her fingers quickened as yet another of your sobs reached her ears, her body arching against the wall.

this was either going to be the quickest orgasm of her life, or the most torturous marathon she’d ever endured. either way, she wasn’t stopping until she finished — or until the door opened. 

preferably both.

⋆˙⟡ —

the loud crack of fem gojo’s boot against the door was enough to send your already frazzled nerves into overdrive. you barely had time to register the sound before the door flew open, a gust of air rushing in as she burst into the room, panting and disheveled, her cheeks flushed, and her shirt wrinkled beyond repair.

you yelped, curling closer to your boyfriend, who, to his credit, didn’t even flinch. instead, gojo just sighed, his face plastered with a mix of exasperation and amusement. “really, her breaking down the door? so predictable,” he drawled, his tone dripping with mock disappointment.

“you think i was gonna wait any longer, asshole?” fem gojo snapped, brushing her wolfcut out of her eyes as she glared at him. her voice still carried a hint of breathlessness, and she was clearly still coming down from her own orgasm.

you, on the other hand, were very much still recovering from whatever absolute hell (or heaven, let’s be real) you’d just been through. your voice cracked as you managed to wheeze, “couldn’t you have just waited like two seconds?”

“waited?” fem gojo scoffed, stepping over the splintered remains of the door like a feral, wild-eyed animal. “do you know how hard it is to hear that through a door and not go absolutely insane?!”

“sounds like a ‘you’ problem,” gojo quipped, pulling you closer to him as if to shield you from his rampaging twin.

“you’re insufferable,” she growled, stalking over to the bed. “both of you.”

“yeah, yeah,” he waved her off lazily, but his smirk didn’t falter for even a second. “you’re welcome to join us, but if you break the bed next, i’m billing you for it.”

her lips twitched as if she were about to fire back with another snarky remark, but instead, her gaze landed on you, still trembling and flushed from everything that had just transpired. her expression softened, only slightly, but it was enough to make your heart stutter in your chest.

“you okay?” she asked, her voice uncharacteristically gentle.

you opened your mouth to respond, but gojo cut in with a grin, “oh, she’s more than okay. aren’t you, sweetheart?”

“satoru,” you groaned, burying your face in your hands as both of them laughed, their identical voices melding together in a way that only made you want to sink further into the mattress.

“okay, fun’s over,” fem gojo declared, climbing onto the bed with a glint in her eye that made your stomach flip. “now move over, you big oaf. i’ve got a lot of lost time to make up for.”

gojo sighed dramatically but shifted just enough to let her slide in next to you, her warmth immediately engulfing you as she wrapped an arm around your waist.

“great,” you muttered, your voice muffled against the pillows as both of them sandwiched you between them. “now i’ve got two of you to deal with.”

“lucky you,” fem gojo teased, pressing a kiss to the side of your neck as gojo’s fingers trailed lazily up your thigh.

“girlhood’s a bitch,” you mumbled, already bracing yourself for whatever chaos was about to unfold next.

⋆˙⟡ —

fem gojo’s face was the epitome of smug satisfaction as she toyed with gojo’s trademark eye mask, her fingers deftly looping it into an impromptu restraint around his wrists. "look who’s sitting out now,” she quipped, her grin wide enough to rival the crescent moon outside the busted door.

gojo tugged at the fabric half-heartedly, an incredulous laugh bubbling out of him. "seriously? me? tied up like this? you’re just mad you missed out.”

“oh, you think this is about missing out?” fem gojo snapped, crawling toward you with a predator's grace. “this is about justice, dumbass. justice.”

“you don’t even know the meaning of the word,” he fired back, rolling his eyes — well, he tried to. hard to make the expression work with a blindfold tied around your hands.

you, meanwhile, were caught in the crossfire of their ridiculousness, though a not-so-small part of you was trembling with anticipation. the way fem gojo’s fingers were grazing your waist, her nails scraping lightly against your skin, was enough to send a fresh wave of heat pooling in your gut.

"don’t worry, sweetheart,” she cooed, her tone deceptively soft as she leaned in to nuzzle your neck. “this isn’t about you. it’s about making him suffer. you, on the other hand? you’re about to have the time of your life.”

“what else is new?” gojo drawled, shifting against the headboard with an exaggerated pout. “i’m always the one who suffers.”

“boohoo, cry about it,” fem gojo shot back before pressing her lips to yours, her kiss firm and possessive.

you melted into her touch, your body already aching with anticipation as her hands roamed freely, her confidence unmatched. the muffled sound of gojo grumbling something under his breath only added fuel to her fire.

“don’t worry, lover boy,” she said sweetly, turning to flash him a devilish grin. “i’ll make sure you hear every little sound she makes. you deserve it for locking me out.”

gojo, for all his bravado and his self-proclaimed title of the strongest, looked utterly pitiful tied up against the headboard. his pants were visibly strained, the fabric damp in spots from the sheer torment of being forced to sit out while you and fem gojo put on a show that would put the raunchiest romance novels to shame.

“oh, what’s the matter, satoru?” fem gojo teased, pausing her relentless worship of your body to glance over her shoulder at him, her lips glistening in a way that made you shiver. “you’re awfully quiet for someone who loves to run their mouth.”

gojo groaned, his head falling back dramatically as his fingers twitched against the silk of his own blindfold. “this is cruel and unusual punishment,” he whined. “i’m a man! i have needs!”

“needs?” you managed to choke out between gasps, your voice breathy and dripping with faux innocence as fem gojo’s tongue worked you into a frenzy. “like what? watching? or maybe just being a good boy and waiting your turn?”

“god, you’re both evil,” he muttered, his hips bucking helplessly against nothing.

“evil?” fem gojo repeated with a laugh, her fingers tightening on your thighs as she angled herself for better access. “sweetheart, you don’t even know what evil is. yet.”

her words sent a fresh wave of heat flooding through you, and you couldn’t resist the urge to lean into her touch, your nails digging into her toned shoulders. you moaned louder this time, purposefully exaggerated, knowing damn well what it would do to your poor, restrained boyfriend.

“oh, fuccckk,” he hissed, his head snapping up as he strained against his makeshift bonds. “you’re doing this on purpose!”

“obviously,” you and fem gojo said in unison, the synchronization only making him groan louder.

“she’s so smart, isn’t she?” fem gojo murmured, pressing an open-mouthed kiss to your hip before sliding her tongue up your thigh. “my smart, pretty little thing.”

“mine,” gojo snapped, his voice dipping lower in frustration. “don’t forget that.”

“sounds like someone’s jealous,” you teased, casting him a mischievous smile that only made him squirm harder.

“jealous doesn’t even begin to cover it,” he muttered, his tone dark with frustration and arousal. “just wait. when it’s my turn, she won’t be able to walk for days.”

“promises, promises,” fem gojo said, rolling her eyes as she slid her fingers between your thighs. “but for now? she’s mine.”

“fuck,” gojo muttered again, his voice cracking slightly as he shifted again, clearly trying — and failing — to find any kind of relief. “you’re both killing me here.”

“good,” fem gojo quipped, her grin wicked as she leaned back in. “die mad about it.”

gojo looked like a man on the edge of ruin, his composure unraveling faster than his best-laid plans ever did. his head snapped between the two of you, his wide, pleading eyes following every obscene motion fem gojo made.

“okay, okay, listen,” he started, his voice pitching slightly as fem gojo tilted her head and spat on your pussy again, the slick sound almost louder than your breathy whimpers. “we can come to some kind of agreement, right? like, uh... a time share or something?”

fem gojo didn’t even bother looking up, too busy lapping at you like her life depended on it. your head lolled back, fingers trembling as they threaded through her wolfcut, tugging sharply enough to make her groan against you.

“are you seriously ignoring me?” gojo’s voice cracked, his hands jerking futilely against the silk blindfold binding his wrists. “i’m right here! i’m dying! dying, do you hear me?”

“not my problem, satoru,” fem gojo said against your skin, her words muffled but dripping with amusement. she licked a long stripe up your thigh before glancing at him with a smug smile. “besides, isn’t this your favorite thing? watching?”

“not when i’m left out like some damn extra,” he snapped, his tone bordering on petulant.

“sounds like a you problem,” she teased, her hands sliding up your trembling thighs to grip your hips. “why don’t you just sit there and, oh, i don’t know... reflect on your life choices?”

“reflect?” gojo repeated incredulously, his voice pitching higher as he watched her spit on you again, your body jolting at the sensation. “are you kidding me right now?”

“do i look like i’m kidding?” she quipped, her grin wicked as she dipped her head again, pulling a broken sob from your lips.

gojo groaned, his head thudding against the headboard in frustration. “babe,” he tried, his voice softening as he addressed you. “sweetheart, angel, just tell her to untie me. please.”

you barely registered his words, too far gone, babbling incoherent nonsense as your body writhed under fem gojo’s relentless attention.

“awwww,” fem gojo cooed, her tone mockingly sweet as she nipped at your thigh. “looks like she’s a little busy right now, satoru. maybe later.”

“later?” gojo practically shrieked, his hips jerking against nothing as he tugged uselessly at his bindings. “you’re killing me! you’re both killing me!”

“good,” fem gojo said with a smirk, her tongue sliding back to your pussy as your trembling hands tugged harder at her hair. “cope.”

⋆˙⟡ —

the juxtaposition of it all was almost too much to handle. 

you, still trembling and barely coherent after your orgasm, were being pulled into a firm handshake by fem gojo, her wolfish grin only slightly dampened by the disheveled state of her hair.

“good teamwork out there, champ,” she said, nodding at you like you’d just scored the winning goal in a soccer match, not just survived her borderline predatory focus.

meanwhile, satoru — sweet, dramatic, absolutely unhinged satoru — was in the corner, wringing his bound hands as best as he could against his knees and glaring daggers. his lower lip trembled with indignation, and his wild, slightly tear-glazed eyes were a comedic blend of frustration and despair.

“you absolute villain!” he screeched, his voice cracking as he gestured with his shoulders toward his ruined pants. “my tailored, imported, custom-made trousers! do you have any idea what you’ve done?!”

“relax,” fem gojo drawled, finally leaning back against the pillows like a cat after a long nap. “your cum is just another layer of fabric softener at this point.”

“fabric softener?” gojo gasped like he’d been personally slapped by fate itself. “you — you wrench! you witch! unhand me this instant, you fiend, and face me like a man — or woman — or, or whatever!”

fem gojo raised an eyebrow, her lips twitching with amusement as she slowly extended her arm toward him, flipping him off with deliberate precision.

“is this facing you like a woman, sweetheart?” she teased, snickering when his expression morphed into one of utter offense.

for all his flamboyant theatrics, gojo was undeniably unraveling at the seams. the man who stood undefeated as the strongest sorcerer now looked like a petulant child being denied dessert at dinner, his icy blue eyes darting between you and fem gojo with desperation simmering just beneath the surface.

"i'm right here," he whined, voice cracking on the last syllable. "hello? strongest sorcerer in the room? shouldn’t i get a little more respect — or attention, maybe?”

"did you hear something?" fem gojo mused, her voice dripping with mock curiosity as she tilted her head.

"nothing important," you replied, trying to hide your grin as you leaned into her shoulder.

gojo groaned, tugging fruitlessly against his bindings as he pouted at the two of you. "seriously? you're both evil! i’m literally about to combust over here, and you’re talking like i don’t even exist!”

his dramatic plea was met with a snicker from fem gojo, who lazily turned her gaze toward him. "oh, poor baby. are you finally learning what it's like to feel left out?"

“left out?” he nearly shrieked. “i’m suffering! do you know how long it’s been since i —”

"shut up already," fem gojo cut him off, her smirk sharp as she slid off the bed and crouched in front of him. gojo froze, his breath hitching as she reached for his waistband.

“wait — what are you —”

with a quick tug, fem gojo yanked his pants down, utterly ignoring his indignant sputtering about the sanctity of custom-made trousers.

"oh, quit whining," she drawled, digging into a nearby drawer with a mischievous glint in her eye. "you should be thanking your girlfriend for being so considerate."

