#side note he is everything i want to be god why are you so cruel

[theetherealbloom]

IF THERE'S NOTHING LEFT - CH.5

Chapter Five: When They Erase Our Names, God Knows That One Thing Remains

Summary: You, a skilled healer, are brought to Rome by Senator Gracchus under the pretense of treating gladiators and Roman elites. You work with General Marcus Acacius to fight against the cruel reign of the twin emperors. Through danger and shared hope, your connection becomes a source of strength as you both dream of freeing Rome.

Paring: General Marcus Acacius x F!Reader

Warnings: 18+ Minors DNI, ANGST, Fluff, SMUT, Age-Gap(ish), Ancient Rome, Canon-Typical Violence, Gladiators, Blood, Gore, Romance, Politics, Alternate Universe, Eventual SMUT, Slavery, Sexism, Misogyny, Guilt, PTSD, Rebellion, Empires, (Very Light) Strangers-to-Enemies-to-Friends-to-Lovers, Crowds, Shouting, Animals, Duels, Loose Historical Fiction, Kissing, Torture, Threats, Fighting, 

Word Count: 6.6k

A/N: I dreaded this chapter for various reasons lol T^T I hope you enjoy!

Side note: I’m dyslexic and English isn’t my first language! So I apologize in advance for the spelling and/or grammatical errors. As always, reblogs, comments, and likes are always appreciated. Thank you and happy reading!

Song: The Rider by Paris Paloma

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IMPERIAL VILLA — NIGHT  

The grand hall of the Imperial Villa was dimly lit, the flicker of torches casting long shadows across the marble walls. The air reeked of incense and the sharp tang of blood, a bitter reminder of the night's brutal events. You stood off to the side, your wrists bound, a bruise blooming across your cheek and a shallow cut stinging on your temple. Beside you, Marcus Acacius knelt, beaten and bloodied but unbroken, his defiant gaze fixed ahead.  

Lucilla, regal even in captivity, was forced to her knees on his other side. Her disheveled hair did nothing to diminish her dignity. 

The Emperors swept into the room, their appearances as disheveled as their tempers. Geta, draped in an elaborate robe hastily thrown over his sleepwear, strode in with practiced authority. Behind him, Caracalla, his tunic barely covering his fury, paced like a caged beast. Macrinus and Thraex lingered in the shadows, smug satisfaction written across their faces.

Geta’s eyes locked onto Marcus with contempt, his voice ringing through the hall like a gavel. “The honor, the dignitas that Rome has bestowed upon you—all this you have forfeited by your treachery. Thanks to the civic virtue of men like Macrinus and Thraex, your insurrection has been revealed.”

Marcus lifted his chin, the blood on his face gleaming in the torchlight. Despite his injuries, his voice carried with unwavering strength. “Please, Emperor Geta, torture me if you want. But do not lecture me.”  

Geta’s lips curled in a sneer. “Your name and deeds will be forgotten, lost to history. You are damned to oblivion.”  

Marcus let out a low, defiant laugh, the sound echoing ominously through the chamber. Geta bristled. “You laugh?!”  

“You damn me?” Marcus growled. “I don’t care. Everything is forgotten in time. Empires fall. So do Emperors.”  

Caracalla, already simmering with rage, exploded. Grabbing a sword from a nearby Praetorian, he stormed forward, his voice a snarl of fury. “Why wait? I’ll gut him right now!”  

Geta rushed to restrain his brother, grabbing his arm as the blade swung wildly, narrowly missing Marcus’s head. “No! No! Calm! Calm! His death must be public.”  

“Public, yes,” Caracalla hissed, his eyes wild. “Hang his entrails from the city gates!” He spun toward you and Lucilla, his gaze venomous. “And them! Crucify them both. Crucify her!” His finger jabbed toward you, his voice breaking into a shriek. “Let them all suffer!”  

For the first time, Marcus’s composure cracked. “Leave her out of this!” he roared, his voice reverberating through the hall.  

Lucilla, too, stepped forward as far as her restraints allowed, her voice cold and commanding. “She is no threat to you. Punish me if you must, but she is innocent.”  

Caracalla’s lip curled. “Innocent? No one in your circle is innocent.”  

Geta held up a hand, signaling for silence. His gaze swept over you, considering, calculating. “No,” he finally said, his voice low but resolute. “Her skills as a healer are of use. She will not die.”  

Caracalla rounded on his brother, his outrage spilling over. “You would show her mercy?”  

Geta sneered, his tone dismissive. “Not mercy. A healer stripped of her riches and status is no better than a servant. She will remain—serving the Empire, tending to our men. Let her be a reminder of what happens to those who think they can defy us.”  

The decision was made. The Praetorians moved to haul you away, their grip bruising. Marcus struggled against them, his voice a thunderous plea. “No! Let her go!”  

You glanced back at him, your heart aching at the anguish in his eyes. “Marcus,” you whispered, your voice soft but steady. “Live. For Rome. For us.”  

His struggles stilled, though the fury in his gaze remained unquenched. “I will come for you,” he vowed, the weight of his words promising blood and fire.  

Lucilla caught your gaze as you were pulled away, her expression unyielding. “Stay alive,” she commanded in a soft whisper. “That is how you win.”  

You didn’t speak again as the guards dragged you out, but the quiet determination burning in your chest was louder than any words you could muster. The fight wasn’t over—not yet.  

UNDERCROFT, COLOSSEUM — MORNING  

The undercroft was cloaked in a heavy stillness, the faint roar of the distant crowd above serving as the only reminder of the chaos awaiting outside. The dim torchlight flickered against the cold stone walls, casting wavering shadows that seemed alive. You worked with quiet determination, dabbing ointment on Lucius’s wounds, though your hands trembled slightly from exhaustion. Sleep had eluded you since the altercation. If Ravi or Lucius noticed the change in your demeanor, they chose to remain silent.  

Ravi was seated nearby, carefully wrapping Lucius’s wrists with the precision of someone accustomed to mending what others sought to break. Lucius, his youthful face etched with weariness, broke the silence first.  

“Today, I woke up dreaming of a dark river,” he murmured, his voice low but steady. “A river I have dreamt of before, but this time, for the first time... I was crossing it.”  

Ravi paused, his hands stilling briefly as he considered Lucius’s words. “Where I come from, crossing a river represents forgiveness and salvation,” he replied softly.  

Lucius let out a faint, humorless chuckle. “Where I come from, it means you’re dead.” His gaze shifted to the middle distance, as if seeing something far beyond the confines of the undercroft. “I believe it means I will die today in the Arena. But—as I saw it, I was not afraid. For there were people on the other side. I was not alone. And my heart felt... open.”  

The weight of his words lingered in the air, but you said nothing, focusing instead on your work. You felt the knot tighten in your chest, the reality of his belief pressing down like a physical force.  

Lucius turned away, his eyes catching on the shrine of gladiators carved into the wall. He moved closer, stopping before a blank spot where a name had been crudely chiseled away. “Who was this man?”  

“Maximus,” Ravi answered, rising to stand beside him. You hesitated before stepping forward, your curiosity drawn toward the name as well.  

“I saw him fight once,” Lucius said, his voice carrying a rare sense of reverence. “It was magnificent.”  

Ravi nodded in agreement. “My time in the Arena was after his, but in whispers, many still spoke of him and what he did.”  

Lucius tilted his head slightly, as if piecing together a memory. “I met him once. He was kind,” he added, his voice softening. “Bowed to no one.”  

Your eyes met Ravi’s, a silent understanding passing between you. You swallowed hard before speaking. “Come with us,” you urged, your voice low but insistent.  

---

UNDERCROFT, CATACOMBS — DAY 

The air grew colder as you descended the narrow staircase, the light of your torch flickering against the damp stone walls. The tunnel was lined with catacombs, their alcoves filled with the remains of fallen gladiators. Most were marked with nothing more than a name etched into the stone—Iduma of Mykonos, Cimon.  

“When a rebel gladiator dies, we are supposed to cremate him and scatter the ashes,” you explained, your voice barely above a whisper. “But we bury them here instead.”  

The crypt opened into a small chamber, dominated by a single phrase chiseled roughly into the stone: What we do in life echoes in eternity.  

Lucius approached the words, his fingers brushing lightly over the inscription as he read aloud, “What we do in life... echoes in eternity.” Beneath the phrase, the name Maximus was etched into the stone.  

Above the crypt, Maximus’s breastplate and sword hung from the wall, the metal dulled by time but no less imposing. Lucius reached up and took the breastplate down, his expression thoughtful. “Scatto,” he whispered. “Argento.”  

You watched him for a moment, your heart heavy with the weight of what lay ahead. Finally, you turned to Ravi, passing him the torch. “I must go before the games begin,” you said, your voice faltering slightly. “I...”  

Ravi gave a solemn nod, his expression steady. “The people will be ready when you call upon them,” he assured you.  

Lucius’s brows knit in confusion, but before he could ask for clarification, you turned and fled, your footsteps echoing in the narrow corridor.  

THE COLOSSEUM — DAY  

You sprinted through the labyrinthine corridors of the Colosseum, your breath ragged, the cold stone walls blurring past you. The distant roar of the crowd reverberated through the halls, each cheer a hammer against your chest.  

At last, your eyes found him—Marcus, striding toward the Arena gates. His armor gleamed faintly under the dim torchlight, but it did little to hide the stiffness in his movements, the weight of his untreated wounds dragging against his formidable will. His commanding presence, though battered, remained intact, his head held high as if he bore the weight of Rome itself.  

“Marcus!” you cried out, your voice slicing through the din, raw with desperation.  

A Praetorian stepped forward, intercepting you with a vice-like grip on your arm. “Stand back!” he barked, his tone as sharp as the gladius at his side.  

“Let me go!” you screamed, thrashing against him. Your gaze locked on Marcus, pleading. “His wounds—they haven’t been treated! You’re sending him to die!”  

Marcus turned sharply at the sound of your voice, his piercing gaze cutting through the distance. The hardness in his expression wavered for a fleeting moment, giving way to something tender. “Release her,” he growled, his tone low but unyielding.  

The Praetorian hesitated, glancing between you and Marcus as if weighing the consequences. When he didn’t relent, you tore your arm free, ignoring the sting of his grip. “If you send him into that Arena like this,” you said, your voice rising with fury, “it will not be a fight—it will be an execution!”  

Marcus took a step closer, his battered frame radiating defiance. His eyes, however, softened as they met yours, and for a moment, the clamor of the world seemed to fade. “You shouldn’t have come,” he murmured, his voice rough, but threaded with something intimate.  

“I couldn’t stay away,” you replied, your voice trembling. “Not when I know what they’re doing to you. Not when I—” You swallowed hard, the words catching in your throat.  

The Arena gates groaned open, and the roar of the crowd surged, deafening. Time seemed to slow as Marcus reached for your hand, his touch brief but searing, grounding you in the moment. “No matter what happens, know this,” he said, his voice steady despite the chaos around you. “You are the light I carry into the darkness. My carissima—my heart has been yours long before this day.”  

Your breath hitched, your vision blurring with unshed tears. “Then fight for me,” you whispered, your voice breaking. “Fight for us.”  

A faint, bittersweet smile ghosted his lips as he released your hand and turned toward the gates. “For you, I will endure anything,” he said, his voice resolute.  

As he stepped forward, the sunlight streaming into the Arena catching on his armor, you stood rooted to the spot, your heart splintering with every step he took. “Marcus!” you called out one last time, the weight of unspoken words heavy on your tongue.  

He paused, glancing back with a look that spoke of endless promises. “Whatever happens, my love will echo into eternity.”  

You watched him disappear into the blinding light of the Arena, the roar of the crowd swallowing him whole. The Master of Ceremonies reads off the official denunciation of the man you love, “For his treason against the lives of the Emperors and the Roman state... an Enemy of the People.”

And in that moment, all you could do was hope—that the fire in his spirit would be enough to carry him back to you.

The clash of swords echoed in your ears, but your focus was entirely on him—on Marcus. The sight of him in the Arena, a whirlwind of strength and precision, sent your heart into a spiral of anguish and awe. He dispatched the four soldiers with ruthless efficiency, sustaining only a superficial scratch. His breath came heavy as he stood amidst the carnage, blood staining the sand beneath his feet.  

You tore your gaze away to look above, where Lucilla sat in the royal box, her wrists bound in chains. Her face, streaked with tears, mirrored the grief clawing at your own chest.  

When Marcus’ eyes found yours, the rest of the Colosseum seemed to vanish. Though his body bore the scars of countless battles, it was his gaze that struck you deepest. His eyes burned with a fire that had kept him alive through horrors unimaginable, yet they softened when they landed on you.  

Your heart twisted painfully. Yes, he wore the scent of blood and death like a warrior’s perfume, his every move a testament to his survival. But you loved him regardless, perhaps even because of it. He was a star burning with the light of a thousand suns, and your world was an endless abyss without him.  

The Master of Ceremonies stepped forward, his voice booming over the crowd. “From the vanquished city of Numidia, the victor of two contests in the Colosseum—the barbarian Hanno!”  

The south gate creaked open, and from the shadows stepped Lucius. Your breath caught in your throat. Fear consumed you, gnawing at your resolve. This was no ordinary opponent; this was Lucilla’s son. Lucius, whom you had come to know, to care for as a friend. And now, fate had pitted him against the man you loved.  

Marcus straightened, his sword glinting in the harsh sunlight. Lucius raised his weapon, his youthful face a mask of determination, and charged.  

The clash of their swords reverberated through the Arena, each strike heavier than the last. Marcus splintered Lucius’ wooden shield with a single swing, sending fragments scattering. Without hesitation, Lucius threw himself back into the fray, weapon raised high. The flat of his blade caught Marcus broadside, forcing him to stagger.  

Your nails dug into your palms as you watched the brutal dance unfold. Marcus managed to disarm Lucius, knocking him to the ground. But when the final blow could have come, Marcus hesitated. He stepped back, raising his hand to the crowd, then dropped to his knees in the sand.  

“Acacius has raised his hand!” the Master of Ceremonies declared. “He has surrendered!”  

A stunned silence fell over the crowd. Tears streamed down your face, unchecked, as you whispered, “No…”  

The silence broke with a roar. “Let the gods decide!” the Master of Ceremonies proclaimed.  

Your stomach churned as Geta stood in the royal box, his hand lifted to the sky. Time slowed as he brought it down—thumb turned irrevocably down.  

“No!” you screamed, though your voice was drowned by the crowd’s cheers.  

Lucius rose, sword in hand, and approached Marcus. The words exchanged between them were faint, but you strained to hear. Marcus spoke with quiet conviction, his voice steady even in the face of death. “Do what you must. On my death, you must know… I love her—the healer, my carissima. Your mother was my friend. Your father, my brother in arms. I would have died for him.”  

Something shifted in Lucius’ stance. He faltered, his sword lowering. And then, to the shock of all, he dropped it to the sand. Slowly, he knelt beside Marcus, defying the will of the Emperor.  

Rage flared in your chest, consuming the fear that had gripped you. It was raw and primal, burning away hesitation. You darted toward a weapons rack near the Arena’s edge, your fingers trembling as you grabbed an arrow. Wrapping its head in cloth soaked with pitch, you moved swiftly to the north gate.  

The guards were too distracted by the unfolding scene to stop you. Lighting the arrow on a nearby torch, you notched it and drew the bowstring back, your muscles taut with purpose. The flames licked at the arrow as you aimed high and let it fly.  

It struck true, igniting a banner in the royal box. Flames spread rapidly, drawing screams from the crowd. You let out a sharp whistle, piercing through the chaos—the signal.  

In an instant, chaos erupted. Some of the Praetorian archers turned on their comrades, loosing arrows in calculated rebellion. Screams and confusion engulfed the Colosseum as you sprinted toward the center of the Arena.  

“Marcus!” you shouted, dodging arrows as you reached him and Lucius.  

His head snapped toward you, his expression a mix of fury and desperation. “What are you doing? You’ll get yourself killed!”  

“I’m not leaving you!” you shouted back, grabbing his arm.  

The three of you ran for the undercroft, but not before an arrow struck Marcus in the arm. His cry of pain sent a fresh wave of terror through you, but you didn’t stop.  

Ravi appeared at the entrance to the undercroft, his face streaked with soot and pale with fear, but his resolve unwavering. “This way!” he called, rushing forward to take Marcus’ other arm and hoist it over his shoulder. Marcus groaned, his weight pressing heavily against both of you, though his eyes still burned with determination despite the pain.

“Keep moving,” Ravi urged, his voice tight with urgency.  

Lucius, breathing hard but steady, halted suddenly. “I will stay,” he said, his voice firm, though his expression betrayed the conflict within.  

“Lucius, no,” you protested, your voice catching as you turned to him.  

“I must,” he said, shaking his head. His eyes were filled with a mix of fear and fierce loyalty. “For my mother. For Lucilla. I can’t abandon her to them.”  

You hesitated, your chest tightening. “Lucius…”  

He stepped forward, his hand resting briefly on your shoulder. “You have a chance to make this right,” he said, his voice softer now, almost imploring. “Go. Protect him. Do what I cannot.”  

Marcus stirred at Lucius’ words, his head lifting weakly. “Lucius,” he rasped, his voice laden with respect and sorrow. “You’re braver than I could ever hope to be.”  

Lucius gave a small, sad smile. “No, General. I’ve only learned from the best.”  

Your throat tightened as you searched for words, but none came. Instead, you nodded, a silent promise passing between you.  

“Go,” Lucius said, his voice more urgent now as the distant sound of Praetorian guards grew closer. “I will buy us the time we need.”  

Your heart clenched as you watched him turn back toward the chaos above, his sword in hand, shoulders squared against the impossible odds.  

“I’ll see you again,” you called after him, your voice trembling.  

He didn’t look back, but his voice carried through the shadows. “I’ll hold you to that.”  

Ravi tugged on Marcus, breaking you from your frozen stance. “We have to move!”  

You spared one last glance at the chaos above—the flames licking at the banners, the rebellion erupting like a storm, the empire trembling on the brink of collapse. Lucius stood at the edge of it all, a lone figure against the inferno.  

Then you turned and disappeared into the shadows, Marcus’ weight heavy against your side but his presence anchoring you. Each step was a vow—to see this through, for Marcus, for Lucius, for Lucilla, and for the fragile hope of a future you still dared to dream of.  

HIDDEN COTTAGE, OUTSKIRTS OF ROME — EVENING

The hidden cottage was small, nestled among the thick trees on the outskirts of Rome. Its weathered walls, cloaked in ivy, offered a fleeting sense of safety as you dismounted your horse, your legs trembling beneath you. Marcus slumped in the saddle, pale and shivering, his strength all but drained. Ravi rushed to help, catching him before he toppled to the ground.  

“Inside, quickly,” you urged, your voice shaking as you flung open the door. The cottage was sparsely furnished—a rough-hewn table, a single cot, and a fireplace where embers still smoldered from whoever had left it behind.  

Ravi and you eased Marcus onto the cot, his armor clinking as it hit the wood. He let out a low groan, his hand gripping yours tightly as his head lolled back.  

“Marcus,” you whispered, brushing sweat-soaked hair from his forehead. His eyes fluttered open, glassy and unfocused.  

“I’m fine,” he rasped, though the deep crimson staining his tunic said otherwise.  

“No, you’re not,” you said firmly, your voice steady despite the storm raging in your chest. “Ravi, get the water boiling. We need to clean these wounds.”  

Ravi nodded, already moving to the fireplace. You quickly removed his armor and tore at Marcus’s tunic, exposing the angry gash on his shoulder where the arrow had struck. Blood seeped sluggishly from the wound, a stark reminder of how close you’d come to losing him.  

“This will hurt,” you murmured, your fingers trembling as you pressed a cloth to the wound.  

“Hurts less,” Marcus said, his lips twitching in a faint smile, “when you’re the one tending to it.”  

“Save your charm for when you’re not bleeding to death,” you replied, though your voice softened, betraying your worry.  

As you worked, Marcus’s breathing grew shallower. His hand found yours again, squeezing weakly. “You’re trembling,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper.  

“So are you,” you shot back, though your resolve wavered as his thumb brushed over your knuckles.  

“Carissima,” he murmured, the term of endearment slipping from his lips like a prayer. “I need you to listen.”  

“Marcus, stop,” you said, blinking back tears. “Save your strength.”  

He shook his head, his dark eyes locking onto yours with startling clarity despite the fever setting in. “Listen to me. There’s something I need you to do.”  

Ravi returned with a steaming basin of water, and you began cleaning the wound with swift, efficient movements. Marcus flinched but didn’t pull away.  

“You’re going to ride to Ostia,” he said, his voice hoarse but resolute. “You will find General Darius Sextus. Tell him to bring the army. It’s the only way we overthrow those bastards on the throne.”  

“I’m not leaving you,” you said, your tone sharp as you dabbed at the wound. “You’ll bleed out if I’m not here.”  

