#the quavering air

[goodbyeolepaint]

And one nice Goodreads review for my new one:

"There are personal stakes, there are questions about loyalty and commitment to the mission, there are interpersonal squabbles and personality clashes, there's character growth, there's even a romance subplot. It's good stuff . . .

I also enjoyed the fact that the sky didn't have the usual astronomical bodies, but swirls of light and colour, different ones for day and night, and that this ended up being a plot point as well as a decorative piece of worldbuilding. . .

The book scratched an itch that I have more often than I find capably-written books to satisfy it, and I would read more from this author."

- 4 Stars, Mike Reeves-McMillan

[goodbyeolepaint]

Here's the beautiful cover for my new book! By @audreyknight-blog-blog.

The first Broken Wheel Books title is coming soon!

All that divides Span from its dark sister world, Avid, are two extraordinary clocks set an hour apart by the wise founders known as The Appon. When a mysterious shapeshifter alters their settings, Avid’s beasts start slipping through rifts in the air, wreaking havoc on the many species of Span. Despite her insecurities and fresh heartbreak, the young human Renna answers the Appon’s summons to join the champions chosen to save their land from destruction. On a journey riddled with attacks from otherworldly creatures, the motley crew must put aside their prejudices and dark suspicions . . . because they dare not abandon the mission.

[screampied]

✧ ⁺˳ cw. fem! reader, husband nanami, cunnīlingus, fīngering, dirty talk, talking through it, squīrting, praise, mdni.

husband nanami who loves to rub his wedding ring against your sopping folds so your pussy always remember who it belongs to.

“she’s so pretty,” he’d whisper against your soaked entrance, feeling you throb against the silver band that wraps around his thick finger. nanami’s breath was airy hot, it fans against your slick heat and makes you intake a single sharp breath. you’re languidly laid back against the cushioned mattress, openly gawking at him merrily playing between your legs. “you’re prettier though sweetheart,” and you shudder, feeling his balmy lips plant a single kiss against your cunt. “mmh,” and a cobwebby string of sap drags out to stick onto his lips at the sloppy contact. nanami continues to rub his pearly band up and down your slit slowly, maneuvering enticing circles against your pulsating clit as he feels you writhe. “how’s it feel, my love?���

“don’t—stop, ‘ken,” you whimper, fishing a hand through his shaggy blond strands. dimples crease near the corners of his lips as he smiles, flicking his tongue against your poor twitching nub. “fuck, r.. right there, more.”

nanami lets off a breathy chuckle and the air that exits from his lips aerates onto your drooling folds. you’re soaked, and as his lips hungrily latch against your clit, he gives it a romantic french kiss. “whatever you want, wifey,” he purrs, such tease dripping underneath his tone. pretty lashes of his flutter shut as his right hand remains right between your thighs. nanami feels your cunt throb even faster once the frigid ring repeatedly smears against your pudgy folds. up and down, he’s gradual and slow — feeling his own dick in his slacks twitch at the sounds of your sloshing cunt bounce off the walls. “my, my, seems like our girl’s still got quite the mouth on her today.”

your legs struggled to stay pried open and he found it so cute. it was just the way your body would always respond to him, he knew exactly how to make you squirm and shiver. with a soft smile, nanami spreads your plump folds apart with two fingers—giving it a soft succulent suck.

“mmh,” and his eyes close before opening again, admiring how much your pretty pussy resembles a blooming flower. “aw, sweetheart. you’re looking away from me, don’t do that,” and his voice was a tauntingly deep rasp. it was husky, and as he’s prodding a lengthy finger against your slit, you whimper.

“eyes on me, eyes on kento—hey you,” and his voice lowers the exact moment you meet his lust filled gaze. butterflies swarm through your tummy and you gulp, feeling your chest tighten. at that moment, you throbbed and he felt it right against his flat tongue. “good girl.”

“k- ken.. ngh,” you whine, locking your quavering legs around his neck. nanami’s teeth gingerly nip at your tender folds as he inserts his ring finger inside of your saturated cunt. you quickly squeeze and clamp around his digit that’s slowly pumping itself inside. the band of the ring tickles around your tender skin and your legs grow weak. “ ‘m gonna c- cum again, kento—fuck.”

bringing his lips toward your sensitive clit once more, he gives it a few passionate kisses. aa his eyes close—he’s so into it. nanami’s imagining it’s your lips he’s kissing, swirling his tongue around and sucking at your pulsating nub. he could almost taste you.

glossy glimmering strings trail down the crevices of his lips and he hums, sliding in another finger. “hold it, sweetheart. hold it for me,” and his voice was husky, baritone hiding underneath each word he spoke. nanami’s soft fawn eyes flicker back up toward you before he gives your cunt a playful encouraging pat. “can you do that? be a good girl ‘n wait a little longer?”

“kento—hngh,” you whimper out, feeling your back arch against the velveteen pillows that sink beneath your weight. the air felt substantially thick as you’re getting closer and closer, and your ears started to hear nothing but pure white noise.

nanami’s fingers were insanely long, and he’s twisting them both around inside of your pussy in mouthwatering clockwise circles. “fuck, fuck,” and he chuckles, feeling you grab onto his hair.

messy blond tresses of his tangle within your fingers as he slowly guides his tongue up against down against your cunt. so sweet. as he’s multi-tasking, each time he delves his digits in and out, you feel a shortness of breath. his fingertips waste no time at reaching your g-spot and that’s all it took for you to nearly lose it. “ah, so squirmy today,” he purrs as the button tip of his nose brushes against your soddened folds. “go ‘head then i guess, honey. you can let got f’ me. ‘s okay.”

“k- kento.. oh my goddd,” you moan, slouched back against the cushioned mattress. it’s as if time stood still. everything felt carnal - your pupils were blown and you found yourself gnawing on your lip. you knew your orgasm was coming but like always — you were never prepared.

it comes in waves, roiling crashing waves that made your body succumb once the waters hit. the ‘water’ being your cascading slick that drenches nanami’s entire mouth from the chin down. you gush out abruptly as your legs still wrap around his face, letting off the most melodic shrilling whine.

“there we go, that’s it princess,” he whispers, still having his lips attached to your honeyed cunt. by now, he’s slipped out his fingers but presses his ring finger right back against your convulsing clit, rubbing it back and forth . .

the squelches that left out of you were loud, and he can’t help the curving smile that spreads against his lips. “there she goes,” he softly says, staring as you succumb to your long awaited orgasm. it felt like shockwaves ran through every spasming vein in your body as you leisurely grew limp. he’s still between your legs, and he licks his pink lips with an even hungrier grin.

“mhm, sweet as always, honey,” and you moan, watching nanami bring his ring finger up to his pursed lips, the same finger that was just buried deep inside of your pussy only a few seconds ago. within a blink of an eye, it disappears into his mouth as he licks the slick of you right off, his tongue gliding across the wet insipid band of his ring that drips with your sap. “you always feed me so well.”

“k- kento.” you moan, the stickiness between your legs making you pulse even more. nanami hums, glancing down underneath you and at the soaked sheets — creating a damp grey spot with how you made quite the mess from his tongue and he simpers.

pressing his thin lips together, he gives your sopping cunt one final kiss. “shhh, i know baby. i know,” and as you’re still trying to catch your breath, nanami goes back to eating you out. like the starved man he was. but this time, he’s spelling out letters with the pointed tip of his tongue. not just any letters though - he’s spelling out those same seven letters he asked you the day he got down on one knee — marry me?

“hng, don’t stop kento, please,” you whimper, your sensitive folds making you continuously heave irregular breaths in and out. his tongue curls all around, rummaging through each part of your gripping pussy before he sucks hard, earning a squeak from you.

“don’t plan on it,” he whispers, wrapping his mouth around your clit. nanami was still slow and gentle nonetheless—and it doesn’t take long before he’s already starting to get pussy drunk. a sleazy grin compresses against both corners of his lips as he continues to spell out those letters with his tongue. the salacious zigzags and curls he forms with just the tip of his tongue makes your toes curl and as you give him one more yank by the hair, he hums.

“mhm. already proposed to you, so why not propose to this pretty pussy too.”

[nanamiscocksleeve]

Bunny Breeding

Warnings: MDNI, breeding kink, pet play, slight hybrid fetish

Xavier loves breeding his little bunny girl.

You're giggling as he chases you around the apartment while you wear a ridiculously short skirt with a cotton ball tail right at the top of your ass, a rabbit ear head band on top of your hair. Your tits bounce freely as you look for a place to hide but Xavier has already found you.

With a predatory chuckle he pounces and traps you under him on the sofa.

"No point in struggling little bunny," He murmurs in your ear, licking the shell. His large hands hold your hips and raise your ass, creating a a tempting arch in your back, his hand flipping up the flimsy skirt. His hot erection springs free against your plushy bottom before he adjusts himself, finding your moist core with ease, drawing a quavering moan from you as he stretches you open deliciously, bottoming out and filling you with his length so satisfyingly.

Your cries of pleasure are accompanied by a smile as your cheek is pressed into the cushions, squirming in faux protest as he pistons in and out of your willingly wet pussy.

"Thought you could run away from me did you?" His palm possessively cups the swell of your ass and squeezes. "Thought you could hop away without letting me breed your sweet little pussy?" Xavier grits his teeth as your walls involuntarily clench around him.

"Clearly you needed to be bred my little bunny. Your cunt keeps sucking me in, pulling me deeper and closer to your womb. Do you want me to fill up those fertile walls? Knock you up with my kits and make you a bunny mama?"

The words are growled hotly in your ears and all you can do is whimper, your rationality flying out the window.

"Yes...breed my little bunny pussy...I want your kits..." you whine, the lewd sounds of skin slapping skin filling the air.

"That's a good girl. Raise those hips for me. Wouldn't want to waste this precious load now." You do as requested, your pussy slick from your arousal.

"Please make me a mama...I need you to fill me..."

Your soft pleading mewls are his undoing, and with a final thrust, Xavier buries himself inside your pussy, his cock twitching as his hot seed is released into your awaiting womb.

© nanamiscocksleeve original work | no copying, plagiarizing or translating

[hayatheauthor]

Creating Fear in Your Characters: A Writers Guide

Creating authentic emotions is vital for immersive storytelling, which is why I decided to make this series on how to write different emotions. After exploring rage, and sadness it's now time to delve into fear!

Fear is a powerful emotion that can manifest in various ways, from subtle apprehension to paralyzing terror. Here's a guide on how to write fear effectively, covering different aspects of your characters' behavior and reactions.

Facial Expressions

Fear often manifests first in facial expressions, conveying the initial shock or unease. Describe these expressions to immerse readers in your character's emotional state:

Widened Eyes and Dilated Pupils: Show the eyes widening in response to a sudden threat, with dilated pupils indicating heightened alertness.

Tense Jaw and Clenched Teeth: Mention the clenching of jaw muscles or teeth, signaling internalized stress or anxiety.

Furrowed Brow and Raised Eyebrows: Describe the furrowing of the forehead and raised eyebrows, revealing worry or confusion.

Quivering Lips or Lip Biting: Note subtle lip movements like quivering or biting, reflecting nervousness or fear.

Frozen or Stiff Facial Muscles: Highlight moments of fear-induced immobility, where facial muscles become tense and rigid.

Body Language and Gestures

Fear can also be expressed through body language and gestures, showcasing your character's instinctual responses to danger or threat:

Backing Away or Recoiling: Describe your character instinctively moving backward or recoiling from the source of fear, signaling a desire to retreat.

Raised Shoulders and Tensed Posture: Show how fear causes the shoulders to rise and the body to tense up, indicating readiness for fight or flight.

Trembling Hands or Shaking Limbs: Mention the trembling of hands or shaking of limbs, reflecting nervousness or anxiety.

Covering Vulnerable Areas: Describe your character instinctively covering vulnerable areas like their neck or torso, symbolizing a protective gesture.

Fidgeting or Restlessness: Note any fidgeting or restlessness, such as tapping feet or wringing hands, as signs of inner turmoil and fear.

Vocal Cues and Dialogue

Fear can alter vocal cues and dialogue, affecting how your character speaks and communicates their emotions:

Quavering Voice or Shaky Speech: Describe the voice quivering or becoming shaky, indicating nervousness or fear.

Rapid Breathing and Gasping: Mention rapid breathing or gasping for air, showcasing the physical impact of fear on the respiratory system.

Stammering or Hesitant Speech: Note any stammering or hesitant speech patterns, reflecting the character's struggle to articulate their thoughts coherently.

Sudden Silence or Lack of Verbal Response: Show moments of sudden silence or the inability to respond verbally, highlighting the overwhelming nature of fear.

Repetitive Phrases or Vocalizations: Describe repetitive phrases or vocalizations, such as muttering prayers or chanting reassurances, as coping mechanisms in fearful situations.

Reactions and Physical Responses

Fear triggers various physical responses in your characters, showcasing the body's instinctual reactions to perceived threats:

Increased Heart Rate and Sweating: Mention the character's heart rate increasing and sweating profusely, reflecting heightened physiological arousal.

Dilated Pupils and Heightened Senses: Describe dilated pupils and heightened sensory perception, as the character's senses become more attuned to potential dangers.

Muscle Tension and Rigidity: Note muscle tension and rigidity, as the body prepares for action or defense in response to fear.

Nausea or Stomach Churning: Show how fear can lead to feelings of nausea or stomach churning, as the body's stress response impacts digestive functions.

Fight, Flight, or Freeze Response: Highlight the character's instinctual response to fear, whether it's a readiness to fight, a desire to flee, or a state of frozen immobility.

Types of Fear and Emotional Depth

Different types of fear can evoke varying emotional responses in your characters, adding depth to their portrayal and the narrative:

Startle Fear: Describe the sudden, reflexive fear triggered by unexpected events or loud noises, leading to a quick, intense reaction.

Apprehensive Fear: Show the lingering sense of unease or dread that accompanies anticipated threats or impending danger, heightening tension over time.

Terror: Depict the overwhelming, paralyzing fear that arises from extreme danger or horrifying experiences, impacting the character's ability to think or act rationally.

Phobias: Explore specific phobias that trigger irrational and intense fear responses, shaping how your character navigates their environment and interactions.

Trauma-Induced Fear: Address fear resulting from past traumas or experiences, influencing the character's behavior and emotional resilience in present situations.

Verbs and Adjectives for Writing Fear

Here's a list of verbs and adjectives to help you convey fear effectively in your writing:

Verbs: tremble, cower, gasp, quiver, shrink, freeze, recoil, sweat, pant, gulp, shudder

Adjectives: terrified, anxious, alarmed, horrified, shaken, jittery, panicked, petrified

[queenofwands89]

The Storm Within Tyler Owens x fem!reader

Summary: What dramatic turn of events unfolds when Y/N storms off after an argument with Tyler, only to face the fury of a tornado that strikes their town and leaves Y/N injured?