“considerate?” he echoed, his confusion melting into mortification as she pulled out an onahole.

his face turned a vivid shade of red, his earlier bravado crumbling like a house of cards. “wait, wait, wait — i’m not thanking anyone for this —”

"you will," she quipped, already lubing up the toy with a casualness that made his head spin.

"oh my god," he muttered, his hands twitching in their bindings as his gaze darted to you. "baby, you're gonna let her do this to me?”

you tilted your head, feigning innocence. “what’s wrong, ‘toru? i thought you said you were suffering.”

before he could protest further, fem gojo slid the toy down his dick, her free hand pressing against his thigh to keep him steady. his breath hitched, a sharp gasp escaping his lips as his head tipped back against the wall.

"oh, he’s already squirming," she teased, her tone laced with mockery. "guess he wasn’t lying about being pent up."

“shut — shut up,” he stammered, his voice wavering as she began to move the toy with deliberate precision, her grip firm but unhurried.

you couldn’t help but giggle as gojo let out a strangled moan, his earlier indignation dissolving into a series of helpless whimpers.

“poor thing,” you cooed, reaching out to brush his bangs from his forehead. “guess even the strongest needs a little help sometimes.”

gojo’s cheeks flushed even darker, his gaze flickering between you and fem gojo as if he couldn’t decide whether to curse you both or beg for mercy.

"just... don't stop," he finally muttered, his voice cracking as his hips bucked against the toy.

"wasn't planning on it," fem gojo replied, her grin wicked as she picked up the pace.

for all his protests, gojo was utterly at their mercy

and, judging by the look in fem gojo's eyes, she was nowhere near done making him squirm.

⋆˙⟡ —

it really was something, wasn’t it? girlhood in all its beautiful glory. here you were, lounging back as fem gojo sat cross-legged beside you, casually fiddling with her nails and adjusting her wolfcut while gojo — your boyfriend, the strongest sorcerer alive — was reduced to a moaning mess on the floor.

“honestly, i don’t even know how you deal with him on a daily basis,” fem gojo mused, inspecting a chipped nail like she wasn’t the one who had just turned his world upside down.

“patience,” you replied with a smirk, gripping the onahole a little tighter as gojo let out a strangled groan.

“i’m right herree,” he whined, though his voice cracked halfway through, his chest heaving as you twisted the toy just so.

“we know,” you shot back, not sparing him a glance as your pace quickened. “you’re loud enough to remind us.”

“so ungrateful,” fem gojo teased, leaning back on her hands and watching him through half-lidded eyes. “you’d think he’d be a little more appreciative, considering what he’s getting right now.”

gojo’s head lolled back, his cheeks flushed a deep red as his hips bucked uselessly against the toy. “i am appreciative,” he panted, his voice barely above a whimper. “just — please —”

“please, what?” you interrupted, your tone sharp enough to make him flinch. “is that how you ask nicely, ‘toru?”

his lips parted, but no coherent words came out, just a series of broken, needy sounds that filled the room alongside the obscene squelch of the onahole.

“that’s what i thought,” you said, your voice dripping with mock pity. “maybe if you behaved better, you’d get to feel something real.”

fem gojo snickered, ruffling her wolfcut as she leaned closer to you. “god, you’re good at this. he’s lucky he has you, y’know.”

“oh, i know,” you replied with a grin, sparing her a quick glance before focusing back on your boyfriend.

gojo whimpered, his head jerking forward as his eyes locked onto yours. “baby, please, i’ll — i’ll be good, i promise, just —”

“you’ll be good?” you repeated, arching a brow. “after you’ve been nothing but a brat this whole time?”

his chest heaved as he struggled to form a response, his nipples perked and glistening with sweat as his entire body trembled beneath your control.

“god, look at him,” fem gojo drawled, nudging your shoulder. “you’ve got him wrapped around your little finger. it’s almost pathetic.”

“almost?” you quipped, smirking as gojo let out another desperate moan.

“okay, fine, entirely pathetic,” she conceded with a laugh.

gojo whimpered again, his head dropping forward as his hips bucked one last time. “please,” he whispered, his voice breaking as he teetered on the edge.

you sighed, pretending to mull it over as you slowed the pace of the toy. “hmm, i don’t know… do you think he’s earned it yet?”

fem gojo hummed thoughtfully, tapping her chin like she was considering a complex problem. “eh, let him finish. i wanna see how much of a mess he makes.”

and oh, did he ever.

the moment gojo came, it was like the entire world tilted on its axis. his body jerked violently, muscles spasming uncontrollably as the aftermath of his orgasm hit him like a freight train. his head lolled back against the headboard, silver hair clinging to his sweat-slicked forehead, and his chest heaved with each ragged breath he took.

the onahole in your hand was overflowing, thick and sticky, with a puddle forming beneath it on the sheets. you tried to suppress the shiver that ran down your spine as you stared at the mess he’d made, but it was impossible not to be affected.

“damn,” fem gojo drawled from the side, her lips curling into a smirk as she leaned closer to take a better look. “didn’t know he had that much in him. maybe i should’ve gone easier on him earlier.”

you shot her a glare, though it lacked any real bite. “yeah, thanks for that,” you muttered, your own arousal now at an unbearable high as you let the ruined toy fall to the side.

gojo’s glazed-over eyes finally fluttered open, his cerulean irises locking onto yours with an intensity that made your knees weak. despite how wrecked he looked, a lazy grin spread across his flushed face.

“baby,” he rasped, his voice rough yet laced with warmth. “you’re so good to me.”

the tenderness in his words sent a jolt straight to your core, and before you could second-guess yourself, you were undoing the bindings around his wrists. the moment his hands were free, they shot up to grab your hips, pulling you down onto his lap with surprising strength given his current state.

“my turn,” you whispered, your voice low and needy as you positioned yourself over him.

“oh, yes,” he breathed, his large hands settling firmly on your waist. “wanna make you feel so good, baby.”

the first slide of him inside you was enough to make your eyes roll back, a broken moan tearing from your throat as he filled you to the brim. his earlier orgasm only made the stretch slicker, hotter, and all the more sinful.

“fuck, you’re perfect,” he groaned, his hands gripping you tighter as he helped you set a rhythm. “so tight, so beautiful — god, i love you so much.”

the sweetness of his words was a stark contrast to the filthy, desperate way he moved you on top of him. every roll of your hips had him groaning, his praise interspersed with dirty whispers that made heat pool in your belly.

“look at you,” he murmured, his voice thick with awe as his gaze roamed over your flushed face and heaving chest. “taking me so well. my good girl — so fucking perfect for me.”

your head fell forward, your lips brushing against his ear as you whimpered, “harder.”

he didn’t need to be told twice. his grip on your hips became bruising, and his thrusts grew more forceful, each one sending shockwaves through your body that made your toes curl.

“that’s it,” he growled, his teeth grazing your jawline. “take it, baby. take everything i give you.”

“jesus christ,” fem gojo muttered from the sidelines, though her tone was tinged with amusement. “you two are something else.”

but you couldn’t care less about her commentary. not when gojo was looking at you like you were the only thing that mattered in the world, not when every filthy praise and touch from him had your body hurtling toward its breaking point.

as you and gojo clung to each other like your lives depended on it, fem gojo sat off to the side, arms crossed and lips pursed in a pout so exaggerated it could’ve been in a cartoon. the wet sounds of your bodies moving together echoed through the room, punctuated by your moans and gojo’s filthy praises. it was enough to make anyone blush — well, anyone but her.

“wow,” she said, her tone dripping with sarcasm as she watched you with a raised brow. “so glad i could be here for this. really feeling the thanksgiving spirit, you know?”

neither of you acknowledged her, too lost in your own world to pay her any mind. gojo’s hands were on your hips, guiding you up and down his dick with a fervor that had your legs trembling, and you were clinging to him like he was the only thing keeping you grounded.

“seriously?” fem gojo scoffed, standing up and walking over to the dresser. “i’m the one who started this whole thing, and now i’m getting sidelined? unreal.”

when she turned back around, you barely noticed the telltale gleam of the strap-on in her hands until she was right behind you.

“guess i’ll have to remind you who’s really in charge here,” she said, her voice low and teasing as she adjusted the straps around her hips.

you barely had time to process her words before her hands were on you, pulling you back slightly so she could press her lips to your ear.

“don’t worry, sweetheart,” she cooed, her tone both saccharine and sinful. “i’ll make sure you’re thoroughly thankful by the end of this.”

gojo groaned, his grip on your hips tightening as he glanced over your shoulder at his female counterpart. “seriously? now?”

“what?” she shot back, smirking as she lubed up the strap. “can’t handle a little competition, big guy?”

“it’s not competition when i’m winning,” he retorted, though the faint flush on his cheeks betrayed his bravado.

“yeah, yeah,” she said dismissively, positioning the strap against your entrance. “just try not to cry too hard when she screams my name, okay?”

your breath hitched as you felt the cool silicone press against you, and gojo’s eyes darkened as he watched your reaction.

“you okay, baby?” he asked softly, his hands caressing your sides.

you nodded, your voice barely above a whisper as you said, “yeah. just...go slow.”

“oh, i’ll go slow,” fem gojo murmured, a wicked grin spreading across her face as she began to push the strap inside. “at first.”

the stretch was intense, but the sensation of being filled in both places was unlike anything you’d ever experienced. your body trembled as you tried to adjust, and gojo was quick to kiss away the tears that formed in the corners of your eyes.

“that’s my girl,” he murmured, his voice filled with pride and adoration. “you’re so fucking perfect.”

“she really is,” fem gojo added, her hands gripping your waist as she began to move. “and she’s gonna look even better when i make her scream.”

the two of them worked together seamlessly, their movements perfectly coordinated as they took you apart piece by piece. every thrust, every touch, every whispered word of praise sent you spiraling further into bliss, and you quickly lost track of where one ended and the other began.

gojo’s lips were everywhere — your neck, your shoulders, your chest — while fem gojo’s hands explored every inch of your body, her touch both firm and gentle in all the right ways.

“look at her,” fem gojo said, her voice thick with arousal as she watched you writhe between them. “so beautiful, so fucking needy. you love this, don’t you, sweetheart?”

you could only nod, your voice breaking as you tried to form a coherent response.

“she loves it,” gojo confirmed, his own voice strained as he watched you come undone. “she fucking loves it.”

it was a sensory overload, plain and simple. between gojo’s hands gripping your hips like a lifeline and fem gojo’s unrelenting pace behind you, you were sure your body was going to give out. 

but of course, these two were more focused on their ongoing battle of who could out-praise, out-dirty talk, or out-insult the other than on your well-being — not that you were complaining.

“god, she’s so tight,” fem gojo groaned, her fingers digging into your waist as she snapped her hips forward. “guess she likes me more than you, huh?”

gojo scoffed, his voice dripping with mockery. “oh, please. you’re just riding my coattails, loser. she’s dripping all over me.”

you wanted to protest, to tell them both to shut up and focus, but all that came out was a high-pitched moan as they found a rhythm that had your toes curling.

“ya hear that?” gojo teased, his grin smug as he looked over your shoulder. “she’s screaming for me. guess you’re not all that after all.”

fem gojo rolled her eyes, her pace quickening as she leaned forward to whisper in your ear. “don’t listen to him, baby. i’m the one making you see stars, aren’t i?”

you opened your mouth to answer, but all that came out was a broken sob of pleasure, and they both laughed — one soft and teasing, the other loud and boisterous.

“what’s the matter?” gojo asked, his tone faux-concerned as he brushed a strand of hair from your face. “can’t handle it? too much for my pretty girl?”

“your pretty girl?” fem gojo shot back, her tone incredulous. “hate to break it to you, but she’s — fuck — she’s clenching around me like she doesn’t want me to stop. isn’t that right, sweetheart?”

you tried to nod, but the movement sent a shiver down your spine, and fem gojo chuckled.