“You’ll come back,” he said, his lips curving into the faintest smile. “I know you will.”  

“Marcus, stop talking like this,” you snapped, the lump in your throat threatening to choke you. “You’re not going to die.”  

He reached into the pouch at his belt, fumbling until his fingers closed around something. When he pulled it free, your breath caught. It was his simple signet ring, battered with age but unmistakably precious.  

He pressed it into your hand, his fingers curling over yours. “Take this,” he said, his voice trembling now. “When you return, I want to see it on your finger.”  

“Marcus…” Your voice broke, tears spilling down your cheeks despite your best efforts to hold them back.  

“You’ll be my wife,” he continued, his delirium softening his usual commanding tone. “You already are in my heart. Always have been.”  

Your hands shook as you clutched the ring, the weight of his words pressing into your chest. “You’re feverish,” you said, trying to deflect the overwhelming wave of emotion. “You don’t know what you’re saying.”  

“I’ve never been more certain,” he murmured, his eyes searching yours. “You’re the reason I fight. The reason I live.”  

Ravi placed a steadying hand on your shoulder, his voice quiet. “We need to cauterize the wound, or we’ll lose him.”  

You nodded, swallowing your tears as you set the ring aside, your fingers brushing Marcus’s cheek one last time. “Stay with me,” you whispered, your voice fierce despite the crack threatening to break it. “Stay, Marcus.”  

He gave a weak nod, his hand tightening briefly around yours. “For you, carissima, always.”  

The fire roared as Ravi prepared the blade. You took Marcus’s hand again, anchoring him as he drifted between consciousness and oblivion. The pain would be unbearable, but so was the thought of a world without him.  

As you pressed the heated metal to his wound, his scream tore through the room, and your heart shattered. But you didn’t let go. You never would.  

HIDDEN COTTAGE, OUTSKIRTS OF ROME — MIDNIGHT

The crackling of the fire filled the silence of the room as shadows danced across the walls. You sat on a worn wooden stool, staring into the flames while absentmindedly twirling Marcus’ signet ring on your finger. The weight of it felt both grounding and unbearable—a constant reminder of him, of the fragile hope that lingered between life and death.

The sound of the door creaking open startled you, and you rose quickly, your heart in your throat. Ravi stepped inside, his arms laden with bundles of potions, food, and water. His face was streaked with dirt and exhaustion, but his resolve remained unbroken.  

“I carried what I could,” he said, his voice quiet but steady.  

You gave him a small, grateful nod. “Thank you, Ravi.”  

Together, you began unpacking the supplies, arranging them on the shelves in hurried efficiency. The weight of the night pressed down on both of you, heavy and suffocating.  

As he placed a jar of salve on the counter, Ravi broke the silence. “The streets are in chaos. Masses of people rioting, chanting for the emperors’ heads. It’s madness out there.”  

You paused, the weight of his words sinking into your chest. “And Lucius? Lucilla?” you asked, though you feared the answer.  

Ravi hesitated, his face grim. “I’ve heard talk… They plan to execute her tomorrow, along with several senators, including Gracchus.”  

Your heart clenched, and tears slipped down your face before you could stop them. The thought of Lucilla—brave, steadfast Lucilla—facing such a fate made your chest ache with helplessness.  

Ravi turned to you, his voice gentler now. “I know the fear inside you,” he said, his eyes steady on yours. “But let hope live beneath the doubt. You must ride to Ostia. Gather the army. I’ll stay here and watch over Acacius.”  

Your hands trembled as you gripped the edge of the table. The coolness of the ring on your finger seemed to burn against your skin, its presence a bittersweet comfort. “You have to keep him alive,” you whispered, your voice breaking. “I beg you, Ravi. Keep him alive.”  

Ravi placed a reassuring hand on your shoulder, his gaze resolute. “I will. I swear it.”  

You moved quietly into the small room where Marcus lay, his large frame stretched across the narrow cot. His brow was furrowed even in sleep, and the faintest groan escaped his lips as he shifted. You knelt beside him, your heart tightening at the sight of him so vulnerable, so worn.  

Carefully, you brushed a stray lock of his salt-and-pepper curls from his forehead, your fingers lingering against his warm skin. He leaned into your touch unconsciously, his expression softening, and the faintest flicker of peace graced his face.  

“I love you,” you whispered, your voice trembling. The words felt like a prayer, a promise, and a plea all at once.  

Tearing yourself away from him felt like ripping your heart from your chest. Your knees threatened to give out, but you steadied yourself, reminding yourself of the task ahead. For Marcus, for Lucius, for Lucilla, for Rome—you had to be strong.  

You stepped outside, the crisp night air biting against your skin. Pulling your hood over your head, you turned to Ravi, who stood waiting with your horse. He handed you the reins with a solemn nod.  

“Heo is se wind. You’re the wind,” Ravi said softly, almost as if speaking to himself. “The wind that will carry them home.”  

You met his gaze, your throat tight with unspoken gratitude, and mounted your horse. With a final nod to Ravi, you dug your heels into the stirrups and rode into the darkness.  

The cold air whipped against your face as the cottage disappeared behind you, the quiet night broken only by the sound of your horse’s hooves pounding against the earth. The road ahead was long and uncertain, but your heart burned with a single, unrelenting purpose: to save Marcus, to save Rome, and to see the light of hope once more.  

—--------------

OSTIA — DAWN  

The first light of dawn kissed the horizon, streaking the sky in hues of gold and crimson. The Roman camp at Ostia stirred with life as soldiers prepared for the day, their voices carrying through the crisp morning air. You rode into the camp at a gallop, your horse’s hooves pounding against the earth, kicking up dust in your wake.  

“Stop!” a centurion bellowed as you neared the heart of the camp. Others joined in, shouting commands to halt, but you paid them no mind. Your determination was unshakable.  

You dismounted swiftly, your legs unsteady after the relentless ride. The horse whinnied, tethered hastily to a nearby post. Two centurions moved to intercept you, their hands outstretched to block your path.  

“Out of the way!” you snapped, your voice sharp with urgency. When one of them grabbed your arm, you shoved him aside, yanking your hood back to reveal your face. They froze, their expressions flickering between surprise and confusion. A woman, unarmored, and yet, you carried yourself with a ferocity that made them hesitate.  

You stormed through the rows of tents, your breath coming in shallow gasps, until you reached the largest one—adorned with the banners of Darius Sextus, the legate commanding the army at Ostia. Two guards stationed outside moved to block your way.  

“Identify yourself!” one barked, his hand on the hilt of his gladius.  

Your eyes burned with the fire of purpose as you held up your hand, revealing the signet ring gleaming in the early light. “This is my identification,” you said fiercely, brushing past them before they could respond.  

Inside the tent, Darius Sextus sat at a makeshift table, a half-eaten loaf of bread in one hand and a goblet of wine in the other. He looked up at you with mild irritation, his brow furrowing at the sight of an unannounced visitor.  

Before he could demand an explanation, you strode forward, your breath still labored, and thrust the ring onto the table. The sound of metal striking wood reverberated through the space.  

His gaze dropped to the ring, and the moment recognition dawned in his eyes, he stiffened. “Who gave you this?” he demanded, rising to his feet.  

You straightened, despite the ache in your legs and the sweat dripping down your temples. “Marcus Justus Acacius,” you replied, your voice steady despite your exhaustion. “My husband.”  

Darius blinked, his surprise evident, but you pressed on before he could question further. “My friend Lucius Verus Aurelius Maximus, the prince of Rome, and his mother, Lucilla, are in grave danger. They need your help.”  

Darius stared at you, his expression unreadable. Finally, he gestured to the ring. “This is proof of Acacius’ command. And yet, you claim he sent you as his... wife?”  

Your jaw tightened, your hands balling into fists at your sides. “He entrusted this to me because he knows the danger we face. Rome is falling, and you, Legate, have the power to stop it. Marcus fights for a better Rome, not for glory or power, but for the people. If you care for your city, for your honor, you’ll listen.”  

For a moment, silence stretched between you. Then, Darius stepped closer, his voice quieter but no less firm. “If Acacius sent you, where is he now?”  

Your heart clenched at the memory of Marcus lying pale and wounded in the hidden cottage. “He is injured,” you admitted, your voice breaking slightly. “But alive. And he fights still, in spirit, even as his body recovers. He would be here himself if he could.”  

Darius studied you for a long moment, his sharp eyes assessing. Finally, he nodded. “You have his courage,” he said, a flicker of respect softening his tone. “I will call the banners and ride for Rome. But understand this, woman—if you are lying, it will cost you your life.”  

You lifted your chin, defiance burning in your gaze. “I do not fear death. But you should fear the wrath of a man who loves Rome enough to sacrifice everything for her. Marcus Acacius does not choose his allies lightly.”  

Darius gave a curt nod, already turning to issue orders to his men. The tent erupted into activity as soldiers prepared to march. You stepped back into the dawn, your heart heavy with the weight of what lay ahead but emboldened by the hope flickering in the distance.  

You clutched the ring on your finger, its presence grounding you. "Wait for me, Marcus," you whispered under your breath as the camp burst into motion. "I will see this through."  

VIA SACRA, RIVERBANK — DAY  

The air was thick with tension, the distant outline of Rome rising like a specter against the horizon. The sound of hooves pounding the ground was relentless, a rhythm of war and desperation. You rode at the front of Acacius’s army, the wind whipping your cloak as your horse surged forward. Around you, the soldiers moved as one, their determination palpable.  

Beside you, General Darius Sextus rode with a stoic expression, his gaze fixed on the gates of Rome. Your own heart thundered in your chest, not from the exertion, but from the knowledge of what lay ahead. Somewhere beyond those gates was Marcus, his life tied to the fate of this city, and you would see it through—if only for him.  

As you neared the gates, movement drew your attention. Macrinus, a dark figure astride his horse, galloped toward the advancing army. His presence was a challenge, a taunt, his defiance cutting through the rising tension.  

You reined in your horse, watching as Macrinus paused, his sharp gaze darting between the approaching forces. General Tegula, standing at the head of the praetorian line, gestured for Macrinus to act. But before he could, another rider tore across the field—a blur of motion and purpose.  

Lucius Verus Aurelius.  

You drew in a sharp breath, your hands tightening on the reins as Macrinus's voice rang out.  

“Will nothing kill this barbarian?” he shouted, his tone biting, his words aimed at Lucius.  

The two men faced each other, their animosity tangible even from a distance.  

“My name is Lucius Verus Aurelius,” Lucius declared, his voice steady and commanding. His words carried to the men at the front of the praetorian army, the hint of intrigue flickering in General Tegula’s expression. The soldiers began to falter, their loyalty visibly wavering.  

Macrinus sneered, his voice laced with contempt. “A man does not become Emperor by bloodline alone. It must be taken by force and kept by force. Are you such a man as this?”  

Lucius sat tall on his horse, the morning sun catching the golden trim of his armor. “I don’t fight for power,” he said, his voice resolute. “I fight to free Rome from men like you and return it to them.” He gestured to the soldiers and people around him, his meaning clear.  

Your chest swelled with a mix of hope and trepidation as you glanced at Darius, whose expression remained unreadable.  

For the first time, doubt flickered in Macrinus’s eyes, his bravado cracking. “The gods themselves want Rome reborn. They sent me to fulfill that task,” he declared, though his voice lacked its earlier conviction.  

“And what if your gods sent me here to kill you?” Lucius countered, his voice deep and unyielding. “It’s time to end this, Macrinus.”  

Without another word, Lucius drew his sword, spurring his horse into a charge. You barely had time to catch your breath as the two men clashed, the force of their collision sending Macrinus and his horse tumbling.  

Your gaze followed the battle, each strike and parry a brutal testament to their will. The armies on either side stood silent, watching as Lucius and Macrinus fought beneath the Arch. Darius’s men halted, their discipline holding firm, while the praetorians hesitated, their loyalty unraveling.  

Lucius’s movements were fierce and unrelenting, but Macrinus fought like a cornered beast. The clash carried them off the road and toward the riverbank, the muddy slope making each step precarious.  

You leaned forward in your saddle, your breath caught as Lucius slipped, his body vanishing beneath the filthy water. Macrinus pounced, his blade flashing as he drove it downward, but Lucius erupted from the river with a rock in hand, smashing it against Macrinus’s head.  

The fight turned savage. Each strike from Lucius was fueled by purpose, his blows braining Macrinus until the man reeled, blinded by blood. You winced as Lucius swung his sword with surgical precision, severing Macrinus’s arm and then cutting deep into his abdomen.  

Macrinus crumpled, his remaining strength spent as he slumped into the river, his body drifting away in the current. Lucius stood motionless for a moment, his chest heaving as he stared after his fallen enemy.  

When he turned back, his bloodied form ascended the muddy slope, stepping into the silence that had overtaken the battlefield. Under the Arch, between two armies, Lucius paused, his gaze sweeping across the faces of the men and women who watched him.  

He threw down his sword, the sound of it hitting the ground a final punctuation to the violence. His voice, ragged but clear, carried across the field.  

“You look to me to speak,” he began, his tone solemn. “I know not what to say other than we have all known too much death. Let no more blood be spilt in the name of tyranny.”  

You swallowed hard, your chest tight as his words struck a chord.  

“My grandfather, Marcus Aurelius, dreamed of a Rome that would be a city for the many, a home for those in need—a republic. That dream has been lost.” He looked at the soldiers on either side of him, his expression weary yet determined. “But dare we rebuild that dream together. What say you?”  

For a long moment, the battlefield held its breath, a fragile stillness settling over the chaos. Lucius stood at its heart, bloodied yet unyielding, like a lone pillar in a storm-ravaged temple. His chest rose and fell with the weight of his words, his armor bearing the scars of battle, but his gaze remained steady, unbroken—a light that refused to be extinguished.  

Your eyes met his, just for a fleeting second, and in that shared glance was an unspoken vow, a thread of hope tethered to the impossible. As you turned your gaze back to Lucius, he stood as a reflection of what Rome could become: bruised but not beyond redemption.  

In that moment, a fragile ember of belief sparked within you. Hope, tenuous and flickering, wove itself into your thoughts. You closed your eyes briefly, your heart murmuring a silent prayer—for Marcus, for his dream of a better Rome, and for the chance to stand beside him when it was finally brought to life.

[tunababyyyy]

i've always thought jonathan bailey should play jonathan harker in a deeply homoerotic seven episode shot on film limited series dracula adaptation and now that i've seen him be the worlds most tragically beautiful catholic subby power bottom in fellow travelers i am only further vindicated in this notion. he was born to be that tormented real estate agent im telling you

[the-fiction-witch]

My King

Media - House Of The Dragon Character - Aegon Targaryen Couple - Aegon X Reader Reader - Y/n Targaryen (Aegons Wife) Rating - Sweet + Smut Word Count - 1330

Requested - I submitted a request/idea like this to another writer but I will not keep this like head canon idea type thing to myself........ Aegon is 100% the type to love his girl breastfeeding him... him being all stressed and angry or sad from the council not listening to him and Alicent being cruel and everything and he just wants to lay his head in her lap and latch his mouth onto her nipple and drink in her sweet milk... it makes him feel at peace... makes him feel wanted and loved and special

Writers Notes - I actually loved this idea so much I made two versions of it, cause I couldn't decide which angle I liked better so this is Version one a second will be coming soon.

Y/n sat in the royal chambers, perched softly on the ottoman beside the fire. Wearing her sweet soft green cotton gown with long off-shoulder sleeves. The twilight of the hour cascades purple and gold across the floor and tapestry-lined walls. Maids and guards long since sent away leaving only gentle sounds behind, The sound of the fire's soft crackles and pops, the sounds of gentle sucking, and of sweet heavenly humming.

Y/n hums softly to the baby in her arms, his little body cradled so sweetly and gently as the new prince feeds from his mother's breast.

“There we are, all done my little prince,” She cooed as she pulled the baby from her breast, wiped his lips, kissed his forehead and stroked her fingers softly over his Targaryen silver hair, She chuckled slightly at the baby's milk drunk little face, eyes droopy and sleepy.

“Fuck those cunts!” Erupted from the door as Aegon forced his way into the chamber throwing open the doors, letting them smack into the stone walls to their sides. He turned and slammed the doors in the faces of the guards who followed him, screaming to the ceiling like his own dragon,

Y/n, blinked a few times before she set the baby in the crib, “Is… everything alright my king?” She cooed,

He ran his hand through his silver hair and took a breath, “I wish to burn this infernal castle to the ground.”

“I see.” She nodded, “May I ask why?”

“Everything is why!” He yelled, “My mother is being a pretentious little bitch! Gives me all the power in the world and then forbids me to do anything! My brother is being a self-initiated little prick! Anyone think he thought he was king! This council constantly going round and round in bloody circles! Undermining My AUTHORITY!” He paced,

“I understand Aegon,” She nodded,

“W-what?” He froze up a moment,

“I understand, that must be very hard. Very conflicting emotionally and politically. I’m sorry you have to feel this way,” She cooed,

He scoffed a moment, “How is it… that you are… as angelic as you are?” he leaned his arms on the back of the chair, “You know just what I need.”

“Years of practice,” She chuckled,

He let a laugh slip, “I was expecting you to tell me how foolish I am, for feeling this way.”

“You are not foolish for feeling this way, your feelings are never foolish.” she affirmed, “It is a complicated time, but you have every right to feel disheartened and upset as everyone else does.”

“You’re too sweet. For a man like me.”

“Perhaps that's why you need me,”

“Perhaps it is,” He chuckled finally his eyes meeting his wife, He smiled at her a moment letting out a rather happy and content sigh, but his eyes flicked down to her bare breast and his teeth caught his bottom lip,

“Ohh! Forgive me, my king, I was feeding the prince.” She blushed pulling her dress back up and tying the small ribbon,

“You have no need to apologise Y/n,” He cooed, “How is he? Baby Baelor?” he asked coming to the crib to loom over his son,

“He’s fine, sleeping well.”

“Thank the gods,” He nodded, “And you?”

“I am very well my king,”

He chuckled and sat down in the chair beside her ottoman, “You have no need to still call me that,”

“I know, I just like to,” she smiled,

“You are far too sweet, for me, for Kings Landing … for Westeros,” He said pressing his forehead to hers and caressing her cheek, “Must you love me so strongly?”

“I must,” She nodded,

“Hum…” He smiled rubbing his thumb on her cheek before softly pressing his lips to capture her own,

The two shared a soft and loving kiss for a few moments before he pulled back,

“Is there anything I can do to make you feel better?” she asked,

His eyes trailed down from her lips, down her neck and lingered on her cleavage, he licked his lip and captured it once more in his teeth, “Mhm,” He growled,

Y/n blushed a moment, “Yes my king,” she nodded moving her hands to unlace the top of her dress tugging the dress down and holding it at her waist exposing both of her bare breasts to him,

He smirked a low growl in his throat as he took his time, looking at her. His eyes trail over every single inch of skin with a look of feist desire. After a while, he moves his hands to stroke her skin running his fingers gently across her, “what happened here?” He asked his thumb briefly brushing over the small mark on her tender breast just above her nipple,

“He bit me.”

“Bit you?” He rasied an eyebrow,

“It’s alright little guy just doesn’t know his strength yet,”

“You poor thing,” he cooed, “It’s a crime to bite something so beautiful,” He cooed fully cupping her breasts in his hands his thumbs softly circling her nipples watching with glee as they perked up and hardened for his attention, He gives her a few tender squeezes before his attention fully moves to her nipples brushing his thumbs over them in little clockwise circles around the pointed peak, only so often brushing the peak itself which always made her whimper, “May I, my queen?”

She blushed, “Of course my king,”

He smiled and moved to kneel on the floor his body between her legs, he laid his head softly on her thigh looking up at her with a joyful smile,

She smiled down at him and stroked his silver hair as he began to pepper her breast with kisses,

He made sure to kiss as much as he could before reaching her nipple, he slowly circled the hard peak with his tongue before lapping at the nipple with the side flat edge of his tounge, forcing a giggle from her, “So sensitive Y/n,” He cooed,

“Well they’ve been working hard feeding you both,” She chuckled,

“True,” He smirked, “Come here my angel,” He cooed taking her other breast in his hand and locking his lips around her nipple latching to it, he circled the nipple with his tounge a few more times before he began to gently and softly suckle,

“There we go, does this please you my king?” She cooed as she stroked his hair,

He nodded as he began to gently drink, making sure not to be too hard or too fast on her tender breast as he slowly suckled and drank her milk, as soon as the milk touched his tongue he began to moan and groan his eyes rolling back before squeezing shut completely, his other hand squeezes and rubs her nipple on the other breast while he enjoys her sweet milk.

“Not too much, or there’ll be none left for Baby Baelon,” She chuckled,

“Hummm” He nodded a little dismissively enjoying himself far too much to stop,

She chuckled and rolled her eyes a little petting his silver hair and caressing his cheek as she held him in her lap letting him drink and play for a good while until finally, he pulled back.