Warnings: Tornado (duh lol), angst, arguing, mention of injuries, description of injuries, sad.

Notes: I wrote this because I am a whore for Tyler, and I love angst and pain. Enjoy byeeee

You feel the tension build in the air long before Tyler raises his voice. It's the kind of unease that clings to the back of your mind, an ineffable sense that something is about to go terribly wrong. You stand in the spacious, cluttered garage that serves as the command center for Tyler's storm-chasing crew. The storm models flashing on the multiple screens show bleak promises of another monstrous storm front moving across Oklahoma.

It starts as a simple disagreement. Tyler is passionate—almost recklessly so—about chasing a particular storm cell that evening. You object, voicing your concerns about the jeopardy it poses not only to Tyler but also to the entire crew.

"You never listen, Tyler!" Your voice quavers, your frustration edging too close to the surface. Your heart hammers in your chest. "You treat this like it's some adventure, but it’s dangerous!"

Tyler rakes his fingers through his hair, his expression a mix of determination and exasperation. "It's because it is dangerous," he shoots back. "But we do this because it saves lives, Y/N. If we can predict these storms better, we can give people the time they need to get to safety."

"And what about us? What about the people who love you? Are we just collateral damage in your crusade?"

Boone, who has been editing footage on his laptop nearby, looks up, his usually cheerful face clouded with concern. Lilly and Dexter exchange worried glances, while Dani silently tinkers with a drone, her stoic demeanor betrayed by the slightest furrow of her brow.

"I can’t sit by and do nothing while you risk everything, Tyler!" Your eyes well up with tears that you fiercely try to blink away. "One day, you might not come back."

Tyler sighs heavily. He takes a step towards you, but you instinctively recoil, the hurt in your eyes deepening the chasm between you. "Y/N, you know I love you, but this—this is what I do. It’s who I am."

"Well, I can't do this right now," you say, your voice cracking. "I need to clear my head."

Without another word, you grab your coat and storm out of the garage, slamming the door behind you. The echo of the slam lingers, punctuating the silence that envelops the room.

Tyler turns back to his crew, realizing that the argument has sapped the collective energy and morale. Boone breaks the silence with his usual attempt at lightening the mood.

"She'll cool off, man. Just give her some time," he offers, though his eyes betray the uncertainty he feels.

Lilly nods, her calm demeanor trying to instill a sense of reassurance. "Tyler, she just needs space. She loves you; that much is clear. Just let her process this."

Dexter, wiser and ever the emotional compass, adds softly, "Sometimes the best way to show love is to step back and let them come to terms with their fears on their own."

Tyler nods, although doubt gnaws at him. There is a sort of irony in chasing something as unpredictable as a tornado and yet being completely at a loss when it comes to matters of the heart.

You storm off down the gravel road, away from the storm-chasing headquarters. The expanses of Oklahoma stretch around you, vast and indifferent. You walk quickly, your thoughts a tumultuous whirl that rivals the storm brewing on the horizon.

Before long, a low rumble of thunder echoes in the distance. Your instincts tell you to seek shelter, but you are too consumed by your emotions to heed the warnings. Your phone buzzes, probably Jake checking in with you, but you ignore it.

As minutes turn to an hour, the sky darkens ominously, the oppressive weight of the storm hanging palpably in the air. You look up just as the first sharp gust of wind howls past you, sending a chill down your spine.

Your phone rings again. This time, you pick it up. It is Tyler.

"Y/N, you need to get back here. Now! There's an strom projected to hit our area. It's not safe out there!"

Before you can respond, the roar of the wind drowns out his voice. In the distance, a wall of debris begins to rise—terrifying in its beauty and formidable in its power. You feel a jolt of fear as you realize the windstorm is bearing down on you.

Panic-stricken, you try to find cover, but there is nowhere to go. The winds intensify, whipping your hair across your face and pulling at your clothes. In a desperate attempt to hold onto something, anything, you grab onto a nearby fence post as the monstrous tornado descends upon the town.

Back at the garage, the team is glued to their screens, tracking the terrifying path of the cyclone. Tyler's eyes are wide with dread, his breaths coming in ragged gasps.

"We need to go find her!" he shouts, his voice breaking with worry as he lunges toward the door.

Dexter and Boone spring into action, their grips tight on his arms, holding him back with all their strength. "Tyler, we will find her," Dexter insists, his voice steady yet intense. "But rushing headfirst into this will only get us all killed. We need a plan."

Tyler struggles against their hold, desperation etched into every line of his face. "You don't understand! She’s out there, and every second counts!"

Lilly's eyes mirror his fear but she nods in agreement with Dexter. "He's right, Tyler. We have to be smart about this."

Dani is already at the armored storm-chasing vehicle, her fingers flying over the controls as she starts the engine. "Let's go," she commands, her voice a beacon of resolve amidst the chaos.

The ride out is like plunging into a nightmare. The town around them is unrecognizable—a hellscape of uprooted trees, shattered windows, and debris swirling in the violent wind. The roar of the storm is deafening, a monstrous wall of sound that seems intent on swallowing them whole.

Every turn is fraught with danger, every street a potential deathtrap. The armored vehicle groans under the force of the gale, but it presses onward, cutting a determined path through the destruction.

Tyler's eyes scan the devastation, his heart pounding, every fiber of his being focused on one thing: finding you. The storm's fury lashes at them, but their resolve is unbreakable. They are driven by a singular, desperate hope—to bring you back alive.

As the harrowing storm begins to relent, the world around you is a landscape of devastation. The monstrous tornado has passed, leaving behind a chaotic aftermath. The team ventures deeper into the wreckage, eyes scanning anxiously for any sign of you.

Then they see you. Crumpled on the ground, clutching a fence post as though it’s the only thing tethering you to life, you lie unconscious, battered by the storm’s fury. Debris is scattered all around, a haunting testament to the storm's wrath. Tyler's heart wrenches at the sight.

Without a second thought, he leaps out of the vehicle, ignoring the stinging wind and flying debris that tug at his clothes and batter his body. "No, no, no," he mutters under his breath, sprinting towards you with a singular focus.

"Y/N!" he cries out, his voice breaking as he nears you. The sound barely cuts through the howl of the wind. He kneels beside you, wrapping his arms around your frail form, shielding you from the remnants of the storm. "Please, Y/N. Wake up."

Boone, sitting in the driver’s seat, immediately jumps out of the vehicle as well. He turns to Lilly and Dexter, his expression serious and determined. "Lilly, grab the emergency blankets. Dexter, I need you to help get Y/N into the truck, now!"

Boone rushes over to Tyler, his mouth set in a grim line. "Tyler, move aside. We need to get her stabilized." He swiftly yet carefully checks your pulse and breathing. "She's still with us. We have to move quickly."

“Be careful!” Tyler shouts over the wind to the crew, his voice tinged with panic. “She’s hurt!”

They work with meticulous care, gently extricating you from the wreckage. Tyler's hands shake as he helps lift you, his mind a whirlwind of desperate prayers and fear.

Dani, standing nearby, fights back tears, her voice breaking as she says, "Hang in there, Y/N. We’re not losing you."

They rush you back to the relative safety of the vehicle, urgency in every step. The vehicle starts moving, navigating through the storm’s terrible wake with a singular mission: to get you to medical attention.

Tyler sits beside you, cradling your hand in his, his eyes never leaving your face. “Hang in there, Y/N,” he whispers, as though sheer willpower could keep you tethered to life. “We’re almost there. You’re going to be okay. I promise.”

The crew speeds through the chaotic aftermath, dodging fallen branches and uprooted signs. Dexter keeps a vigilant eye on the road, never slowing down. Lilly's hands shake as she dabs at your wounds with a cloth from the medical kit, trying to do whatever she can to help.

All the while, Tyler stays with you, his heart breaking and yet holding onto hope, as the vehicle barrels towards the hospital, each mile bringing you closer to safety. Tyler holds you tightly, his voice trembling and tears mingling with the rain on his cheeks as he whispers, "I'm so sorry. I love you. Please, hold on. Just hold on a little longer, baby."

[midnightbears]

[SEPARATE] may we have gyomei, rengoku, and uzui's cuddling head canons? (are they a small or big spoon? Are they clingy? Do they snore? Who falls asleep first? Etc)

✿ hold me forever. never let me go when i do!

#STARRING: himejima gyomei. rengoku kyojuro. uzui tengen + wives ft. fem!reader [separately!]

#TAGS: fluff. established relationship

#NOTES: thank you for requesting! this is so so cute, i hope you like it <3

the stone hashira . . . himejima gyomei!

sleeping in the same bed as this man right here is a heaven-sent gift IMO.

cuddle bug i fear. most of the time, he likes to be the big spoon, mainly because he enjoys holding you close to his chest, where he can hear and feel your heartbeats mingling together. however, he won't be opposed to you wanting him to be the small spoon. he'll probably just chuckle fondly, loving the feeling of your smaller arms trying their absolute best to wrap around his midsection.

i feel like he doesn't move at all during nighttime. he's as still as a corpse sometimes lol. i don't think he snores either, most of the time you'll just accidentally overhear him mutter "namu..." under his breath. however, if he so much as feels your warmth leaving him for a fraction of a second, he's awake and sensing around for you, dragging you back to his chest after you accidentally pushed him away in your sleep.

he always falls asleep after you. it's a small habit he picked up, only allowing himself to fully relax after you are in the land of dreams. he takes these small intervals of time between your sleep and his own to voice small prayers, his broad hands caressing your back and the top of your head lovingly.

if you happen to get out of bed in the middle of the night to get a glass of water or to use the restroom, make sure to hope fervently that gyomei won't wake up. unless he's aware of why you left the bed (eg: sleepy murmur of 'hunnyboo i need to use the toilet I'll be right back'), he'll start imagining the worst possible reasons for your absence.

imagine him feeling around for you. he finds your side of the bed empty and suddenly shoots up from bed, his blank gaze wide with apprehension, cold sweat staining his temples. where are you? he'll call out your name into the night with his entire body rigid and his voice is quavering and he scrambles to pick himself up from the bed and you don't know how much he's desperately hoping that you are okay, that you are okay, that you are okay, that you—

your soft footsteps litter the room again, a steaming cup of tea in your hands. you call out to him, your hand reaching for his, all is well.

the flame hashira . . . rengoku kyojuro!

this man literally does not care for your personal space.

he will cling to you like a koala, legs wrapped around yours and arms holding you close to his chest, nuzzling into the junction where your neck and shoulder meet, a soft "mmhhh..." leaving his lips when your perfume reaches his nostrils.

the problem with kyojuro is that sleeping with him during winter is wonderful because the man is a literal furnace. most of the time, he will sleep shirtless, allowing you to cling to him if you're cold, his rough hands traveling up and down your back soothingly to keep you happy and warm. summer, however, it's a completely different story.

you feel bad for kicking him away when he tries to hug you, but your mood is incorrigible when you are a bit too overwhelmed with the heat, and you don't want to lash out at him more than you already do when he attempts to bring you to his chest or spoon you from behind. you'll literally roll away from him or go sit outside to get fresh air, and he feels so BAAADDDD because omg he just wants to cuddle you and show you affection you're his amazing beautiful wife :(

normally, you both go to sleep around the same time after a few minutes of cuddling, but whenever this man manages to convince you to let him lay on your tatas and scratch his head, he is gone within minutes.

does not mind being big or small spoon, he enjoys both. but if he had to choose, he normally prefers to be the bigger spoon, mainly because he gets a kick out of feeling like he's protecting you and you're just so cuteeeee he loves you soooo mucchhhhh look at you omg.

he snores a bit, but you've gotten so used to it that, at this point, it's just ambient noise for you to fall asleep to lmao. you once caught him scaring himself awake with a particularly loud snore, it caught you so off-guard but it was the funniest shit you've ever seen and now you're waiting for the next time it happens.

even in his sleep, kyo's protective instincts are on full display. he'll pull you closer if you move too far away, his arms tightening around you subconsciously. if you have a nightmare, it’s like he senses it, even in the deepest sleep. you’ve woken up more than once to his sleepy voice whispering reassurances and his fingers gently tracing patterns on your back until you fall back asleep.

overall really sweet, but a pain during summer <3

the sound hashira . . . uzui tengen + wives!

now, tengen is the god of cuddling, and he's got plenty of practice with his four beautiful wives. he makes sure everyone gets their fair share of his affection, rotating between snuggling with each one of you throughout the night.

you guys could go to sleep in an established order but that completely changes overnight. one minute he’s spooning makio, his arm draped over her waist, the next he’s got you nestled against his chest, suma snuggled up behind you, and hina’s head resting on his shoulder. sometimes he wakes up alone on the other side of the bed and sees you all snuggling together and goes >:(

similarly, it's not unusual for the whole group to end up in a tangled pile of limbs by morning. tengen's long arms and legs make it easy for him to reach everyone, pulling you all into one big, cozy embrace <3

much like rengoku, he's an absolute furnace, which is a blessing and a curse, depending on the season. in winter, you and his wives love curling up against him to steal his warmth, but in summer, you often find yourselves pushing him away, only to be pulled back in when he sleepily grumbles about missing your touch.

tengen’s snoring is legendary. most of the time, it's tolerable, but some nights, you've nudged awake one of your co-wives because you don't want to sleep alone just so you can go to one of the separate rooms and cuddle there instead and the poor man is sooo hurt by it during the morninggg poor guy poor guy awe

believe it or not, tengen is the last to go to sleep but not for the reason you think. his skincare routine is longer than yours and your co-wives combined lmaooo, so while he keeps putting shit in his face and hair, you and the girls start to arrange the bedding however you like and get comfortable.

suma always needs to be close to someone, so she normally snuggles up to you first, whereas hinatsuru doesn't like to be in the middle of the pile so she'll mostly cuddle whoever remains in the outer circle. makio, while she may never admit it, loves being swaddled, so she nestles between you and hina.

he enters the room to find you all sleeping without him, but he smiles softly and simply joins you, pulling all four of you close <3

© midnightbears on tumblr, july 2024. please do not repost to another platform, plagiarize, translate, use for AI-related purposes or claim as your own.

[sunasbon]

toji finding out we have a choking kink

TRYNA FREAK YOU DOWN .ᐟ ❞

୨୧ sum : toji finiding out you have a choking kink.

ઉ warnings : 18 + content, choking, mating press, overstim, slight mean toji , dumbflication etc, toji has a tounge piercing..🙂‍↕️

“. . filthy cunt suckin’ me in already . ?” toji kissed his teeth, having you laid against the mattress. your legs leant back behind your head trying to desperately hold yourself upright resting your calves onto his board shoulders, toes all curling up. the faint smirk spreads across his face as one his free hands latch onto the back of your thigh, steadily rocking his hips back and forth feeling the warmth of your walls greedily clasped around him, squeezing him in tight every single time — your fairly certain starting to think your going stupid on his dick, precisely what he wants.