“see?” she said smugly. “told you.”

gojo groaned, his head falling back against the headboard as he thrust up into you. “yeah, well, she’s making a mess all over my cock, so — shit — who’s really winning here?”

“winning?” fem gojo gasped, her rhythm stuttering for a moment as she tightened her grip on your hips. “you’re such a — goddamn, baby, you’re perfect — such a sore loser.”

“you’re just mad i’m the one she’s kissing,” gojo retorted, his hands pulling you impossibly closer. “bet you’d kill to have her lips on yours right now.”

“oh, like you wouldn’t,” fem gojo snapped, her voice breaking as you whimpered and clenched around them both. “you’re just lucky she’s too busy — fuck — to realize you don’t deserve her.”

“and you do?” gojo shot back, his thrusts growing sharper as he glared at his counterpart.

“goddamn it, both of you —” you tried to cut in, your voice hoarse from the onslaught of pleasure, but another wave hit you, and your words dissolved into a moan.

“see?” gojo said smugly, his grin widening as he leaned down to kiss the corner of your mouth. “she can’t even talk. that’s my girl.”

“keep dreaming,” fem gojo muttered, her pace quickening as she leaned forward to press her lips to your neck, her teeth grazing your skin.

⋆˙⟡ —

thanksgiving, truly the season of giving, and boy, was gojo in a giving mood tonight. 

the man was shaking beneath you, his chest rising and falling like he’d just run a marathon. his hands, trembling but firm, clung to your thighs, his nails digging into your skin as he let out a downright pitiful whimper, his head tipping back with a dazed, glassy-eyed expression.

“that’s it,” he babbled, his voice slurred and broken as he bucked up weakly into you. “t-take it, sweetheart... take all of me — fuck, you’re gonna look so good, all round ‘n glowing —”

his breath caught in his throat, and with a drawn-out moan that bordered on wailing, he came in you, his hips jerking uncontrollably as you squealed at the sudden warmth. your own body clenched down on him, the sticky sensation of him filling you tipping you over the edge.

“oh my god,” you choked, your nails raking down his chest as your orgasm hit, leaving you trembling and gasping.

fem gojo, ever the opportunist, finally withdrew from behind you with a satisfied hum, the slick sheen on her strap glinting under the low light.

“awwwww, look at you two,” she teased, her tone dripping with mock sweetness as she unfastened the harness. “such a cute little mess. now, if you’ll excuse me…”

without missing a beat, she sank down onto the still-attached dildo, a low, satisfied groan escaping her lips as she rolled her hips. the obscene squelch of her movements made your already oversensitive body shudder, and you couldn’t help but turn your attention to her.

“c’mon, baby,” she teased, her grin wicked as she met your gaze. “don’t let me do all the work here. cheer me on, yeah?”

through the haze of pleasure and exhaustion, you managed a breathy laugh, your voice weak but teasing. “you’re doing amazing, sweetie.”

she threw her head back with a laugh of her own, her pace quickening as she dug her nails into her thighs. “damn right, i am.”

meanwhile, gojo looked like he was on the brink of passing out beneath you, his eyes half-lidded and unfocused as he muttered incoherent praises. whether it was the aftershock of his release or the dawning realization of what he’d just done — shooting his load into you with the enthusiasm of a man on a mission to give you a baby — you weren’t sure.

“you okay down there?” you asked, your voice soft and teasing as you brushed a damp strand of hair from his face.

“mmph,” he groaned, his arms weakly wrapping around your waist. “so good… so fucking good… gonna put a baby in you…”

fem gojo let out a loud, incredulous laugh, her movements stuttering for a moment as she caught her breath. “you really think one round’s enough for that, big guy?”

gojo groaned in protest, his grip tightening on you as he glared half-heartedly at her. “shut up… it only takes one…”

“sure, sure,” she said with a smirk, her hips picking up speed again as she threw you a wink. “guess we’ll just have to see, huh?”

and with that, thanksgiving turned into a whole new kind of holiday tradition. ah, the season of giving.

⋆˙⟡ —

patience might be a virtue, but fem gojo was clearly not in the mood for any virtuous behavior tonight. she had already tried being "respectful" by letting you and her male counterpart have your moment, but who was she kidding? the real deal — you — was right in front of her. 

and, well, when life gives you a stunning girlfriend covered in sweat and looking like sin itself, you don’t waste time fiddling with plastic.

“alright, babe,” fem gojo grinned, flipping her wolfcut back as she effortlessly scooped you off her passed-out counterpart. gojo was out cold, muttering something about “diapers” and “college funds,” his limbs splayed like a starfish on the bed. 

he wouldn’t be waking up anytime soon.

“don’t worry about him,” she said, tossing a glance at his unconscious form as she positioned you on top of her. “this is girl talk now. and mama’s gonna take real good care of you.”

your cheeks burned, and you instinctively clung to her shoulders, your thighs trembling as they straddled her. “you sure about this?” you whispered, voice laced with anticipation and a hint of shyness.

fem gojo’s grin widened, her hands steady as they guided your hips against hers. “baby, the only thing i’m not sure about is how the hell you’ve gone this long without letting me show you how girls really do it.”

she didn’t wait for a response, rolling her hips up against yours in one fluid motion. the friction sent a spark shooting through your body, and you gasped, your nails digging into her toned shoulders.

“see?” she cooed, her voice dripping with smug satisfaction. “told ya. mama’s got you.”

her hands gripped your waist, firm but gentle, as she took the lead, her movements slow and deliberate, teasing every whimper and moan out of you. your legs shook, but she held you steady, her grin never faltering.

“look at you,” she teased, leaning in to nip at your jawline. “already so sensitive. didn’t know my girl could get this worked up so quick. guess he’s not doing his job right, huh?”

“oh my god,” you groaned, burying your face in her neck to hide your embarrassment.

she chuckled, her hands slipping lower to grab a handful of your ass as she pushed you down harder against her. “nah, babe. i’m your god tonight.”

meanwhile, gojo snored in the background, blissfully unaware that his girlfriend and clone were having the time of their lives just a few feet away. 

ah, girlhood. lesbians, 1. gojo, 0.

⋆˙⟡ —

“sedimentation,” fem gojo mumbled, her cheek squished against your sweat-slick shoulder, arms wrapped around you like a clingy octopus. her legs tangled with yours, and despite how sticky and gross you felt, she showed no signs of letting go. “it’s important. gotta let things settle.”

you groaned, attempting to wiggle free, but she tightened her grip, pressing a lazy kiss to your collarbone. “settle what, exactly? i’m not some science experiment.”

“nah, you’re better than that,” she muttered, voice heavy with exhaustion. “you’re my cute little petri dish.”

“that’s not better!” you whined, half-laughing despite yourself.

fem gojo grinned against your skin, clearly pleased with her terrible analogy. but when she shifted slightly, the embarrassing squelch between your legs was impossible to ignore. you buried your face in your hands, heat rushing to your cheeks as you groaned in mortification.

“don’t even start,” you grumbled, glaring at her as she snickered.

“babe, that sound?” she teased, tapping her temple like she just had a galaxy-brain moment. “it’s gonna live rent-free in my head for years.”

“i hate you.”

“no, you don’t.”

you sighed, glancing over at satoru, who was still snoring like a freight train, completely oblivious to the chaos you’d all caused tonight. he looked oddly peaceful, sprawled out like some kind of overgrown child, his hair sticking up in all directions.

“we should clean up,” you muttered, trying to untangle yourself from fem gojo’s hold.

“nooooo,” she whined, tightening her grip and pulling you back down against her chest. “cleaning’s for losers. let’s just sleep. thanksgiving’s over anyway.”

“and satoru?” you asked, nodding toward his drooling form.

she waved a dismissive hand. “damage control can wait. he’s fine. probably dreaming about the best baby stroller to buy.”

you snorted, letting yourself relax against her. maybe she had a point. thanksgiving was chaotic, messy, and embarrassing beyond belief, but at least it ended with some semblance of peace.

“fine,” you relented, closing your eyes as sleep finally started to pull you under. “but next year? we’re doing thanksgiving normal.”

“sure thing, babe,” she mumbled, already half-asleep herself. “whatever you say.”

you had a sneaking suspicion that next year’s thanksgiving was going to be anything but normal. but for now, sleep. thank god for sleep.

produced by creamflix on tumblr. all rights reserved. do not copy, steal, modify, repost — support your writers by liking and reblogging. ♡ banners by cafekitsune

[mullermilkshake]

A lasting impression - Part three

Part one, Part two, Part three, part four (Coming soon)

Wife! Reader x Yakuza!Sukuna MINORS DNI 🔞 - Tags: NSFW, Wife! reader, Yakuza AU, established relationship, mentions of blood, gore, violence, kissing, heavy petting, smut to come.

"Sir," Uraume waited by the door of the car and opened it for Sukuna's exit.

"Where is she?" he slipped out of the car and moved with purpose towards the double doors of headquarters.

"Your wife is waiting for you in her study. I applied the necessary first aid and after care myself."

"Good. that'll be all for tonight, Uraume."

Sukuna left them behind and made his way towards his personal quarters towards the inner part of the property, private enough to scream bloody murder and no one would hear unless he wanted them to.

The only place in Ryomen headquarters that no one other than Uraume was permitted to enter.

A place where you and him could converse freely and live life as though the Yakuza world wasn't just waiting outside those outer doors.

No one dared to even look him in the eye when he marched himself down the hallways and left nothing but the padding of his bare feet on the wine red carpet to match the red all over his body.

Perhaps that was why everyone he passed looked away and bowed far deeper than usual. Not that he minded it at all. It was just the way things happened, including how he was covered head to toe in the blood of his enemies.

When Sukuna arrived at his private quarters, you were right where he expected you to be, sitting at your desk writing something in your leather bound journal.

He entered without knocking, knowing the ins and outs of the study with his eyes closed, knowing the art ladened walls and antique gold lined vase off in the corner like it was his own office. For no one, not even Uraume had access to.

You didn't initially react to his presence, still writing and nursing your cheek with an icepack. "Did you get it all out of your system?"

If it wasn't such a serious time, Sukuna would have chuckled at your attitude seeing as you knew him so well.

"For now," he closed the study door and made his way to the desk. "let me see your cheek."

He stroked the back of your hand with his index finger which prompted you to close your journal and settle the icepack down on the wooden surface.

"Are they dead, or just gravely injured?"

The bruising had taken a hold of your flawless skin, bright red and purple from impact so disgustingly placed on display for all to see. It stoked the pit of lava in Sukuna's stomach enough that he could go out and punch the next person he saw just to quell it for just a second.

It took a moment of loosing himself in your eyes for you to respond to the silence. "I don't think I need to ask, actually. Did you leave a note per chance?"

Sukuna thought back to Awasaka's disembowelled abdomen. "Of sorts."

His knuckle moved and grazed your cheek, dragging slowly and barely brushing past the injured skin so as to not cause you further pain.

Fuck, you were so beautiful. "This won't happen again. And when I find everyone involved, they are going to wish that they endured a quick death when I'm through with them."

Then, you responded to Sukuna in a way that caught him off guard. "Do what you need. Though if it pleases you, I hope you'll let me watch."

Now you weren't opposed to him using violence. You had seen your fair share in the time that Sukuna had known you, it was a fearless part that drew him to you in the first place. But openly asking to be a part was nothing you had voiced before.

He leant against the desk, propping himself onto it to look at you more clearly. "If that is what you want."

And for some reason, Sukuna felt that down to his very soul.

A characteristic that made him fall in love with you all over again.

The way you looked up at him just now, though he was still drenched in Awasaka's blood. Something lustrous and hungry, excited and feverish for an outcome only he could provide.

Sukuna would have given everything up to ensure your safety. His little kingdom, the wealth the Ryomen clan had accumulated, even his life.

Anything for you. Everything.

"I very much want it."

His strength, confidence and brash nature were traits that interested you, things that drew you too him like a bee to flower petals, just watching him from the background with your own perfect traits that collected Sukuna with magnetism.