Ageon licked her nipple clean and wiped his mouth, “You make me feel… so peaceful my angel,”

“I’m glad I can, I’m just happy you feel better.”

“I feel much better now,” he cooed nuzzling into her lap, “I love you y/n,”

“I love you too Aegon,” She smiled giving his cheek a soft little kiss, 

[moonrisecoeur]

adoration — leon kennedy

author’s note: this is absolutely disgustingly horrifically soft. not my usual content but i hope you like it! also to anyone who doesn’t follow me i don’t usually write sub!reader so please don’t request it!

wc: 2.3k

content: leon x reader, fem!reader, not really sub or dom tho i guess it leans more towards dom!leon but it’s super soft, so many pet names, lots of praise, lots of compliments, possessiveness, leon’s down bad but we already knew that, work stress, a little bit of reader being insecure about her looks, riding, unwrapped p in v sex, boyfie leon !!

—

“there you are,” his voice is gentle just like him. he smiles as he embraces you in a sweet hug, wondering why the universe was so cruel as to pull you away from him for so long every single day. he wishes he could stay right next you, arms wrapped around you, head resting against yours, never letting you go.

he’s only a little possessive, in a cute way rather than a unnerving way. he just likes being with you too much to ever be content when you’re not around.

the best part, in his opinion, is how you hold him back. arms around his waist, mumbling to yourself more so than leon about how much you miss his hugs, “awh, it’s okay, honey. know you missed me,” he teases, and it’s so blatant that out of the two of you, he’s the one who’s down bad, absolutely gone. he’s lucky that you’re not super greedy because he would give you anything you asked for.

your face nuzzled into the crook of his neck is more than enough to make him adore you for the rest of eternity. he reaches a hand up to your face, and watching your head tilt up to sweetly meet his gaze has to be the most deadly thing you’ve ever done. he feels physically giddy as you look at him curiously, wondering if he has someone to say as his fingers caress your cheek and jawline. soft skin beneath his rough fingers. he adores you. endlessly.

“so pretty…” he mumbles, sweet nothings murmuring their way past his lips as his hands cup your cheeks so he can hold you and look at you head on, blue eyes taking in every feature on your sweet face. he can’t help but love it all. he loves your face, he would stare at you for hours if you wouldn’t think it’s weird. he breathes in, inhaling your scent, so recognizable it’s comforting, “my pretty girl, mine all mine.”

you sigh comfortably, melting into him and his touch. it’s alright; he’s got you. he always does.

he leans to press a kiss to your forehead, “all mine..” he whispers again, like he’s reassuring himself, “want you all to myself. hate it when you’re gone.”

you giggle, a little bit breathless. he can tell his own effect on you and it strokes his ego wildly. he knows you secretly love his more possessive side, enjoying that he can’t even be bothered to look at another woman without being reminded about how much he loves and adores you. you’re his baby! he couldn’t ever want someone else!

“can i have you all to myself?” he asks, lips trailing down to your ear.

“mhm,” you hum, nodding your head cutely, and he can’t help the way he absolutely crumbles. god he’s really losing it, you’re absolutely everything to him. you’re too precious for him to ever let go.

“i love you,” he whispers as he kiss your jaw, your face still cradled in his hands like you’re too fragile for him to ever let you go.

“i love you too,” you whisper back. that’s all he’d ever need from you: your love. he could want a million things, but this moment tells him the truth. he’s yours. completely, and helplessly yours.

one hand still steady on holding your face, smiling as you lean more into his touch, his other hand dips back down, over your waist and hips and between your thighs in a way that aches so pleasantly. it’s impossible to tell when exactly you got so wet from this completely normal interaction but he notices too and he’s already too confident. it’ll go to his head at this point. oh well. you’d get back at him another time to bring him back down to earth.

“oh, pretty girl, i can tell my words are affecting you…” he says softly. he says it like it’s a question but he already knows the answer, “but…. if you need something, you can tell me.”

his voice is the only thing you can sensibly hear right now, everything else drowned out with his strong arms holding you close. the way you pout makes his heart race because god you are so adorable that it kills him.

“baby, if you need me to do something, you gotta let me know. i’m not a mind reader,” his voice, thick and syrupy, seeps into your skin and drives you mad with a need to be his. in all ways humanly possible.

and for him to be yours too. you know that this is all an act, that every moment so far in this interaction has been real but with an undertone that you both can easily sense. you control leon in all the ways that matter. you mold him into exactly what you want, and he contorts himself willingly because he wants to be everything you want and need in a man. he’s yours just as much, if not infinitely more, as you’re his.

“can you praise me..?” you whisper, soft and timid. even if you’re not normally the shy type, it all seems to come crumbling down when leon holds you close.

“that’s my girl,” he smiles. sure, he could tease you more, especially with how nonspecific your request was. but you’re desperate and he’s too soft on you to make you wait any longer, “pretty and sweet and all mine.”

even as you huff, muttering something trying to push back against his words. i’m not actually that pretty, or something like that, leon’s shaking his head, in disbelief that a being as ethereal as his lover could ever, even for a moment, believe themselves to be unattractive.

but this isn’t the moment. he can tell you don’t want a lecture on self love or positive self talk right now. it wouldn’t do any good to tell you that he thinks you’re beautiful if you wouldn’t believe it, so he just does as you ask like the obedient boyfriend he is. he’ll tackle that beast another time.

“my pretty girl, my good girl…” he whispers, hands cradling your head against his chest, fingers tendering brushing against your skin as you close your eyes and just let leon speak to you. he’s never been good with words until he fell in love with you, “so proud of you, sweetheart. you worked so hard, even with everything you got going on. my baby’s so strong, isn’t she?”

you nod even as he holds you, maybe just a little too emotional to respond any other way.

“but you don’t always gotta be strong, you can let your walls down when it’s just me, baby. i promise i’ll take care of you,” he whispers, lips pressed against your forehead again. and once he thinks he’s buttered you up enough, he mumbles something like, “tell me what’s bugging you, princess.”

“i… i don’t wanna go to work anymore…” you mumble against his shirt, and he’s looking at you like you’re the cutest thing in the world, “i hate working. just wanna be with you.”

he laughs heartily, and you can feel the vibrations against his chest. his presence just entices comfort, one of his hands resting atop your head, “i know, baby. i wanna be with you always too,” he says.

“it’s not fair..”

he pouts when you pout, the world just had to be so unfair, “i know it’s not. if it were up to me, you’d never work a day in your life, but… you know, unfortunately i’m not that rich.”

you chuckle, and he’s relieved he at least got that out of you.

he can’t help getting distracted, “god you’re so fucking pretty,” he mumbles, hands dropping down to your waist, holding you close like he’s preparing to never let go, “so beautiful, baby. and you’re so perfect,” he tilts his head to look at you, making dangerous eye contact again, face just inches apart, “you’re so… lovely. i could stay here with you forever.”

you smile softly and it lights up the room and his entire life. you hold him close like you never want to let him go, and he feels pretty little butterflies in his stomach.

he leans in to kiss you, finally, and one arm stays wrapped possessively around your waist, as if to steal you away from the rest of the world, and one hand reaches back up to cup your cheek. he kisses you sweetly, not too rough or aggressive, just enough to make you want to drown in his touch, his scent, his presence.

“leon..!” you gasp between kisses, and he’s never liked his name as much as he likes it when your lips say it.

he pulls away to search for any hint that you need him to stop, that your breathless whisper of his name was a plea for escape, and he doesn’t seem to find any. his eyes trail down to your lips again, as if taunted by them, “what do you need, baby?”

“you,” you whisper, your lips finding his neck, kissing him softly. he’s not sure when you exactly decided you would try to kill him but the way your lips feel against him is lethal in its own way.

“yeah? my baby need me?”

“mhm,” you smile, he feels it against his skin, “your pretty girl needs to feel as pretty as you think she is.”

and something pulls at leon’s heart at that little statement. it’s not sad or pitiful, nor is it said with a sad tone, but he wonders what it means to you. do you believe him when he calls you that? god, you have to, he’s too obsessed with you for it to even be questionable if he thinks you’re pretty.

he practically drags you to bed, sits down on the edge and pulls you onto his lap, fingers immediately between your legs, feeling that familiar wetness that he loves, pressing down on your clit with his thumb.

“good girl, just like that… grind on my hand, let yourself feel good,” he murmurs, “this is about you, so be selfish, baby. take what you want from me.”

he likes how needy you get because maybe, just maybe, that means you need him just as badly as he needs you. it soothes him, in a way.

“i’ll fill you up nice and full later, but for now… just sit here with me… just let me touch you, pretty, i’ll make you feel good.”

and you just curl up into him, holding onto his shoulder for support as takes every whine and moan and absolutely devours them. his fingers have gotten rougher over the years, but that roughness feels good when he’s rubbing figure eights on your clit, fingers moving in circular motions inside your pretty pussy, bringing you to closer orgasm sooner than you thought. he’s just that good.

“there you go, princess. just feel it all. just close your eyes… and feel me against you,” he whispers, “you’re so cute when you’re feeling good. well, you’re always cute, but you know what i mean.”

“leon…” your whiny voice is met with a chuckle from him.

“hm?”

“i’m gonna cum…” you mumble, resting your head in the crook of his neck again, must be your favorite spot.

he likes that you don’t ask permission because why would you? he’d never deny you, not pleasure nor anything else you want in life. no, you say it like a warning, like a don’t you dare stop kind of warning. he wouldn’t dare.

“c’mon, pretty. let yourself have it,” he mumbles, lips almost touching your ear, that’s how close they are.

leon’s selfish, he can’t help it. he makes you orgasm because he wants to give you pleasure, sure, but he’s also doing it because he loves watching you cum. not so much right now, with your head buried away, but he likes seeing your orgasm face, he likes that you shut your eyes tightly and your eyebrows furrow and your mouth hangs open just slightly. you’re so pretty when you cum.

if he’s being honest, he should have made you look at him when you came, but he knows you were feeling a little shy today so he didn’t push.

and the feeling of your cunt clenching on his fingers turns him on beyond belief. he feels the pressure of the orgasm, and he knows it’s a big one, so of course he helps you through it, fucking his fingers as deep as possible, loving the achy moans that escape your throat. you’re not super loud but you’re also right by his ear so he hears every gasp and moan and whimper as you cum for him. he adores you so painfully.

“there you go, good girl…” he whispers, cradling you close as you both fall back against the bed, holding each other as the wetness on his hand starts to dry but your body still pulses with a reminder of how much pleasure just flooded through you.

it’s almost too paralyzing to speak, and you make pretty little sounds as you shift to get comfortable that make leon’s heart jump. he holds your waist as you lay half on top of him.

he looks at your face, radiant with a comfortable glow you’ve been missing this whole time. in his arms, in your shared bed, it’s safe and soft and leon holds you close with no intentions of letting go.

“should we…” he starts, and you lift your head slightly to look at him as he speaks, “cancel our dinner reservations? order in, we’ll get whatever my sweet lover wants, and we can just stay in bed all night?”

you can’t help but giggle, “yeah. i wanna keep kissing you for at least another hour.”

“yes, ma’am.”

[mtchacffinz]

of the greed in spirit

prompt! Jing Yuan's a service dom (real) + what's he like in bed?

content! NSFW, pillow princess!reader, soft service dom! jing yuan, headcanons ahead, praise, face riding, c^m eating, mentioned sq^rting, p^ssy drunk

note! [opens curtains] slutting this general out (im kidding) im rambling here, so its a bulleted fic 🩷 enjoy my thoughts!! i have so much to say..

With him, you dont need to say nothing. Unless it's the first time Jing Yuan's been with you on the sheets, he's the type to retain minor details on how you like your things through clothings, and even your preferred fancy interiors of different wares. Having said that, he definitely knows how to keep you going.

Foreplay is important. Heck, Jing Yuan does it so well you'd think it's the main course! Unknowingly, he'd approach you slowly— enticing you with his sweet coos and hums right next to your ear. Jing Yuan's big palms travel to your hips, you gulp almost nervously. His hands are tracing circles on your back. Jing Yuan's touches are featherweight, it feels agonizing, electric.

"Everything alright?" He's a little cruel. After subtly riling you up, he's going to ask for your welfare. That doesn't matter. What happens is, no matter how you reply, you always find yourself under his figure.

Jing Yuan's charm is in his subtleness. His presence may be grand, but those small antics he does greatly helps with his lovely expressions. The way he nibbles on your neck while you entangle your hands on his grey hair, when he gives you the sweetest kisses on your knuckles everytime you reach over to him, nuzzling deeper into your palm there right after.. you can tell the general just thrives on pleasing you.

You noticed he barely pays attention to his needs as well. He's so busy eating your cunt out you could only imagine how suffocating it is to have his erection confined in his pants. The thing is, Jing Yuan doesn't even mind. His cock can twitch and leak precum all it wants, the general's grip on your thighs were still firm, unrelenting.

You'd squirm and whimper, god he loves hearing you when you do. He'd reward you with praises that even if you just finished, your sex would just twitch in anticipation. Maybe if you soil his fingers with your juices, he'd even put up a show for you eating his fingers out clean.

If there's something he's not willing to do in bed, that would be hurting you. As soon as there's even a hint of discomfort in your side, Jing Yuan would immediately halt any activity to see your condition. Despite being a general, usually known for his accomplishments in a very stern and relentless environment, his eyes could get so soft. It never fails to melt your heart everytime he looks at you with those saffron optics. You can't help but reach over to his frame and shower his face with butterfly kisses.

Jing Yuan doesn't say it, but he doesn't need to verbalize it when he's basically grabbing onto the plush your ass when you sit down on his face. He loves it when you sit. Even when he's gasping for air, especially when he's gasping for air— he'd be holding onto you for dear life like your his life line. Something about you riding yourself senseless on his nose while his tongue's chasing after those sensitive nerves on your slit has his dick twitching. As soon as he hears you utter the words "Lay down" from those pretty lips of yours, he wastes no time ♡

Another thing is when you cum so hard you twitch and lag into his arms. Gripping the sheets, eyes decorated with dried tears, a broken moan breaking out of your throat.. it's like a celestial noise no one can recreate but you.

He's fond of giving. Shen it's his time to be receiving, his demeanor doesn't change much. He's still gentle, guiding you to what he wants. You absolutely love how he communicates. Jing Yuan asks for requests with term of endearments and pairs with with handful of praises. Maybe this is why you try your best when you service him? After all, he does so well with your body, its only fair you'd return his diligence, right?

When he moans, Jing Yuan doesn't whimper, no. He groans deep. Sometimes he'd attempt to curb it, but after finding out that it actually gets you off— he can't help but let it out once and a while. He'd be putting away stray hair strands from your face when his cock is deep all the way to your throat, trying your best to take it in.

As soon as theres that knot below his stomach, waiting to snap, you always insist on taking it from your mouth. You love it when he breaks in you, broken moans intensifying just as he grips your head down his crotch. When he finally catches his breath after moments of breathlessness, Jing Yuan makes sure you're okay, profusely apologizing.

He understands you get tired, so he always prepare something for you after every session with him. He views this time with you as intimate, sacred of heart. There'd be scents you'd like around the room, may it be incense or candles, sometimes he'd even massage any muscles you find sore or tired. But often times, you'd just want him to clean you up and stroke your head while cuddling him up— just listening to his heart beat accompanied by the calming rise and fall of his chest.

so how was it? (⁠*⁠˘⁠︶⁠˘⁠*⁠)⁠.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ i saw this man right up my alley and went "oh no" cus i know I'm gonna write atleast ONE thing about him!

[optimisticartistic]

so here's a fun thought for everyone

Why the FUCK doesn't Kayne want Arthur to know anything about the King in Yellow?

It's tricky to spot over the course of Malevolent as an ongoing canon, but when you look back at the pieces there's a very interesting pattern forming.

First and foremost, the King is (functionally) dead. John's memories of the King's actual life are inconsequential to the point of nonexistent, and Yellow doesn't have any. Given that we know now that Kayne can travel freely between the Dark World and other realities, something no other god is suggested to be able to just yet, we can infer that Kayne put Yellow in the Dark Place explicitly to remove his memories. So there's no longer any first-hand accounts of what the King's motives were/are.

Any humans who could explain the King's motives are dead, and the ones who might have had a reasonable guess is removed. Emily is dead. Amanda is dead.

(Side note: HEY ISN'T THERE ONLY LIKE ONE OTHER HUMANOID THAT JOHN CAN'T DESCRIBE)

Anna is dead.

The Butcher, who has been previously involved with Eldritch Bullshit and may have even held clues as to what was happening with the overall state of the gods, is dead.

Larson, who was an active researcher of eldritch deities, was put in too much pain to function and removed from the scenario entirely. Yellow, who was still sympathetic to Arthur and may have been able to be swung around as an ally, is likewise removed.

(Charlie, who was just in the wrong place at the wrong time and knows nothing, gets yote for funsies.)

So, the only person Arthur has to rely on about information on the other gods becomes Kayne.

Every time Arthur meets Kayne in person, he is in a compromised position and unable to follow up on his own questions

The first time is 20, right after the prison pits, immediately off-kilter because of Faroe's music box and her song, and Kayne immediately distracts him with his own agenda, pushing the idea of Arthur being special, of the King winning, and he gives Arthur the knife - while prompting him on how to use it, as well as how to summon him again.

The second time is Coda, where Arthur is actively dying, and not only does Kayne continue to keep him off-balance by forcing him to beg for John, he keeps Arthur even further off-balance by forcing him to take the entirely unnecessary deal to get "John without his memories" back. And then he spends all of S3 obsessing about John and too distracted to care further than Larson.

The third time is 40 and Intermezzo, where he is witness to Everything Going To Shit, and at this point has actually developed some learned helplessness around Kayne: he no longer pushes back, except to ask relevant questions.

Kayne constantly undermines John, making it difficult for Arthur to feel like he can rely on him in Kayne's presence. He insults John, makes it difficult to describe him and drops references that John can't understand to put his intelligence into question, putting John on the back foot and into compromised social positions. Revealing the cruel things John has done in unflattering lights (forcing John to perform them in the Dark World and making him sound proud of them in 40) and outright orchestrating the divorce in Intermezzo with the entire 'I'll remove his memories for you' debacle. He puts John in a position where Arthur has legitimate reason to doubt his honesty and intentions, and uses that to further undermine John in Arthur's eyes.

I had more points but I lost my train of thought. anyway i am fucking frothing at the mouth about this, what are we missing about the King??

[alessiamalfoyzabini]

Dark Moon | Chapter Four

Pairing | yandere!Jimin x Reader

Word Count | 1,9k

Warnings | +18, violence, slapping, smut noncon, forced blowjob, abuse, yandere themes, humiliation, explicit and dirty language, forced cum swallowing, spitting, prostitution, Jimin is cruel (yes, it is a warning)

This fanfiction is yandere, if you don't like the genre, don't read and if you are not of age, don't read.

I don't want to hear any complaints in the comments, thank you.

This does not reflect my way of thinking or living at all, it is just a work of fiction, it is like watching a horror movie, many of us love horror movies, but we would never dream of what we see in those movies happening in reality as well.

Simply put, this story was written for entertainment purposes, it should not be seen as a reflection of my values, opinions or morals. I absolutely do not condone such acts.

⤷ Summary | She just wanted to escape her past, take charge of her life and break out of her steel cage, praying in God for a miracle that could change her life for good.

And her prayers were heard, but it was not the Divine that answered her.

That was certainly the devil in the guise of an angel, she thought as those corrupted and empty eyes searched her soul with extreme voracity.

He turned a sweet, false smile on her, before pushing her into the abyss.

➢ Author's Note | This chapter is stronger than the others, if you don't read yandere don't go on, it has triggering content.

Taglist: @katherine-kookie, @dragons-flare, @m00njinnie, @seokjins-luigi, @pjmsneverland, @jimincrystal, @ajkwww, @ungodlyjoon, @hecateslittlewitchling, @namjoonsbuspass

Taglist is open!

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"I have no problem shooting you right this instant. So I won't say it again, leave what belongs to me and never come back to this brothel."

Minho let go of the grip with which he was forcing the girl to suck him off, she fell back on the bed at dead weight, desperate for air, with tears clouding her eyes she saw Minho hastily compose himself, before Jimin moved to the side to let him out, still with the gun tightly clenched in his fist.

"This is not over, Jimin," threatened the man.

"I think it is."

"We'll see," was the last thing he said, before leaving that bedroom behind.

Y/N could not speak, too shocked by the experience she had just gone through, on her tongue she still felt the overwhelming taste of the bastard, but even more agonizing was the thought that Jimin had used her to anger Minho.

He could have acted that way from the start, but no, he had decided to give the man time to use her, making her feel if possible even more like an object.

She hated him, damn it.

"Are you still alive?" he asked her without a hint of tact, Y/N gritted her teeth inhaling through her nose.