“. .toji . .wait..!” you chewed onto your bottom lip whining feeling the length of his fat mushroom tip massaging your sopping pussy invitingly, thawing his hips up against your ass feeling your tummy flutter. your nails dragging upwards on the flat of his back feeling your vision fuzzy as the he shifts his body urging your legs folding squeezing against your chest, leaning his board body into yours pressing his chest into you. that arrogant smirk paints his face, his piercing gaze never faulted basking in your figure haulting his pace of hips—shortly he puffed out his chest, rolling his eyes sharply peering downward at you . “. . what little girl. . .? . .you that already dumb on my dick? . . or somethin’. your head resting to the side, exhaling a sharp breath rising and falling from your chest trying to muster up enough courage to ask him — the simple question on the tip your tongue swallows hastily biting the bullet of things.

“w-well . . could you . maybe..— um choke me .?” you finally mumbling off the words roll off your tongue smoothly. toji quirks a brow, the flat of his tongue licking a stripe up towards the side of your neck tasting your tingly skin, feeling the cool metal of the tongue piercing slightly brushing fairy over your feverish form — not enough to actually hurt you. your body quavering underneath his posing form, candid eye piercing into you — a raspy chuckle deep within his chest, he firmly let go one of your thigh, sliding his free hand toward your throat, squeezing it lightly.

“. mm . . wonder how tight.. y’er pussy gets with my hand around you like this . . ?” toji coos, continuing driving his hips into yours, feeling the familiar sensation in the deep pit of your tummy, you arched your back dragging your nails against his beefy forearms — jaw clenched tight as he felt the quaint sting form the starches of your nails, the clear sheen of sweat across his forehead pressing against yours as the friction of your nipples rasping against one another — his prominent hand, squeezing down on your throat.

the clear sheen of sweat across his forehead pressing against yours as the friction of your nipples rasping against one another - his prominent hand, squeezing down your throat. the warmth of your walls of your cunt gushing around him tittering you on edge — a glob of drool spills out the inner corner of your mouth. gaping open feeling your throat becoming parched, with the way his mushroom tip jerked against your form shifting his weight around, legs writhing as your muscles tightened, sucking him in by the minute. the sheer clear of your arousal coating at the base - you pressed a hand against your tummy, the bulge of his dick hitting into your sweet spot, your starting vision a hazy- a blisstul sight. "'. .toji!.s'close..shitshit..!"

“..yeah . . y’er pussy likes when i hit this spot doesn’t she. . .? the scent of musk and sweat waffling in the air, feeling your body arch upward into his body, the prolixity of skin slapping, his back muscle tenses up— a dry groan slipping from glossy his lips, feeling his balls tightening and draw up into a frenzy grasping your tightly ensuring you wouldn’t run —brows knitting together. “ that’s . . it want me to stuff this tight pussy . ? yeah? . .” toji hissed, the faint grin splayed across his face — your shut your eyes tightly clamping down onto his base, body shuddering out and jerking in his hold, dragging your hips against his pelvis, his body shuddering chest heaving up and down— feeling his hips slowing as you tensed up slowly against the mattress, basking in toji muscles tensing up, the white ring of his cum forming at the base —not pulling out of you just yet, the bed still creaking underneath the weight of you both, the legs of the leaning to side, snapping leaving just the mattress standing. “ . . fuck . . toj that was expensive . .!

“heh . . im not paying for it . .good luck.”

[starsofang]

CALL OF THE SEA / PART SIXTEEN

pirate poly!141 x f!reader tw: NSFW, MDNI, depictions/mentions of violence, dark themes, surprise appearance!!, lots of feelings masterlist

Your world felt moments away from collapsing in on itself. The very man you had only seen for mere seconds, a brief glimpse, yet had undeniably began to torture you brainlessly was only waves apart from you.

His ship was hidden behind smokey clouds, but you could spot a faint red glow coming from one of the windows. It glimmered back at you in a taunting dance.

The ship was significantly larger. While Price’s ship was a dime, Graves harbored a war ship, one that you knew instantly housed more men than the four you’ve come to know. Its wood was stained black, nearly mirroring the dark sea as it roared its reins. The flag of a skull waved angrily in the wind.

There was no mistaking it. Graves had come, and you weren’t sure if it was for you, or for Ghost. You had a good idea of who.

“Dove!”

You spun around to see Gaz, struggling to hold the rope of the sail tightly bound. His face was pleading, eyes peering up at you in exasperation. Soap stood beside him, expression concentrated—eyebrows pulled together, shoulders straining against the heavy winds that threatened to pull his rope free.

“Get down from there! Are you fuckin’ crazy?” he shouted, his voice mixing in the wind and nearly getting lost.

You glanced back at Graves’ ship. It was small in the distance, not quite close enough to pose a heavy threat—yet. You had a choice to make, but you knew you had to be quick.

“Ghost! Get her down!” Soap yelled.

Ghost, hurrying to his return from stowing away the valuables on deck almost lost from the storm, snapped his head up to you. In such a distressing, grim atmosphere, he looked scarier than ever, all tall and brute, the mask mirroring the very flag that flapped among the sea.

His body grew tense, a flip switching. It was clear as day, the way his hands balled up, his shoulders stiffening, his legs moving on their own accord—he switched to serious and brooding, and he was just as spiteful with the fact you had ran from cover so stupidly.

By the time you were scrambling to place your feet on the rope ladder to scurry down, Ghost was waiting for you at the bottom, his arms held out in case you fell. The rope swayed uneasily, unable to keep itself steady with the roaring wind threatening to flip it.

“The fuck are you tryin’ to do?” Ghost growled, hands clasping around your waist to haul you down one you were close enough. “Kill yourself?”

Your breath caught in your lungs when he grabbed you, his grip firm and irritated, yet considerate enough not to hurt you. The air released once you were on your feet, the rocking of the boat making you unstable.

It was an absolute downpour on you, Ghost’s mask dripping with unhappy raindrops that slithered down to soak into his balaclava. Your clothes stuck to you uncomfortably, and you hated that your initial reaction was to be upset that one of the dresses Gaz purchased for you was going to be ruined.

“The Captain—” you gasped out, hands pressing against Ghost’s chest in attempts to release his hold on you. “I must go to him, I must tell him what is happening, he must know—”

Ghost paid no mind to you fighting in his grasp, his hands coming to take hold of your wrists. You squirmed against the restraint, eyes frantically searching for Price’s.

“Calm yourself,” Ghost hissed, not unkindly. “Tell me what’s burdenin’ you. Tell me.”

You hadn’t realized how sporadic your breathing became until you slowly began to stop your fight. Your chest heaved, lungs clashing against your rib cage painfully. A ringing shrouded your ears, combined with the heavy rain the pattered loudly against the deck.

Graves festered within the back of your mind. Always there, always mocking.

“It is Graves,” you quavered, your hands balling into fists. Ghost’s grip only tightened on your wrists. “He is here, I have seen it from up there. His ship is among the sea, waiting.”

Ghost stared at you with eyes heavily filled with an unspoken grief with guilt tinging the edges. He stood frozen in place, even as you began twisting and turning to unclasp your wrists.

“You must let me go, Ghost, please. I must inform the Captain, I do not wish to die—”

You stumbled off balance when the release was so sudden. His hands fell to his sides, dull fingernails digging into his palms as he furled them.

“Do what you must,” he rumbled low, his head turned to the sea. He looked out into the abyss as if searching for prey. “I will take care of it.”

“Ghost—”

“I said, I will take care of it,” he snipped, whirling his head back to you. “Go.”

With a light shove, he averted you in Price’s direction on the helm of the ship, where he fought against whipping rain and keeping the boat as steady as he could. You watched Ghost turn, stomping over to Gaz and Soap. A man on a mission.

You couldn’t hear the exchange between the three men. Ghost had gruffed something to them, switching places with Gaz.

He hauled the rope so it tightened, tying it around its pillar before shifting to Soap to articulate the same. While you watched Soap and Gaz struggle to keep the sails at bay, Ghost had gained a bitter strength to hanker down the fort and keep them tied down himself. The news of Graves’ approach had shifted him into something ravenous, as if he were out for blood and nothing would dare to stop him until he took a bite.

Ghost, as if sensing your stare, whirled around, glowering at you. “You must be really tryin’ to kill yourself, dove,” he jeered loudly to ensure you heard him.

“Ghost, calm yourself—” Soap tried, reaching out for him.

“What did I tell you? Go.” Ghost finished.

That notion alone was enough to have you refocus your alarm on the true worry at hand. You gathered yourself, stumbling along the soaking floors that continued to ingest the downpour.

Price, you must tell Price. He was clueless. You weren’t even sure Ghost had explained the situation to Gaz or Soap, you could only assume. He would tell them, right?

“Captain!” you shouted, sprinting to the helm. Your legs carried you quickly, running on autopilot. The blood pumped erratically through your veins, filled with nothing but determination.

Price’s hands were tightly wound with the wheel, spinning and turning with each and every wave that threatened to overtake his control. At the sight of you, he wavered, his initial anger replaced with concern.

“Dove,” he breathed. “The hell was that, huh? Climbin’ up there like a fuckin’ animal? Don’t you know how dangerous these waves are? You could’ve been flown overboard and I wouldn’t have the means to save you. You need to fuckin’ think!”

Your body shook with adrenaline, hands unable to remain by your sides. You nodded mindlessly along with his words, taking them half to heart. You knew you had bigger things to tell him, things he needed to know. Your safety in the crow’s nest was the least of your worries.

“Captain, it is Graves— he is coming,” you panted, watching his expression morph into one just as sinister as Ghost’s reaction. “His ship is just beyond the waves, he is coming. I owe you my apologies for disobeying your orders, but you must understand—”

“How do you know?” he asked, tone growing a dangerous bite.

“Up on the crow’s nest,” you paused, inhaling. “I spotted his ship. He has called me, I hear him speaking to me. He waves a flag of that of Ghost’s ring—the skull. I know, Captain—it is him. He has told me so.”

Price reared back from the wheel, muttering a string of nasty curses. You had never seen him so angry before, so bloodthirsty.

He was the epitome of rage, spewing out poison and oozing pure loathe. A dark cloud circled him, trapping him in its arms and luring him towards the pits of fire. The Captain was at his wits end, his last string of sanity snapping.

With nobody in control, the ship began to shift, leaning with the waves and forcing you to hold your ground with but the crevices of your shoes. Price held himself together enough to grab hold of the wheel once more, but in a deathly grip, white-knuckled.

“You will return to my quarters,” he muttered. “You will stay until I tell you to come out. Do as your told, and do not disobey my order again, or I will hand you off to Graves myself. Are we clear?”

You would be a madman to argue. The look in his eye was borderline murderous, a complete shift from the man you were beginning to know. What you saw was the reflection of Price the day you met him, when he held a gun up to the fear-stricken faces of your village and barked out commands just as he was doing to you now.

Even if you were crazy enough to argue, there would be no room for it. He’d make sure of that.

“I fear him, Captain,” you found yourself saying, voice quivering. Your eyes darted to the floor, unfocused. Your anxiety began to broil. “He is a siren among the seas, and I do not know how to swim. I cannot be a prisoner again, I will not—”

The touch of a rough hand grazed your cheek, guiding you to look up. Price kept one hand on the wheel while the other stroked a gentle thumb along your skin. Gone was the crimson red from his pupils and instead, that familiarity you’d come to enjoy. Soft around the edges, swarming with silent apology.

The rain dripped down your face and spread along his hand as he traced your features.

“I will not allow it,” he assured, certain. “I am sorry, I did not mean those—those words I have spoken. You must understand how dire of a situation this is for you—for us. I fear, too, dove.”

The awestruck look on your face didn’t go unnoticed from anybody except you. You were too caught up in his touch to will embarrassment.

He was touching you. So tenderly, as well. Even in a fit of erupting chaos and impending doom, you found yourself stuck in time, accompanied by the taste of comfort you’d longed for since the moment you learned what it was. You’d spent lifetimes searching for it, and it was there all along, right in front of you.

The Captain was expressing the same fear you’d been consumed by since the moment you entered the ship, since Graves had slinked into your life and taken control. He understood you on a new level, and it was a calm in the fierce storm.

“I do not want to hide away in your quarters, Captain,” you confessed. With a brief hesitation, you slowly raised your arm, flattening your palm over the back of his hand. He could only stare at the featherlike touch along his rugged skin. “I wish to be apart of this, like a real crew is. I wish to be one of you, fighting along your side, even if the cards are not dealt in our favor.”

“You do not know what you are askin’ for, dove.”

“I know. I do not hold regret.”

Price’s gaze flickered over your face, searching for any sign of deception. What he found was a bird willing to flap its wings until they grew tired, determined to fight for its flock even as the weight of life grew heavy.

He couldn’t will himself to deny you. Even if he desperately wanted to, you were theirs, and he’d rather slit his own throat before forbidding you to a man rotted from the inside out.

His hand slipped away from under yours, only to grasp it in his hold, holding your fingers tightly with his.

“You are a pirate,” he said, a hint of a smile in his tone. “You sure as hell fight like one, dove.”

Your heart felt like it could burst at any moment. This was the belonging you craved, this was what it felt like to hold it in the palm of your hand. While death was creeping in through the cracks in the old wood beneath your feet, the light was searching for a breakthrough, fighting to reveal its presence.

Standing in the swirling storm, pummeled by heavy rainfall with clothes soaked to the bone, Graves mere seas away, you found yourself smiling. You no longer had to reach for acceptance to claim it in your grasp—it had come to you all on its own, and for that, the world didn’t feel so scary anymore.

“There is not much to do besides ride out the storm and steer clear of Graves. I will do my best to make it happen, but for now,” Price paused, his hand gripping yours tighter. “Return to the quarters. I will have the others accompany you. When it is time, if is time, you will fight with us, and you will die with us. No man left behind.”

As much as you wanted to stay in this moment, glued to his side to face the roaring winds with him, he knew best. You trusted him, more than you ever had before, and nothing would waver that. Not Graves, not yourself.

“You will be okay out here?” you asked, concerned.

Price smiled, no longer as tense as before. And if he was, he was great at hiding it for you. “It is not my first storm, dove, nor will it be my last. I’m a captain. You think so little of me?”

“An absurd statement, that is,” you humored.

“Then all will be well,” he assured. He let go of your hand, his hold lingering, as if he feared missing out on your touch now that he had it.