You could handle yourself physically and most importantly, mentally. There wasn't a time he had ever really seen you loose yourself or seen you display emotions that were drastic. You didn't even loose your temper like people expected a person to.

Right now he knew you were seething, though from an outsiders perspective you were just sitting at your desk asking questions.

Sukuna's hand had cupped your cheek softly and cradled you, his thumb rubbing just short of your ear. "Then you shall have it."

It was rather abrupt, again, being out of the ordinary for you. You shot up from your seat and moved close to him, close enough to plant your palms flat on the desk either side of him.

"Good. Because I'm rather disappointed that I missed out on the show," you nodded to the red bloody marks all over his clothes and hands. "To think you did all this for me and I never even got to see the fun."

Shit. For a moment Sukuna was dumbstruck. Only for a moment before his cock did the thinking for him. If he was a better man, he would have showered first before touching you. but seeing you as you were, pressed close with your chest rising and falling stopped him thinking rationally.

What could he really say in response to that?

"Was it painful?" you eyed him closely, tracing your finger over his chest.

"Yes."

"Did they make you work for it?"

Sukuna finally found his footing and traced the curve of your hips under his palms. "Hardly."

"That's good," getting closer, your lips barely brushed his own, the splatters of blood never deterring you. "An easy fight can be pointless. But it still sure does work up an appetite."

Not even a second more, Sukuna did not allow you to breech the gap between you, he yanked you towards him so quick that teeth almost clashed together and took your lips like he was an extension of you.

He was going to have you right there over your desk.

Sukuna pulled away momentarily, scrunching your hair between his fingers as he inched up the back of your neck. "Having you, leaves me ravenous."

"Have your fill then," your teeth pinched at the edge of your bottom lip.

So he did, in a fluid motion Sukuna turned around and had you on the desk with your back flat against it. Objects and stationary slipped and crashed off of the desk along with the icepack.

Your hips were flush against his, legs wrapping passionately around his waist. His crotch was straining against the material already, begging to be let free right between your legs. The supple skin plush of your thighs sat like velvet under his fingertips, reacting to his touch with shudders.

"Who knew that getting your own way could make you even more tantalising?"

You were spoilt. Sukuna had spoiled you. And he loved it.

Everything and anything you asked, you got. Because he would always give in no matter how outrageous the request was.

Though you never asked of much. Just him.

It was Sukuna who gave you everything. And then you had requests like this.

To see you witness himself at his worst, covered in blood and full of rage so much that he enjoyed it. Absolutely jaw droppingly insatiable.

Much like now since most of the blood had dried, yet some still transferred on to your skin. Your slender fingers clawing at his shoulders leaving red in the fingerprints.

His thumb traced the edge of your jaw, noses rubbing the other so that his lips ghosted over your own. In the six years you had been married two him, he had a good grasp on what you were thinking.

Your eyes watching him with adoration, did his look the same?

He loved you so much.

"Love me," you said, showing the smallest hint of vulnerability.

And he would, ten times over.

[musings-of-a-rose]

A New Life - Part 1

Pairing: General Marcus Acacius x ofc Cornelia

Word Count: 4700+

Rating: Mature - 18+ ONLY!

Warnings: Just like ao3, “creator chooses not to use warnings.” If you click Keep Reading, that means you agree that you’re the age to handle mature themes. Also by clicking Keep Reading, you understand warnings may not be complete in order to avoid spoilers for the story. 

Summary: After her husband's quick death, Cornelia finds herself back in her childhood home. But when her father passes, her cruel brother Cato becomes Lord of the city. She feels trapped, hopeless, destined for nothing as her brother tortures her day in and out. Until one day, a certain renowned General comes to claim her city in the name of Rome. When her brother hastily offers her up in surrender to the stoic General, Cornelia happily complies. Anything to get away from her brother. But will the General accept her? What fate lies in store for her in the hands of General who has never lost a battle? And will she be able to survive Rome itself?

Notes: sigh. look, I had one scene idea and it became this. If you've ever read anything by me, you know this happens. And just look at Acacius. How could I not? Shoutout to @mermaidxatxheart for tolerating my existence in general for this fic.

**If you want to be added to the taglist, join here or let me know!

❤If you enjoy the fic, please consider giving me a warm beverage! (It is not required in any way!)

→Tell Tumblr this should be shared with others by reblogging! That's what the algorithm loves (it's how it works here. I don't make the rules!)

**Reader is not described

Main Masterlist

General Marcus Acacius Masterlist

“We can’t thank you enough, miss.”

I wave my hand. “No need to thank me. I’m just doing what I can.”

I pull the palla (scarf) over my head as I wind my way back up the city streets, heading towards the home I grew up in. The largest home in the entire province that used to belong to my father, the noble in charge of this entire area. But ever since he died, my brother has taken his place and well, let’s just say he is far from my favorite person. Which is why I’m hiding as I sneak back inside, my brother having forbidden my leaving the grounds ever since I was forced to return after my husband’s death. 

I wake the next morning to the sound of many footsteps running outside and down the halls. I quickly pull on my tunic and head out of the door, turning to head towards the main chambers where my brother would undoubtedly be. Sure enough, as I approached, I heard him raise his voice. It sounded like he was trying to muster troops? He barks out a few more commands and the door flies open, catching me off guard.

“Sister! Come here!” My brother, Cato, demands. I enter the room, casting my eyes downward and away from him for a moment before looking at him. 

“Brother, what is happening?”

His eyes scan me from head to foot, his lip pulling up in a snear. “The Army has arrived.”

I cock my head. “Who’s army?”

He sighs, exasperated,. “The Roman army, Cornelia. The one led by Marcus Acacius?”

My eyes widen. “The general who has never been beat?”

“That’s the one.”

The people running around make sense now. We’re preparing for a fight. “What will we do?”

“We will fight!”

I scoff. “You cannot hope to win.”

His mean eyes snap to mine. “You don’t think I can?”

“I…I just mean, General Acacius has a reputation. Our numbers are small, we can’t-”

He waves his hand at me, cutting me off. “Yes, yes. I know. We’re going to give it our best. But I also have a backup.” 

“Oh?”

The snear comes on full display. “Yes. Actually a way to solve 2 problems with one.”

“Two problems?”

“I will surrender and give the General you as a victory gift.”

My jaw drops, the air whooshing from my lungs. “M..me?”

“Yes, you. I know you’re already 30, but you look much younger. He won’t know. Besides, he doesn’t need to marry you.”

“You mean to give me to a man with no intention-”

He reaches out and grips my face with one hand. “Dear sister. I would whore you out to every noble, the emperors themselves, if it meant I got to keep my lifestyle.” He shoves me away. “Now go make yourself presentable. As much faith as I’d like to have in our troops, I rather think it will come down to you.”

And that was that. He turns, effectively cutting me off from any retort. I head back to my room, calling for one of my servants to help me prepare. As she washes me, I think on all that has transpired. Am I finally to be free of the hell that has been my life for the last several years? I know I should be afraid, terrified of the renowned General Acacius, but I’m not. Anything is better than here.

My brother has me sit in a chair off to the side of his own, the sound of swords clinking growing closer and closer. The heavy doors creak open and soldiers pour inside, nearly covering the space in a handful of steps. My brother holds up his white flag, a symbol of surrender and luckily, they stop, one of them yelling to get the General. Only a handful of moments pass before a man strides into the hall, broad shoulders barely contained in beautiful leather armor, the head of Medusa proudly displayed on its front. He is covered in blood and dirt and sweat, a sword still in his hand as he confidently strides up to my brother, who instantly bows. 

“General Acacius. I humbly surrender to your forces.”

“So many people died for you to be sitting here on your chair. You could have stopped the bloodshed before it started and you did not.”

“I had to give it my best shot. Honor was at stake. You can understand that, yes?”

General Acacius considers this for a moment. “And let me guess- honor is what you think will keep me from slicing you in half with my blade?”

The smile on Cato’s face falters slightly. “Well, yes.” The blade shifts in the General’s hand and my brother puts his hands up. “That and-” he reaches over and grabs my arm, his fingers digging into my skin as he throws me at the General. I fall to the floor on my knees with the unexpected movement, my palms stinging with the impact. “-my sister! Take her, marry her, use her, whatever. She is yours.”

The General leans forward, extending his hand towards me. I look at it, the blood and dirt mixed together in some kind of horrible art on his palm, and I take it, allowing him to help me up. Once I’m standing, my eyes find his and I’m shocked to see concern. 

“Are you alright, miss?” He asks, his eyes scanning my face.

I don’t break the gaze as I whisper. “Please take me with you. I will be faithful to you however you need me. Free me from this prison.”

He cocks his head ever so slightly, searching for something in me. Apparently he finds whatever he’s looking for as he looks over my shoulder back at Cato. “I will take her. But I should kill you here for the way you treat your people but especially for the way you treat your sister. Your own blood.”

“My people will recover and I’m sure you or your men will be thankful to have such a beauty after-” the General takes a step forward, his blade coming up. All I hear is slicing, a horrible gurgling, sputtering sound as a body thuds to the floor. I don’t move, not right away, using my breath to steady myself. I start to turn when the General grips my arms, preventing me from moving. 

“You do not need to see this.”

“I think I do.”

“Miss-”

I drop my voice so only he can hear me. “My brother has put me through hell for years. I have no love for him. Let me have this closure. Please.”

He hesitates for a moment before nodding, dropping his hands from my arms. I take a breath and turn, my eyes immediately finding the crimson pool on the floor, the thin gash across Cato’s throat bright and angry against his skin. His are vacant, every trace of the evil life he lived, gone. I nod once and turn back to the General, who is still watching me. His soldiers file from the room, a loud silence falling over us.

“So…do I..do I follow you or?”

He holds his hand up. “I do not plan on holding you to that deal or whatever your brother tried to do.” He starts to turn but I gently grip his arm. He looks down at my hand briefly before looking at me. 

“You saved me from this torture. I will be faithful and loyal to you.”

He puts his large hand over mine, taking it from his arm and holding it. “I have no doubt of that, miss. But you owe me nothing. Go live your life.”

“General Acacius, may I speak plainly?”

He nods. “Please.”

“I understand what you are trying to do. But please think: my brother has controlled this province ever since my father passed several years ago. He has placed more taxes and fees on these people than anyone before. And he just led half of them to slaughter with your arrival when he planned on surrendering. They are not happy with my house. They may like me but I don’t think that fondness will suffice when they are burying their husbands and sons for no reason.”

He thinks for several moments. “Perhaps you are right. I cannot in good conscience leave you here to die. I can escort you to our next province but know that it isn’t a place for a woman. War and battle are hard and bloody. I can protect you from my men but I cannot promise to protect you from those we fight against.”

“I understand. Wherever you need me, there I’ll be.”

“You are free to leave whenever you wish.” He turns, heading towards the doors.

“But what if I wish to stay? With you?” I follow behind him and slam into his chest when he abruptly stops and turns around. He looks down at me and my heartbeat races. Now I’m closer, I can see past the grime, see his greying hairs, the scar that runs down the side of his face, his eyes, dark and battle-hardened but also caring, a tinge of regret. They also darken with a look I’ve seen in many men’s faces as they chase the skirts of women. But then he blinks and it’s gone.

“We shall see.”

General Acacius accompanies me to my chambers and allows me to pack a few things. It’s lighter than I would normally travel with, considerably, but it’s not needed. And I can always get new things along the way. A few pallas (head scarfs) and tunics, some health and hygiene products and I’m ready, the General giving me a nod of approval at my small bag that I’d packed. His soldiers ransack the estate, including my room, taking anything of value to either sell or melt and turn into weapons. General Acacius ensured I had everything I wanted before he allowed it, a gesture I wasn’t expecting. As we head towards the front gates of my previous estate, he turns to me, speaking low so only I would hear.

“Stay close to me. Speak to no one. Pull that palla over your hair and stay quiet. Understood?”

I nod quickly as I do what he says, making sure it covers my hair. “Yes, sir.”

“Do you have a favorite horse?”