"Does it matter? Dead or alive, things will not change. I'll live as a whore and die as one," she hissed, letting the boy finally have a view of her red and tear-streaked face, "And it's all your fault, you're a fucking monster and god ... you don't even know how much I hate you!"

A backhand hit her full in the face, for a moment she saw everything white, she only had time to feel a shift of air about her before a stabbing pain hit her in the skin, Jimin was gripping her hair with such brute force that her head began to throb and burn, she screamed in despair as she was dragged away.

No one in the hallway came out to help her, why would anyone bother, then?

Jimin was in charge there, it was his right to do whatever he wanted with the girls, especially if it was his first choice.

After minutes that seemed interminable, she was thrown inside a room she recognized as her own, indeed, theirs.

"You hate me for that? Oh no, my angel," he shook his head, slamming the door behind him, "I'll give you more reasons to hate me, good reasons," he concluded, beginning to remove his own clothes.

The more skin was shown, the more Y/N feared what was soon to come, Jimin's otherwise perfect arms were littered with ink weaving into thick sinuous lines, heavy tattoos stared at her menacingly when the man's belt also fell to the ground with a thud.

"What are you going to do?" she asked with a trembling upper lip.

Jimin shot her an unfriendly look, brought his hair back in a neck movement that the girl would have found attractive and manly if they were normal boys in an equally normal setting. Instead, she found it threatening and stifled a cry as the man began to unzip his pants.

No. Not again.

"I'll take what's mine, you whored with another man in front of my eyes, this deserves punishment," he replied with deadly calm, he knew things were not like that, he had given her the order after all, but he enjoyed provoking her, the girl tried to retort but Jimin was quicker, "Do you know why I stopped him before he finished?"

Y/N didn't know what to answer, she just watched fearfully as the boy shed all his clothing, he was completely naked. His cock stood straight and swollen, Jimin ran a thumb over the turgid tip and moved closer and closer to her, who curled in on herself.

"Please, I don't want to do this," she cried, but Jimin did not take pity on her.

"Answer me."

"I don't know... I don't know" she shook her head, the young man grabbed her face hard, blocking her.

"I stopped it because the only cum your pretty little mouth is going to swallow is mine," he said firmly in a statement that went against the Dark Moon's own principles, again trapping her head in his firm grip, "Hate me, Y/N, I want to feel how much you do it while your throat is squeezing me," he chuckled viciously, before thrusting unceremoniously into that delicious hot, wet cavern, he closed his eyes biting his lips, the woman moaned and cried with her mouth tight around his girth, swallowing against her will every single inch of the man, until she touched the tip of her nose to the boy's pubes.

 Jimin let his moans filled with lust and satisfaction wander around the room, with his hips he pushed deep into Y/N's throat, she threatened to choke on her own spit, long rivulets trickled down her chin, going to soak Jimin's belly closer and closer to her face as the speed of his harsh thrusts increased.

"Aaah... you're better than I thought, tell me the truth... you like being my personal whore, mhh if I touched you... you'd be wet, right?" he asked cruelly, Y/N shook her head forcefully, she was tired, her jaw ached and that bastard's cock kept pulsing and swelling without showing any sign of coming, but she felt it that strange sensation snaking up to her lower abdomen, making her legs tighten to her horror.

She really was Jimin's personal whore.

That realization made her feel disgust for herself.

A grip on her hair more fierce than the others caused her to lift her shiny red eyes to those of her "boss."

The man's hard and cold expression did not match the desperate movement of his hips, "You will swallow every single drop of my cum and afterwards you will lick my cock until it is completely clean, because that's how my whores do it," he grunted giving increasingly frantic and violent thrusts, the girl only wished that this torture would end as soon as possible, she was in such a devastated state of mind that she would follow his every single order to get him away from her, so she nodded weakly as she met the first hot spurt, the muscles of her throat contracted around the cock, throwing down every single drop, just as she was ordered to do.

Jimin's chest swelled in satisfied pride, seeing her there, her cheeks swollen with his cum devastated him in a way he would have struggled to admit out loud.

He released her mouth and finally Y/N was able to take a long breath of air, before the man once again crushed her face against his swollen cock, ever more humiliated she stuck out her tongue, beginning to give small licks along his still stiff length, collected seminal fluid mixed with her own saliva, Jimin's ever-deepening sighs intensified, breaking into a moan at the small suction on the soft, veined skin.

The grip on her hair softened and soon Jimin let her go, Y/N abandoned herself in the clean sheets, her vacant gaze fixed on the ceiling.

"Open your legs, sweetheart," he ordered, and in the girl's mind flashed the thought of resisting him, of not giving in to him. But what would that decision bring? Only pain, so much pain both physical and mental.

She opened her legs as ordered, but looked away to prevent herself from seeing that violence.

Jimin grinned, he did not rip off the young woman's underwear as she had imagined, he spat on her belly causing her to shudder in disgust, he pressed his heavy and still hard cock on her moistened skin and began to slide over it with ease, grunting at each savage lunge and at the intense overstimulation he himself was forcing himself to endure.

He squeezed the girl's chin between two fingers, forcing her to watch as he used her body without giving her the same satisfaction, her look filled with anger and disgust was enchanting to the man, who with one last thrust came one more time, soiling both of their bodies with his cum, such was their closeness.

"Are you angry because I didn't smash your tight pussy?" he asked amusedly, sinking his thumb into the woman's lower lip, "I might as well lick your pussy if you would behave well with me, and I don't think that's going to happen anytime soon with such an attitude...think about it, my pleasure could be yours too if you wanted it."

Y/N turned her head abruptly, releasing herself from his grasp with an expression of disgust firmly stamped on her face.

"I couldn't take pleasure with you even if I wanted to, you're a piece of shit," she spat between her teeth, Jimin clenched his jaw before giving her yet another resounding slap that made her swallow the tears she was holding back.

"Careful, I might consider cutting out that bold tongue of yours, you'd be able to suck me off without it anyway," he hissed before abandoning her, just like a whore.

"You put on a show yesterday."

Jin welcomed Jimin into his office in an icy voice.

"Yes? Well, a rat had sneaked into my territory, I couldn't turn a blind eye, I hate rats," he sat confidently across from his friend and business partner.

"Yet Namjoon must have informed you of my intentions regarding that rat."

Jimin clicked his tongue against his teeth, "How long have we been friends, Jin?"

"Jimin, don't take this key with me, it's just business those with-"

"But family is not business!" blurted out the younger man, "I don't care about the whores and new friends you make, because I know you would never screw us over for someone else, which is precisely why I don't understand what went through your mind when you decided to go into business with Choi," he said harshly, Jin maintained a somewhat neutral expression despite the shaking of his clenched fist.

"I meant no disrespect, Jimin," Jin replied more calmly, "Choi Minho is not involved in what happened to you, so I thought it was accessible."

Jimin leaned toward Jin with fury in his eyes, "No Choi from that family is accessible, if you still want me as your business partner, but especially if you still want me as your brother, drop any negotiations with them," he ordered.

Normally Seokjin would not have accepted such a tone from one of his subordinates.

But that was Jimin, one of his closest friends, one of his brothers, and faced with his stormy past with the Choi family, he could only bow his head and look for another way to get into politics.

"I will cut Choi Minho from my list of names," he finally said, Jimin nodded a little more relaxed.

"Thank you, Jin."

"I'm not done," he blocked him before he could get up, "What are you going to do with that girl?"

Jimin glowered at him, "What do you mean?"

"I need to make sure you're not going to cause trouble with other clients, I heard you were quite possessive of her."

"Possessive? Come on, I was just having fun to provoke Minho a little."

Seokjin didn't buy that excuse; Jimin could tease anyone but him.

"If you want her, I'll wrap her up myself with a nice bow and send her home to you, Jimin."

Jimin narrowed his eyes, "And let's hear it, why would you do that?"

"Because you like her."

The pierced boy swallowed, speechless. Yes, he liked her, he had made that clear, but to that extent? Would he have taken Y/N away from the brothel to enjoy her himself?

"You're imagining things, man," he chuckled, Jin raised an eyebrow.

"Is that your last answer?"

[blessedbucky]

we tried the world, good god, it wasn't for us! (part 4.2)

pairing: autistic!satoru x suguru x autistic!reader

word count: 12k (oh hey look this one is actually shorter than the last)

summary: that second year of high school has a clear division within your mind—before summer and after. this is the after.

tags: autistic!reader, autistic!satoru, bisexual!reader, bisexual!suguru, continuing the existential crisis of realizing a bunch of old dudes poorly control the future of your teenage life, hidden inventory angst, mayhaps some poor coping mechanisms, maybe some codependency

beautiful people who asked to be tagged 💕: @ichikanu, @iceheartsice, @anders-is-being-a-simp-again, @honeydew-cheesecake

author note: HIDDEN INVENTORY TIME! also, putting on full blast a couple of common things with autism—strong sense of justice and a love of routines! the next year will most likely be split up again because i have so many plans and most of them aren't good! we do be talking about JJK here. please like, reblog, and comment! it makes my heart flutter!

chapter links: ONE, TWO, THREE, FOUR [PART I], AO3

[YEAR TWO.]

[PART II]

At the bottom of the mountain path that leads up to campus, you’re seated on a bench. You were here alone as you waited on the car to pick you up, but Satoru and Suguru showed up. They detail the specifics of the incredibly important mission personally assigned to them by Lord Tengen. The more they reveal to you about this, the more anxious you become, the bigger the cloud of dread over your head grows. Your nervousness is made apparently by the way you nervously spin your cell phone between your fingers.

There’s so much about this that you hate. It’s too big. It truly is the weight of the world on their shoulders—the jujutsu world. It isn’t right that they’re being entrusted with something that could change the course of every sorcerer’s life. Shouldn’t that kind of pressure be left to a more experienced sorcerer? This is the work of adults.

Another thing that’s been bothering you…

“Erase?”

Satoru and Suguru are standing in front of you, most likely too nervous to sit still. You’re glad that they’re not blinded by their ego and seem genuinely troubled. Satoru is nervous, though he’d never admit to such a thing. He rocks on his feet from side to side. Coins jingle as he tosses them up in the air and catches them.

Suguru has his arms crossed over his chest, frowning. “Yes,” he confirms quietly. “When the Star Plasma Vessel fully assimilates with Lord Tengen, there will be nothing left of her.”

“That…” You duck your head to hide the sadness that you know is written all over your face. It doesn’t matter how you feel. You are a sorcerer, and this is no time to be soft. At the cost of one life, Lord Tengen will continue to live, sound of mind, and all the barriers that keep sorcerers safe will remain intact. “That seems cruel,” you blurt.

“So…what do you want us to do?” Satoru suddenly asks.

Your head snaps up, attention back on them, blinking in shock. “Huh?”

Instead of Satoru, it’s Suguru that repeats, “What do you want us to do? That’s why we came to you.”

Your brain stutters over their words, unable to process the things they’re saying to you. You sit there, mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. “What…what does that even mean?” You press your thumb to the center of your forehead. Stop when you realize you’re copying Suguru. “Why do you want to know my opinion? What does it matter? What I’ve got to say means nothing.”

“What a silly thing to say, Squid,” Suguru scolds. “Your opinion means everything.”

With a little more thought, a little more looking between them and studying them, you finally understand where this is all coming from and where it’s all going. There’s an air about them, more to their nervousness than just stress over the weight on their shoulders. “You want to do something really stupid,” you sigh, “and you want me to give my blessing which also makes me an accomplice.”

“Accomplice is such a dirty word.” Satoru pouts. “Is it illegal to get some advice from our best friend?”

If it was Shoko here, she’d already be walking away. Unfortunately, you care about these assholes. “What stupid thing are you planning to do?”

“Nothing yet,” Satoru answers vaguely.

You ignore him in favor of Suguru. If you need to pout, you will, and he’ll cave because you hardly ever bring it out. “Satoru is right, technically. The decision won’t be up to us. Satoru just asked a logical question—what if the Star Plasma Vessel doesn’t go through with the assimilation?”

“You know what would happen,” you point out flatly.

Satoru pipes up with, “We don’t know that for sure!” You stare at him, deadpan. He gets all huffy because you didn’t just simply accept that. “Look, the world always has a way of balancing itself out. If this person doesn’t want to assimilate with Tengen, then someone else will eventually come along that does want to. Tengen will be fine.”

“Let’s say this girl doesn’t want to go through with the assimilation, what will you do then? Are you going to protect her for the rest of her life? They’ll send every sorcerer after her. You might even have to fight Lord Tengen himself. They’ll label you as curse users—”

“Will they?” The ego is back in play because Satoru declares, “We’re the strongest.”

Suguru tries to soften the severity of this stupid plan by explaining, “We’re too valuable as sorcerers. We’d be severely punished, maybe, but I doubt it. The girl has a caretaker with her, so we can cover them while they make themselves disappear.”

You throw up your arms in frustration. “Why did you even ask me, then? You’ve clearly made up your minds!”

“Yeah, okay, you’re right,” Satoru admits while rubbing the back of his neck.

“Believe it or not, we’ve actually thought about this more than you think we have,” Suguru tells you. “Everything you said is true. We know there’s a possibility that they do actually banish us and declare us as curse users. There’s a chance that we won’t come back—”

“But we don’t want to lose you!” Satoru interrupts. He’s a little too enthusiastic about this prospect because he goes on to excitedly ask, “If we leave, will you run away with us?”

The answer is out of your mouth before you can even give it a second thought. “You know I will.”

There’s a little part of your brain that reasons you should’ve taken more time to think about this, but the bigger part of your brain knows that the answer wouldn’t change. Somehow, that was the easiest yet most difficult answer in the world. No matter which option you chose, there would be a huge shift in your life, so it boils down to what would be easier to accept. If you were to stay behind like a good sorcerer, you would have to find a way to live normally without two of the most important people in your life and that…

The thought of not having Suguru or Satoru in your life is so terrifying that it makes you physically ill.

You’ve started to spiral. It’s not until a hand comes in view and yanks on the string of your hooded sweatshirt that you’re pulled out of your darkening thoughts. When you tilt your head up, Satoru is towering above you, smiling with such a genuineness that it makes your heart hurt.

“Don’t worry. It’ll all work out,” Satoru tries to assure you.

Your voice is weak, shaky. “Promise?”

“Promise.”

It’s either to make you feel better or lighten your mood, but Satoru holds out a crooked pinky. You lock it with your own. Then, to be cheeky, he extends his other pinky to Suguru. “A pinky promise? That’s childish, even for you, Satoru.” But Suguru takes it. And maybe you’re taking this a little too seriously, but you also offer your other hand to Suguru. His expression softens before he’s taking it.

In the end, the three of you are making a promise to each other.

“See?” Satoru grins. “It’s a super promise.”

“Okay,” you accept quietly. “Be safe, then. I’ll see you in a few days.”

***

Gojo Satoru is…

…was a fucking liar.

***

Just as you’ve coaxed the cursed spirit into exorcising itself, Kusakabe’s cell phone rings. He’s been off to the side, insistent to see your cursed technique for himself. Remembering that Sensei said Kusakabe could potentially be the person to vouch for you to become Grade 1, you bowed and did as he asked.

Anyway, the call.

As you approach him, you see him rush through many emotions at once—panic, anger, relief, and resignation. When his gaze darts over to you, he looks at you with a sympathy that makes your stomach start twisting into knots. On instinct, you pull your phone out to check for any texts, but there’s been nothing since Suguru said that he was on a plane back to Tokyo with the Star Plasma Vessel.

Kusakabe calls out your name, gesturing for you to pick up the pace. When you stand across from him, you shift nervously, clutching tightly at your sketchbook. “Yes?”

“I’m sorry,” Kusakabe starts with a soft apology. He takes a step toward you, putting a hand on your shoulder. “There’s been an incident at the school…” You wait on the news with bated breath. It’s bad. It has to be bad, your brain reasons, because you’ve learned Kusakabe is a naturally reserved person. He doesn’t seem like the type to show sympathy so easily unless it’s really, really bad.

“Gojo Satoru is dead.”

The sketchbook lands in the puddle at your feet as you drop everything and run.

You never leave Suguru’s side.

Apparently, he was found outside the Tombs of the Star Corridor—the place Lord Tengen lives. The wounds went deep, needed to be stitched. The medical staff at the infirmary said it was a shock that he hadn’t bled out.

When Shoko returns from Kyoto and clears the medical staff out, she curses their shoddy stitch work. That irritation is turned on you because you refuse to let go of his hand and she snaps at you, but you won’t budge. She harshly tells you to make yourself useful, so you help her remove the top half of his gown. Tears prick the corners of your eyes, and you have to quickly look away when the red, jagged slices across his chest are revealed to you both.

“That’s going to scar,” Shoko mumbles as she glides her hands over his chest. You’re so close that you’re in her crossfire and the aches and exhaustion from keeping vigil fade away. “Where is…” Her hands, glowing white with her technique, clench. “Did they say where they put him?”

It takes you a few minutes of swallowing down grief before you answer, “They said his body is missing.”

“Yeah,” she agrees hoarsely. “Yeah, that makes sense. That idiot always bragged about the bounties on his head.”

“Or…or maybe…maybe he’s…”

Shoko knows what you’re going to say before you even say it. “I walked past where it happened,” she explains lowly. “Duck, I’m sorry, but there’s no way he came out of that alive.” She powers down her technique. You assume there wasn’t that much damage and he’s been unconscious so long because of some painkillers the medical staff gave him. “They found the Star Plasma Vessel’s caretaker. I’m going to examine her body. See if there are any clues that can lead us to whoever has his body.”

You know you’re in denial. Logically, if he was alive, he would be here, in the infirmary. But…you can’t accept it. You just can’t. “I’m going to find him,” you swear.

“What are you going to do against someone that killed Gojo Satoru?”

You remember the finger of Ryomen Sukuna. The cursed energy that touched you. “I’ll make him tear his own heart out,” you say furiously.

“You’ll give yourself an aneurysm, if you could do it at all.” Shoko puts her hand on the top of your head. “Don’t make us lose another friend today.” You cover your mouth to muffle a sob. She reels you in, so your face is squished against her chest. “There was nothing we could do. We have to accept that.” She bends over and presses a kiss to the top of your head. “This is our life now. It’s what we chose when we became sorcerers.”

But why does it have to be like this?

It doesn’t take much longer before Suguru is waking up.

You have to help him when he tries to sit up and sways too much to the side. The drugs are still lingering in his system, so you nervously watch as he blinks slowly and tries to process. You don’t want to overwhelm him, but you also want to comfort him, so you compromise by reaching out to take his hand and squeeze tight. That simple gesture holds his attention. There’s something about it…or maybe he’s remembering everything that happened before…

Suguru’s expression doesn’t change, but tears begin to trickle down his cheeks.

You practically drag him forward by the front of his hospital gown, desperate to get your arms around him. “I’m here,” you promise as your own tears begin to fall again. “Suguru, I’m here.” His arms lock around your waist. His quiet, hitching breaths are in your ear, and his shoulders are subtly shaking under your arms.

“I failed, Squid,” he chokes out.

It never should’ve been put on you, you want to say but what point is there in that anymore? It doesn’t change the fact that it happened and Suguru was the only one left behind. We can’t save everyone. Empty words. Strength has cushioned you all from the realities of sorcery. Suguru has been told that he’s the strongest practically since you two came to Tokyo. He’s not supposed to lose.

Satoru wasn’t supposed to die.

“I’m here,” you repeat because it’s the only thing that you can think to say.

Now that he’s completely healed and the painkillers have worn off, there’s no more reason to keep Suguru in the infirmary. And when no one is around, he admits that he wants to be left alone in his room. You can tell yourself that you’re terrified to leave him by himself, but, deep down, you know it’s that you’re scared he’ll disappear if you don’t stay with him. This is all somehow so surreal yet so viscerally true. Simultaneously dream-like and so real. Like a child, you want to cling to him. Have you not lost enough already?

The two of you walk out of the infirmary, hand-in-hand. At the sight of Sensei waiting, you puff up like a street cat. You sidestep and put yourself in front of Suguru, flashing your metaphorical teeth and hissing. “Get out of the way.”

Suguru and Sensei both sigh your name. You don’t back down. Just square your chin. “The campus is still covered in fly heads.”

“Go exorcise them, then. You can make more cursed corpses.”

“I’m not here to ask Suguru to handle it,” Sensei gently corrects your assumption. “I agree with you. Suguru should rest.”

You relax a little. “Oh.”

“It would be easier if you can exorcise them all at once.” Sensei frowns. “Or make them disperse, at least. They can exit the barrier. If they make it off the mountain, into the city, they won’t cause too many problems for non-sorcerers.”

You angle your body toward Suguru, glancing up at him with furrowed brows. “Will you wait for me?”

“I’ll leave the door unlocked,” he whispers.