You nodded, letting your hand fall to your side. You felt a faint tingle in your fingertips from where he’d just been. “I’ll return to your quarters, then,” you replied. “I will be here, were anything to happen—”

“I know,” he interrupted softly. You shared a look of understanding, and with one last nod, you trudged through the rain, slipping back into the comfort of the Captain’s quarters, saying a silent prayer for what was to come.

The dampness of your clothes did nothing to hold back your subtle shivers as you sat at the Captain’s desk. The dress you’d purchased, courtesy of Gaz, was plastered on to your skin, sticking to it like glue. It was entirely uncomfortable, yet the least of your worries as your mind wandered off to the men battling the blaze outside.

You feared for how the night would end. You trusted Price to do everything in his power to escape the grubby hands of Graves and hold off on his arrival for a bit longer. None of you were prepared for the storm, nor the evil hiding in its wake. A thousand possibilities coursed through your mind at light speed, none of them ending well—until you forced that light back in and held on to hope that all would be well, just as Price had told you.

It scared you, just how much you worried for them. What a dangerous thing, to find care in your heart for another in a world full of heartache. It was riddled with betrayal and selfishness, something you learned as a child and took with you as you transitioned into adulthood. It was the very reason you locked your heart up and set forth to a world of your own, burying yourself in studies and denying yourself the pleasure of another human.

Now, you wondered how much of life you had missed out on, just from a quick taste of adventure with the pirates. It was difficult and maddening, while gifting you joy and laughter; a true way of living, as you were learning that life was never meant to be the picture perfect image you had in your mind.

What would you do if you lost it all? How could you go on, knowing that the other side of life’s trail had nothing in store for you if it wasn’t with them?

The door opening was the only thing able to snap you out of such conflicting thoughts, trapped in your mind like you were encaged. You perked up, blossoming with relief when Ghost walked in, dripping from head to toe right on the floor. Though, the peace didn’t last.

He stared at you, silently shutting the door behind him. He held the same grueling bitterness, something you could feel radiating off in waves. It invaded your senses and left you defenseless.

“You and I are goin’ to have a little chat,” he snipped, stepping further into the quarters. His boots clunked loudly with every step, strengthening the blow.

You trembled from a mix of chill and sheer emotion. You weren’t sure what to make of the brute leering towards you. You knew Ghost, but you didn’t know his heart.

Ghost stood in front of you, peering down like a predator to a prey. You could do nothing but stare back, neck straining due to the stature he held over you from where you sat.

The mask he wore pierced your soul, dark eyes peeking out from the slivers. He was studying you, stare slinking down your frame and taking you in. For a moment, he did nothing. Then, he was turning away from you, sauntering off to the other side of the quarters.

Ghost opened a cupboard, rifling through it before pulling out… a dress?

You were bewildered. What on Earth was the captain doing with a dress in his cupboard?

Ghost shut the small cabinet, returning to you with the fabric in his hand. He hesitated, before offering the dress to you. It was plain in color, and the frame was much more flowy and billowy. It was made for comfort, not for style.

“You’re shiverin’,” he grumbled, darting his gaze somewhere else.

You took the dress graciously, smoothing a palm over the soft fabric. “Why does Price have a dress?” you asked, curious. From what he told you, he had never harbored a woman on ship before.

Ghost sniffed, uncomfortable. “Soap and him got it the last we were on shore. Somethin’ for you to have outside of the dresses Gaz paid for.”

Your eyes widened in surprise and you traced along the seams with delicate fingers. “I wasn’t aware.”

“Well, sorry to ruin the surprise.”

You looked back up at Ghost. A frown pulled on your lips. Even you could detect the sarcasm.

“What did you want to talk about?” you asked.

Ghost met your eye once more. His eyes were cold, returning to that frigid daze. “There’s stuff you’re not tellin’ me,” he muttered. He leaned forward in a way meant to taunt you, leering over you. “You’re playin’ mind games.”

“I am not,” you defend, offended he would even assume such a thing. “That’s an absurd accusation.”

“Is it?” he mocked, cocking his head. “Then why am I only hearin’ about Graves talkin’ to you through Soap? Mind tellin’ me that?”

You gawked at him, feeling a rush of adrenaline from the sheer outrage. You knew energies were high right now and it was no time to bicker, but if he wanted to pick a fight, so would you.

“Perhaps if you didn’t lock yourself up from dawn until dusk, you would be in the loop,” you jeered back, balling the dress in your fists.

“You do not seem to have an issue findin’ your way to my quarters,” he snipped back. “Might you have simply found me to tell me these concerns, I may have been of help sooner.”

“You are not approachable in the slightest.”

“Oh, it is not the mask that scares you, dove,” he sneered. “It is honesty. It is truth. I’m not afraid to tell you the truth, dove, believe me.”

“Then please, the stage is yours.”

“Why must you be so insufferable when I am the only one who understands?”

“You do not understand me in the slightest, Ghost, so please do not pretend,” you leered.

“We are two sides of the same coin, for God’s sake!” he shouted, slamming a fist on the table. It shook under the impact, rattling the Captain’s minimal decor before they settled back in place. “We’re both bein’ dealt the hands of death, yet you seek solace in the ones who do not know what it’s like. To live in fear, to hear whispers in the walls that drive you mad, to feel a prickle on your neck as if you’re bein’ watched even though there’s no one around. That is somethin’ only I can understand, yet you parade around me as if I’m a monster.”

Your body froze, words dying in your mouth. You hated that every phrase he uttered was right and he truly was reading you like a book.

You avoided him, intentional or not. There was a taste of fear the felt like vile in your throat when he was near, and it overpowered the care you knew you held for him.

The distance was your fault as much as it was his. Though your souls were on the path to the same fate, you reared off in separate directions and found yourself lost. Now, a dam was breaking, flooding its roaring waters to trickle you back down to one another.

“You are not a monster,” you whispered, tone guilt-ridden. “I—I am so terribly sorry that I have made things that way. You are right, Ghost—I fear the reality, and I am beginning to understand my flaw.”

Ghost paused, taken by surprise that you didn’t continue to fight. It was as if nobody had taken the time to hear his truth and digest it in its entirety.

You felt horrible.

“I only wish to be there,” Ghost murmured, looking away. “But I don’t know how. I am not good with… with all of this.”

“I am not, either,” you confessed honestly. You unfurled your fists from the dress, putting it out of its misery. Your fingers felt stiff from how tightly wound they were woven in the fabric.

The room filled with a heavy silence as the two of you allowed yourselves to calm down. Not a glance was shared, a sudden awkwardness piling between you.

“I’m sorry for puttin’ you in this,” Ghost muttered, ashamed.

You perked up, throwing him a bewildered look. “What? This is not your fault. Nobody is to blame but Graves. He is the true enemy, not ourselves. I have never blamed you for any of it.”

Ghost shifted on his feet, the wood creaking beneath his weight. You could see the water that had dripped down seeping into the cracks. His hands were balled into fists, and you could faintly see a glimpse of pink.

“How are your hands?” you asked him.

Ghost grunted, uncurling his fists and spreading out his fingers. “What?”

“Your hands,” you repeated. “They are irritated.”

“They’re fine—”

“Ghost.”

He huffed, turning his head. He’d almost resemble an annoyed child if he weren’t so large. Reluctantly, he held out his hands for you to take. You held them with carefulness, inspecting the small indents on his palms from where he’d dug his dull fingernails into the skin.

“Fine,” you muttered with a shake of your head. You instructed him to keep his hands held out, turning to gather your bag that was left abandoned in Price’s quarters when the storm had hit and Soap barged in.

You knew you didn’t have much, but you sifted through the bag until your hands wrapped around a round jar. You tugged it out and made quick work opening it, collecting a dollop on your finger.

“What’s that?” he mumbled suspiciously.

You eyed him, opting not to answer while you took hold of his hands again and began lathering the soothing balm on the sore skin. He didn’t move a muscle, unfazed by the medicine, and he watched you with a keen eye the entire way through.

“I must confess something to you,” you said quietly, keeping your gaze on his hands as you worked.

Ghost hummed in reply.

“The mask—I have seen it off. I did not mean to, and it was an accident, but now that we have spoken, I feel I must get the guilt off my chest.”

He was silent for a moment, eyes unwavering from your fingers working into his palms. “When?”

“When I came to your quarters so I could talk things out with you. I did not mean to intrude, but the door was open and—I saw. It has been eating at me ever since,” you admitted woefully, fearing he’d grow angry.

To your surprise, his composure didn’t waver. You weren’t sure whether to feel relieved or worried.

“Stop stressin’ about it.”

Your head tilted up to peer up at him, confused by his reaction.

“Don’t look at me like that,” he grumbled, feigning annoyance. “I’m not afraid to show my face; I’m afraid to show weakness. I wear it for me, not for anyone else. You seein’ it doesn’t matter, so stop worryin’ your head about it.”

Your hands paused their motion on his hands, simply holding them. You searched for any sign of a lie, but ultimately found honesty.

“I am glad then,” you sighed out in relief, smiling to yourself. “I did not want to invade your privacy.”

Ghost went quiet, peering down at your hands in his. Small in comparison, something that felt foreign to him. “Are you done?”

You sputtered when you realized your position and quickly removed your grasp, gearing your attention to shutting the jar and placing it back in your bag.

That awkward silence began to suffocate you once more, and you shifted uncomfortably in your seat, attempting to unstick the damp dress from your skin.

Ghost stepped away from you, instead turning his front towards the wall and occupying himself with the sight of Price’s neat cot. You tilted your head in confusion, wondering what he was doing.

“Change,” he mumbled, folding his arms over his chest. “If you get sick, I won’t hear the end of it.”

You smiled to yourself, standing to move to the other side of the room. Peeling off the wet fabric proved to be a challenge, but you managed, slipping into the dress Price and Soap had gifted you without your knowledge.

It truly was comfortable, and you found yourself much more at ease, the tension in the room fading.

“I am finished,” you told Ghost, who grunted and turned back forward. “Do you think the boys are alright?”

“They’ll be fine,” he assured, albeit it plainly. “Think they’re more worried about us. Why don’t you try and rest for now? Not much we can do but wait.”

You weren’t sure you could rest, knowing Soap, Gaz, and Price were still outside, wrestling the monstrous storm. But, you didn’t know how much longer it would be until Graves infected your mind again for his own personal pleasure, or worse, if he made it to the ship.

“You will stay?” you asked.

Ghost stiffened before giving you a nod. “I’ll stay.”

You nodded, forcing yourself into Price’s bed while Ghost thumped into his desk chair. The cot provided you with heat against your chilled skin and you sunk into it, letting it calm your nerves for the time being.

All was a waiting game, and you’d waited for longer things before. It was the pumping fear that was the worst part. As you lay, you allowed your worries to lay to rest, saying a silent prayer that all would be well by the time you woke—and if they weren’t, you’d hold up to your promise of fighting back, just as you told Price.

You were a pirate now; and pirates stuck together through death.

"Dove," a hushed voice woke you. You grumbled to yourself, face scrunching together as you shifted on to your side. "Oh, dove. Wake up."

That voice, you couldn't pinpoint it. The familiarity was on the tip of your tongue, floating somewhere in the back of your mind.

With a sluggishness, you rose from your sleep, peeling your tired eyes open. Perhaps it was Ghost waking you to tell you things were alright, or even that the storm had died down.

Instead, upon opening your eyes, a sinister smile blared back at you rather than the familiar skull you'd come to know. Your blood ran cold and the bumps on your skin rose harshly.

"Ah, there she is," Graves murmured in his own sickening amusement, as if he were watching a circus animal rise from a slumber. "Come to join the fun, finally?"

None of your crewmates were in sight, not a single strand of hair to indicate their whereabouts. You were alone with the Devil, and he was grinning with eyes full of hellish fire that he'd surely engulf you in if he pleased.

[yanderenightmare]

Gojo Satoru & Geto Suguru

TW: NSFW, noncon/dubcon, yandere, arranged marriage

fem reader

You'd only been married to Suguru for a couple of months, but you’d known each other for longer – always with the knowledge that you’d be wed one day. 

It’s always made it a little nerve-wracking for you to see him, but he’s kept a smile on his face every time – polite and sweet – telling you how pretty you look in such a genuine way you’d never been able to hide how nervous it makes you.

It’s been awkward at times, but that’s to be expected when you get married so young to a person you know only from brief and scheduled altercations. 

Either way, he’s an awfully busy person and spends most of his time at Jujutsu Tech or out on missions. So even now, you don’t see him all that much. 

But when you do see him, he’s still nothing but kind and patient and respectful of you – much more humble than what you’d expect such a profoundly gifted jujutsu-sorcerer to be – where most men like him can't seem to shut up about themselves.

You’ve always felt like he’s been older than you, even though he isn’t. He has that mature air about him, such calm and suave. Even back when you were still kids, he’s been comfortable and confident, always so collected.

And now, older, after the wedding, when you’d performed marital duties, he’d been considerate. Whispering softly in your ear that you could take it at your own pace – holding your hips gently, never leading or handling you, just encouraging while you gingerly climbed up on his lap and started rolling your hips – feeling his bump even through all the layers of your wedding attire.

He’s a good kisser – softly and smoothly brushing his lips with yours, using his tongue like a third lip, softly teasing yours between his teeth. Not too rough, but not too boring either. Just enough to leave you a little breathless.

He’d asked if you were okay – his voice a melted hum, looking at you with sage eyes in wait before going any further. You’d been lost in them while nodding your head, breaths heavy and staggering – feeling warm and tingly all over. 

Then he’d asked if you wanted him to take over – still not making a move, only gently rubbing your hips – waiting for you to repeat your nodding before he’d begun pulling the knots to your fabrics, loosening them all slowly, one by one, like he was unwrapping a present. 

Soon, it all draped the floor and left you nervously goosefleshed. 

He’d lifted you so easily and laid you down softly, splayed with your back against the dune – then he’d continued kissing – going from your lips to your cheek, then your neck and chest, your stomach, and then there.

Making your breath quaver. Back arching off the bed, hands lifting the sheets in curled fingers. Feeling the soft warm tip of his tongue circle your clit – never having felt anything like it before.

You were quite certain you loved him…

Never in your life would you think he’d do this to you.

“Please, Suguru- don’t let him-” You cry, wanting to close your thighs to hide your panties from the pursuing blue-eyed predator in front of you. But your husband doesn’t let go.

You’re in his lap. Legs pinned and spread beneath his while he embraces you snugly from the back, keeping your tiny body pressed tightly against his chest – arms wrapped around your front, his hands at your sides, messaging your skin with those soothing touches while your smaller hands push at the unbudgeable thick muscles lining his forearms – pathetic whines leaving your lips. 