I blink. “Yes. In the stables.”

He allows me to lead us to the stables and I quickly locate my black barb horse, Caius. He is nervous, snuffing and chittering in his stable, but the moment he sees me, he calms. 

“Hi, Caius. Are you ready to go on an adventure?” He presses his forehead to mine, a gesture we’ve done since he was a foal. I can feel the General’s eyes on me, watching as I lead Caius from the stables and ready him for travel. It only takes a few minutes and I’m grateful for learning how to do it rather than relying solely on stable hands. He has me lead Caius out with his reins rather than riding, no doubt to make me less of an easier target. 

We head out of the main gate and I stifle a small gasp. I hear the sounds of wailing, mothers having lost sons, wives their husbands, children their fathers. The Roman soldiers are trying to calm the area, and they’re succeeding by sheer numbers, but the sounds of grief have no master. It’s then that I realize what the crimson tinge to the soil under my sandals is. I swallow hard, willing the tears not to fall. I don’t want to look weak. But these were my people, even if we were separated by title and money and my heart aches for them. 

General Acacius sets a brisk pace, winding around the main square, no doubt trying to avoid any sort of riot or call for my head. I couldn’t blame them. Like I’d said to the General, they may like me, but my family is the reason they’re burying their boys and men needlessly. I can feel how nervous Caius is, but he trusts me fully and obediently follows me without issue. What seems like hours later, we make it out of the city. The General steers us towards a group of men guarding horses. They salute him as he walks up.

“General, sir!”

He nods and they drop their salute. “My horse.”

“Yes, sir.” One of the soldiers runs off and comes back moments later with a beautiful chestnut colored horse. He hands the reins to the General and salutes before going back to his post. The General turns to me.

“We will ride to camp. Stay close to me. Keep that palla over your hair, yes?”

“Yes, sir.”

He watches me for a moment, his hand coming up to rub his horse’s nose. “Ready?”

I swing myself up onto Caius in one fluid motion, one that I had been doing for the majority of my life and at least 10 years with Caius. His eyes linger on me as I settle in, adjusting my palla to cover my hair. Our eyes meet and he holds my gaze for just a brief moment before blinking and looking back towards his own horse, swinging himself onto the saddle. Despite my situation, I can't help but to think...

Damn he looks good on a horse. 

We don’t ride far, maybe a quarter or so mile from my city. We break through a line in the trees and I gasp - an entire camp has been built, complete with walls, tents, cooks, all of it. The soldiers by the wall call out and the gates creak open, General Acacius riding through the opening, glancing back once to make sure I’m following. We wind through the camp to where the horses are kept. He hops down from his chestnut mount and offers me his hand to help me down from Caius. I hesitate a moment before linking my hand with his and slide off of my horse. General Acacius nods to a young man and hands him the reigns to his horse, motioning to me to do the same. 

“I promise they will take good care of him.” 

I give Caius a pat on his head and hand the reigns to the boy, who leads both horses off towards the makeshift stable area. 

“Follow me,” The General commands and I comply, my sandals squishing in the mud as I go. We arrive at a grand tent, some soldiers stationed outside, one of which holds open a flap to allow General Acacius inside. He motions for me to follow and I do, feeling the tent flap close behind me. The tent is just as large as it appears. One side has a table with maps on it with little pins placed all over it. There are some traveling chests, which I assume house either weapons or other clothing or armor. On the other side of the tent is a room divider, behind which is a mattress and a small area for changing. A loud clank snaps me back to my reality and I see The General lay a sword on another table, this one set closer to his sleeping area. He removes his bracers as well, rubbing his wrists after he does so, glancing up at me.

“I will instruct my men to not touch you, but I would advise you stick to my tent.”

“I- yes. I understand, General.”

He barks out a name and I jump, the volume catching me off guard. A man enters the tent and salutes.

“Sir?”

“Fetch me some bath water for my…guest.”

“Yes, sir.” The tent flap closes behind the man as he goes off to bring the bath water.

There are a few moments of silence where he watches me, his eyes quickly glancing down my body and back up. “You can leave your belongings here.” He walks over to the divider and motions for me to follow. He points to a small crate in the corner. “You can set your bag here. I have some space in a chest for your things when we pack tomorrow.”

“Oh. Thank you, sir.”

He’s so close now, I could reach out and touch him. I want to, his greying curls and dark eyes heating me in ways I didn’t know possible. He blinks, shaking his head slightly.

“I will have them make you a sleeping mat, but you may not get it for a bit. You can take mine and I’ll sleep on the floor.”

“Absolutely not.”

He cocks his head slightly to the side, curious at this woman who would say no to him. “Excuse me?”

I clear my throat. “I won’t have the general of Rome sleeping on the floor. I can do that.”

“But, you are my guest, and a woman. I can’t allow you to do that.”

“Well then, I guess we’ll just have to share.” The words come out of my mouth before I can think. He fights back a small smirk pulling at the corners of his mouth.

“You would share a bed with a man who is not your husband?”

“My husband has been dead for many years. And not just any man. The man who saved my life.”

He watches me still, his eyes softening but somehow dark. He reaches out, hesitating a moment before gripping my upper arm. “I am sorry for your loss….well, if you insist, I promise to be respectful until we can get you your own mat.”

I speak quietly. “When I get my own mat, then you’ll be disrespectful?” I don’t intend for him to hear, but sometimes my inner thoughts become outer ones. His eyes meet mine and he opens his mouth to speak, but then several men enter with a tub full of water and the moment passes, General Acacius holding my gaze for a moment longer before dismissing the men. He pulls over another room divider and places it in front of the bathtub, gesturing towards it. “This is for you. I’ll personally stand outside to make sure no one enters.”

I nod. “Thank you.”

I take my time bathing, knowing that it may be a moment before I’m able to again. The water is cool when I emerge, wrapping a blanket around me and wringing out my hair. I pull on a clean tunic and sit on the sleeping mat, grateful that I’d packed a brush. The General returns a few minutes later, poking his head around the corner. 

“Oh. I assumed you would be asleep.”

“Almost. I won’t take up too much space.”

He waves his hand. “I am not worried.” He shuffles around, grabs some tunics from a chest, and disappears, reappearing later with wet hair that has started to curl, in a fresh tunic, sans armor. He gets on the mat beside me, trying his best with his broad frame to give me space.  

“General Acacius, it’s ok. Take as much space as you need. Tell me if you need more. Whatever you want, I will give it.”

He shifts a bit longer. “You are fine. Breakfast will be brought to us in the morning. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, General.” I settle into my spot, trying to take up as little space as possible. It’s quiet, quieter than I thought a camp would be. 

“Thank you,” I whisper to him in the dark. I know he doesn’t hear me, but I wanted to say it anyway.

“You’re welcome,” a whisper back. I smile, knowing that I at least made some sort of headway into us getting to know each other. I meant what I’d said before -I will be loyal and go wherever he wants me. Do whatever he needs me to do. I owe him my life. 

It’s early when I wake, I can tell by the quietness of the camp. Slowly, I become aware of my immediate surroundings, remembering the events of the previous day. It’s then I feel something heavy draped across my waist. I crack an eye open and look down, seeing The General’s arm casually slung across me. His breaths puff out on my neck and I can tell he’s in a deep sleep. But then he shifts and..oh. 

He’s hard and pressed against my ass, pushing against me slightly in his sleep to relieve some of the pressure. It’s been so long since I’ve had any interaction this way, let alone with someone I’m attracted to. I’m torn as to what to do. If I wake him, I don’t want him to be embarrassed. If he needs me in that way, I will happily consent. Beg for it, even. But I don’t want to be presumptuous either and take advantage of him, even if it’s just to feel his warm, protective presence. My body seems to make the decision for me, my hips grinding back on their own accord. A few seconds goes by before his hand moves and he grips my hip, his fingers digging into my skin.

“You need to stop moving.”

My cheeks heat instantly and I’m relieved he can’t see my face. “O-oh. I’m sorry if I was bothering you.”

“Not bothering me. I am trying to be respectful and you’re making it…difficult.”

“Who says you need to be respectful?”

His fingers dig in tighter and I inhale sharply, the sensation going straight between my legs. He presses himself closer to me, which heats me up more. He stays like that for several moments, his breaths fanning out over the side of my neck. But then he pulls away and sits up, my back feeling cold with his absence. 

“No. I cannot ask that of you.”

I sit up too, turning to face him. “You would not be taking advantage. I meant what I said - I am yours in whatever way you need me. I will follow you wherever you want me.”

His eyes find mine, deep and dark, as he contemplates my words. He opens his mouth to speak but then the tent flap opens and a man calls out that breakfast is ready. The General’s mouth slams shut and his expression changes. “Place it on the table.” The man complies and the tent flap closes again.

He gently places his hand over mine. “Come. Let’s eat.”

The Roman troops are impressive. 

That day, they pack up the entire camp and start the long trek towards our next destination, which is at least several days worth of traveling by land. And every night they build an entirely new camp that looks identical to the one they had outside of my city. It’s mind boggling.

Ever since our first night, The General tries harder to keep a respectful distance from me, not wanting me to feel pressured or obligated to do anything. He keeps me close though, always keeping an eye on me to make sure I’m safe. A week goes by and we’re in his tent, him pouring over maps and moving the little pieces and pins, me reading a book that he pulled from one of his chests. A soldier enters the tent with a tray of food and the General motions to his side table. The soldier leaves and I close my book, watching General Acacius for a few minutes, his brow furrowed in concentration as he stares at his board, a single curl falling forward onto his forehead. I quietly get up and cross the space to him, gently squeezing his arm. 

“Hey. Come eat.”

He blinks and looks down at me, heaving a big sigh. “You’re right. I need a break.” He follows me back to the table and sits, starting to eat some of the cooked meat the men had brought in. 

“Have you thought about what you want to do once we capture the next city?” He takes a bite out of the meat and watches me as he chews.

“Are you asking me to leave?”

He swallows, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat. Damn I want to lick it. “War is no place for a lady.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

He studies me for a moment. “You may do what you want. I told you you are free.”

“And I told you that I will follow you.”

“It’s dangerous.”

“You saved my life.”

“You do not wish to get married?”

I shrug. “I was married before. But I am not objecting to marrying again. To the right person.”

He takes another bite of meat and thoroughly chews it before speaking. “What happened to him? Your husband. You mentioned his passing before.”

I’m honestly surprised he hadn’t asked before. We had started having little talks at meals, but it wasn’t about anything heavy. 

“Remus was a kind man. He was the eldest son of the wealthiest merchant in our city. My father arranged our marriage to unite our houses. He was wealthy and had his own estate. We married and I moved in with him. I…suppose I loved him, in a content way. Like I said, Remus was kind, despite his hard exterior with his business dealings. He made sure I had everything I wanted. He had bought me Caius when he was just a foal. However, a few months after we were wed, he was called to the army. He left, proud to serve his people, despite his family begging him not to go. He never returned.” I take a sip from my mug, giving myself a moment to gather myself. “It was..hard, after he had passed. We had not really had a chance to have children. His family returned me to my family after a grieving period. I was allowed to keep Caius only because he had formed such a fierce attachment to me, along with some trinkets and clothes. Honestly, Remus would’ve been appalled at the way his family moved me from the estate. Anyway, I moved back in with my father and brother. A few years later, my father became ill and passed away, leaving me to my brother, Cato. He was abusive, verbally and physically. But I had nowhere to go. I dreamt every day that someone would come to take me away from him. But he always reminded me that no one would want someone who was used and old.” I shrug, taking another sip before meeting his eyes. “When I say you saved my life, I mean it. I am not simply in your debt. I want to be here.” He watches me for several moments, his jaw ticking as he fiddles with his mug. He sits up and leans forward, placing his large hand over mine.  

“I am sorry you had to endure all of that tragedy.”

“Thank you, General.”

“Marcus. Call me Marcus.”

My stomach flutters. “Marcus. Thank you.”