It’s not what you wanted to hear, but you can’t push him. You wordlessly nod, squeeze his hand, and then he’s walking away, headed toward the dorms. You watch him until he’s completely out of sight, immediately twitchy and nervous when you can’t see him anymore. Desperate to be beside him again, your cursed energy flares up.

“Not here,” Sensei says when he feels you gearing up. “You won’t reach them from here. They’re mostly centralized in one area.” He takes a deep breath. “You need to prepare yourself. They haven’t cleaned up yet.”

Cleaned…?

Oh.

It’s where Satoru was…

For a moment, you doubt that you can ever prepare yourself for something like this. You’re no stranger to gore, though, you remind yourself. You’re a sorcerer. You’ve seen the result of a curse’s rampage. But…those people weren’t your best friend, as cold as it is to think.

The only thing that pushes you forward is realizing that if it isn’t you, it’ll be Suguru.

There’s no way he came out of that alive, Shoko had told you.

You understand now, what she meant.

There’s a small crater that hints to the force that he was thrown down with. Hit with. You don’t know. No, it must’ve been some weapon because…the blood. The blood. There’s so much. It’s splattered everywhere across the concrete. The man that killed Satoru hated him. Loathed him. This wasn’t a clean and professional kill like with the Star Plasma Vessel and her caretaker who were taken down with neat shots to the head.

The monster that did this didn’t even hesitate when he confronted children. Because that’s what you all are, in the end. Children with too much power at your fingertips being guided by old men too scared to get their own hands dirty and all too happy to let the new generations die on their behalf.

And this is already so horrifying as is, but the assassin had to defile these corpses, too.

He wouldn’t even let Satoru have a proper burial.

I just want to find him.

You hunch in on yourself, fists curling, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes. The shattered pieces of your heart scream that one demand—I want to find him, I want to find him, I just want to fucking find him and bring him home. You know it will never be. This world is not kind. But, nonetheless, someone answers your call. Multiple someone’s, actually.

Around you, the fly heads have frozen in place. They float listlessly, even their buzzing quieted, waiting with anticipation for a command that you didn’t recognize you were preparing to make. The command that you should make, the one for them to exorcise themselves, is on the top of your tongue. What use can the fly heads be? From what you were told, the attacker left no residuals behind. The residuals left behind by Satoru and Suguru would be too faint…

…they would be too faint for a sorcerer to track. A cursed spirit is different. Their senses are different. They’re sharper and more attuned to cursed energy because it is both their life force given by non-sorcerers and a threat when wielded by sorcerers. Weaker spirits are constantly on the hunt for more cursed energy to gain power.

You could command them to search for Satoru’s residuals, but your influence over them will wane with distance until they’ve forgotten the order completely.

Unless…

Unless you can influence a spirit that you know is bound to another.

Die, you demand of the fly heads.

Slowly, they all start to expand around you until they explode with a loud pop. You don’t stick around any longer to make sure they’re all gone. Sensei can take care of that. Just like he can handle the few fly heads that have spread around campus. You’re too busy planning now.

For the rest of the afternoon and the whole night through, Suguru doesn’t speak, and you don’t make him. He really only moves when you do because when you crawled into bed with him, he’d manhandled you until he could curl around you and place his head above the beat of your heart. You don’t ask him about it. You understand the reason that he clings to you. It’s why you can’t stop running your fingers through his hair, can’t stop touching him. You don’t want him to slip away.

Around three in the morning, Shoko texts you. She’s done with her autopsy. Eavesdropping, too. There are no clues. She’s overheard Sensei on his cell phone with higher-ups and they have no idea where to start because so many people have put bounties on his head over the years. They’re also scrambling to figure out how to break the news to Lord Tengen that there will be no merger. You tell her that she’s done enough and to try and get some sleep.  

After you snap your phone shut and drop it on the bed, Suguru immediately picks it up. Your fingers itch to stop him from reading the texts, but that’s not your place. From your position above him, you watch his eyes carefully scan over the text, face unmoving.

The room is bathed in darkness once again when he snaps it shut. You think that’s the end of that, but he whispers, “I can’t believe it.”

“I can’t, either,” you confess as quietly. Even seeing all that blood…this is being in denial. Is that what’s going on? You’ve never had a loss like this ever before. You don’t know what to do with yourself. No. That’s a lie. You know what you want to do. “It’s not fair. That they took him, I mean.”

“I’m going to look for him,” Suguru announces. “I…just wanted this one last night with you.”

You tug at his hair meanly. “I’m going with you.”

“No,” Suguru replies with an air of finality.

“Bullshit,” you snap. You’re not letting this go. “No, you’re not leaving me here like some—”

Suguru suddenly rolls over on top of you, knocking the breath out of you. He lifts up on his hands and knees, shifting up so that his face is hovering directly over yours. With only the glow of the moon, it’s hard to make out the fine details of his face, but you can see the frown, the hard set of his jaw. He snatches your wrists, keeping them pinned up by your head, immobilizing you completely and giving you no option but to look at him.

“He has no cursed energy in exchange for a Heavenly Pact. Do you understand what that means?” Suguru asks harshly. “What are you going to do against that? You’re—” weak. You squeeze your eyes shut, hurt lancing through you. He tries to soften the reality with, “You’re not suited against that type of fighting style. You’re better for support.”

“Let me support you, then!” You dig your nails into whatever skin of his you can touch. “I know I’m weak, but…” Your bottom lip wobbles. Definitely not helping your case. “You couldn’t beat him, either. You…you said that you were split up, so…maybe two is better than one…”

“I’m not losing you. I can’t lose you, Squid. Can’t you understand that?”

“But you want to make me grieve you, too?” You scramble for anything that can make him change his mind. “I doubt we’re going to run into danger, anyway. It’s been so long already that…that he’s probably collected the bounty on both heads.” You lean up to knock your forehead against his. “Please, Suguru.”

“No.”

“You promised! You promised that it’d be me and you!”

As your vision blurs, you can make out Suguru’s expression softening. “Don’t cry, Squid,” he begs. One of his big hands let go of your wrist, cupping your cheek. “Why do you have to make this so much harder on me, huh?” He flops down next to you, carefully guiding you to bury your face in the crook of his neck where you continue to cry. “Okay. Okay, I’ll bring you. At the first sign of danger, you have to run.”

You won’t, but you nod and lie, “Okay.”

Little do you know, you’re not the only one who’s lying.

With the sunlight comes the truth of the matter. You wake up alone, the bed empty, and with a note on the nightstand beside both your cell phone and Suguru’s. I’m sorry, the note reads in his neat handwriting. I’ll be safe, but I’m not risking you. At the very end of the note, there’s a line of text, but you can’t tell what he wrote because it’s so scratched out. The page is nearly ripped on that little section.

You, who planned to lie yourself, have no room to feel so betrayed. Anger, though, you think you’re allowed. Grief crashes over you all over again, too. You chose this life, you know, but shouldn’t children be protected a little longer? It never should’ve come to this. Ten minutes is all you can allow yourself because you don’t know how long Suguru has been gone and you need to find him.

Before you rush out the door, you shoot Shoko a text for when she wakes up, letting her know your plan. You also tell her that if he comes back before you then she needs to punch him in the nose on your behalf.

Late in the afternoon, as the sun is setting, there’s a breakthrough.

By this point, you’re jittery and exhausted. You’ve swallowed down so much coffee to keep yourself going that it’s probably in your veins now, but you’re at the point of exhaustion that it’s just not doing anything anymore. Not only have you been walking around the city on foot, but you’ve been keeping your technique running as you have cursed spirits try to lead you to Satoru’s residuals. With as much cursed energy as he had, it should still be radiating off his body enough for a spirit to pick up. That’s what you’d thought, anyway.

Until every spirit that you pull under your influence just…stops. It’s like there’s some invisible barrier that they simply won’t cross. You step past that point, and they’re compelled to follow you, yes, but they struggle against you. Some of the stronger ones outright free themselves and go running.

Something or someone is scaring them.

The problem is that you don’t know how wide the perimeter is of this barrier, how close or far away that Satoru is. But when a pack of vaguely centipede-shaped curses rush past you, out of the invisible area, you know your solution. Just like in movies where animals are the first to know of a disaster and try to outrun it, curses are acting the same. You will run toward where they are running away. At some point, you’ll have to find epicenter.

As you’re still running, further ahead of you, in the distance, there is an explosion—a bright flash of red light, a boom so loud that it vibrates in your chest, and a shake of the earth that makes you stumble. The non-sorcerers around you do the same, some of them even tripping, but they’re not turning in the direction of the flash. No, between all the chatter, you make out people questioning if it was an earthquake or a terrorist attack.

Non-sorcerers can’t see cursed techniques.

And then there was that red light…

Red.

There is something rising up inside you, something dangerous. Hope. All the blood that stained the concrete, the horror that Suguru described that you know extended to Satoru even if Suguru didn’t witness it himself…that all flies out of your head. This is the only thing that makes sense, you reason. There’s only one logical conclusion for why cursed spirits would be running away, refusing to pass that point. A dead boy’s residuals wouldn’t scare them like that.

He’s alive, you think. What else could it be? Nothing, your desperate heart reasons. Then, it’s on repeat. He’s alive, he’s alive, he’s alive, he’s alive, he’s alive—

Not even five minutes pass before, in the middle of your sprinting, there’s yet another explosion. With this one comes a bright purple light and an even bigger explosion. It sends you stumbling, tripping over your feet, and you manage to catch yourself on your hands and knees, but they don’t come out unscathed. They’re busted open, but you ignore that pain. Adrenaline has you up and back to running.

Looming tall, getting closer and closer, is a temple. Gold and white marble. An eyesore that makes your retinas burn. Is this…the headquarters of the Star Religious Group that Suguru had told you about? One of the two organizations that was targeting them on their mission? It must be. Kusakabe said that the other group, Q, was defunct. Satoru and Suguru even sent pictures posing with the leaders that they beat.

The path that leads to the entrance is lined with tall pillars on either side. The further down the path you run, the evidence of a fight becomes more and more abundant. Some of the pillars are totally crushed, others chopped in half, rubble everywhere, and practically stinking of Satoru’s cursed energy.

Why…why does it feel so different? Are you…you’re not imagining that, are you? For someone that should be on the verge of death, it’s so strong. Stronger than it’s ever been before. The weight of it is almost oppressive. Familiar, but…sharper. You’ve unthinkingly slowed to a stop. Too stuck in thought to move, maybe, or…too scared. It’s as if the connection with the cursed spirits is lingering and their terror is bleeding over to you. Weak and feeble prey against a predator so unimaginable.

This can’t be your Satoru, can it?

“Sketch.”

And the last year and a half of memories comes crashing down on your head when you hear the sound of his voice, suffocating the noise of your panicked hindbrain. When you raise your head, unaware that you’d ducked it down to stare at nothing, he is standing there. A few meters away from you. His blazer is torn open, white button-up underneath it stained with blood, the same as a section of hair covering his forehead. It’s a horrifying miracle…but a miracle, nonetheless.

“Sa—” your mouth snaps shut because your throat clogged with emotion. You don’t know what the fuck you’d say, so you just don’t bother with it. You shut the hell up and run. Tears are blurring your vision, you’re more out of breath than you were getting here because the sobs are bubbling up in your chest, but you don’t stop. You can’t. Not until you know that he is solid and real and alive.

It’s when you throw yourself right at him, arms locking around his neck, that the dam of emotion inside breaks. Before you know it, you’re sobbing. “Satoru!” You’re being rough with him. Clinging too tight. One of your hands is grasping tightly the hair at the nape of his neck and the other fisting the fabric of his blazer. “Satoru!”

Satoru mumbles your name, shoulders slumping under your grasp. “Oh.” His voice cracks a little. Then, he’s giving you a hug of his own, hands splayed across your back. “Oh,” he repeats, almost dazedly. “It all still feels so, so amazing, Sketch.” You try to lean back, but he smushes his cheek against yours, sighing in something you’d think is pleasure. “I want to keep feeling this way forever…with you, Sketch.”

“Satoru—”

The breath catches in your throat when you can lean back enough to catch his gaze with your own. How did you not see these eyes before? Something has changed. Infinity isn’t active, but they’re still glowing bright. Sparkling like the sun glinting off the clearest ocean waters. These eyes are beautiful, entrancing, and…almost inhuman. His world has shifted. He has stepped up on another level. He—

Satoru is kissing you.

You’d been so stunned that you didn’t pay attention to his face inching closer to yours until you feel the warmth of his breath against your mouth. It’s a soft touch of his lips against yours. You could…you should…stop this. You need to…to…check on him. But…oh. Oh, he cups your cheek, hand so big and so, so warm. His hand is at the small of your back now, a gesture that sends pleasure up your spine.

It’s a clumsy kiss, maybe. You’re not sure what to do with your mouth and your noses bump against each other. Then, he tilts his head to the side a bit and it falls into place like two puzzle pieces coming together. Your eyes flutter shut and instead of pushing him away, you’re tugging him closer by the lapels of his blazer.

Heat explodes across your body when he takes it a step further, tongue gliding across the seam of your lips. You’re not sure if he’s aware of it or not, but it’s a dirty move when he cups your cheeks with both his hands. He tries to pull you closer, like he can’t get enough of this. Of you. And that’s…that fucks with a person’s brain. You’ve been swept up in his whirlwind, so you go with it. Your mouth opens and he’s licking into your mouth. You always thought it’d feel gross, but it’s just…hot. The smacking of your lips, the small noise of pleasure he gives…

Satoru pulls himself away from you, the both of you panting harshly. “I…” He licks his lips. “I am super high right now.”

“High,” you repeat hoarsely without much thought to it. You’re dazed and he’s pinning you down with those eyes again. It takes you a good minute to comprehend what he said. When it hits, your body jerks. “High?”

Instead of doing something like elaborating, his brows furrow, and he turns to look over his shoulder at the temple. “Hey, I need to get Amanai’s body. You might wanna leave.” He faces you again, looking like he’s trying to gather his all thoughts. “I blew a hole in that Zen’in guy with Purple. And…I kind of want to slaughter all those people in there. I can see them in this big meeting room, clapping because she’s dead now. I don’t want you seeing that.”

Don’t do that, you should say.

But how can you find mercy in your heart for people who celebrate the death of a child? Who paid a man to swoop in and shatter your life? Those aren’t good people. They’re not innocent. Shouldn’t they be punished in some way?

“Be safe,” you say instead.

Satoru doesn’t kill them.

Not soon after Satoru left you had called Sensei to tell him that Satoru was alive and found the Star Plasma Vessel’s body. And almost as soon as you hang up the phone after Sensei assures you that Shoko and the cleanup crew will be there shortly, Suguru shows up.

When they walk out of the temple, Suguru comes back to meet you while Satoru goes on ahead to hand over the body to those that will make sure she’s treated with respect. Suguru doesn’t look at you when he tells you that he talked Satoru down from killing them all.

“There would be no meaning it in.”

It’s clear that Suguru is troubled, trying to justify that to himself. While you don’t really believe him…well, no. It’s more that you simply don’t care if there’s meaning.

“You’re right,” you lie as a comfort and reach out to thread your fingers through his.

***

For four days after they come home, you never see them.

Suguru is still texting you—somewhat, anyway, since he’s more focused on taking care of Satoru who hadn’t been able to sleep for three days straight. Still high on…something. You and Suguru were trying to speculate what put him in such a state since there was no point in asking a practically incoherent Satoru. He died, Suguru told you in the middle of night two. I think, he then followed up with. The Six Eyes are fully realized. All the pieces fell in place.

He’s high on the power, you think you summarize correctly.

Suguru thinks that Satoru is finally leveling out when he sleeps for twenty-four hours straight.

You’re the first person to know that he’s awake when you’re walking across campus, planning on a late night konbini run because you can’t sleep, and almost get smacked in the head by a floating wallet. You duck it, but a rock gets tangled in your hair. There’s a bunch of rocks and some empty soda bottles, looking like one of those asteroid fields that you see in space movies.

“Oops,” a familiar voice calls out. “My bad, Sketch.”

“Satoru?” You fully expect him to be there behind you, but when you turn around, there’s nothing. You look off to either side of you, too. Nothing. “Where—” wait. Did it sound like he was speaking above you? You tilt your head up and, yeah, you definitely forgot that Satoru could float even before…everything.

Satoru is cross-legged, floating there in the air. All the debris surrounds him now as if they were planets in his orbit. Your brows furrow. “Why does it feel like you’re showing off?”

“I’m not!” Satoru protests with a pout.

“It just…feels different,” you mumble while trying to figure out what exactly is giving you that idea. This isn’t totally out of the ordinary for him. He was blocking massive chunks of destroyed buildings and tearing apart houses before. “Oh. Your output is so low now.”

“Bingo!”

There was a little delay, but your brain finally catches up. “You’re awake! What are you doing out here? You should’ve gone to see Shoko as soon as you were up!”

Satoru waves the concern off. “I’m running Reverse Curse Technique now. I’m good.”

“You…what?” Logically, that makes the most sense. Despite all the blood, you hadn’t seen a mark on Satoru that day at the temple.

“Yeah! Who knew that getting stabbed in the neck is what it’d take for me to figure out Reverse Curse Technique, huh? Never let Shoko become a teacher. She can’t explain things for shit.”

Avoiding overwhelming emotions isn’t a new concept for you. You’re notorious for it. That doesn’t mean you can’t feel the emotions for Satoru, though. Stabbed in the neck—you didn’t think it was possible for your heart to crack more than it already has.

“Come down here so I can hug you,” you choke out.

Satoru blinks, looking almost baffled by your turn of emotion. Does he really not know how fucked up that is? Can he not understand why you’d be upset? How terrified he must’ve been, you think as you reach out for him when he slowly lowers back to the ground. Sure, he beat Death, but that doesn’t make the sight any less horrifying.

“You gotta stop being such a crybaby or I’m gonna have to give you a new nickname,” he muses when you get your arms around him. His arms slip around your shoulders, crushing you against his chest. “I’m okay, Sketch. Alive and kicking. Got some badass scars and, as the geezers in my clan would say, my Six Eyes are fully realized.”

Be serious about this, you want to demand of him, but who are you to do that? “Don’t make fun of me for worrying about you.”

“Suguru is already doing enough of it, y’know,” Satoru remarks softly. “Go worry about him.”

“I can worry about you both, thanks.”

“You’re cute, Sketch.”

The memory of his mouth against yours makes itself painfully known. Back of your neck prickling with heat, you try to bury your face further against his chest, not wanting him to see whatever might be on your face. In the silence between you two, your mind runs through so many questions. Does he remember? Why in the world did he do that? If it’d been Suguru there instead, would Satoru have kissed him instead? Should you even ask about it? What would you say if you did? Do you even know enough about how you feel for him to have that talk?

Satoru demands to escort you to the konbini when you tell him what has you out so late. He’s almost aggressive when he takes your hand in his and starts tugging you forward again, listing off all the snacks that he wants to buy. At the bottom of the mountain, finally out on the street, you notice that he still hasn’t let go of your hand, so you stop him. You’re fully prepared to talk about it. Okay, you’re not, but you feel like you need to talk about it.

But then, under the glow of a streetlamp, you catch the glint of that scar at the base of his throat.

You’ll bring up the kiss some other time.

***

“What?”

For once, Sensei doesn’t look you in the eye. “You heard me.”

“Did I? Because it sounds like you told me that some old man is here to force Satoru and Suguru out on solo missions—”

He pinches the bridge of his nose and breathes out your name. “It’s just to ease them back out in the field—”

“Stop lying!” Sensei’s mouth snaps shut at the sound of your echoing shout. “I’m not dumb! These are assignments that only they can do as Special Grades. The higher-ups wouldn’t bother with wasting them on something the rest of us grunts can do, would they?”

“Please. Calm down—”

“It hasn’t even been three weeks!”

Sensei calls in backup. Looking over your shoulder, expression pinched in discomfort, he begs by way of order, “Nanami, Haibara, let’s end class early. Can you take her back to the girls’ dorm—”

There have been only a few times that you’ve ever been so furious in your life and, not-so-shockingly, they all had to do with Suguru. When you were both eight, inseparable, Suguru had finally confessed where his bruises truly came from. You learned that the lack of food wasn’t from poverty or neglect, but maliciousness. The bruises weren’t from scraps with spirits that he was trying to tame.

You’d been downright distraught. You hadn’t let him leave your house for as long as you could. Begging your parents to let him live with you, offering your plate up if there wasn’t enough food in the house for four people. When Suguru wasn’t in the room, you told them what he said, insistent on your parents calling the police for help because you knew they were supposed to help with bad people and what else were Suguru’s parents?

The first few times, your parents lied and said that they’d handle it. After a year of nothing happening, you’d gone to a teacher instead because your parents outright told you that how Suguru’s parents disciplined him wasn’t their business. Suguru was out for about a week, and you hadn’t been allowed over. When he came back to school, arm in a cast, he told you about a person visiting, and how furious it’d made his parents when that lady left.

Finally, you learned a cruel lesson—that trying to help would only punish Suguru.