He’s so big and holds you so unfairly easy – paying no mind to your struggles. He just tugs your tiny torso closer to his chest, squishing your waist tightly, squeezing your tits together. His head rests next to yours, nuzzled in the grove between your neck and shoulder – his lips at your ear, calmly shushing you – as if cooing at you could make you stop fussing.

Gojo laughs; he takes the joke even when it puzzles you – finding it even funnier when you can’t wrap your pretty head around it, looking so cute and confused and distraught as to why and how your own husband could do this to you.

His slender fingers reach out to your face, squishing your cheeks between them – and your teary eyes look straight into his blue ones with that awfully beautiful look swirling inside them.

“Oh, he’s not gonna help you, little dummy~” He croons with a smile – his lips close to the pucker of yours, his breath heated. “He’s got his hands full helpin’ me.”

[missadangel]

The Heart of Rome (Marcus Acacius x OC)

All Chapters List

XII. The First Kill

Sic Semper Tyrannis

"Thus always to tyrants."

Brutus.

"You never forget your first kill," Marcus once said. One evening, you were sitting together in that meadow just after finished your knife training. "I've had to kill many, dozens, thousands. Some I felt no remorse for, some I thought they deserved it, some I felt pity for, but their faces are blurred in my memory in time. However, I could never forget the face of the first one. Although I was young, I remember it clearly, even now. For some time the silhouette of his face continued to torment me, even preventing me from using my sword properly.”

He took a deep breath as his fingers ran through your golden hair. “It's a peculiar thing, hard to overcome, right then and there, when you take his life, everything changes; the ground you walk on, the air you breathe, all of it becomes your enemy.”

As you looked at your own hands which were stained with blood and trembling, his words reverberated in your mind. You glanced at the man you had just killed, lying still on the ground. He was right. Everything has changed, and it will never be the same again.

Two days ago…

The atmosphere on Palatine Hill was one of palpable tension as the city awaited for the new dawn. You were trying to figure out the best way to extricate yourself from this troubling situation when you were involuntarily brought here by the guards, at the behest of your Emperor half-brother. Walking from the great courtyard into the great hall, accompanied by Flavius and two guards, you noticed that several soldiers were being forced to their knees by the guards. It appeared as though they were awaiting something or someone. They were attired in black cloaks over their armour, and you were uncertain as to why they were regarding you with concern. Might they be Marcus's men? Could this be the reason why he did not return home? Could he have been here too? As these questions continued to arise in your mind, you headed for the large door and entered as the guards opened it for you.

Once you had entered the great hall, the man called Flavius took his leave, accompanied by a few of his men, for some reason. You were not particularly curious about where he went, because the moment you saw Caracalla's face, your tension level spiked. You never thought that one day you would be judged by him in this hall. Caracalla stood in the centre, in his usual place, with Macrinus right next to him. What a surprise! You could imagine the strings he had woven around your brother, effectively turning him into a puppet. Geta and his mother Julia were on the left side of the hall. On the floor was the body of a slave, lifeless and bleeding, felt a chill run through you. You averted your gaze. As soon as he saw you, Geta uttered a silent curse and looked at his brother with a look of anger. “Really, brother? I told you, Aurelia has nothing to do with this!”

Caracalla stared at you, ignoring his brother. You swallowed when you realised he was holding the vial you had sent for Geta. He held it up as if he wanted you to see it. His face showed signs of fatigue and redness, which you knew could cause this kind of effect.

You were trying to stay calm. But your eyes kept drifting to the body of the poor slave on the floor. Caracalla noticed. “Oh, forgive us for starting without you.” He laughed like a madman.

“I have to tell you that you are making a mistake, brother,” you said calmly. You were hoping he hadn't noticed the quaver in your voice. “The things you accuse me of. None of that is true.” You turned your head to Julia, who was looking at you as she always did, defiant and angry.

“Lady Domna asked me to poison you, as she well knows. And I refused."

“Or are you going to tell me our brother Geta's lies too?” Caracalla snapped.

"Not lies, you fool, I'm telling the truth!" Geta shouted. He then inhaled. "Our mother is responsible for this. I can assure you that neither I nor Aurelia attempted to poison you."

Julia looked at her son, her eyes wide in surprise.

"What about this then?" Caracalla indicated the vial in his hand. "Last week, I had this dream that you were trying to kill me, and you were all involved." He pointed his index finger at each of you in turn. Macrinus stood silently beside him, weighing up the situation.

"As I said, my mother found a poison that will kill you slowly, which is why you killed this slave just now!"

Caracalla looked down at the dead slave on the floor. "That's right," he muttered. "I did." Then he grinned.

He looked like he was really lost, which made you almost feel pity for him. Geta approached him, seemingly used to this situation. "I asked Aurelia for help, for you, brother."

"Hah! So you admit that you plotted together to kill me!”

Geta sighed. “No you silly! You know that Aurelia is a medicus, so she found out what poisoned you and made a concoction that will cure you.”

“Lies, lies, lies! You're always lying to me!” He shouted at him, then pursed his lips. Geta rolled his eyes.

That's when you heard some muttering coming from outside. You figured it must be the soldiers. Before you had a chance to react, someone called out 'General', the great door opened, and Marcus walked in. You weren't sure which was more shocking. Seeing Marcus there like that, Flavius gripping his arm like he was a criminal, the bruises and blood on his face, or the fact that he was only in his burgundy tunic? Your chest tightened and your breath caught in your throat. It was as if someone was squeezing it.

“Marcus!” you cried out. Your ringing voice filled every space in the great hall.

Without a second thought, you strode towards him. You grasped his face in your hands and gazed at his bruises with concern.

"Aurelia, tell me you're alright." He said, also concerned.

"I am. But you? What happened to your face?" You touched the edge of his eyebrow where the blood oozing from. You couldn't hold back the tears.

"There's no need to be concerned, my lady."

"General!" Caracalla said loudly. "Or should I just call you Marcus now? After all, you don't deserve the title."

"How do you mean?" you asked him, taking Marcus’ hand in yours.

"You are mad indeed, brother." Geta muttered. “General has nothing to do with this.”

“Shut the hell up! Enough with your lies!” Caracalla wagged a finger at him. Then he turned to you and Marcus.

"A husband and wife have decided to commit a crime together. That's quite romantic.” He gave a little sarcastic clap.

“What are you accusing him of?” you asked, a little sharply. “He's a general who's loyal to you. The person you should be accusing is right there with you!” You said, pointing at Macrinus.

“Aurelia,” Marcus warned, squeezing your hand.

Macrinus smirked smugly. "May I enquire as to the evidence on which you have based your conclusion, my lady?"

Caracalla butted in. "You're not in a position to accuse anyone." I'm the one who decides everyone's fate here.’ He turned to his mother. "I will commence with Lady Domna. Or should I say ‘Mother'?" he said, raising his eyebrows suggestively. Then he went to the slave lying lifeless on the floor, bent down and examined him as if he was seeing him for the first time. "You disobeyed me. As if that wasn't enough, you tried to poison me using this rat." He stood up and asked the guard next to him for his sword. Once he had it in his hand, he looked at its shiny surface as if he were talking to it. Julia tensed up. "I can't send you back there without knowing what you'll do. I'm sure you'll be back though. So you'll be charged under the Roman law.”

“Brother!” Geta protested.

"I must protest! I'm the Empress, I can't be judged! I am your mother!" Julia yelled.

"That's why you are still breathing!" Caracalla barked. "You committed treason! I could kill you right now, but I won't! So, try to be greatful and don't speak another word!"

"It's a fair judgement, Your Majesty," Macrinus stated, pleased. You were certain that it was his opinion. After all, he had the majority of the Senate.

"Take Lady Domna to her room and keep her there until the trial," he ordered the guards.

The guards forcibly took her by the arm and led her out, despite her protests and shouting.

"As for you," he said, pointing at you and Geta.

"It would be best to simply let Aurelia go. I'm the one who asked her for help," he said, stepping between you and Caracalla.

Caracalla laughed. "How touching! What have you done to my brother, Aurelia?" His eyes shifted to you. Marcus clenched his jaw. The atmosphere in the hall was getting tense. "Well, here's the thing; she's the one who made this concoction, after all."

"It's not poison, on the contrary, it's a herbal remedy that will heal you." You explained.

Caracalla approached you and handed you the vial, pointing the sword he held in his other hand at you. "Prove it, then. Drink."

Marcus became visibly tense. Geta turned his head towards you. You swallowed hard. There was no harm in drinking the concoction you had made, you wouldn't have been afraid to drink it, only if you hadn't been carrying a child. "I can not," you suddenly said, closing your eyes and bowing your head.

Caracalla laughed hysterically. You exchanged a look with Marcus, you knew he understood why.

Geta turned to you, leaned in, “Aurelia, what are you-“

"I can't because I'm with child." You said. "The mixture could harm the child."

Everyone looked at you, and there was a brief period of silence. "How can I be sure you're not lying to me?" Caracalla asked.

Geta shifted his gaze to your belly, then turned to Caracalla and snatched the vial from his hand. "Give me the damn thing," he said and uncorked the bottle and drank the whole thing without thinking.

Everyone was looking at him in surprise. He threw the vial on the floor and looked Caracalla in the eye, who stared back at him with his mouth open. Geta licked his lips, spread his arms wide. "Look at me, brother! I am still alive, aren't I?" He smirked.

Caracalla looked at him, then at you, narrowing his eyes. This time he pointed his sword at Geta. "You two, you must be playing tricks on me."

"That's nonsense!" Geta yelled. Caracalla shook his head as if he had heard something. "No, a lie is always a lie. I refuse to believe it." The sword slipped and fell to the floor as he covered his ears with his hands. He stepped back. Macrinus approached him and whispered something in his ear.

"I think that's all we need for now. As you can see, Aurelia is completely innocent." Geta said.

"No way!" Caracalla spoke up. "She'll be staying here until this is resolved." He and Macrinus exchanged glances. He then looked at you. "I've decided that she needs to stay under home detention here at Domus Severiana."

"I must protest!" you said, loudly. Marcus gave you a little tap on the shoulder to calm you down.

“My decision is final!” He yelled at you then turned to Geta. “So, you, I'll have you tried for high treason, and I'll have you deposed from the title of emperor."

“You can't do that!” Geta interjected.

“Just watch me!” He gave him a stern look.

Geta clenched his fists.

"As for you, Acacius," Caracalla said, pointing his finger at Marcus this time. "There won't be a trial for you. I've got other plans. "In fact, I should have you beheaded or thrown off the Tarpeian rock.”

(Tarpeian rock: A steep cliff on the south side of the Capitoline Hill that was used in Ancient Rome as a site of execution. Murderers, traitors, perjurors, and larcenous slaves, if convicted by the quaestores parricidii, were flung from the cliff to their deaths.)

"For what offence?" Your body was shaking.

"Treason of course!" He shouted.

Macrinus intervened. "Your Majesty, your people respect or General Acacius and they have made great hero out of him. It would be unwise to have him executed. You might draw the public's ire to yourself. Angering them will only work against you."

"How do you mean? Should I let him walk free, Macrinus?" Caracalla shouted at him angrily.

Macrinus looked at Marcus. "No, of course not. I just want to say that there are other ways that the public will be satisfied with. And you of course, Your Majesty."

"And what are those ways, I wonder?”

You were getting nervous as he spoke, what was he planning?

“Games,” he said. “We could set up some fighting games, and Acacius could fight in the Colosseum to win his freedom.”

“No way!” You let out a cry of protest.

"Why do you object, or you do not trust your husband's fighting strength?" Caracalla enquired with a hint of irony. "It is a good decision, Macrinus I liked it."

You looked at Marcus. But he was staring at Caracalla. "What about my men? I demand their release, Your Majesty. They have nothing to do with my treachery." Marcus said the word treachery through clenched teeth.

"I deny it, Acacius! They are as guilty as you are, and they will take their share of your punishment and fight along with you in the Colosseum!"

"Your Majesty, I suggest that you reconsider this!" Marcus said loudly.

"Shut up!" Caracalla approached him. "That dusty ground of the Colosseum will become your grave, you will lose your reputation, your name will be forgotten! I will burn your villa to the ground with your slaves inside! And your wife Aurelia..." He eyed you up and down. "She will be confined for the rest of her life! Do you hear me?"

He gestured to Flavius, who grabbed you by the arm and pulled you away from Marcus.

"Don't you dare to touch her!" Marcus lunged towards him but the guards grabbed him by the arm and pulled him back hard.

"Marcus!" You reached for him, but Flavius was holding your arm tightly.

"Take your hands off the Princess now!" Geta shouted too, but Flavius ignored him.

“My name may be forgotten, but your name will be remembered with hatred for generations to come!” Marcus roared. “You will face the hatred of your people! Your reign will come to an end!”

“Get him out of my sight!” Caracalla shouted. “Throw him in one of the pits in the Colosseum with all his men!”

"No, please! Brother please!" You begged. Tears welled up in your eyes.

He didn't care.

“MARCUS!” You screamed at the top of your lungs as the guards dragged him out. Flavius then released you, but couldn't feel your legs and collapsed. Geta crouched, put his arm around your shoulder, you rested your head on his chest, sobbing, crying.

“Lock them in their rooms, I want two men at every door!” You weren't looking at Caracalla, but you knew he was talking about you and Geta.

First day of the games.

The Colosseum was host to a game that was somewhat unique today. The announcement of the accusation and sentence of General Marcus Acacius had been made public, and many people had gathered here in the early hours. It would be fair to say that the vast majority viewed this man as a hero. The loud shouts of the crowd mingled with the sound of drums and trumpets. For the first time, Marcus was not pleased to hear his name shouted by the crowd, despite being aware of their admiration. The reason was straightforward: his wife Aurelia was absent from the Imperial stand. They had taken her away from him. Caracalla and Geta were seated in their customary positions. It appeared that Caracalla wished to keep his brother, who had committed treason, close by.

However, Geta, like Marcus, was even less enthusiastic about being there for the first time. As Marcus and his soldiers saluted them before the fight commenced, Geta and he locked eyes. If only I could hear him at this distance, he thought. I wish he would tell me something about Aurelia. Then Geta nodded at him as if he could read something his mind. ‘She's alright,’ he mimicked with his lips. And that was it! That was enough for Marcus to feel strong and defeat everyone and everything in the arena. On top of that, he had his most trusted men with him this time, his soldiers. They'd fought side by side on the battlefield, and they were ready to do the same here.

"Octavius!" Marcus called out. He gave him a heads-up about the barbarian warrior coming up behind him. Octavius dodged the attack and, led by Marcus, they all took up an attacking position, targeting one barbarian warrior and quickly overcoming them. There were just two barbarians left. Marcus signaled to his soldiers to stay back and calmly took a step forward, challenging the remaining barbarians with his outstretched arm. They both charged towards him with their swords but missed. Marcus expertly dodged their attacks and cut them with his sharp sword. The crowd went wild. Geta laughed and applauded. For the first time, Caracalla responded to his laughter by cursing angrily. Marcus, with his sword bathed in a crimson red, made his way towards the barbarian, who was lying on the ground, apparently nearing the end of his life. He then looked at Caracalla.