We’re back in the saddle the next day, me on Caius and him on his beautiful chestnut horse, Augustus. He has been softer with me since I told him my story, chatting and making jokes. He’s still respectful, never wanting to push a boundary. One that he set himself, I might add. Another camp goes up, this one built a little differently. There are more wood cabins instead of tents and Marcus explains that we may be here more than a night or two. We eventually settle into our bed, another mattress somehow never appearing for me. Not that I’m reminding anyone.

“We ride out in the morning. I want you to stay in this cabin, do you understand?”

“Y-yeah. Yes. Of course.”

He turns to me on his side, his eyes on me in the dimly lit space as I roll to look at him. He speaks quietly, but firm and I think I can make out worry in his eyes.

“I will have Caius ready and waiting for you outside. If you hear any soldiers, you take him and you ride. You run, do you understand me?”

“Yes, but what about you?”

“Don’t worry about me. You get to safety. That is your priority. Do you understand?”

“Yes, but-”

In an unexpected move, he reaches out and cups my cheek, his eyes on mine. “Promise me you’ll be safe.”

I place my hand over his. “I promise.”

General Taglist:

@frankie-catfish-morales @chaoticgeminate @janebby @astoryisaloveaffair @balekanemohafe

@greeneyedblondie44 @hoeforthefictional @marvelousmermaid @hauntedmama @icanbeyourjedi  

@wretchedmo @sunnshineeexoxo @livingmydreams13 @adventures-of-a-noodle @sara-alonso  

@theewokingdead @punkerthanpascal @giggly-otter @f0rever15elf @phandoz 

@gallowsjoker @lovesbiggerthanpride @booksarekindaneat @charlispersonallyhell @xoxabs88xox 

@amneris21 @gooddaykate @avengers-fixation @paintballkid711 @harriedandharassed  

@ladykatakuri @practicalghost @withakindheartx @batdarkladyvampir @justanotherkpopstanlol  

@mermaidxatxheart @alexxavicry @justreblogginfics @kmc1989 @veryprairieberry 

@mysterious-moonstruck-musings @heartpascalispunk 

[moonselune]

I love the concept that plays with how blank a slate Tav is and what that could mean. Like think of a high charisma (bard) Tav who goes through the entire plot carefully conceiling their own struggles and traumas so to not loose focus on helping everyone else first.

A Tav who, till the late game, carefully side stepped ever sharing a shred of their sad life with the group so not to risk loosing respect as leader. Until their romanced companion’s own quest is finished and the companion suddenly realized they don’t know A Thing about the love of their life.

Que intervention as they insist Tav lean on them as well.

Oooooo this is such a cool concept!!! I wrote little snippets of it with the ladies because I just needed to see it in action ahaha, and also i wasn't sure if this was a request or a sharing thoughts situation, but either way thank you!

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Karlach:

Karlach’s laughter usually lit up the camp like a second sun, warm and untamed. But tonight, as she sat next to you, her smile was hesitant, her brow furrowed in thought. The fire crackled between you, casting flickering light over her troubled face. Her quest was over—the engine in her chest hummed quietly, no longer a constant threat, and for the first time in years, she could dream of a future.

With you.

And yet, now that the battlefields were behind you and her own burdens were lifted, Karlach realized something startling: she didn’t know you.

She knew your jokes, your way of rallying the group when morale dipped, your quick wit and even quicker blade. But you’d always deflected questions about yourself, about your past, in such a charming way that no one ever pressed.

Until now.

“You’re quiet tonight, soldier,” Karlach said softly, nudging your shoulder with hers. Her voice was light, teasing, but her gaze held a deeper intensity.

“I thought you’d enjoy a bit of peace,” you replied, offering a smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes.

She tilted her head, studying you. “Peace? Sure. But not silence. C’mon, you’ve got me curious.”

“Curious?”

Karlach nodded, leaning back on her hands. The firelight danced in her eyes. “Yeah. We’ve been through hell together, fought gods and monsters, and you’ve got everyone wrapped around your finger. But I just realized... I don’t know anything about you. Who you were. Where you’re from. What keeps you up at night.”

You laughed nervously, brushing off her words with a joke. “What keeps me up? You, snoring like a troll after a good meal.”

But Karlach wasn’t laughing. Her hand reached out, warm and steady, to rest on your arm. “I’m serious. Why don’t you ever talk about yourself?”

For a moment, the mask slipped. Your smile faltered, your shoulders tensed, and you looked away. “Because it’s not important.”

Karlach’s grip tightened, grounding you. “Bullshit.”

The word hit harder than any blade. You glanced back at her, meeting her gaze, and saw nothing but unwavering determination.

“You’ve carried all of us, soldier,” she said, her voice softening. “You’ve been there for me, for everyone, without ever asking for anything in return. But you don’t have to carry it all alone. Not anymore.”

The weight of her words was unbearable. You opened your mouth to deflect again, to joke, to lie—but Karlach was relentless.

“Talk to me,” she said, her voice cracking with emotion. “Let me be there for you, the way you’ve been there for me. Please.”

And so, with her hand warm against your arm and her eyes locked on yours, the dam broke. You told her everything: the choices you’d made, the people you’d lost, the sacrifices that had carved deep scars into your soul. You spoke until your throat was raw, until tears blurred your vision, until the weight you’d carried for so long began to lift.

When you finished, Karlach pulled you into her arms, her infernal heart humming quietly between you.

“You’re not alone,” she whispered, her voice fierce with conviction. “Not anymore. I’m here, and I’m not going anywhere.”

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Minthara:

The campfire crackled softly, casting flickering shadows across the gathering. It was one of those rare quiet nights when the group could let their guard down after a day of relentless fighting and tension. You sat slightly apart from the others, leaning on a log with your lute resting against your lap, fingers idly plucking a soft tune. The others laughed and chatted, the mood light for once, a reflection of a recent victory in defeating Orin.

Minthara was a commanding presence at the center of the gathering, her voice cool and measured as she recounted a story of conquest from her youth in the Underdark. You watched her with quiet admiration, a small smile on your face. Her victory had brought her a visible sense of satisfaction, and you were glad to have helped her achieve it. But as the group began to disperse for the night, she approached you, her sharp golden eyes intent.

“You’ve been unusually quiet tonight,” she said, sitting beside you on the log. Her tone wasn’t accusatory, but there was a probing edge to it.

You shrugged, still plucking at the lute strings. “Just enjoying the peace. It’s not often we get nights like this.”

Minthara frowned slightly. “You say that as though peace is a luxury you cannot afford.”

You hesitated, the music faltering for a moment before you resumed playing. “We all have things we’re dealing with,” you said lightly, deflecting as you always did.

She narrowed her eyes at you, clearly not satisfied with the answer. “Do we now? I suppose it’s convenient that you always seem to deal with them in private. A leader who asks for nothing of their allies, who gives so much and reveals so little.”

You chuckled softly, trying to play it off. “I’m just a bard. Stories and songs, that’s all I have to offer. It’s better if I focus on everyone else’s happiness. That’s how we keep moving forward, right?”

Her hand shot out, catching your wrist and stilling the lute’s strings. The sudden silence was startling.

“Enough,” she said, her voice low but commanding. “Do not insult me by pretending you have no burdens of your own. I have watched you—carefully, closely—and I see the cracks beneath your mask.”

You stared at her, your heart pounding. Minthara had always been astute, but you hadn’t expected her to press the issue like this.

“I… it’s not important,” you murmured, avoiding her gaze. “Not compared to what everyone else has been through.”

Her fingers tightened around your wrist, not painfully, but firmly enough to make her point. “Do you think so little of me that you believe I cannot handle your truth? Or do you think so little of yourself that you cannot share it?”

Her words hit harder than you cared to admit. For so long, you had poured your energy into being the strong, charismatic leader your companions needed, smoothing over conflicts, supporting their struggles, and offering unwavering encouragement. But you’d never let them see the darker parts of yourself.

Minthara’s gaze softened, her hand loosening on your wrist but not letting go. “You have been my rock through my darkest moments, my most trying battles. Yet I realize now I know nothing of what lies beneath the surface of the one I call my heart. Do you not trust me?”

“It’s not that,” you said quickly, your voice barely above a whisper. “I trust you more than anyone. But I—” You paused, struggling to find the words. “If I start talking about it, it’ll feel real. And I’ve worked so hard to keep it buried. To keep it from interfering with everything we’re trying to do.”

Her expression was unreadable for a moment, but then she moved closer, her presence warm and grounding.

“You are not alone anymore. Whatever demons haunt you, they will not diminish you in my eyes. If anything, they make you stronger for having faced them.” She paused, her voice softening. “But strength is not refusing to lean on others. Strength is allowing those who care for you to share the weight.”

Her words broke something open inside you, and you felt a lump rise in your throat. Slowly, you set the lute aside and took a deep breath. For the first time, you began to speak—not with a practiced deflection or a half-truth, but honestly. You told her about the losses that had shaped you, the scars you carried, and the fear that if you let others see your pain, they would lose faith in you as a leader.

Minthara listened intently, her hand never leaving yours. She didn’t interrupt, didn’t try to offer platitudes or solutions. When you finished, she reached up to touch your cheek, her fingers brushing away a tear you hadn’t realized had fallen.

“You are more than I ever imagined,” she said softly, her voice full of conviction. “And I am honored to carry your pain with you.”

Her words were a balm, and as you leaned into her touch, you felt a strange sense of relief. For the first time in a long while, you weren’t carrying the weight alone.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Lae'zel:

Lae’zel was never one for subtlety. It wasn’t her way, and it wasn’t what drew her to you. What drew her to you was your strength, your decisiveness, your ability to unite a group of misfits and drive them toward a common goal. In you, she saw a leader worth following—and eventually, someone worth loving.

But as you sat by the campfire one evening, spinning a tale that had the others laughing and cheering, Lae’zel watched you with narrowed eyes. She noticed the way your smile didn’t quite reach your eyes. The way your voice faltered when someone asked about your own past, and how deftly you redirected the conversation back to them. You had thought she would have been too wrapped up in her own victory that day, that she was finally free of Vlaakith's lies, a new champion found in Prince Orpheus. But you were wrong.

It wasn’t until the camp was quiet, with only the two of you lingering by the dying embers, that she decided to confront you.

“You wear your mask well,” she said bluntly, sitting across from you.

You blinked, momentarily caught off guard. “Mask? I wasn’t wearing one during the performance.”

Lae’zel huffed, her sharp yellow eyes locking onto yours. “You know what I mean. You speak of others’ pain as though it were your own. You rally us with words that stir the soul. But when it comes to you...” She leaned forward, her voice low and accusing. “I know nothing of the one I call ‘commander'. The one I love.”

You hesitated, your usual arsenal of witty retorts suddenly failing you. “Lae’zel, I—”

“Do not lie to me,” she cut you off, her voice firm but not unkind. “I see it in your eyes, in the way you deflect. You think yourself clever, but I know what it is to hide weakness.”

Her words struck a chord, and for a moment, you considered brushing her off. But the intensity in her gaze—equal parts frustration and concern—kept you rooted in place.

“It doesn’t matter,” you said finally, your voice quieter than usual. “What I’ve been through... it’s not important. The group—you—come first. Always.”

Lae’zel’s expression softened, though her resolve didn’t waver. She stood and moved to sit beside you, her hand reaching out to grasp yours. “Do not belittle me by suggesting that your struggles are insignificant. You are not some faceless pawn on a battlefield. You are my partner. My heart beats for you.”

Her words undid you. The walls you’d so carefully constructed began to crumble as she continued, her voice gentler now.

“You have carried the burdens of us all. It is time you shared your own.”

The floodgates opened. Slowly at first, then all at once, you began to speak—of the losses you’d endured, the sacrifices you’d made, and the fear that admitting any of it would shatter the respect the group had for you. Lae’zel listened without interruption, her grip on your hand unwavering. When you were done, she pulled you into her arms, her strength a comforting anchor in the storm of your emotions.

“You are stronger than you know,” she said softly, her voice near your ear. “And you are not alone. Not anymore.”