Maybe that’s something you should remember right now, but…you’re blinded by that same sense of justice that you’d had as an eight-year-old girl. You have a voice here. You’ll scream until your throat bleeds. If they want sacrifices, you’ll offer yourself up in place of Suguru and Satoru. Just to let them have peace a little while longer.

“Senpai?” Haibara hesitantly touches your shoulder.

Nanami and Haibara, smartly, move out of your way when you whirl around and storm out of the classroom. You’re not sure how much time you have left, but you need to ditch your escorts, so you go back to the dorms like Sensei requested, fuming the entire time. You don’t speak a word to your juniors, scared that you’ll snap at them unnecessarily. They’re just following orders, same as every other fucking sorcerer.

As soon as you’re inside your room, you’re immediately sneaking out the window, and pinpointing Satoru and Suguru’s cursed energies. They’re at the entrance’s torii gate, getting lectured by some withered husk. Satoru, as always, looks disinterested, but Suguru…

Suguru looks tired.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?!”

The old man slowly turns around to face you, eyes narrowed. “Who do you think you’re talking to like that?” For someone that’s hunched over and clutches to his cane with a trembling hand, he sure does have his nose stuck up pretty high in the air. “Ah, I know you.” He says your name. “Mind your tongue, girl. You’ll ruin your chances at success with this type of behavior.”

“They almost died and you’re throwing them back out in the field this soon?”

He scoffs. “Is that what this is about? I’ve spoken with Yaga. They’ve been healed.”

“Are you stupid?” If he can’t scrounge up an emotion in his black heart, you’ll appeal to logic. “Do you not understand that if you don’t give them proper rest and run them ragged then they’re more likely to make mistakes and die? Let someone else handle whatever you want them to do.”

“Who? Like you? Stop acting like a child. You may be a sorcerer, but don’t think you could be of any use other than collecting information. You’re weak.” You hate this man, but you hate that he’s right even more. Is running your mouth really the only thing that you can do? “Know your place.”  

Behind the old man, Suguru and Satoru puff up.

Something ugly is festering inside you as you watch him walk away. You’re not sure that you’ve ever felt so much hatred toward another person. How can such weak people have all this power? What more can you compare them to other than an invasive parasite—hiding themselves away as their host supports them and weakens itself until there’s nothing left and then they’re on to the next pray. That’s how they rose so high. Everyone else threw themselves on the sword until only these cowards remained. It isn’t fair that you’re forced to bow down to them.

You should worship us, you think viciously. Rage is making your body go haywire. You’re trembling all over, fists clenched so tightly that your nails are digging into your skin causing sticky, wet blood to slip through your fingers. Prostrate yourself before us, you wish you could scream at him. How much blood have they spilt with their callous and cruel demands? You can’t even begin to imagine, but you smell it. You taste it. You can’t even register that something is slipping from your nose, over the bow of your lips. Your eyes are losing focus, your ears are ringing, and you’re shocked that you can focus enough to think anymore with how agonizing this headache is.

Prostrate yourself.

A lot happens all at once. Just as someone snatches your upper arm, the higher-up goes down with a crack. An actual crack of a bone. He twists himself awkwardly as he’s going down, ending up spread eagle on the ground right in front of your feet. He turns his head to the side, forehead coated with blood from getting busted open on the concrete. He clutches at his hip, trying to move, but failing every single time.

Then, you’re gone.

Feeling like your stomach drops out under you, along with your feet, you’re warped to a completely different part of campus by Satoru’s hold on your arm. All at once, the world comes rushing back in, and you’re suddenly aware of your body. You collapse to your hands and knees, watching as drops of blood plop on the blades of grass beneath your face. Even this much, holding yourself up by your shaking arms, is hard.

Just being conscious is hard, apparently, because you wobble before you’re crashing on the ground and passing out.

“You were right to bring me to her first. Fuck. She had a brain bleed. What the fuck happened?”

Shoko’s raised voice might be what pulls you back to consciousness. Or the fact that you’re clearly healed now. The only remnant that there had been something wrong is the flaking blood on your face, sensitivity to light, and the lingering exhaustion because she can’t fully replenish cursed energy.

The lack of noise has you turning your head to the side. Shoko, Satoru, and Suguru—all in a circle—have turned to stare down at you. There are varying degrees of concern on their faces, but Shoko is the only one that’s also furious. She points an accusatory finger at you. “You’re going to tell me what you did later, Duck. Do you understand me? Right now, I have to go heal some old geezer’s broken hip.”

Ah. You’d been right, then. A bone had broken.

You broke that bone.

Because you…

In the heat of that moment, you weren’t comprehending what was going on. What you were doing. But you know now. And the implications of it terrify you. What’s even worse is that you weren’t even consciously thinking about doing it. It just happened, so what if it happens again by accident? What if one of those things thought in the heat of the moment that you’d never say out loud comes true?

You didn’t want this. Not this. You never asked for it. This is too much power for one person. How do you shoulder the weight of something like this? You can’t. You don’t have it in you. You’ll hurt someone, you know it, and it’ll be someone that you love, and when it happens—

“Squid.”

Suguru’s hands appear in your blurry line of vision. They’re meant to be a silent question, to ask if you’re okay to be touched right now. You answer by grabbing his wrists and yanking them down to your cheeks. You don’t know what possesses you to do it. Maybe it’s to pull him in closer because seeing his softening expression makes you feel less overwhelmed. They understand better than anyone, after all, that power is a burden.

It’s not a full breakdown. More a moment of overwhelming pressure and guilt. Suguru and Satoru, both now sitting down next to you in the grass, don’t say anything until you calm down. When you’re just sniffling, Suguru’s thumb that’s been stroking your cheek stills. “What happened, Squid?”

“I’ve been thinking about it,” Satoru speaks up. “Your persuasion isn’t only limited to cursed spirits anymore. It’s anything with cursed energy, isn’t it?” You nod, mouth twisted with misery. “We really need to come up with a name for your technique.”

“Not the time, Satoru,” Suguru sighs. He brushes away some hair that’s plastered across your forehead. “You don’t seem as surprised by this as I think you should be.”

“Shoko put the idea in my head at the start of the term,” you mumble. “I told her about that mission with you—the one where I caught your cursed spirit and that other sorcerer’s shikigami. I could maybe understand why yours was affected because the spirits have different cursed energy than yours, but…the shikigami is a manifestation of a sorcerer’s energy. Shoko took it to its next logical step. I didn’t want to believe her.”

“It was so weird.” Satoru is tapping his bottom lip, thoughtful. “It was like your cursed energy was infecting that geezer. It was only a second, but I guess whenever you gave your command, I swear that it was like there were two of you. It was seriously trippy.”

“And then you gave yourself a brain bleed. Do you know how lucky you were that Shoko was on campus?” Suguru presses his palm against your forehead, and you look back up at him. The corners of his eyes are tight with worry. “Promise me you won’t do that again.”

“I didn’t mean to do it,” you purposely deflect. Does this power scare you? Yes. Would you use it again if it meant keeping the people you love safe in both body and mind? Another yes. “I’m just…worried about you both.”

“Squid, you can’t keep us here forever. I know you’re worried, but—” he fumbles. Briefly, his gaze darkens, but that emotion quickly passes. “We’re the strongest. We can take care of ourselves.”

“It’s not about whether you can do it or not,” you whisper. “It’s about rest. You almost died. You…you lost. And…that leaves wounds that Shoko can’t heal. Why can’t you have more time? Why does it have to be you?”

“The world has to keep spinning, Sketch.”

Yes, the world is cruel like that, isn’t it?

***

The start of middle school had felt like a month-long blowout in your household.

About two weeks in, while you were curled up under the blankets with a hot water bag pressed against your pelvis, grandparents that you rarely saw had come to visit from the village over. It’d felt like such an invasion of privacy when your both your mother and grandmother presented a bowl of red rice and congratulations on becoming a woman that you’d snapped. Why celebrate such a stupid thing? You’d ranted and raved. It’s what the body does. Why make a big deal? Do you do this with boys when they get their first erection? And all hell had broken loose.

Your father had outright smacked you in the mouth for speaking so crudely and disrespectfully to his mother. After an hour or so of being banished to your room, your frazzled mother and shrewd grandmother had come to interrogate you on how you knew about such a thing—the thing being erections. You’d told them because you saw nothing wrong with the truth. You hadn’t known it then, but Suguru had started puberty a few months before you. He’d told you about the exhausting and awkward conversation his father had been forced to give him.

By the end of the weekend, you’d been ready to choke your grandmother. The way she hovered over your mother, stirring up shit by whispering in your mother’s ear. The worst offense, in your opinion, had been how they turned Suguru away at the door every single day. You couldn’t sneak out because your grandmother slept in your room at night while days were spent going over what boiled down to glorified etiquette classes. Ladies don’t talk about crude things which included basic bodily functions, ladies don’t sleep with men unless they’re married, ladies are demure yet try to make friends with their peers, ladies this, ladies that, and on and on it went.

And you’d overheard conversations at school, knew that most of your classmates hated it as much as you did when their grandparents visited, so you’d hoped the hell would end when they were gone. It hadn’t. That Monday night, your mother had declared that there would no longer be any sleepovers, and you think that may have been the first ever time you screamed yourself hoarse.

You’ve always been too close to that boy! Your father had been the one to step in, absolutely laying into you. I tolerated it because you needed to have one friend, at least, so we could pretend our daughter is normal, but this is just becoming borderline inappropriate now! You’re lucky that I don’t ban you from seeing him, period! And think of him! Don’t you think that he’s sick of spending so much time with you? He’ll never have any other friends if he’s seen spending so much time with you! Let the boy be a boy, damn it!

That’s when the doubt started, you think.

This fear has always plagued you—the idea that you need Suguru more than he needs you.

Zen’in Toji changes that.

Sometimes, when you’re too stuck in your head, you worry that you’re still acting like a child, tugging at his sleeves, annoyingly demanding his attention. Now, it almost feels like the roles have reversed. Not that you’re annoyed. No, if he tried to hide himself away, you’re pretty sure that you’d be waiting outside his door like a lost puppy begging to come home.

Really, the only difference between now and those childhood days where you two were practically joined at the hip is that Satoru is included.

Now that Satoru and Suguru are on their own, you’ve been unofficially added to Nanami and Haibara’s team. What happened to headquarters wanting you to spy on Suguru, huh? This might be a punishment. You don’t mind it, obviously, because you like to be a good mentor, but it’s not just them that you’re helping. Helping is a loose term, though. You’re almost as busy as Suguru and Satoru are, running to pacify and record spirits for the seasoned sorcerers.  

A thing that you’ve started to learn is that sorcerers are…eccentric. More often than not, they don’t try to make small talk with you which you’re happy for, but it’s still exhausting to be around all these strangers. It seems like you’re always running on empty. It feels like your art is suffering, too, because you can’t find it in yourself to practice in your spare time. You feel as if you always have to be available.

Things might be easier if you had some time alone, but you never are anymore, even when you’re on campus. Would Satoru and Suguru respect your wishes if you asked? Yes. But you never do. You always feel too guilty to ask for such a thing when they’re working so hard all the time. Thankfully, Suguru is fine to sit in silence with you and Satoru can talk and talk without you ever saying a word back.

Things are changing between the three of you—even a person like you who always has things going over her head can see that.

You’re not quite sure when it started but there is always someone in your bed. None of you talk about it, though. If they hadn’t started leaving pieces of themselves behind in your room, you’d wonder if they even knew that the other is with you when they aren’t around. In your need to have things in the correct places, you’ve assigned them spots—Suguru’s cigarettes are tucked in the corner of your nightstand, Satoru’s stash of blueberry sodas is neatly stacked inside your minifridge, Suguru’s spicy ramen is in the cabinet closest to the door and Satoru’s melon bread are next to the ramen.

People talk about walking in the shadows of The Strongest, but…for you, it feels like their shadows are swallowing you whole.

Where do they end and where do you begin?

It’s getting weird inside your head. Not that it hasn’t always been. It’s just…you sometimes feel suffocated. On bad days, you wonder if you’ve started to create a mask for them—something you’ve never felt the need to do, especially with Suguru. And yet, in spite of it all, you’re terrified to push them away, and not because of what happened to them.

Bitterly, you think about that river in your village, and how if you were thrown in it with no way out but forward that you’d let yourself drown in that familiarity rather than face the unknown that awaits on the other side of the river.

You’d scolded Suguru for picking up smoking, but maybe he and Shoko are on to something with it.

The stars have aligned just right so that you, Satoru, and Suguru are all on campus at the exact same time. It’s a bitterly cold December morning and you’re gathered in the smoking area. Sitting next to Suguru on a bench, you eye the cigarette, tempted to try, but decide better of it. You’ll settle for the smoke that curls in the air and clings to his clothes. You tilt to the side, putting your head on his shoulder, and Suguru settles his cheek on the top of your head. Satoru, across from you and munching on pocky, has been watching you two with an eerie intensity.

“You two should come home to Kyoto with me.”

“Meeting the parents already?” The question was intoned by you and Suguru, at the exact same time. You lean away, glancing up at Suguru with the same surprise mirrored on his face, and then the two of you break out in a loud fit of laughter that’s becoming depressingly rare these days.

Satoru stands there, red-faced and fuming. “Sorry for wanting to spend my birthday weekend with you, you assholes!”

After collecting yourself and catching your breath, you ask, “Are we even allowed?”

“Doesn’t matter if you are or not,” he replies with a shrug of the shoulder. “I’m head of the clan, baby. I can do whatever I want, and no one can say a damn thing about it.”

From next to you, Suguru snorts. “Why don’t you just stay here since you obviously don’t want to go, Lord Gojo.”

“Future head of the clan,” Satoru reluctantly grumbles. “I could stay here,” he goes on to defensively. “I’m just being a nice person! The last time I saw my parents was last year when I moved on campus. I’m doing them a favor before I’m eighteen and never looking back.”

“Oh? Are you giving up your position when you graduate? Otherwise, you’ll probably be seeing them to do fancy, important clan stuff,” you tease.

“Screw both of you!” If life were an anime, there would be steam blowing out of his ears right now. “I was even going to let you guys go all out when we get fitted, but now I’m choosing for you, and I’ll put you in the ugliest colors!”

You cock your head to the side. “Fitted?”

“They want traditional clothes for the birthday celebration.”

“How traditional?”

“Ofurisode for you and montsuki for us,” he answers casually.

Oh, no. No, no, no. There have been only a few times where your parents rented a kimono for you, and you hated every single second of it. Granted, you were young, but you remember how much you hated it. “No.” You shake your head. “Absolutely not. I refuse.”

Satoru’s brows furrow. “Eh? Why?”

“What do you mean why? I can’t believe you’re okay with it! You don’t like clothes clinging to you, right?”

“Actually, it’s more like I hate when my clothes get wet. Besides, if something feels like it’s rubbing against me wrong, I can shift Infinity to sit between my skin and the fabric. Anyway, my montsuki are always silk, and I like how that feels.”

Your eye twitches. “Yeah, well, not everyone has Infinity. Do you even know how many pieces there are in an ofurisode? It’s so heavy and tight and—” you visibly shudder.

“Good point.” Satoru hums and taps his chin in thought. “Best I can do is a chu-furisode, though. I don’t doubt that they’d kick you out on your ass if you showed up in anything less formal or if we tried putting you in something for the married women.”

“You’re forgetting something,” you point out wryly. “I can just not go.”

“Sketch,” Satoru whines. “It’s my birthday.”

“We can celebrate here before or after you leave.”

“Also,” Suguru finally speaks up, “that’s too much money.”

“Oh, don’t worry, my little country bumpkins. It’s all on the Gojo dime and it won’t even be a drop in the bucket.”

Deadpan and once again at the same time, you and Suguru say, “Rich boy.”

Satoru claps his hands together in front of himself, ducking his head. “Please, please, please,” he loudly begs. “Don’t leave me on my own with my shitty clan! It’ll be like a sleepover! You guys did those when you were kids, right? My one wish is that I get a turn having a sleepover with Sketch and Suguru!”

We have sleepovers every time you’re on campus, you aggressively think. But, after a moment of reflection, you realize that, actually, not all three of you have slept in the same room. On the few times that they’ve been on campus at the same time, neither of them tries to sneak into your room at night or text you to ask. You think you know what they do, though. Just as they’ve started to leave pieces of themselves in your room, you see them in each other’s. And, sure, you could put that as them hanging out, but you’ll sometimes catch whiffs of cigarette smoke on Satoru’s sheets and pillows.

You still want to tell him no. It’s a daunting thought, being in an uncomfortable kimono, surrounded by people that don’t even respect their own future clan head let alone people like you and Suguru who have no sorcery in your bloodlines. But what else is there to get the boy who has everything? And…it’s a rare chance to have them to yourself because the higher-ups are giving him leave and, if Satoru insists, his family will request the same for you and Suguru.

“Fine,” you agree with a frustrated sigh.

Suguru also gives a sigh of his own. “I’m smoking, whether I’m allowed to or not.”

“Best birthday ever!” Satoru cheers.

***

For obvious reasons, Satoru puts off going on his clan’s estate as long as possible. There are people at the estate that could measure you and Suguru, but Satoru pulls you both into a shop that’s probably so expensive that it costs to breathe. You’re glad the prices aren’t displayed. Thankfully, you don’t really have to put up with strange hands all over you yet. They simply take a tape measurer to you and then let you pick out the fabric. Like Satoru, you decide on a beautiful silk that starts out forest green before fading to a navy blue near the bottom.

Kyoto is mostly religious sits—temples, castles, shrines, and the like. It’s very beautiful. Satoru takes you both to the Fushimi Inari-taisha, a long path that’s nothing but bright red torii gates. Satoru is surprisingly quiet, so it’s a peaceful moment. After the shrine, you wonder if it was just a way to calm you down before you’re forced to face the crowds to find food. It’s…honestly not as bad as you expected because with Satoru and Suguru’s huge bodies in front of and behind you, people can’t bump into you that much.

Late in the afternoon, as the sun is setting, the three of you are in a random park. Satoru is dozing off, head in Suguru’s lap, and Suguru is reading a book. It’s good inspiration, so you draw them. Not like that’s anything unusual. You do feel a little sad, a little nostalgic when you flip through your personal sketchbook and see the gradual loss of…youth, you guess. Even Shoko isn’t unaffected. You wonder how you look to everyone else.

At twilight, Satoru decides he can’t stall anymore, and he finally picks up the phone that he’s been ignoring all day.

jjk

“Your parents aren’t what I expected,” Suguru comments when the three of you shuffle into his obscenely large bedroom.

Meanwhile, your question is, “Is this not your room?” Sure, Satoru brought a lot of stuff when he moved on campus, but this room is…weirdly empty. Not a hint of his love for Digimon, no posters, and the bedsheets look like they belong to an older person rather than a teenager.

“Right? My parents are super weak. They were low on the Gojo ladder, but then they had yours truly, and they’re practically worshipped now. I’ve never lived with them much, though. They handed me over to tutors and people who could teach me about sorcery,” Satoru explains. “I was in another section of the compound, but when I come to Kyoto, I’m a good son and stay with my parents.”

Suguru voices what you’re both thinking. “Satoru, that’s…really sad. You know that, right?”

“Eh.” Satoru shrugs off the concern. “It’s probably how every other rich kid is treated. Non-sorcerers get boarding schools, and I got training and missions.”

“Missions?”

“Yeah?” Satoru cocks his head to the side, genuinely confused by your disbelief. “What? I’m Gojo Satoru, wielder of the Six Eyes. You think I was sitting around on my ass until high school?”

Suguru is pressing a thumb against the center of his forehead. “I’m too tired to tell you how fucked up that is, Satoru. We’ll save it for another day.”

“Agreed,” you say with a nod. “And don’t expect me to be polite to any of your family.”

“I don’t get you guys, but okay. Let’s go to bed.”

It takes a bit of maneuvering. There’s some giggling when, as you three try to get settled in Satoru’s massive bed, you all bump into some ticklish spots. You argue even more about the positioning. Finally, you decide that the birthday boy is stuck in the middle. Besides, he’s always ice cold, so he won’t get too hot, anyway.

Satoru has an arm thrown around your shoulders and Suguru’s. Suguru’s cheek is up in the crook of Satoru’s neck while yours is above his heart. It’s a nice sensation, listening to the frantic beat of Satoru’s heart slow as the minutes pass by. Suguru is half-asleep when he reaches out to lace his fingers through yours, placing them on Satoru’s stomach. They’re both asleep before you, which isn’t a surprise. They must be exhausted, constantly coming and going on missions.

I wish I was stronger.

Strong enough to shoulder these burdens with them, strong enough to face down the old men that treat Satoru and Suguru like weapons to be used and feared, strong enough to stop childishly clinging to everyone else, strong enough to protect these so very precious moments, strong enough…

I’m weak.

And that’s a bitter truth but a still a truth regardless.