Caracalla turned his thumb down. Marcus killed the barbarian with a swift move. As the crowd chanted Marcus' name, Caracalla sulked and sank into his seat. "Ugh! Too fast and too boring! Well, fortunately, this is a three-day game and we're only on day one."

"How exciting!" Geta teased.

Caracalla frowned and turned his head towards Macrinus who was already approaching. "Have your new gladiators arrived, Macrinus?"

"Yes, Your Majesty. They are preparing for tomorrow's game." He said, smiling at him.

"That's good. I hope tomorrow will bring the defeat of Acacius and his men." He looked at them with a hint of displeasure. Then he stood up. "Come, brother. It's time to leave."

Marcus was keeping an eye on them from a distance, his gaze shifting to Flavius, who was following behind them. He clenched his fists as he watched them until they were out of sight. He made a vow to himself. He was going to win these games, no matter what. He had to win the Emperor's approval to be free. Then he could leave here and get you to safety. After that, he could take care of Flavius and Macrinus. Even if he never became a general again, that would not matter to him. He did not believe that Caracalla would reinstate him, anyway. That night, staying in the same pit with the gladiators but in separate cells, he was thinking about all this and you.

You spent the entire day in a state of mental and emotional distress, seeking solace through prayer. You were rather concerned about Marcus, eager to receive any news from him. However, the guards at the door of your room would never let you out. You hated this room. Never expected to feel this way about it, nor to return here in this way. While you watched the birds singing cheerfully outside the window, you felt a longing to be free like them. You were also concerned about those in the villa and you prayed for them too. However, Marcus was on your mind constantly. Nothing made sense without him. You were feeling lost, incomplete. In the evening there was a knock at the door. Geta's slave had brought dinner. The girl noticed that the food on the morning tray had not been touched. She looked at you with a concerned and sad expression.

"My lady, please try to eat a little."

"I do not feel hungry," you murmured.

She glanced at the guards and then looked back at you. "If you could do it for your child." The girl was a little too insistent in her tone. You turned to her. She gave you a nod with her head. She indicated the plate on the tray with a gesture. You noticed a piece of paper under the plate. Had someone wrote you a note? You looked at the guards. They were standing at the door and wouldn't let it close when the slave girl was inside. You had to come up with an excuse. "Alright then. I'll eat, but first you help me get dressed. I need to change my dress." you said loudly looking at the guards. "Close the door, I need to get dressed."

The guards nodded and obeyed. You immediately took the paper from the tray.

"Emperor Geta wrote to you," she said quietly.

"Or perhaps it is about Marcus?" you asked, opening the little paper.

"I am not quite sure, my lady. He's in a similar situation to you, confined in a way. I couldn't even speak to him properly." You could sense the sadness in her voice, you touched her hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. "Do not you worry. I'm sure everything will be alright and we'll be released soon." You felt like you also convincing yourself desperately.

The girl replied with a smile.

You turned your gaze to the paper to read what Geta had written.

"My dear sister. I hope you're doing well. I'm really concerned about you, so it would be great if you send me a response. What do you think of this solution huh? You must think I'm pretty smart, you do not? Come now, be honest." -Even so, he still managed to make you smile- "Anyway, Acacius and his men fought well today. You should have seen Caracalla's face when they won the game. It looked like a little monkey's butt. Whatever. Acacius, he's fine, don't you worry about him. If he wins the next two games, he'll be free. And I'm quite sure he will. Oh, and you never told me you were carrying a child, which I'm still upset about. Well, take care of yourself and the child, and eat your food. I'm waiting for your secret response letter. We'll be free soon, I promise. Kisses.”

Sighing, you crumpled up the paper and put it in the wooden box, closing it up. Fortunately, he had some good news. You felt a little relieved. You then looked around your room for some paper and a pen. The girl whispered to you. "Here, my lady," she said, pulling out the ink, reed pen and paper she had tucked into her belt.

"You are really well prepared," you said, smiling at her. She giggled. You sat down and the girl helped you to write a reply for Geta.

"Brother, I'm alright, please don't worry.  I must say, this solution is really clever and I am very grateful for it. Many thanks for the good news about him. I hope we'll all be free soon. I know you won't get anywhere near Marcus, but if you get a chance, I'd appreciate it if you'd tell him I love him. Please look after yourself around Caracalla. I await your letter about tomorrow."

You handed the paper to the girl. She tucked it into her belt to deliver it to Geta.

Day two of the Games.

The atmosphere in the Colosseum today was somewhat different from that of yesterday. It seemed that the crowd flocking to this giant structure was more enthusiastic today. 

Marcus and his soldiers were going over their plan of fight while sharpening their swords. A tougher fight awaited them today. The gladiators were well trained, but unlike them, this was their first time in the Colosseum. Before long, the drums started beating and they were announced.

“Honos et Virtus! (Honor and virtue!) For freedom!” They shouted together, tapping each other on the shoulder. With swords drawn, they made their way to the arena, accompanied by the sound of drums and  the enthusiastic cheering of the crowd. It was pretty unlikely that they could pull off a fight like this on such short notice. But since Caracalla had declared them criminals, he'd ordered that there should be no interruption, one day after another. No matter how strong or experienced they were, it wasn't something an ordinary soldier could take easily. However, losing wasn't an option for Marcus. He encouraged them accordingly and spurred them on. Before start, and saluting emperor, Geta and Marcus shared a look that was just like yesterday. Marcus smiled in response to Geta's positive gestures.

“Oh, this is so ridiculous,” Geta muttered. “I feel like I'm flirting with a girl.”

“What was that? What did you say?” Caracalla leaned in towards him.

“Nothing, just thinking out loud.”

“And you call me mad.”

“But you are,” Geta said. “You're treating me like a caged animal. Locking me when I've done nothing wrong.”

"Be glad I didn't kill you," said Caracalla arrogantly. "Since I've tried it before and I can do it again."

"What did you say?" Geta looked at him with wide eyes.

Caracalla laughed. "If Aurelia hadn't saved you that night, you'd be with the Gods now. You would be dead."

Geta preferred to look at him in astonishment rather than watch the game. Of course, he had thought about it, but he could not digest his cold-blooded confession. At that moment he realised that everything was in vain. That he still saw him as his brother, that he respected him a little. To go to Aurelia for him. Suddenly he found himself feeling guilty. Tasting these new feelings, he set himself a goal: to kill him. No matter what, today or tomorrow. He had to die.

While Geta was planning to kill Caracalla somehow, Marcus and his soldiers kept up the fight against the gladiators. Despite the gladiators outnumbering them, they were able to prevail over them by watching each other's backs and acting in a spirit of brotherhood. Caracalla gave a thumbs up, decided that the remaining gladiators be to live. That came as a surprise to everyone. Macrinus seemed really pleased, and Geta noticed. They all had some injuries, including Marcus himself, but they weren't too severe. Marcus had a small scratch on his cheek. Octavius had a cut on his calf, and the others had cuts on their arms and legs. They were also pretty tired. They were in need of a rest, but they knew that Emperor Caracalla wouldn't let them. That night, as Marcus examined his brothers' wounds, he was filled with concern for the following day. It was possible that Caracalla and Macrinus had something big in store for the final day.

It was just after midnight when the sound of the iron gates opening was carried away on the breeze that had picked up the dust from the stone walls. Marcus and the others were soon aware that Cato and a soldier were approaching, and they rose to their feet immediately.

"Cato! It's Cato, sir!" Octavius said in a cheerful manner.

Marcus grasped the iron bars. "Cato? What are you doing here?"

Cato looked sad. "Sir, I am very truly saddened by all this."

"Cease weeping now, Cato," Octavius chastised him.

"Have you heard anything from the villa?"

Cato shook his head slowly. Octavius was growing impatient and reached his arm through the iron bars and grabbed his collar. “Speak!"

Marcus touched his shoulder as a warning. Cato took a deep breath. "Sir, when I went to the villa, I found that it had unfortunately been plundered, the soldiers you had positioned there had been murdered.”

Marcus slammed his palm against the iron bars in frustration.

“What about the others? The slaves?” Octavius asked.

"I'm not sure, but none of them were there."

"They must have been detained." Marcus hissed. "Along with all my property, everything I have."

Octavius kicked the bars angrily.

“I was watching Palatine Hill, the Domus Severiana,” Cato said. Marcus looked at him. Cato continued. “Lady Aurelia, I couldn't see her, but I'm certain that she's there.”

"She's under home detention," Marcus said his voice cracked. "Keep watching there. I need to find out how often Flavius and his guards go there and what they do. I need you to keep an eye on things for me until I get out of here. Can you do that?"

He nodded. "Yes, sir!"

The soldier who'd been keeping an eye on the corridor during the conversation came over to them. "Sir, General, I need to get Cato out of here before the guards at the gate realise."

Marcus nodded. "I am indebted to you." He said, and the soldier nodded in respect. Then he turned to Cato. "Cato, be cautious. Whatever you do, don't let Flavius notice you.”

"Yes, sir. I'll pray for you to win tomorrow," he said, looking at each of them. He threw his arms up. "Hodie Ruditapes Leo!' (Today the lion roars!)"

"Hodie Ruditapes Leo!' (Today the lion roars!)" They all repeated, their smiles confident and assured.

As you read Geta's note that evening, you noticed a difference in his writing style compared to the previous day. It seemed more serious. You were curious as to why and felt a little frustrated that you were not allowed to talk to him freely. Yet, you were really grateful to him for coming up with this solution.  It was like he'd given you a breath of air when you felt like you were stuck in this room. Fortunately, there was more good news. Marcus and his soldiers had won. The only thing left to do was get through tomorrow. If Marcus were to emerge victorious from the games tomorrow, it would mean that Caracalla would no longer have the authority to detain him. So maybe you could be freed and return to the villa together before the trial. You had to find out what happened there and see if everyone was well. In accordance with the law, everything you have to be confiscated, including your slaves. It might even be the case that they could have been sold to other people. The mere thought of that made your chest hurt. However, this is not a possibility at such short notice, and certainly not before a decision has been made by the court.

Sitting on the large bed, illuminated by the moonlight that filtered through the long window, you read the short note that Geta had sent you, thinking of him as you traced your thumb over the word 'Marcus'.

You sensed that he was thinking of you too. Actually you were certain. You implored Jupiter, as you rubbed your belly with a hand over it. "Please, my lord. I beseech you. I pray that you spare him to me, to our child. Be his constant companion and his strength in fight, refuge in every adversity. Guide him, my lord, that he may return to me safely."

Day three of the Games.

Present day.

"Remember, we have to win no matter what. If we lose, we will not only lose our lives, but our families, their future and reputation."

They nodded, but their eyes betrayed their doubts. Some of them were exhausted and deeply wounded. Marcus knew that if one lost, they all would. He had to give them what they needed: strength and courage.

“Brothers, do you remember those words I spoke to you two years ago on the Libyan front?”

They looked at each other and nodded in aggrement. He went over to the soldier who was struggling the most and put a hand on his shoulder.

"I mentioned a dark place inside us, a place that can give you strength even when you feel you have none left. You're injured and you're feeling drained. It was just like that day. We were outnumbered that day and it looked like we were going to lose. I don't think any other army would have been able to win with such a small number of people. But we managed to beat the odds and find a way to win. We'll do the same today." He went over to another soldier and looked at him. He had a wound on his arm. "Now I want you to discover that dark place inside you. He turned to another soldier. "Felix. I see you're badly wounded in the leg. Does it hurt?"

The soldier looked at his leg. "Yes, sir."

"Do you feel that place? Do you hear that voice screaming at you that you're going to lose?"

He lowered his head. "Yes, sir.”

"Do you think you can run from here to the gate? Or will it make the wound in your leg worse?"

He looked at him uncertainly. "It could be a lot worse, sir."

"That's not the answer I'm seeking, Felix!" he shouted at him. “When you get to the arena, you'll need to run and be quick. The warriors trying to kill you there will jump on you to finish you off as soon as they realise that you're scared.” He gave his shoulder a reassuring squeeze. “Our mind rules our body and it rules this dark place! It cannot direct the body of one who is afraid! Because he is doomed to lose. When you die over there, you will only lose your life. Your family however, will lose their citizenship and be known as the family of a traitor. Your friends will lose a brother. I will lose a good soldier! Now, tell me, will you confront that dark place, face your fears, fight along with us to win?" Marcus looked into his eyes. Felix inhaled and nodded firmly. “I will, sir!”

Marcus smiled. "Good. I trust that you will. From now on, it doesn't matter what you like or don't like, what you're upset about, what you think you've been wronged, your fears, your anxieties, nothing matters." Marcus raised his index finger. "Only one thing matters: Survival. Now tell me. Will you fight by my side and survive? Are you with me?"

The soldiers looked at each other and nodded, and then they all drew their swords and raised them.

"We're with you, sir!"

"Yes sir!"

They all shouted in unison with enthusiasm. Marcus raised his sword. “Vae Victis!”

The soldiers repeated it back to him. The sound of their voices echoed off the stone walls. A little later, the sound everyone was waiting for was heard! The iron gates opened with a loud noise as their names were announced. The sound of drums, pipes, the voices of the crowd, whistles and applause filled the air. Everyone was brimming with excitement as they sat in their seats at the Colosseum, eager for the final game day. Geta and Caracalla were sitting in their usual seats. Macrinus came up to emperor and whispered something in his ear. Geta tried to focus on what he was saying, but the noise made it difficult to hear.

"Today will be the end of Acacius." Caracalla said to Geta, in an excited tone.

"You speak too precisely, brother. They've only just begun!

“This is the end! There's no doubt about it." He snapped. "His end. He is going to die today.” His hands were shaking. Geta squinted at his hands then his face. “I will get rid of him no matter what.”

At that moment, Geta became aware that something was being planned. He was fairly certain that Macrinus and Flavius were involved. But what could it be? He considered the option of killing his brother at that moment. However, he was unable to give orders to the guards.  He knew his own end was near. Just after Marcus. Maybe even yours. Caracalla was completely lost. He has to be the one to die today, but how? Geta thought.

Marcus and his men were in fine spirits as they engaged in combat with the gladiators who had previously fought and whose lives Caracalla had graciously spared. However, before long, two hatches opened on the ground of the arena, and a loud roar was heard as two tigers suddenly appeared. Caracalla was visibly amused and expressed his approval with a hearty laugh and a clap of his hands. The crowd expressed their delight with enthusiastic shouts.