For the first time in what felt like an eternity, you allowed yourself to believe her. To trust someone else. To share the pain.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Shadowheart:

Shadowheart was patient, but only to a point. She’d fallen for you—not the bard’s mask you wore so expertly, but the glimpses of vulnerability you let slip when you thought no one was watching. Yet those moments were fleeting, and every time she tried to delve deeper, you sidestepped her with the same charming ease you used on everyone else.

It wasn’t until her personal quest had come to a bittersweet end—when she finally felt free from the shackles of Shar’s influence—that she realized the gaping hole in her knowledge of you.

You sat by the edge of the camp, tuning your lute under the pale light of the moon. Shadowheart approached quietly, her steps soft on the grass. She didn’t speak until she was sitting beside you, her gaze fixed on the instrument in your hands.

“You’re always playing for others,” she said, her voice thoughtful. “Have you ever written a song for yourself?”

You chuckled, though there was a hint of unease in the sound. “I prefer to leave the self-indulgent ballads to others.”

Shadowheart turned to you, her expression serious. “Why?”

You hesitated, your fingers stilling on the strings. “Because it’s not about me. It’s about... helping. Inspiring. That’s what matters.”

Shadowheart sighed, her frustration evident. “You’re deflecting again.”

Your shoulders tensed, and you looked away, your usual charm faltering under her unwavering gaze.

“I’m fine, Shadowheart,” you said, though the words rang hollow even to your ears. “Really. There’s nothing to—”

“Stop,” she interrupted, her voice firm but not unkind. “I’ve spent my life serving a goddess who demanded I suppress everything I was. I know what it looks like when someone is hiding their pain. And I know how much it hurts to carry it alone.”

Her words struck a nerve, and for a moment, you couldn’t meet her eyes.

“It’s easier this way,” you admitted quietly. “If I focus on everyone else, if I don’t talk about it... then it’s like it doesn’t exist. Like it doesn’t matter.”

Shadowheart reached out, her hand gently brushing against yours. “But it does matter. You matter.”

You glanced at her, the sincerity in her eyes threatening to unravel the carefully constructed walls you’d built around yourself.

“What if... What if I tell you, and you see me differently?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

Shadowheart’s expression softened, and she gave your hand a reassuring squeeze. “I already see you, even if you don’t realize it. You’ve given so much of yourself to this group—to me. Let me give something back.”

Her words were the final push you needed. Slowly, haltingly, you began to speak—about the traumas you’d buried, the fear of letting anyone see the cracks in your facade, and the constant pressure to be everything to everyone.

Shadowheart listened intently, her hand never leaving yours. When you finished, she shifted closer, wrapping her arms around you in a tender embrace.

“You don’t have to carry it all alone,” she murmured. “Not anymore. I’m here. And I’m not going anywhere.”

For the first time, you allowed yourself to lean into her comfort, the weight of your secrets finally beginning to lift.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Jaheira:

The campfire burned low, crackling faintly in the still night air. You sat alone at the edge of camp, your lute balanced across your lap, fingers idly plucking a soft melody. It was your usual way of winding down after a long day, the gentle music serving as a balm not just for yourself but for your companions. Tonight, though, your mind was elsewhere, the notes faltering now and then as memories you worked so hard to suppress bubbled unbidden to the surface.

Across camp, Jaheira watched you with a quiet intensity. She had spent decades in the company of adventurers, soldiers, and leaders, and she recognized the signs of a burden carried in silence. Even if the freshly recruited Minsc was determined to fill that silence with his usual babbles. You, the charismatic bard, the glue that held this strange, volatile group together, had always been an enigma. You soothed tensions, inspired courage, and tended to the wounds of body and soul without ever revealing anything of yourself.

It hadn’t bothered her before—not in the heat of the crisis, when every moment was a battle for survival. But now, Jaheira found herself uneasy. The realization struck her that despite all her time at your side, she knew little of the person she had grown to love. And it gnawed at her in a way she couldn’t ignore.

She rose from her seat, approaching you with her usual confidence, though her expression softened as she drew nearer.

“You’ll wear your strings thin at this rate,” she teased gently, nodding toward your lute.

You glanced up, offering her your practiced, easy smile. “Ah, but music soothes even the most restless soul. Should I not share it?”

Jaheira’s lips quirked upward in a small smile, but her gaze was piercing. “Perhaps. But who soothes you, bard?”

The question caught you off guard, and you hesitated, your fingers stilling on the strings.

“I—” You laughed lightly, deflecting. “I’m fine, Jaheira. Don’t worry about me.”

She crossed her arms, her emerald eyes narrowing. “You’ve said that every time someone’s asked. And yet, I can’t help but notice that ‘fine’ is all you ever claim to be. Do you expect me to believe that a life as tangled as yours comes without scars?”

You opened your mouth to protest, but she cut you off, sitting down beside you and placing a firm hand on your arm. “Enough. You’ve carried the weight of everyone else’s troubles, including mine. You’ve fought for us, bled for us, and offered comfort whenever we’ve needed it. But not once—not once—have you shared even a fragment of your own story. Why is that?”

The weight of her words settled over you like a shroud, and for a moment, you couldn’t meet her gaze. “I… I didn’t want to distract anyone,” you admitted finally, your voice quieter than usual. “There was so much to do, so much at stake. If I started talking about my own problems, it would have… I don’t know, shifted things. Made me seem weaker. Less of a leader.”

Jaheira’s hand tightened on your arm. “Weakness? Do you think I’d see you as weak because you’re human? Because you have wounds that haven’t healed?”

You shook your head, frustration bubbling to the surface. “It’s not that simple. I had to keep everyone together. If I faltered—if I let anyone see how badly I was struggling—what would’ve happened to us? To you?”

She sighed, her thumb brushing absently over your sleeve. “You’ve spent so much time tending to others, you’ve forgotten how to let someone tend to you. But that’s not leadership; that’s martyrdom.”

Her words cut deep, striking at a truth you’d been avoiding for so long. Slowly, you looked up at her, and the concern in her gaze nearly undid you. “Jaheira… I don’t even know where to start.”

“Start here,” she said simply, placing her other hand over yours. “Start with me. You’ve given so much of yourself to everyone else; now let someone give something back.”

And so you did. Haltingly at first, the words spilling out in a jumbled, unpracticed mess. You told her of the choices you regretted, the people you’d lost, the nights spent lying awake under the stars wondering if you’d ever be enough. She listened without interruption, her hand never leaving yours, her presence steady and grounding.

By the time you finished, your throat was tight and your shoulders felt lighter than they had in years. Jaheira leaned in, brushing a strand of hair from your face, her expression filled with an affection that made your heart ache.

“There,” she said softly. “That wasn’t so bad, was it?”

You laughed shakily, a tear slipping down your cheek. “You’re too stubborn for your own good, you know that?”

She smiled, the warmth in her eyes chasing away the last shadows of doubt. “It takes one to know one.”

As she pulled you into a gentle embrace, you realized she was right. For the first time, you allowed yourself to lean on someone else, to let go of the mask you’d worn for so long.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Hope you guys enjoyed this ! - Seluney xox

If you want to support me in other ways | Help keep this moonmaiden caffeinated x

[ianwaite]

How sweet, yes I indirectly do, so what? IF your best was ever a Snafender and became after reading the original hp books properly a Snater, then your best friend shall prove it. Otherwise I don't believe your friend.

Cause both blocked me now:

Your answer (the indented text) has shown me that you have never dealt intensively with "snafending", if at all.

Yknow-you can hate someone and still find them interesting at the same time

I do not hate. Hate is very strong, childish emotion. I dislike, f.e. Dumbledore to leave Harry blind for a whole year and forced Sev to kill him.

I am aware of what they bring to the story, they're very interesting and I'm glad they add what they do to the story-and I still hate em.

If ya hate them, you should hate Lupin, Black, Voldemort etc even more.

Snape bullied children.

You didn't read the link, sad.

He bullied Neville so much he became the kid's Boggart. Boggarts show a persons worst fear.

Then Hermione fears McGonagall.. you don't hate her, no? The boggart argument is no argument to allow yourself to hate Sev. If you use it, you should hate ALL the things/livings that became boggarts to the children in HP/that scene.

At the time a infamous killer was supposedly on the lose, and his worst fear was his teacher.

And Hermione's was McGonagall and Ron's was a spider and ...

He didn't care about anything else except for Lily-He called her a slur though. And people wonder why she ditched him.

I do not wonder about it. I dislike her, cause she was no true friend. She wanted to get rid of Sev after she no longer had any use for him.

He told Voldemort to kill James and Harry but not Lily. He told Voldemort to kill a newborn.

What? He didn't told Voldy this. Voldy told him, he will kill them all! You switch POVs here. How could Sev in his position beg for the child that is THE enemy of his Master? Voldy would have Avadad him immediately, the Potters after that and what story would we have had then? You never were a Snafender - otherwise you would not have come to such unlogical conclusion.

You're saying this like I don't acknowledge the good things he's done. Again since they were influential to the series I kinda have to. But to overlook all the bad? Yeah not happening. I've dealt with my fair share of emotionally abusive teachers for that to happen. I've dealt with my share of emotional abuse.

And to copy your own experience on Sev is correct? He is not your teacher and he never will! If he reminds you of your teacher, he helped you to see their abusive behavior and that helped you - I bet - to think it over. Their abusive behavior was their fault, never yours and I bet, they had their personal reasons too and those had nothing to do with you personally ... like Sev had - no trauma help, no education how to teach, no supportive love of his parents (as far as we know) and the wrong peer group (DE) - he had to fit in to stay a spy.

Harry did think it over and named his kid after Sev, and you think his parents wouldn't have allowed that? Why do you think Harry named his kid after Sev?

Cause all his "emotional abuse" was only Harry's POV. Seeing Sev's memories opened his eyes, seeing Sevs POV made it clear to Harry that Sev only had to be this way and could not become differently - he had to be the spy, to fulfill his promise, to keep Harry protected. If Sev would had been kind to Harry (THE enemy of DEs) - not emotional abusive - would he had been an accepted DE? No.

You're assuming quite a bit about me. I've read the Harry Potter books a dozen times over. There what got me into reading in the first place.

Read them again in 5 years and the link completely, please.

I am not a senseless hater. I am not senseless. I need reasons for my hate. I need proof. And I have it.

That's why I changed my outlook on him. You have proof to 'love', I have to 'hate'.

Your proof is no proof to me, cause it his based on Snaters POV not on neutral human POV.

Let's go on our separate ways. Where either you block me or I block you. Or you just get off my blog. Love with the people who love with you. Leave me be.

Ok. Sadly you decided over my head. I use an old trick now ... I am sorry, but I feel the need to do so.

I will use the anti snape tag. I'll still get interaction. I already have by fellow 'Snaters' I mean have you seen the likes and reblogs?

Oh really? No, didn't see it. I am sorry. Yeah some of us Snovers can be very ... rude.

I still don't believe you were once a Snafender and became a Snater after reading the books properly ... properly reading btw means that you read sth from a neutral -meta- POV. You have to accept ALL in the text at first without judging it (morally) and find out why it's written this way and not the other way. Most readers read a text from their personal POV. That's why we have many -mostly young- Snaters and still some Snafenders.

I hope you are alright and are old enough to not take this and the internet in common too personal.

I wish you all you need.