[vanishingcherry]

Hi, could you please write a lando Norris fic with angst prompt 1 thank you 🥰

LOVE, OR LACK THEREOF

pairings: lando norris x reader

warnings: break up, implied drinking, kinda asshole lando at first

authors note: thanks for requesting! prompt 1 is "do you even love me anymore?" side note, it is so hard to find a gif of lando in which hes not smiling. also im so sorry for the ending i have no idea how to end angst

masterlist

๑ ⋆˚₊⋆────ʚ˚ɞ────⋆˚₊⋆ ๑

The two of you had fallen in love surprisingly fast, but the process of falling out was slow and torturous. Fate was cruel, adamant on hurting you.

Instead of late night talks, the two of you would sleep facing the wall, neither wanting to risk seeing the other. Cute dinner dates turned into eating leftovers in different rooms, not wanting to risk a conversation. Small gifts and bouquets were to be seen no more, the house growing more dreary by the day.

You weren't sure if it was worth it anymore. You loved Lando, too much if you were being honest. But at this point, you weren't sure if he loved you back.

You noticed it at the beginning of the end. The way he always had an excuse. Whether it was streaming on twitch or calls with Zak, he never did anything with you anymore.

And you had tried, my god had you tried.

You had done everything. You had meticulously planned dates and activities based on his schedule, shifting around your own. You had been understanding, comforting, whenever he claimed he was too tired to go out to eat. You figured it was just for a while, that the stress had gotten to him and everything would be okay soon. But nothing changed, and 3 months later you found yourself in the exact same position.

Honestly? You were tired. Tired of your relationship, tired of Lando, and tired of putting effort into something he clearly didn't care about. You would give him one last chance, one last time to show he loves you.

That day, you wait for him in the living room. He had gone out with a few friends and it was well past 11pm, the time he had promised he would return.

Hearing the click of the lock, you mute the movie, watching the door open to reveal a tipsy Lando. His eyebrows furrow together at the sight of you on the couch.

"Why aren't you asleep yet?" he asks, heading to the kitchen for a glass of water.

"I wanted to talk to you, remember?"

"Can't we just talk tomorrow, I'm tired" he responds, before turning towards the staircase.

You knew you had to speak now, his understanding of tomorrow would never come. You look down at your hands, almost whispering the next words in fear of what his answer would be.

"Do you even love me anymore?"

"What?" He turns around immediately, looking at you.

"You heard me."

"Of course I love you, why are you even asking me that?"

"You've said it 2 times in the last week."

"What?" he scoffed. "You're counting now?"

"What else do you want me to do, Lando? We've spent maybe 1 day together in the last month. You're always making excuses and leaving and- I don't even know. What am I supposed to think?" You stand up, your voice increasing in amplitude as you grow more and more frustrated.

"I don't know Y/N, maybe trust the fact that I love you!"

"How!? You haven't given me a reason to in months." Letting out a sigh, you shake your head. "Nevermind, I don't know what I was expecting by doing all this." You get up and head to your bedroom, speeding up when you hear Lando trailing behind you. You had prepared a small bag with enough clothes for a week, should the conversation not go well.

Thankful for your foresight, you turn around and see Lando standing in the doorway, interested in finishing a conversation for the first time in ages.

"Why do you have a bag packed?"

"I'm done. I'm leaving."

It was ironic how quickly his face changed. His hard expression turned soft at the realisation of what you meant, the anger in his eyes was no more, instead it flashed with fear and sadness.

"Done... with what?" he whispered. The tables had turned, now it was him who was afraid of your answer. He waited for your answer, mouth slightly parted, taking small breaths, fearful of what would happen when you broke the tense silence.

"You. Us." Your voice was cold as steel, wanting to leave the house as soon as possible. Leave him as soon as possible. You could feel the emotions building up inside of you, threatening to burst out, but you hold on, not wanting to cry in front of him.

You try walking past him, but his hand grabs your own, pulling you into his arms. He was now stood directly in front of you, still blocking the doorway.

"Darling I- I get that you're mad but we don't have to break up." His voice is hesitant, not wanting to accidentally say something to upset you further. "

"We do, Lando."

"No no no. We can- I can fix this, darling. How about we spend time together this week? Yeah? I'll clear everything, it'll be just the two of us, all week." His mind was scrambling, going through every possible action, trying to think of ways to make you stay. "Please, my love. I love you, I promise, so much. I'll say it a million times a day, forever."

You sigh, eyes filling up with water as you try to hold back the tears. He didn't deserve to see you cry, see how much he had hurt you. "Lando, I would've given anything for that a few days ago, hell even a few hours ago. But you didn't care until it was too late, and that's not my fault." You don't look at his face, knowing that his expression would break you. Instead you look past him at the door, shrugging off his hands and walking away.

"Wait! I- I'm sorry, I'm so, so sorry and I'm sorry I didn't tell you how much I love you. I'll do anything, my love. Anything. Tell me what you want and I'll do it."

You stop, but don't turn around, knowing that Lando was standing right behind you. "I don't want anything from you anymore, not when I know all I'll get is disappointment."

You leave, heading to your car. Lando stands still, staring at the door, watching, praying that you would come back. That he hadn't messed up to that point. That it was all just a nightmare.

[writerscall]

i cannot be your friend, so i pay the price of what i lost. and what it cost now that we don't talk.

because pushing her away was easier than having to stomach seeing her be with someone else.

author's note/s: 1k words. this is part one of a series. close friends to sad strangers to surprise college roommates is a trope, right?

Ignoring Hazel for the rest of the year wasn’t an easy decision or any easy thing to do. You two weren’t attached at the hip but you were such good friends that even the people who didn’t really talk to either of you eventually asked if you two had a falling out. We’re both just pretty busy at this time of senior year, you’d tell them; you had no idea what Hazel’s answer was to that, and you didn’t wanna know. It hurt you to ice her out but after what happened at the game, you just couldn’t be around her. Not when it was clear that PJ was in the picture like that.

Really, you should’ve been happy for her. You were one of the first people she came out to and even though she never explicitly said it, you knew she wanted to experience one relationship, or even a sort of fling, before high school ended. But your wishful thinking that it could’ve been the two of you in the end like some cliche really was just that — wishful thinking. That kiss and the way she and PJ acted around each other after said it all.

So you blocked it all out. Joined some clubs to fill up your schedule and actually make you as busy as you said you were, focused on academics like never before, got closer to other friends (for obvious reasons but also, why the hell not? It was senior year and you might not see some of them again). Overall, there were pros to what you decided to do about your crush on Hazel Callahan. You were making the most out of a sucky situation.

What you weren’t proud of was deciding to go out with the baseball team’s captain on a whim, and then agreeing to really date him after. He was nice and was a pretty good boyfriend, but you weren’t as into him as he was into you. But that was the least of your concerns throughout that relationship that inevitably came to an end as graduation neared.

You’ll never forget the complicated look on her face the day he greeted you with a kiss on the cheek at your locker. You’ll never forget the ‘Can we talk now? Please?’ text she sent that night, her last attempt at reaching out before she took to ignoring you too.

And that was it. Hazel wasn’t part of your senior year until its end and you assumed it would be the same for the rest of your life, or at least for a long, long time.

But the universe just loved playing cruel tricks sometimes.

“Okay, you’re sure you’ve got everything? Those new notebooks, your writing materials, enough bras and pa—”

“Okay, mom!” You cut her off with a nervous laugh, silently thanking god that your roommate and whoever was helping her move in hadn’t arrived yet. “I’ve got it all, I promise. It’s okay for you to go now.”

Your mother sighs as she reaches out to give your arm a squeeze, and after a few more pointers for your first day and about five ‘you can always give us a call for anything’ reminders, you were alone. You smile to yourself as you look at your fixed up side of the dorm, jittery in a good sense. Everyone said college was different from high school in the best way and you were determined to make it so. Even though you knew how much busier and hectic life would get with university level academics.

You’re so lost in your own thoughts that you don’t hear the door open. It’s only when that painfully familiar voice says your name that you snap out of it.

Hazel Callahan, practically the same as ever, standing in the doorway with her luggages and a duffel bag across her body. She manages a smile, small and hesitant. To your surprise, all you can say is, “You’re my roommate?”

Her face twitches in disappointment, smile faltering noticeably. You didn’t mean for that to come off the way it clearly did but the question escaped you before you could think. Of all the people in the world — or even just of all the people in high school, it just had to be her? You were over Hazel. You’d tried so hard and honestly haven’t thought about her much at all since graduation.

Only for all that effort to feel like it was undone within seconds. Fantastic.

“Trust me, I… I didn’t know this would be the arrangement. My mom’s got an old friend here who could probably do a room switch for one of us — I mean, for me I guess, you’ve already got your side of the room fixed up while I’m still all packed, so—”

You put a hand up to stop her. “Hazel, it’s fine. We can share this room. All that stuff from…” You let the sentence trail off and clear your throat. “I mean, it doesn’t matter anymore, it never really has.”

Though expecting her to brighten even slightly at your attempt at an olive branch, her expression stays the same. Complicated actually, like the one she had upon seeing you and your (short-lived) senior year boyfriend for the first time in school. You try not to think about it.

“Anyway, I’ve got some things to go check with the registrar’s office, so I’ll get out of your hair so you can unpack and all that.” There was nothing to check with at the registrar’s office, but you needed to find some place that wasn’t your dorm to pull yourself together. Or maybe scream.

There’s a look of understanding on her face but shakes her head at you. “You wouldn’t be in the way. We could use this time to catch up. It’s been a long while, you know?”

Well, you certainly weren’t ready for that, so you just say something about wanting to get to the office while it wasn’t too busy yet. You cast her a side glance with a smile that you really hoped didn’t look forced or fake as you watch her bring in her things, then make a beeline for the door. 

But you stop when she asks, “Hey, um, maybe we can sit with each other at the orientation tomorrow?”

“Uh… yeah, sure.” And you knew that didn’t sound forced or fake with the way Hazel almost grins at you.

Yeah, you really needed to find a place to scream somewhere on campus.

[multi-fandom-imagine]

Hi! So at the end of Loki how he becomes part of the multiverse tree and everything resets. but what if the reader still remembers Loki so she goes to look for him and try to give him a happy ending.

It's so sad because Loki should have a happy ending and seeing what happens in the finale of the show I would like to see him not end up alone.🥺

A/n: I WILL GIVE LOKI HIS HAPPY ENDING, p.S…Wanda is also alive cause I said so. So yea obviously I changed a lotttt of things.

Side note: was gonna make Sylvie switch places for Loki’s but I didn’t want to be called stupid 😂. But if you want it as an alt end then I’ll write it.

You didn’t understand, you couldn’t understand why people couldn’t remember him. Why? Mobius,Sylvie, not one of them remembered Loki.

You refused to believe this, he couldn’t be gone, you had to do something, you had to fix this. Ignoring Mobius calling out your name, you were determined to find him, you will save Loki and you had to go to the one person that would help, the one person that could help.

Wanda

Your heart hammered as you came upon the home, the same little house you had found for the woman, one reality where she can finally be happy. You just hoped she would remember her love. You hoped that what ever Loki had done hadn’t reset this life.

Taking a deep breath, you made your way to the door. Your hand knocking on the door though relief flooded your body when the woman said your name, her head tilted to the side.

“You remember me?! Oh thank god…Wanda I need your help?”

Wrinkling her nose Wanda stepped side letting you come into her home. “Why wouldn’t I remember….what’s wrong?”

Patting your lips you ran you nervously bit your lip as you started explain everything to your friend. “And now he’s stuck in the Loom and nobody remembers him but us and he’s alone and I can’t.” Shaking your head you grasped the edge of your shirt. “Please Wanda! You’re the only one that can help me.”

Wanda hated seeing you like this, you were one of the kindest people she knew. You were the only one that helped her, the believed in her. Glancing over her shoulder, she nodded her head as she grasped your hand gently. “Of course, let’s just find a place that’s not my front yard.”

Giving one last look at her family she tugged you to her car. While she knew what this would mean, she was grateful for your friendship.

•

Stepping through the portal, you glanced over your shoulder spotting the woman struggling to keep it open. “It’s okay Wanda you can let go.”

Tears sliding down her cheeks, Brooke gave you a weak smile. “I’ll miss you.”

“I’ll miss you too, and thank you.” Turning away from the closing portal you took a deep breath taking a glance at your surroundings. Did he really subject himself to this? It felt so lonely here, so isolated.

You didn’t care if people will forget you, it didn’t matter because you would have Loki, he wouldn’t be alone anymore.

A smile formed on your lips as you spotted the man sitting on a thorn. The once heart broken look on his face was replaced with a look of disbelief, your name spilling from his lips.

“It’s can’t, this must be a cruel joke.” This bad to be some illusion, something is mind made up to push back the loneliness he felt.

Giving him a teasing smile you stepped forward kneeling down in front of him. Your hands grasping his gently. “I’m not very good at jokes but I can assure you that I am very real.”

Clutching your hand tightly he was afraid that if he let go than you’d just vanish. “You must go back you can’t-.”

Placing your hand on his cheek, you let your thumb glide across his skin. “Well, it’s a bit to late for that now.” You then pressed a kiss to the corner of his lips then smiled resting your head against his feeling Loki draw you in close. “So now you’re going to have to put up with me.”

“Thank you.” Loki whispered holding you tight, hr might be stuck protecting all the time lines but at least he wasn’t alone anymore.

At least he had you.

[jeonghantis]

https://twitter.com/dindinowo/status/1657312174568767488?s=46&t=gMNFXRsnYXE0OiELxeVYXw

i know he is probably just sleepy but….. dacryphilia go brrrrrr

✧ — [11:33 PM] (k.mg)

PAIRING ⇝ kim mingyu x reader.

TAGS ⇝ established relationship, smut.

WARNINGS ⇝ language, gn!reader, small caps are intentional, explicit sexual content (MINORS, DNI!).

EXPLICIT WARNINGS ⇝ sub!mingyu, dom!reader, top!mingyu, bottom!reader, praise (mingyu is called pretty and if u dont fuck w that click out), dacryphilia, teasing, tear licking (does this need a warning), handjob, orgasm denial, edging, penetration, unprotected sex. lmk if i missed anything!

WORD COUNT ⇝ 842 words.

note: congratulations, anon. you made me so feral that you're getting a short, probably poorly written drabble. 😁 because holy shit……… tell me why my stomach flipped when he started wiping his tears…. anyway i’ll tell you 😋 i hope you enjoy hehehehehhehe. this was written completely on a whim so it is not proofread one bit and it's a bit less detailed than my usual writings and different. it is just me pouring my brainrot out. i am so SORRY.

reblogs & comments are very much appreciated.

hard hours are open.

you’ve been stroking his cock for god knows how long, but every time he feels like he’s close to cumming, on the brink of toppling over into a euphoric high, you wrench away your hands away from him. he’s mewling and just so pathetic as his hips stutter up into the air as if to chase after that stolen bliss to no avail. 

“you’re adorable, baby,” you lilt sweetly, leaning down to press a feathery kiss atop his leaking tip as a reward—or was it to further taunt him? “can i see it again? can you handle one more?”

no, absolutely not, he wants to say, but defiance had long quelled away from him since the third (fourth?) time you’ve denied his release.

“i-i don’t know,” mingyu exhales shakily, glistening eyes wavering to meet your gaze. “m-maybe?”

“it’s a yes or no question, darling,” you smile and squeeze around the base of him which earns a delightful throb from him. 

mingyu worries on his bottom lip. “just one more?”

“just one more,” you reassure. 

his eyes shut. “then yes, i can.”

a grin. “you’re so good for me, gyu.”

and so, mingyu is enduring another round of your cruel ministrations with his hands remaining stubbornly at his sides as you told him to, clenched so tightly into fists that his nails imbed red crescents into his palm. pleasure was a fiery flame from where it sparked once again in his abdomen, licking its way up his veins and swallowing everything in its path. it fogged his brain, compelling him to focus on nothing else but its passionate blaze. mingyu was almost lost in it, the remaining fraction of his sanity almost completely consumed. then his moans grow louder in volume and frequency, his thighs flexing -

and you’re pulling your hands away from him once again, darkened and eager eyes watching his every move. 

something in mingyu breaks then and it was not the sweet release he had been hoping for. tears flow from his eyes, staining his cheeks in a wet sheen. his sobs comes with tiny hiccups, his chest rising and falling with rapid breaths, and yet he’s still babbling his pleas and mantras of your name through it all. he’s gone. he’s so impossibly gone in his own desires and need, and all you could do was just stare. you stare and take it in with widening eyes and a pounding heart.

“oh my god,” you whisper under your breath. 

you’re torn. your first instinct is to panic, to coddle your lover and wipe his tears away and reassure him of everything good in the world. but beneath, the underlying and somehow very overwhelming part of you wants to laugh. oh, it’s sick. you’re absolutely sick to be deriving pleasure from this. but god help you, there was just something so gratifying about seeing a hulk of a man trembling and crying under you because of you. 

“you did so well, gyu,” you croon, finally lifting yourself from your position to finally climb over his sprawled figure. “god, you look so pretty right now.”

mingyu lifts a hand to start dabbing at the tears that continue to cascade down his face, then up to his eyes where they blur his vision. “was i not pretty before now?” he murmurs weakly.

you laugh. “i see you’re fine enough to be joking around.”

“i’m so very far from fine,” he sulks with pouted lips, his hands coming to rest on your waist. “i need to cum inside you to be fine.”

“of course,” you snicker and seat yourself down on him, your throbbing arousal resting neatly on top of his own. the softest moan slips from your lips, while the loudest slips from his, his grip on your waist tightening just the slightest bit.

“please,” mingyu sobs out, looking at you with his pupils blown out wide from pure, primal lust. “please, baby, i don’t think i can handle any more. just please fuck me.”

you gave a fake hum of consideration just as your hips roll deep, dragging your crotch over his with one lazy, delicious drag that draws out the most pitiful whimper from mingyu.

“well, since you asked so nicely,” you say, wearing the sweetest smile on your face. 

“thank you,” he breathes out when he feels your hand wrap around his girth again.

“thank you,” he says again when you press his blunt tip to your fluttering hole.

“thank you,” he mewls out when you finally sink down on him, swallowing every inch of him in your luscious heat. 

you reach forward, thumbing away at the new set of tears that he had not known were running down his cheek. you bring your finger to your mouth, lapping at the salty drops you gathered, and your lips only pull wider into a grin. 

mingyu let out another sob.

“for the record,” you start, cradling his face gingerly in your hands. “you’ve always been pretty. i just find you a just little bit prettier when you’re crying for me.”

*cut to mingyu cumming in one stroke* hehehhe

© circlesol. all rights reserved. do not re-publish, translate, plagiarise, edit any of my work on any other platform.

[sweetkpopmusings]

ateez as demigods <3

a/n: i acquired the poca albums for spin off last week, and a picture of yunho reminded me of greek gods, so here we are ! i adore aus like this, so i hope you enjoy a little magic with your ateez thoughts today <333 pics not mine~

content: demigod!ateez, greek mythology au | wc: 0.7k | warnings: none really! | pairing: ateez x gn!reader | requests: open

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

seonghwa♡‧₊˚

the son of aphrodite 

heart-fluttering touches, light reflecting off pearls, soft smiles after unsaid i love you’s

seonghwa cherishes his ability to make roses bloom any time he walks by because he deeply believes there is nothing more important than creating beauty in the world. when you meet him, a light breeze and the faint scent of sea foam envelops you, carrying with it an abundance of calm. when he looks at you, you feel as though you are being seen by the intimate eyes of the one destined to love you for eternity. 

hongjoong♡‧₊˚

the son of hades

the smell of an old leather jacket, music in a dive bar, holding on and never letting go

he’s proud of how he can sense the presence of sadness, anger, loneliness, and despair in others, because he possesses an impeccable ability to comfort those trapped in darkness. when you meet hongjoong, the world is quiet, save the sound of his voice saying your name. when he looks at you, you understand the security that comes with unfaltering trust in someone who has never let you down and never will.

yunho♡‧₊˚

the son of apollo

a perfect summer afternoon, gut feelings, waking up from a restful nap

yunho carries the sun wherever he goes, and his mightiest power is warming those who need it most, even when their worlds have frozen over. when you meet him,  all the tension in your body falls away, replaced by the satisfaction of a job well done. when yunho looks at you, his glow melts every last worry in your mind, an endless promise to point you in the right direction and follow you wherever you go. 

yeosang♡‧₊˚

the son of artemis 

intense gazes, secrets revealed by moonlight, the deep green of a forest after rain

yeosang views his capacity to calm the racing hearts of animals and humans alike as a shield against a cruel world. when you meet him, you feel the electricity of the full moon rising in a clear night sky coursing through your body, a never-ending promise of adventure. when he looks at you, you are intoxicated by an incomprehensible mix of bravery and safety. if yeosang is by your side, you are invincible.

san♡‧₊˚

the son of demeter 

golden sunlight, cutting fruit for the ones you love, picnics filled with laughter and promises

anything touched by san becomes infinitely sweeter, and he never fails to pick the ripest fruit from the tree. when you meet him, you feel as though you’ve finally caught your breath, even though you can’t remember when or why you started running. when san looks at you, you are filled with delight, giggling like children playing their favorite type of make-believe.

mingi♡‧₊˚

the son of hermes

a familiar voice calling your name in a crowd, handwritten notes, hearing “i missed you”

mingi, though filled with racing thoughts, is confident in his power to say the exact words needed at the most important times. when you meet him, his simple “hello” carries with it a promise to always find you, no matter where you are. when he looks at you, everything you’ve ever wanted to say falls off your lips easily, as though all the right words you couldn’t find before are coming to you at once.

wooyoung♡‧₊˚

the son of dionysus

the taste of honey, skin buzzing with excitement, neon lights flooding city streets

he is eternally grateful for the fact he can lift people’s spirits with just a glance in their direction. when you meet him, you are overwhelmed by the feeling of hearing your favorite song from childhood, a bliss that comes with the innocence of youth. when wooyung looks at you, your heart drums inside your chest as though you’ve been dancing for hours, but you somehow still have the energy to dance again and again and again.

jongho♡‧₊˚

the son of athena

freshly brewed coffee, pages turning in a nearly empty library, footsteps on marble floors

he can settle any argument, not through stubbornness, but with an unflinching ability to determine the most equal compromise for all parties involved. when you meet jongho, the question that had been weighing on your mind for ages was finally answered. when jongho looks at you, you feel an unbreakable self-confidence, grounded in a way you never dreamt of before you knew him.  