“Where did these tigers come from?” Geta was rather puzzled.

"Didn't you like my surprise?'"

"I thought we'd run out of wild animals?" Geta grunted.

"And I thought we could make do with these until the rhino was brought in. They were only brought in last week. Macrinus went to great lengths to get them from Libya."

Geta squinted at him. "I am sure he did.”

Marcus got his men together and gave them a few strategies. After all, none of them had ever fought tigers, so they tried to stay calm. The gladiators had a similar plan of action. The two groups were ready to attack each other, using the tigers as a dangerous tool. The gladiators advanced towards them with shields and spears. Marcus and his soldiers numbered six. Gladiators were four. However, one of the gladiators was so enormous that he could easily be counted as two men. Marcus had given his men another tactic about him: attack his leg first, so they could finish him off as soon as he fell to the ground. That was it. A moment later, Octavius lunged at his leg with his sword. And managed to cut deeply. Before long, the other soldier did the same, and the big man collapsed on the ground. But not before he'd punched them in the stomach and face. During the attack, Marcus lost one soldier, leaving him with five remaining. The battle was so intense that it was difficult to catch your breath. Everyone was exhausted and trying to outwit the enemy while dodging the claws and teeth of the tigers, which was harder than ever. After one intense battle, Marcus and his soldiers were down to four. As he saw the exhaustion on their faces, Marcus felt the first stirrings of fear. But he persevered and fought on. He managed to cut down one of the gladiators and one of the tigers.

The crowd went wild with excitement. His success gave the remaining soldiers the encouragement they needed to keep fighting with everything they had. And soon the cries of victory were heard in the arena. The gladiators were all defeated by the glorious Roman soldiers and their General. The crowd cheered his name with delight. They gave each other a big hug and saluted the crowd.

And, It all happened so quickly.

"Now!" Caracalla shouted angrily. Geta turned his head towards Flavius, who raised his arm and looked at something, then lowered it as he gave an order to someone in the crowd. Out of the blue, Marcus was hit in the arm by a bolt from nowhere. If Octavius hadn't been a bit closer, it would probably have gone through his throat. Marcus let out a cry of pain. The crowd fell silent. Geta got to his feet. Caracalla looked at him, his hands clasped in delight.  He laughed wildly. The soldiers called out to their general. Then they quickly looked in the direction of the bolt. It was someone planted in the audience. It was against the rules. It was completely unacceptable. Caracalla was determined to see Marcus dead, so he came up with this plan.

However, he was soon disappointed to see that Marcus had broken the bolt and pulled it out of his arm. He was seething with rage. The soldiers picked up shields from the ground and formed a protective circle around their general. The crowd caught the attacker with the crossbow and beat him up. Caracalla got really angry and swore as he saw his plan fail. Geta looked at him and laughed cruelly.

Caracalla looked at him angrily and stood up. The crowd was chanting Marcus's name.

“I think that’s enough. Now It's time to set him free, brother. He has well earned it.”

He was aware of it. He looked at Flavius and the other guards and, with some reluctance, gave the order to open the great iron gate. Octavius, who was holding Marcus's arm, looked at him with concern.

"Sir, it looks like you've got a bit of a rough injury."

"No need to worry about my wound, brother. We survived. We won! That's all that matters." He smiled.

The soldiers looked at him. 'We won, sir!' Marcus gave them a tap on the shoulder, one by one. "I'm proud of you all."

Before long, the iron gate opened and Caracalla entered the arena as his name was announced. Geta was right behind him.  Marcus' smile faded. He considered grabbing the pugio from the ground, as this could be his only opportunity to kill him. However, if things did not go as planned, it could have unfortunate consequences. Besides, he had to think about his soldiers as well. At his command, they all dropped their swords and bowed their heads.

“Acacius, you really are a hard man to kill. You put me in a dilemma.”

He also noticed the pugio on the ground, covered in blood and dust. If he could get to it, he might be able to kill his brother right there and then. But he shouldn't let on. He glanced over at Marcus. He could see right through what he was up to.  He looked at the guards, who numbered eight. Could he take them down? No, he'd have to be declared free first. He decided to wait.

Geta bent down and picked up the pugio.

“Would you like one of the tiger's teeth, brother?” he said, looking at Caracalla, trying hard to hide his intentions.

Caracalla gave a shrug and seemed confused. “Alright, but first I must announce the verdict the people are waiting for.”

Marcus and Geta exchanged glances. And the decision has been made.

Caracalla cleared his throat and announced his decision in a voice the crowd could hear. “Marcus Acacius! By the authority of Roman law, I declare you free!”

The crowd cheered and whistled. They began to chant Caracalla's name. Caracalla held up his hand and signalled for them to be silent.

"But you're not a Roman general anymore. You're not even serving in the military any longer. You'll be exiled. You'll lose all your authority and you'll have to live outside Rome for the rest of your life."

The crowd suddenly fell silent, and after a few murmurs, people started to protest.

“General! General! General! General! General! General!”

“Silence! You filthy rats! How dare you? I shall kill all of you!” Caracalla yelled at them.

It all happened so fast. Geta threw the pugio at Marcus while Caracalla looking at the crowd. He skilfully grasped the pugio and slashed Caracalla's throat with a move faster than the wind. Nobody even noticed for the first few minutes because it happened so fast. As soon as blood spurted from the cut on Caracalla's throat, he instinctively pressed his hands as if to make the wound stop bleeding.

His sapphire-coloured fancy toga, his golden necklace, all soaked with his own blood flowing between fingers through. He fell to the dusty ground as he collapsed lifelessly to his knees. His blood was leaking slowly, pooling around his lifeless body. Geta took the pugio from Marcus' hand and looked the guards in the eye, who had taken up their attacking positions.

"The tyrant emperor is dead! I am the only emperor! As a tyrant, his rules are null and void!"

This was indisputably the case. The rules of the emperor, who had been legally declared a tyrant with the approval of the Senate, were therefore legally invalid. Geta had planned well, and the people were happy about it. After all, they were now shouting his name. Even when the blood continued to flow from his brother's lifeless body. Now he has to convince the council next. Marcus and his soldiers bowed their heads to him. The guards too. Then Marcus's eyes shift to the imperial tribune, he tensed up when he couldn't see Flavius or Macrinus there.

"Your Majesty, I need to know if your sister, my wife Aurelia, is still at Palatine Hill."

“Yes,” Geta said, also looking at the tribune. He turned his head to Marcus, his eyes wide. “That cunt Macrinus and his filthy dog Flavius.” He hissed.

Marcus looked at his soldiers. “Octavius, you are with me. The others will remain with Emperor Geta to ensure his safety and protection."

Geta tapped Marcus on the shoulder. "Acacius, there is no need for concern about my safety now. Go and ensure my sister is safe."

Marcus nodded nervously. Quickly, he and Octavius made their way towards the iron gate to leave the Colosseum.

Macrinus strode purposefully down the steps of the Colosseum, determined to catch up with Flavius. He looked around and saw that people on the streets were talking about Caracalla's death with great enthusiasm.

“Sir Flavius! Where do you think you're going?” Macrinus shouted at him.

They were both furious. "Tell your men to move now! We need to act fast while he's still in there."

Flavius grabbed his horse's reins. "I don't care about Emperor Geta! You told me Acacius would die there today!"

“Your man couldn't shoot him, so that's not my fault! Now is the time to take down Geta as we planned. We must finish him before he is officially proclaimed. Then, when I ascend the throne, I will finish Acacius myself, just as I promised you.”

"Your perfect plan didn't do shit!" He barked.

"I made you Prateon Prefect! I gave you  power!" Macrinus shouted.

Flavius shook his head. "I don't give a damn about your throne or the power you gave me! You promised you'd finish Acacius, but you couldn't. Our deal is off. "I'll finish him myself!" He leapt onto his horse. Macrinus was enraged.

"What the hell are you talking about? Where are you going?”

"I was wrong to go along with your stupid plan. I am going to do what I should have done all along. I'll take away what's most precious to him. Then he'll learn what loss means."

Macrinus was taken aback when he realised what he was talking about. 'No! You cannot!' "I need Princess Aurelia. Don't you dare touch her!"

"I will have my revenge with or without you!" He yelled, kicked his horse forward.

Macrinus called a few of the guards to his side and ordered them to follow him.

It was the afternoon, you were resting in bed, nervously awaiting, hoping for good news. Then there was a noise, a clinking of swords, and you heard the guards at the door hurrying away. The sound of their metal armour echoed with every footstep. You approached the door to see what was happening. As soon as you opened the door, you saw Geta's slave rushing to your side.

"My lady. You must leave immediately. Come with me." She grasped your hand and pulled you with her.

"What's going on?"

She put her finger to her lips. "We have to be quiet. I'll tell you."

As soon as you stepped into the courtyard, she pulled you towards the corner and guided you to hide behind the wall. You peeked out and noticed Flavius.

“They're looking for you.” She whispered.

Before you could ask anything the girl tugged you by the hand again. The other slaves noticed, rushing towards you.

"This way, my lady."

"Why are they looking for me? Or has something happened to Marcus?”

"I am not sure, my lady. The Commander of the Guard has just killed three of his men. They attempted to prevent him from entering. I heard them talking about you. You must leave before he notices you."

Your heart was beating fast. Your throat felt dry. As you approached the entrance door, you saw three of the guards were lying on the floor covered in blood.

"My Lady!” A familiar voice called out to you.

You looked in that direction and saw Cato, who was waiting for you outside the entrance door, holding the reins of a horse. You looked around for Marcus, but he was not there.

“Stop right there!”

You gasped when you heard Flavius's loud voice.

"My Lady, get on the horse now!" Cato drew his sword, staring at Flavius as he ran towards you.

"Cato, I-" Your voice cracked.

"You are the one he wants! Just go!"

You nodded, tears in your eyes, and quickly climbed onto the horse, kicking it forward.

When you looked back, you saw Cato taking up a defensive position, you turned your head. You tried to hold back your tears and gripped the horse's reins tighter. You had no idea where you were supposed to go. But it seemed a bad idea to head into the city and the streets, after all he was the commander of the guards and they were everywhere. So you rode on a road that led straight out of city center. You turned your head and looked back again. It didn't look like anyone was coming after you, but you had to be sure. After a while you heard drums and an announcement: “Be aware! Emperor Caracalla is dead! He is dead! He is dead!” You slowed your horse down.

How? When? You asked yourself in shock. And what about Marcus? Why isn't anyone talking about him?

People were looking at you with curiosity as you were a little bewildered and trying to figure out what to do. Before you knew it, you heard the sound of a horse's neigh coming behind you and people screamed. You looked back and saw Flavius on his horse, your heart felt like it was going to burst out of your chest. As you pulled the reins in a hurry, your bracelet caught on the fabric of your dress and slipped off your wrist, falling to the ground, causing a tinkling sound. The bracelet was precious to you, but you had to keep going. You just couldn't let him catch you.

You decided to ride the horse into the woods, with the intention of disappearing from view. As Flavius followed you, he saw Cato catching up with him. He drew his sword, turned his horse around and struck Cato with the sword. Cato fell to the ground, screaming in pain. The sword had hit his armour, so he wasn't dead, but he was frustrated. The distance between you and him had grown, and you were feeling pretty tired, so you decided to get off your horse and go through the trees to get to the other side of the city and the Colosseum. But it was a long way to walk. As soon as you heard Flavius' horse, you started running. He saw your silhouette and grinned.

"So you want to play tag, eh, princess?" He dismounted. "You should be aware of that, though. It's my favourite game." He drew his sword, following the tracks you left.

It was really hard to move through the forest without making a sound, especially with the long stola you were wearing. You kept tripping over thorns and bushes as you walked. As he was good at tracking, Flavius was following you calmly, smiling at every crunching noise you made.He crouched down to observe a trail on the ground. "If you surrender now, I promise I won't hurt you.” He grinned cruelly.

You were shaking with fear and trying to calm yourself down. You grabbed the fabric of your stola, pulled it up and tucked it into the belt around your waist, exposing your ankles but at least allowing you to move forward without making a sound. You soon came across a large, thick clump of bushes right next to a puddle. A tree root had created a small cave-like hollow in the soil. You decided to take shelter there because you were really tired. You took your knife out, picked it up, remain still, waiting in silence.

Upon arriving at Palatine Hill, Marcus was met with a gruesome scene: the guards and slaves lying lifeless on the ground. He was too late. Then he saw the slave girl running towards him. She was wounded, but managed to inform them and showed them the direction you were headed. Without a moment's hesitation, Marcus and Octavius mounted their horses and rode off in that direction.

"They must have gone out of the city. I think we should go that way," Octavius said.

"I will head there! We must split-up! You ride down the city, in case of the unexpected!" Marcus pointed down the street.

"Yes, sir!" Octavius rode his horse down the road.

Marcus was just about to kick his horse into a trot when he noticed some children playing with a gold bracelet. It looked familiar. He jumped off his horse, approached them and grabbed it. He knew this bracelet well, because he was the one who gave it to you.

"Where did you get this, child?" he asked one of them.

The child pointed ahead and Marcus rub child's head, then quickly got back on his horse and rode in that direction.

“Princess? Where are you hiding? You know I'll find you eventually. And when I do…”

That sick bastard, you thought. You were glad he didn't sound close. You decided that going the other way would be a better idea. Waiting here was pointless. It made you feel like you were caught in a trap. Just as you were about to stand up, you heard a hissing sound and your eyes widened in shock as you saw a snake ahead. You covered your mouth with your hand to stop yourself screaming. You jumped back. You had to kill the snake before Flavius saw you. You knew he would see you if you stood up. You held your knife tight, aiming at the snake. You missed on your first try but stabbed it the second time. You felt sick, both from the blood flowing from the snake and from this overwhelming feeling of fear.

With your survival instinct, an idea came to your mind. The snake was a viper, which is known to be highly poisonous. Even though it was dead, there was still venom in its fangs. You knew how to get the venom since you'd already produced antivenom many times before, but it was too dangerous with bare hands. You tore the fabric from the hem of your dress, wrapped it around your hand and pressed the dead snake's head to open its mouth and extract the venom from its fangs. The venom was leaking out in a bright yellowish colour. You held your breath and applied the venom to the surface of your knife. You weren't sure how, but you had to cut Flavius somewhere on his body with this knife.

"Found you!"

You froze. His voice was right behind you. Just as you were about to run forward, he grabbed you by the hair and yanked hard. You let out a cry of pain. He yanked your hair harder, turning you to face him.

"I told you to surrender, princess." He grinned.