RIP James and Lily Potter you would've never let Harry name his kid 'Albus Severus' Potter

[rootspiral]

Agatha All Along deep dive: episode 5 part 2

(Wandavision entries: [1][2][3])

(AAA entries: ep1 [1][2][3][4] ep2 [1][2][3][4] ep3 [1][2][3] ep4 [1][2][3][4][5][6][7][+1] ep5 [1][2])

I was so looking forward to brighten this particular scene, it's the darkest yet and it's such a beautiful one it's a pity to miss even one detail

oh no lilia stop being so cute????

have you ever seen jen with a bigger smile? and she's quiet as usual, it's almost like more than the ride she's enjoying how much fun her friends are having. especially lilia, those two have been forming a bond that is equal parts bickering and a growing respect

I'm just glad alice had this moment of pure unadulterated joy before it came all crashing down

agatha is very, very quiet. despite never letting herself feel anything freely, she takes a moment to close her eyes and enjoy the beauty of it all

she looks back at rio, so sensual and confident

how can kathryn hahn convey so much with so little time? her breath catches at her sight. and then worry and fear take hold and she gives the tiniest shake of her head, as if she's forbidding herself to entertain any kind of thought about rio. she looks away. the blood moon behind her spells disaster

meanwhile billy is that kid who has the time of his life hanging out with the teachers during a field trip

I want to personally thank aubrey plaza for every acting choice she made as rio, but ESPECIALLY for this witchy laugh

(I just brightened the salem seven witch vomiting bees and it's actually pretty impressive! but I don't want to trigger any insect haters around here) (I love insects though so please talk to me about spiders if you want)

they couldn't get a good look at the cabin before rushing in and I couldn't either until now, do we know if it's something from Agatha's past? did she use to live there?

I'm salty that alice had to die in these stupid clothes

So. I think this trial is the most fucked up and humiliating yet. Billy knew nothing about jen except superficial facts, so he put her in a scenario that matched her work aesthetic, more of a personal insult than a wake up call (compare it with the broom lilia just made for her: roots and flowers, something that speaks about jen's work, beliefs and traditions.)

Alice's trial was entirely based on lorna, we know billy is a big fan so he ran with that concept creating something that really shook alice, and not in a good way. she was forced to sit in her dead mom's house and wear her clothes for god's sake. she took it as the Road wanting to teach her a lesson, when it was just a teenager with the grace and subtlety of a newborn puppy.

Now, agatha. billy doesn't know a thing about her because she's private to the point of paranoia. he has gathered that there's something in her past about a dead child and that's probably what makes her grumpy, so he... tried to make her talk to nicky. with a fuking oujia board. Despite having had his share of shock and trauma billy inevitably has a kid's point of view re: death, and even more so because he's functionally immortal. death is something that happens to other people, or far far away in the future. he thinks he's giving agatha much needed therapy, when he actually put a grown woman in child's clothes and made her relive her traumas for everyone to see.

btw I'm not in any way saying that the trials are bad writing. they are brilliant writing. they're just tragic and fucked up behind the funny exterior, just like agatha herself. sorry for the rant.

I mean I wouldn't be opposed to that. we could put billy back in a closet for a little while and get down and dirty with it. and ooh there's a little leaf on rio's shirt, I hadn't noticed it!

jen's retainer always SENDS me

agatha's face when she realizes it's her trial

agatha is irrevocably, eternally linked with death in all its forms

looks like rio is playing along and setting the scene, but she's also doing something more subtle that only agatha understands: she's provoking her, and it's becoming more personal and hurtful. she's testing and punishing more than she used to. she is growing angrier.

agatha wants to tell rio to fuck off but knows she deserves it. agatha is NOT happy to be in this trial for reasons that go beyond what everyone present (except rio) assumes, but she'll bite the inside of her cheeks until they bleed before she shows any of it

the way he says it with a straight face too (again, NO PUN INTENDED. forgive me joe, I would never)

oh great alice has only thirty minutes to live

everyone looks worried and on their guard, rio has her whole knife out, playing along. agatha is STILL trying to look cool and casual, it's painful to watch. girl is panicking, hard

meanwhile billy is always bringing a whole different energy, he's playing and having fun! think back to the second episode when they met lilia and then jen and alice for the first time. billy had no clue about the tension, the fear and hate between them and agatha. right now he's still more excited than scared. he's about to have a rude awakening.

do not taunt the spirits, AGATHA.

lmaooo. this motherfucker.

another moment when billy sounds chillingly cruel. being jigsaw without realizing it

I'm not pointing it out every time but whenever agatha does this with her arms she's really, really really nervous

what does agatha do when she's scared or overwhelmed? she puts on a show. like clockwork. and rio has already guessed what's about to happen

I really want to continue this so there will be more later today, stay tuned!

go to episode 5 part 3

[chantillyxlacey]

i've seen a lot of takes (i am using the word 'take' absolutely neutrally here; and i'm specifying neutrality bc i have started to see that word as having inherently negative connotations in this context and i have no idea if that's just a Me Problem but i figured specificity couldn't hurt)

okay, that got away from me, let me start again

i've seen a lot of takes about The Damsel that have to do with idealization being another kind of dehumanization and how she's Like She Is because you/TLQ are projecting a fantasy onto her and sanding away any traits that don't fit into that fantasy and rendering her into little more than a vessel for your/TLQ's wish fulfillment

and i don't necessarily think that's *wrong* either-- but i think that's also not the complete picture, and that only looking that that half of the image does kind of tend to paint TLQ in an unfairly bad light

because the thing is, in The Damsel's route, TLQ is ALSO being reduced to an archetype just as much as The Damsel herself is! The Princess becomes the quintessential fairytale fair-maiden-in-distress that exists only to be rescued by a knight-in-shining-armor; and TLQ-- if you allow them to be guided entirely by The Smitten-- becomes that quintessential fairytale knight-in-shining-armor that only exists to rescue the fair-maiden-in-distress

The Damsel says over and over, explicitly, that "I just want to make you happy!" and The Smitten in this route is equally preoccupied with making HER happy-- he even says it directly if you start deconstructing her. every other part of his identity has been subsumed to revolve entirely around her just as much as the reverse is true for her.

(speaking of the Deconstructed Damsel, i've also seen Smitten's reaction to that touted as him not caring about her agency-- but again, i always read that as him being unable to see any flaws in her rather than being pleased with the idea of her being biddable, specifically. if you halt the deconstruction his reaction is "she's ALWAYS been perfect" -- he'd think that no matter what she did or said, because his identity revolves around her the exact way that hers revolves around him/TLQ)

even the actions that lead to HEA fit into this, i think-- i read that moment as less The Smitten lashing out at her because she didn't live up to his fantasy-- it still happens even after she's said "i guess we can stay, if that's what you want"-- she's giving The Smitten what he wants, but he's still distressed because SHE'S not happy

i think it's more The Smitten feeling that HE hadn't lived up to HIS half of their shared fantasy. if she's not happy with the idea of "all we need is each other" then it must be because HE failed somehow. if she needs or wants more than him, it must be because HE is not enough.

if he was just better at playing his part, if he just offered her more, if he was just clearer about his devotion--

"if we just showed her the contents of our heart, she'd be happy"

that's not to say that what The Smitten does in HEA isn't incredibly toxic for both of them-- it definitely is, and it clearly makes both the Princess and TLQ miserable. "everything she doesn't know she wants" is a bad mindset to approach a relationship with, whether that mindset is reached through controlling selfishness or a desperation to appease (and i definitely think Smitten is motivated by the latter-- it's no coincidence that we arrive at HEA through a literal and fatal act of self mutilation)

he's definitely the antagonist of HEA, in that he is what TLQ and the Princess and the player need to overcome, but he's not a VILLAIN (which i think is most clearly illustrated in the moment where the Princess admits she's unhappy, that she's never been happy here, and his reaction is to GIVE UP instead of lash out harder)

i never got the sense that The Smitten was ever putting any blame on The Damsel-- he always considered *himself* to be the problem-- he puppeteers TLQ just as much as he does the Princess, even if we can't hear him while she can, and he asks TLQ/the player through her "isn't this enough? isn't this what you wanted?"

which in and of itself is an unhealthy way to approach a relationship-- blaming oneself for every bit of conflict or lapse in synchronicity is just as harmful as laying all the blame on the other person. there IS no blame-- sometimes people disagree or have conflicting needs or desires, and that's not anybody's "fault" because that's just how people and relationships WORK.

...can you believe i wrote out all of this when my original intention was to lay out an entirely different point about a read on The Damsel/HEA routes that wasn't about relationships at all?

OKAY!

THAT GOT AWAY FROM ME LET ME START AGAIN

so i don't think that looking at The Damsel/HEA through a lens of "what does this say about relationships and expectations and respecting other people's agency" is incorrect-- clearly i have a lot of thoughts about that lens!

but i wanted to offer another one that i haven't seen yet:

The Damsel/HEA route as a commentary on what makes a satisfying narrative

if you play out The Damsel route just single-mindedly taking actions to free her-- it's kinda dull, isn't it? like-- it's not without its charms! The Smitten is silly and entertaining and the Narrator's exaggerated pettiness is very funny! but ultimately, that's about it.

potential sources of conflict are brushed aside-- if you took the blade with you, you just drop it and it gets forgotten; the Damsel's hand slips right out of the manacle with no effort or harm; when the Narrator locks the basement door, every 'choice' you make just magically unlocks it right away. and then you're outside, what you wanted to do from the start. ...so what do we do now?

nothing, actually. the chapter ends, and there is no chapter 3. the game itself continues, but that ending feels about as substantial as the Narrator's "Good Ending" where you follow his instructions without question and accomplish his goal immediately.

if you DON'T take either of the actions that lead to one of Damsel's chapter 3's, there's very little variation in The Damsel's story-- pretty much all of it comes down to slight differences in dialogue. there's no "the princess kills you" outcome. the closest thing to an alternate end to The Damsel is if you deconstruct her-- and even then, it feels like less an "alternate route" and more like-- a cheeky acknowledgement of the lack of substance, because that isn't a bug, it's a feature!

but if you introduce conflict-- either in the more direct sense by slaying The Damsel or in the more interpersonal sense by highlighting a mis-match in her and TLQ's desires-- suddenly the story opens up! there are a bunch of new possibilities and a bunch of new outcomes, and all of them are more interesting than "you achieve your goal with trivial effort, hooray!"

Even if you wind up finishing HEA on a note that is superficially very similar to the easy end of The Damsel's route-- you leave hand in hand with her, the narrator conceding defeat, and the last image of her before TSM takes her is a warm, tender smile-- it FEELS so much more like a genuine happy ending-- even though the Princess' face is still streaked and stained from her tears. BECAUSE of that.

it's one of the most heartwarming moments in the game, and one that has made me misty eyed every time i've seen it, and it's BECAUSE of the conflict you had to go through to get there.

conflict is what drives a compelling narrative, is the takeaway. it precludes PERFECT endings, perhaps, but not happy endings-- it's what makes those imperfect happy endings feel substantial and earned.

even the dinner and the board game contribute to the idea-- the description of the food is some really lovely writing, to the point where i sat through and listened to it all again even though i knew nothing really happens during it-- but *nothing really happens during it*. it doesn't move the narrative forward-- you're just as hungry as you were when you started. it just stalls the story in place, and every time you go through it again it's less satisfying until it's outright unpleasant. the description of the meal also notably gets simpler each time, and less detailed-- there's only so much that you can say about it before you run out of things to describe.

the board game is similar-- the way that it's described the first time you play even sounds like the description of an exciting story! and then the board resets, and you do it all again just the same. and so on. the game/story stops being exciting and the wins or losses stop feeling like they mean anything-- because is conflict really conflict, is a challenge really a challenge, if you're always tracing the same path, always making moves where you already know the outcome? it becomes "a slog towards the end"

and this is how i tie the idea of "what Damsel/HEA has to say about relationships" and "what Damsel/HEA has to say about narratives" together:

ultimately, the statements can be summarized the same way "whether in a narrative or a relationship, 'perfection' is unattainable, but you wouldn't actually want it anyway"

conflict, substance, variety

in a relationship there will always be differences of opinion, differing goals etc-- variety between the members of the relationship, knowing and sharing this substantial and non-superficial information about one another, navigating the resultant conflict-- that's what allows the relationship to grow and deepen, and what allows the people in it to grow as individuals as well.

in a narrative, or in Narratives, as a whole, conflict is what makes things HAPPEN, substance makes them feel like what happens MATTERS, like something is being communicated, variety means that you're learning or considering something new-- and those are what make a narrative capable of impacting a person, of changing them, of being remembered