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

[waitingonher]

hi there!! congrats on 100 followers,, could you do prompt 17 for leo valdez? i love ur writing so so much you write characters just how i imagined them

EMMY'S 100 EVENT CELEBRATION

leo valdez + this reminded me of you.

content warning: nothing

authors note: HI THANK YOU SO SOSOSOSO MUCH!!! that really means a lot to me <33 thank youuu

your only regret about joining camp-half blood—besides the lethal quests issued every once in a while—are the monthly cabin check-ups. why chiron had to implement this incredibly useful, yet incredibly stupid system? you wish you knew. well, you do suppose it’s come in handy against your siblings who’d prefer to live in a complete pigsty. but other than that, it’s proven to become everyone’s least favorite day. a day full of cleaning, very irritable campers, and the overpowering scent of every detergent on the market isn’t exactly what someone would want to wake up to.

but here you are, unfortunately put on laundry duty. damn your terribly cruel siblings. they get assigned the fun things like sweeping, and dusting! well actually, those still aren’t very fun but it’s way, way better than doing laundry. the process of separating, washing, drying, and then folding isn’t your ideal way of spending your afternoon. but, the only benefit of laundry duty is that you’re basically completely alone, which also means no one’s there to pester you about your quality of work. yay to no one screaming in your ear about better sweeping techniques!

that’s why you find yourself half-assing the color sorting. you absentmindedly toss somebody’s light pink hoodie into the colored laundry basket. light pink and black? basically the same thing. but your focus comes back as you realize that you’re onto the last basket that requires sorting. you really have to fight yourself from doing a victory dance. 

while your focus does come back, it doesn’t necessarily go back to the clothes though as you hear the door of the laundry room slam open. a sweaty, disheveled-looking boy enters, a grin plastered on his face that makes it seem as if he’s relieved to have found you. and he just so happens to be your boyfriend, “babe, i’m here to rescue you from laundry duty.” 

“thank the gods,” you toss the sock in your hand into a random basket and make your way to leo. he chuckles at your carelessness before pulling you in for a kiss. you really needed that, “now tell me, how do you plan to rescue me from laundry duty?” 

leo makes a face that tells you he hasn’t really thought that far, “um. well, i brought you temporary relief,” he responds, fishing something out of his jean pocket. and out comes a tiny red satin pouch. 

“oh?” your head tilts out of curiosity, “did you find and steal something while cleaning?” the thought of leo doing something like that wasn’t totally out of the question. so that’s why you’re a little more confused when he simply shakes his head and offers you the bag in silence. 

with the pouch in your hand, your boyfriend makes a motion for you to open it, “okay, i might’ve hyped it up a little too much,” leo gives you a sheepish smile as you pull out two absolutely adorable matching cat keychains, “but they reminded me of you, so i bought them. plus, i also thought they’d make a good gift of encouragement for today.” 

“oh leo, these are so cute!” you put the cats side by side and you almost scream, once connected, they form a heart! all of a sudden your hatred for laundry duty and everything else bad in the world washes away. who knew two little cat keychains could have this effect on you? apparently leo did, “thank you so, so much babe,” you kiss him on the cheek, “i swear, as soon as i’m done here,” a smooch on the other cheek, “i’m putting my half on my bag,” finally, one for his lips. 

leo’s features form a lopsided, lovesick smile, “wow. if i knew two little keychains would earn me this many kisses, then i would’ve just bought you two real cats,” he says, a teasing tone laced within his words. 

you laugh at the idea of leo walking into the laundry room carrying two random cats. as much as you’d love to see that come to fruition, cat hair and clothes do not mix well. you pocket your keychain and hand the other to leo, “you should probably go, chiron would lose his shit if he saw you here with me.” 

“wait, more kisses, then i’ll leave,” your boyfriend’s lips begin to turn comically downwards as his brows raise, and you realize what he’s doing: his stupid puppy dog eyes, “you can’t resist this can you?” 

you quirk your brow, “oh, i can,” but the way he looks so incredibly dumb and desperate makes you give in, “fine. let’s make it quick.”

[splendsay]

COD FF // Callsign: Sunshine // Ch. 46: Beloved

Soapy :')

..................................................................

Callsign: Sunshine // Chapter 46: Beloved

Rating: 18+ !!MDNI!! Chapters: 46/? WC: 123,154 Pairing(s): TF141 x F!Reader (You) (no use of y/n) Chapter Warnings: Explicit language, suggestive language Chapter Excerpt (🚨spoilers!!🚨):

As soon as the words leave his mouth, they feel stupid. 

Inadequate. 

Redundant. 

He knows you already know, of course. You'd have to. Surely. It's a subject that's been broached before. Once or twice.

But he's never admitted it. Never said it. Not aloud. Not to anyone. 

Not even you, despite always being an arm's length away. Against the will of his mind, his body has made every effort to keep you close. Lingering touches. Besotted glances. The enduring, ever-present drive to be by your side -- or Ghost's. 

He's made attempts to hide his feelings. To pretend like it isn't true. Like he doesn't love you. To carry on -- move on. But he can't. You dosomething to him. Chemically. Cellularly. 

He feels you everywhere. It's pervasive and poignant and permanent. A vibrant bloodstain blooming against the crisp, white expanse of his psyche. 

He can't explain it. Doesn't want to. 

And he knows you know. 

Why he chose this particular moment to voice the words, though...

Here you are, naked and shivering in his arms. Bullet hole in your thigh. No doubt hungry and exhausted. It just started bubbling up out of him before he could think better of it -- and you'd latched on.

You'd asked. Begged. Like it wasn't earth shattering information. Like it even might be something you wanted to hear. 

That arm's length -- strategic and necessary. Every hint of your reciprocation -- blocked from memory. He'd convinced himself he'd hallucinated it. All of it. Every moment a dream. A cruel joke played by his subconscious. 

But he studies you now. Notes the way silver slowly lines your eyes. The way you bite the inside of your cheek. 

You're quiet. Unusual, for you. You almost seem shy. 

Haltingly, you push up on your toes. Slide your hands up to rest at the base of his throat. Instinctively, his hold on your waist stiffens. The oxygen flees his lungs. Still, he watches you. Watches you close what little distance remains.

The contact, when it comes, is a tender brush of your lips against his. Fleeting. So, very delicate. A timid question. A demure plea. It takes every ounce of his willpower not to grip you by the rear and push you up against the locker room door. 

He screams at his body to slow down. To focus. To savor the moment. To memorize the velvet feeling of you. Catalog the way you taste -- the way a warm summer day feels. And it obeys -- just barely. A telltale tremble echoes through him. 

And then -- 

"I love you too."

That restraint snaps. 

Soap deepens the kiss, finally -- finally -- opening himself up to you. Reckless. Feverish. The heady ale of your evident and savory wanting soaks him down to the bones. His limbs become jelly. His heart clambers for escape from his ribs. 

You throw it all back to him in-kind. Nails to his scalp, a bite to his lower lip, and a rogue, eager moan that reverberates through him like a wind chime. 

Thirty seconds in and you're already driving him crazy.

He does push you against the door, gently, though, keen to let you remain in control. But you don't protest. You drag him by the collar with you. 

He travels down your jaw, along the column of your throat. Has to bend his knees to reach, but it's no trouble. Hell, he'd drop to them in a heartbeat -- for you. Take a bruising or a beating. Strip down to nothing and crawl on all fours along these wet, icy tiles. Just to kiss the ones beneath your feet. 

He'd do anything. 

Anything. 

You need only ask. 

It's a funny thing, devotion. Loyalty's favorite cousin. Soap's never been one for it. 

Never a god or a gal or a game that ever really caught his fancy. Not enough to dump everything else in his life. 

Then came Ghost. And what started as a run-of-the-mill sense of duty slowly morphed into something else. Something he'd never been able to name. Or even describe. 

But you -- loving you and...watching you love him. It changed things. It changed everything. 

He breathes your name into the crook of your neck, unable to articulate anything else. You nuzzle his nose with yours. 

"Johnny."

"I...," he grinds out. "I just..."

"I know," you murmur, drawing him into another kiss. His mind spins. A colorful whirligig -- ribbons of gold and cerulean swirling 'round and 'round with unrepentant glee. 

..................................................................... Links to: Spotify Playlist Full Fic

[tragedybunny]

Slow Dancing In a Burning Room - Chapter 1

༺Summary༻

In a moment of weakness, Serafina helped Astarion ascend, forever altering him and their relationship. Irrevocably bonded in violence, can she survive life at his side, or will she be broken by the cycle of pain and terror.

༺Pairing༻ Astarion x Serafina (Female Tav)

༺Warnings༻ Dubcon / Noncon elements (mild this chapter), violence, toxic / abusive relationships

༺Word Count༻ 2128

༺A/N༻This will be a bit of a darker take on Ascended Astarion and the relationship with his Consort, and a bit of an AU for how I normally portray him and Serafina's relationship. As such I am not tagging anyone unless specifically requested for this fic. Additionally I would like to note this is my take on Ascended Astarion, or maybe one of my takes on him, but I will not say it is some definitive take and does not invalidate anyone else's headcanon or ideas about the character. Thanks to @leomonae for betaing this chapter.

꧁༺Chapter 1 - The Ascendant Vampire Lord ༻꧂

“Isn’t that what you want, to be mine forever?” the man that still bore Astarion’s appearance, but seemed less like him every passing moment, asked. 

A great, black pit opened in Serafina’s heart at his words. Never once had she indicated that she wished to be his spawn - or Consort, as he was so deviously calling it. “No, Astarion, that’s not what I want at all.” 

None of this was what she wanted. The ritual had promised him freedom, and in a moment of weakness, with his tormentor there on his knees, she’d agreed. The thousands of spawn couldn’t be loosed upon the world, and this way Astarion would be safe. Maybe it was the exhaustion and fear that had worn down her senses, maybe it was her foolish heart, so blindly in love, but something had clouded her judgment in that moment. And now nothing felt right; there was something different behind those crimson eyes she’d thought she knew so well. Or maybe she hadn’t; maybe this was him all along. There was something cruel and hungry, lurking, waiting, and when he stared at her too long, it made her shiver. And all those souls…

“Ah, pity. You deserve to be beautiful forever, my love.” Then those eyes softened and it was the Astarion she knew looking at her. Smiling warmly, he wrapped her in his arms, and kissed her forehead. “But whatever makes my darling happy.” 

Burying her face in his chest, she could feel his hands softly rubbing her back. Was it possible she’d been imagining all that darkness? After almost a full day without sleep, and the trauma of the battle with Cazador and the ritual, she was no longer sure of anything. 

Just thinking about it made her yawn unconsciously. “Is my little love sleepy,” he cooed in her ear, hands running through her hair, just like all the nights they’d shared a bed and he’d cuddled close to her. 

It was her own guilt, that was all. The guilt for those lives that had been taken in the ritual. This was still Astarion; her exhausted mind was just playing tricks on her. “Mmm, yeah, I can hardly stand.” 

She gasped as her legs were swept out from under her and Astarion held her to his chest. “Private room, a little time for just the two if us before you sleep?” he asked in a sultry whisper, his offer clear.

Suddenly much more awake, looking up, she caught his gaze again, wondering at the sudden desire. “You’re sure?”

“Don’t be…” His response was almost snappish, but he caught himself. “Of course I am. I love you.” 

Three little words, everyone’s favorite. Was he sincere? But why wouldn’t he be, after everything? Gods, she really was too tired. “I love you too, Astarion.” 

“Always?” It sounded like a plea: like the man who told her that he’d deceived her into loving him, but that he wanted it to be real. 

“Always, my Starry Sky,” She kissed the hollow of his throat softly, content to accept his words, and let him carry her away to the room at the Elfsong set apart from the shared common area.

The room was full of soft candlelight and the bed was freshly made, the scent of clean linen mixed with Astarion’s own blend of bergamot, rosemary, and brandy. It felt vibrant, alive, and welcoming. He gently laid her down amongst the pillows. “Let's get you comfortable,” Astarion purred, pulling her boots off. 

Sera shifted, pushing up on her elbows as her boots were discarded, her exhausted brain trying to fend off the last of the drowsiness. Something cold slithered into her stomach as Astarion began to strip off his shirt, baring himself to the waist. No, they were celebrating, this was their victory. There was nothing wrong with it. 

“Like what you see?” he smirked, the picture of that roguish charm she'd fallen for. 

A hesitant smile answered him. This was what she wanted, Astarion happy and the two of them free to be in love. “Is there any doubt, my love?” He was too far away though. “Come to me, I want to touch you.” That would put things right, having him in her arms. 

“Soon, my treasure.” He was already tugging on the laces of his trousers. The way he was rid of them and his boots was too precise: methodical, not passionate. 

Sitting fully, she pushed back against those thoughts. They were finding themselves again. For a moment, she drank him in, in all his impossible beauty, as though hand-sculpted by some god. “Astarion.” The word was a plea: for him to touch her, to show her those doubts were unfounded. 

With feline grace he came to her, kneeling beside her on the bed, his lips capturing hers before traversing down. “My sweet Serafina,” he murmured, lips burning hot against her skin as fangs teased her throat. Fingers that no longer held the cool of the grave brushed her skin as he tugged at her shirt. Shrugging out of it, she pulled him to her, hands wandering his ivory skin, the lines of his scars rigid against her palms. A reminder that he had paid the price for all of this years before the ritual. Didn’t he deserve the freedom it gave him?

“I love you, I want you,” she moaned as his tongue ran along the shell of her ear. 

“Then you shall have me, my love.” Already his hands were working to free her from her pants, moving to them from her waist at such speed, she’d hardly noticed. He stripped them from her with demanding fervor. 

Greedily, his eyes roamed her bared body. “My love, all mine,” he growled, shifting to kneel between her thighs, spreading her legs. 

As he leaned down to kiss her again, the press of his cock against her already wet slit made her whimper and roll her hips against him. My love, the blood in her veins sang, echoing him; her whole body craving him and her heart trembling with love. 

“Mine,” he whispered again, darkness slipping into his voice. 

A shiver ran through her and her lips parted. Whatever words she might have said died on her tongue as his unyielding grip fixed on her wrists, pinning them above her head. A gasp was pulled from her as his cock pushed inside her, forcing her open for him. 

The pain was momentary as slow thrusts of his hips let her accommodate his girth. And it was so good to feel him inside her, to be together in this way. Rolling her hips, she met his thrusts, even as her wrists remained pinned above her. Soft whimpers filled the air between them as he lavished soft kisses on her skin from her chest to her throat. They lingered on the spot he'd bitten last, marks all but faded. 

Without warning, his fangs pierced her skin; Sera let out a yelp, but the sting faded into the haze of pleasure quickly. Blood pumped from her heart to his, nourishing the man she loved. “Astarion,” she breathed, feeling herself clench around him. 

“Come for me, my pet.” Something was wrong again, his voice like ice, the hands that held her turned to iron. Gasping, her release came, but his fangs remained in her neck, drawing out a crimson tide.

“Astarion, stop.” Her voice had already grown quiet, the edges of her vision blackening. Panic weighed down her already struggling heart. He had no intention of stopping, did he? Weakly, she tried to fight the grip on her wrists that held her in place and robbed her of her ability to cast magic. Far away, she could hear something: a slow thudding, her heart beating out its last feeble pumps. Eyelids that were too heavy closed and the cold of the grave Astarion had escaped enveloped her. 

“You’ll thank me later, little love,” the Vampire Ascendant said, with the voice of the man she loved. 

There was nothing, just an endless sea of icy darkness. It was peaceful though: no tadpole, no warlock pact, no family to run from and haunt her memories…no Astarion and whatever the ritual had done to him. If this was eternity, she could embrace it and lay down her burdens. 

It seemed that was too much to ask of the universe; awareness slowly came back to her. Limbs stiff and cold, not responding as they should, lungs that didn’t move of their own accord anymore, and a heart that barely beat. Flashes of images filled her mind, sensations and snippets of what had happened, Astarion on top of her, draining her life away, betraying her. Her dead heart ached and she hesitantly ran a tongue over her teeth, finding elongated canines sharp enough to prick. Maybe if she just kept her eyes closed, she could finish dying, and not face what had been done. 

“I can sense you stirring, Serafina. Open your eyes, love. Let me welcome you to your new life.” It wasn’t a command that compelled her and yet, she found herself inclined to do as he asked. Another wound to add to the others tearing her apart. He was her murderer and master in the span of hours. And she, his spawn and consort. 

Eyes opening, she found him sitting next to her, peacefully reading. “There you are,” Astarion’s smile was enough to bare his fangs as he greeted her. “How do you feel?”

Sera whimpered, eyes surprisingly wet for someone who was dead. “Why?” 

Astarion’s book snapped shut violently and his crimson eyes turned hard. “Are you really going to be petulant and ungrateful? I did this for you. You weren’t ready to accept it yet, but now you’ll live forever, perfect and beautiful.” Wetness dotted her cheeks and his voice turned gentle again. “Shh, I’m sorry I was short with you.” Sliding closer, he wrapped an arm around her, coaxing her to lay her head on his shoulder. “I love you Sera. I had to do this, I couldn’t bear to ever be without you. Don’t you understand?”

She hadn’t been ready for everything that had happened since she was taken by the Nautiloid. All she had wanted was freedom, not to become everyone’s leader and pillar of support, not to fall so helplessly in love. One misstep had brought it all crashing down. The striving had tired her, and it was easier to nod her head, stifle her tears, and agree with him. Easier to believe him. That it was for love. “I wish you would’ve given me time to think.” 

“Sera.” His voice caught in appropriate regret, “I’m sorry. I just did it, I didn’t think. We’ll be alright, won’t we?”

“We will,” she reassured him, taking his hand in hers. They were bound now anyway; looking back just meant more regrets. 

Tilting her head up, he brought his lips delicately to hers, leaving a pleasant haze in her mind, so unlike the last, violent, touch of his that had ended her life. “That’s more like it, my sweet.” A sudden pain in her abdomen caused her to wince, and Astarion cup her cheek softly, rubbing a thumb along it comfortingly. “You poor thing, I bet you’re starving too. Once we get some blood in you, everything will be alright. Let’s go get changed and see to it.”

Astarion rose, offering her his hand and helping her up. Her legs trembled slightly and she fought to steady herself. Wrapping an arm around her waist, he chuckled softly. “At least you didn’t have to claw your way out of your grave.”

He let her lean on him all the way back to the common room, his touch making her feel safe, wanted, loved. Perhaps there was something to this new Astarion: a stronger man than before, more sure of himself. Not that he hadn’t made her feel those same things before, but there was more confidence in him now. 

There was no mistaking what Astarion had done as their group gathered to plan their day. Her companions studied her, none of them remarking on the change for the moment. Finally, when their eyes seemed to harbor some unvoiced suspicion, Astarion whisked her away, explaining her need to be fed. 

As she changed for the day, Shadowheart wandered over, some laundry of Sera’s that had been mixed into hers in her hand. Sera was about to thank her, when she leaned in and whispered swiftly, “I thought you didn’t want to do this?’

Swallowing thickly, Sera let her eyes wander to where Astarion was discussing something with Gale. “I changed my mind,” she lied. They wouldn’t understand; they were so ready to condemn him as a monster. “Astarion needs me.”