You lunged at his exposed arm with your knife. He wasn't expecting you to have a knife, so he was caught off guard and you managed to cut him. Flavius let out a cry of pain, and when he released your hair, you took the opportunity to step back. He realised it wasn't just a normal cut when he started rubbing it with his hand. The poison had mixed with his blood and caused him terrible pain as it spread through his veins. He groaned loudly and then looked at you angrily.

“You whore!” He grabbed you by the arm and hit you hard in the face. You stumbled backward and fell. You crawled away from him with all your strength. “I said I wouldn't hurt you, but I changed my mind.”

He grabbed your hair again, yanked, turned you around, so he was right on top of you.  His weight made it difficult for you to breathe. "I'm really going to hurt you. A lot." Flavius was running his pugio over your face. You felt the sharp edge of the knife against your skin as you fought against him.

A horse neighed loudly in the distance and you both looked in that direction. He uttered a curse and raised his pugio to stab you. Then, you heard footsteps running towards you and a familiar angry roar, then Marcus appeared and jumped on Flavius, pushing his body off you. They rolled on the grass. After his weight lifted off of you, you took a deep breath and looked at them. They were locked in a fierce struggle, punching each other with groans.

Marcus drew his pugio and stabbed him in the leg, then punched him in the face. He quickly got on top of him and started hitting him in the face again and again. Flavius was struggling to breathe, but he managed to hit the wound on his arm. Marcus groaned in pain. He seized the opportunity to kick him. This time Marcus was on the ground. You were shaking, but you had to think fast. As soon as you realised your knife was on the ground, you ran to it. You snatched it and forced yourself to remember the attack moves Marcus had taught you before. You lunged, aiming for Flavius' neck, who was punching Marcus in the face. Marcus hit Flavius with his elbow and realised you were approaching.

“Aurelia!” he shouted, holding out his hand as if to stop you.

Flavius had his pugio in his hand and could have cut you down in an instant. But you were the first to act. As soon as he turned his head towards you, you stabbed him in the throat with your knife. His eyes widened in surprise as blood gushed from the open cut in his throat onto your face, your clothes and your hands. He reached for the knife, grasping it as if he intended to pull it out. But he was wheezing and choking on his own blood as he tried to breathe. You stared at him, your eyes wide with shock. Marcus's voice sounded muffled to your ears. He shook you by the shoulders, but you were completely numb and paralysed. As Flavius' lifeless body collapsed to the ground, you looked at your hands. They were red and wet. Your gaze fell upon Flavius' body again. The blood flowing out of his throat was slow, the effect of the poison, you thought.

Marcus took your face in his hands. Seeing the faint smile on his face, feeling his touch on your skin, your body came back to life.

“Aurelia my love? Are you alright? Speak please, say anything.” He sounded concerned.

“M. Marcus, I... I killed him.” You mumbled.

Marcus wrapped his arms tightly around you.

“Shhh, I know.” He whispered. His hands ran through your hair which was smeared with blood in some places. He rubbed your head and kissed over and over, exhaling with relief. Then he looked at you once more, his eyes holding yours in a gaze that was both intense and unwavering. "It's over, my love. You are safe now." He wiped the blood from your face with his fingers. He kissed your temple and touched his forehead to yours. You stayed like that for a while. Then you heard horses neighing in the distance.

“Sir!”

Octavius and Cato leapt off their horses and ran to you.

"Are you alright, my lady? Sir?" Octavius asked. His eyes then travelled over Flavius' body.

“We are now,” Marcus answered for you.

Octavius moved towards Flavius' body and spat a curse at him.

"Cato, give me a hand," Marcus said, and he helped you to your feet, but your legs were shaking. He wrapped his arms around you and lifted you into his arms. Cato held the horse's reins to keep it still. He approached the horse and carefully helped you on. Then he climbed on and settled behind you. He pulled you against his chest and grasped the horse's reins. "Hang in there, my love," he said firmly. Accompanied by Octavius and Cato, he rode slowly toward Palatine Hill.

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[goodbyeolepaint]

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"Life thrilled Renna the way it only did when she was in Umbra Combat: cloaked in the shadow generated by her cloak, her staff spinning like a branch caught in a maelstrom.

The situation might be dire, but here was also an adventure—one that had taken her away from her troubles back home."

[cannibalisticskittles]

The pantry door is ajar rather than fully open today, so Rook raps twice on the doorframe before nudging it open and ducking inside. 

Lucanis is at his desk, charcoal in hand, diligently writing in his notebook. A single candle burns on the desk beside him. Not much of a meltpool around it, or at least, not enough for her to see one from here. He can’t have been at this for long, then. 

Rook glances down at the folded letter in her hand – another plea for action from Jacobus – before she speaks. 

“Lucanis,” she begins, “have you heard anything else from Treviso lately? New information from Teia and Viago?”

“Rook. Came. To visit?”

Ah, it’s Spite’s turn at the wheel. The voice – a little scratchier, a little deeper – leaves no question about that.

But… now that she’s really looking at him, she should have known that already. Spite has more of a hunch to his back when he sits, and his grip on the charcoal is – well, it’s a touch less careful than she would expect from Lucanis. She should’ve noticed as soon as she stepped in. If she wasn’t so preoccupied – but it doesn’t matter. Rook tucks the letter into a pocket. Next moves will have to wait.

“Yes,” she says. “It’s good to see you, Spite. What are you getting up to? Not too much trouble, I hope?”

“Making notes,” he says, and looks back at the notebook. “Documenting. Like he does.”

“Oh?” Rook crosses the room and comes to stand beside him. There’s a few scrawled notes, yes, but more than that…

“You have,” she says peering down at the geometric lines decorating the page, “the remarkable ability to create the straightest freehand lines I’ve ever seen.” Particularly given that he’s piloting the body of a caffeine addict running on two or three hours of sleep a night, if that. That this combination does not result in shaky, quavering writing is a wonder in itself.

“Is that. What makes his hands. Nice?”

“–come again?”

“Before. You said. His hands. Were nice.” Spite looks up from the page now, back at her. 

“Oh,” she says, casting her mind back and attempting to recall when, exactly, he is referring to. “Well. I don’t know that this was quite what I meant.” Really, she’d probably just meant that it would be nice for Lucanis to not wake up with burns covering his palms. 

“Then. What?” 

He leans closer still to her, as if searching for answers in her face. Strange to be under such close scrutiny and yet not feel the need to shy away, but Spite doesn’t mean anything by it. 

“We-e-ell… he’s very precise with his knife – in and out of battle.” She’d thought she had passable kitchen skills before she met Lucanis, but if the others in the Necropolis could know what it was like to dice an onion with even a quarter of his skill, supper would have been a far more joyous occasion. “And he knits, too. So he’s as deft with fine details as he is with, ah, broader movements. Y’know.” She mimics stabbing the air. “And…”

And she imagines he would direct just as much care and fidelity into his motions if his hands were to find themselves cupping her jaw, or on her hips, or–

“Rook does this. Too.”

For one, brief moment, she forgets that it is not her head Spite can see into, and he is not referring to what she was thinking about. So, then, he means – 

She stifles a laugh. Spite does not seem to notice, or if he does, he does not take offense. 

“To a degree,” she agrees. “But I’m afraid I cannot match the dexterousness Lucanis possesses. My knifework suffices because I can send a mass of necrotic energy along with it, but it’s really just a focus to channel magic through. If I were to rely solely on a blade, I’d be hard-pressed to do any real damage, and my movements would be… a fair bit clumsier.”

Unbidden, she remembers those close quarters moments down in the Necropolis, pitted against Baron von Markham. The waving of arms and fluttering of fingers to evoke the image of some grand spell being cast. The look on his poncy face when she dropped this pretence and lunged at him with the snapped off pole that once held one of his precious, territory-claiming banners. The struggle; the scuffle; the ragged breathing as she exerted all her energy to thrust it into his chest and then slash and smash and shatter and crush until she was certain he would never move again. 

And the absolute mess of his remains in that urn… she’s certain that Lucanis has never made such a mess of a contract before. Not like that.

Rook shakes off her reverie. “No,” she concludes, “it isn’t quite the same.”

Spite’s brow furrows. “Are Rook’s hands. Not. Nice? Only Lucanis?”

“Mm, I don’t know that I would go that far. They’re different, that’s all.”

“What makes them. Different?”

“Practice?” she suggests. “Repeating the same motion or skill over and over again builds the ability to do it better the next time. Makes quicker mental pathways – and it can make a physical difference in the musculature of the hands. Or in any part of the body that’s used,” she adds. 

Spite looks down at his hands – at Lucanis’ hands – turning them over, then back. Then, his gaze meets hers once more. 

“Let me. See.”

His words are decisive, but it’s less of a demand than it seems on its face. She could decline easily. Not much he could do about it. But she will oblige. It’s good for Spite to have a safe way to test the constraints of this world, so different from the one he comes from. 

“Certainly.” She holds out both hands and Spite rises with haste, nearly knocking the chair back as he reaches for her. This time, she does not bother to muffle her laugh. “They’re not going to wander off,” she says.

Spite takes first one, then the other, until he is turning both of her hands back and forth, examining them from mere inches away. 

“The musculature is likely to have some distinct divergences, but it can be difficult to see that from the outside,” she says, suppressing the urge to point out the way her palmar interossei muscles engage with the gentle flexion of Spite bending her fingers towards her palm, or how his flexor digitorum superficialis and profundus allow him to take hold of her fingers now. “Far easier to see during an autopsy – which we will, ah, not be doing today.”

Spite makes a noise that is not quite a growl, but which nevertheless conveys no small amount of frustration. 

“You can still learn quite a bit while leaving the skin intact, though,” Rook says. “Look here, at these calluses.”

She tugs until he gets the cue to stop testing the flexibility of her fingers and loosens his grip, then turns both her palms up. 

“Thickened layers of skin that build up in response to repeated friction.” She rubs her right thumb over her index finger. “From writing. Used to be more prominent, but they faded a little after I finished my thesis, and after leaving the Necropolis, well… I haven’t had many opportunities to write more than the occasional letter home.”

Spite pulls the hand in question nearer and, for a moment, just stares and stares, then traces over the spots she’d touched much as she did. He repeats this a few times, light enough that she snorts at the ticklish sensation this elicits. Then, he drops her hand abruptly and stares at Lucanis’ right hand. He probes the index finger inquisitively. 

“The same,” he says. 

“Yes, very similar to mine,” she says. “No surprise there. Lucanis keeps diligent notes now, but… I don’t suppose they gave you – him – access to writing tools down in the Ossuary, did they?”

“No.” There’s an edge to Spite’s voice. A simmering anger that emerges at the mention of the place that bound and trapped the two of them. “Kept logs. In his head. Only.”

“Right,” she nods. “So, not too much time to build up since getting out, but if he keeps up the habit – and if you do, too – those may become a little rougher, in time.”

He pokes at this again for a little while, then turns his attention to the ones at the base of the index finger and just below it, on the palm, then to smaller calluses along the first knuckle of Lucanis’ other fingers. 

Spite looks at her. “These.”

She catches the unspoken question: explain.

“These, I’d wager, come from all that bladework,” she says. 

Spite looks at Lucanis’ hands a moment longer, then at Rook’s, fingers passing over her palms. Then, over Lucanis’ once more.  

“…more here. Than. Rook.”

“Yes!” She beams at Spite. “Very observant. You’re really getting attuned to physical senses.” 

Spite bares his teeth in a facsimile of a grin at her words, the mark of one who is a little unused to making such an expression. She wonders if he has a form that can smile when he’s not possessing Lucanis. She’s never seen a spirit of Spite made manifest before. 

“Been. Practicing!”

“I can tell!”

Space still seems to be oddly difficult for Spite, but up close, sound and smell and touch all seem manageable, particularly in recent days. She’d like to ask him how his ability to perceive taste has been developing, but despite her attempts to offer more suitable methods of testing that, he remains most drawn to things that would make Lucanis sick, if indulged; drawn to the allure of a magical candle more than a pilfered sweet from the catacombs. Best not to bring it up, for now. 

“How. To tell?” Spite asks. 

“That you’ve been practicing?”

“No. Tell. Where. They come from. What makes them.”

“Ah. It can be difficult to know for sure, without outside context, as they can come from using various tools as easily as they can come from weapons – but you can generally tell how frequent the use is based on how numerous and how thick the calluses are.” She flexes her fingers. “So when you compare our hands, you can tell that I don’t handle knives to the same extent that Lucanis does.”

Spite’s gaze, faintly glowing, darts between their hands again, then back to Rook’s face. “What. Else?”

“Well… beyond external appearance and what can be gleaned by observing them at rest, you get the clearest idea of what they can do by… putting them to use – or watching someone else do it. Seeing them in action. How fast they can move, how strong their grip is…”

She laces her fingers together and presses her palms together demonstratively. Demonstrative of what, exactly, is unclear, but she’s not about to summon fire and kick off that whole debate again, so – something simple. A physical touchstone for him to reference. 

Spite does the same, watching her as though to confirm that he’s doing it right, so she nods encouragingly. Spurred on, he spends a long moment just staring at his pressed together hands, turning them about and looking at them from different angles.

“Mmm…”

She’s not actually sure how to interpret that noise. Not overly frustrated, yet not content. Contemplative, perhaps? He continues turning his – Lucanis’ – linked hands together, so she leaves it be. It doesn’t occupy him for terribly long, though. Soon, his eyes return to Rook and he separates his hands – and then reaches for her wrist. Again, she obliges, following until their palms are aligned. 

“You. Try.”

A comparison? Well, why not? She slots her fingers in the spaces between and squeezes lightly. 

Again, he makes a contemplative noise. “Now I go.”

Rook has only a brief moment to bask in the feeling that she is successfully assisting Spite in expanding his understanding of this plane – bonding, even! – before he clenches his fingers with far more pressure than is comfortable. 

“Ah–” She winces, but resists the urge to pull away. “Spite, my friend, you must remember that mortal vessels are fragile things; be gentle.” She squeezes back, a little firmer than she did before but still with markedly less force than he is exerting now. “You see?”

Spite grumbles, but the pressure does ease. “What. Is the point. If not. Testing limits?”

“Learning them, I suppose, if not exactly pushing them.”

“And?”

“And… not much else. I think I’m out of things to show you,” she says, “on this topic, anyhow. If you’d like to really suss out all the things they can do, perhaps you could ask Lucanis to show you some tricks. I’m sure–”

A noise outside the pantry breaks her concentration. Something falling? A log shifting in the fireplace? Or perhaps the dining room doors opening? Not likely to be urgent either way. Still, she makes a note to look into that later before looking back to Spite.

Only it isn’t Spite.

“Rook?”

Softer. Smoother. And unmistakably confused. 

“–Lucanis.”

He’s blinking heavily, as though awakening from a deep sleep – which he is, really. His body may have been active, with Spite at the wheel, but his mind was drifting in dreamland. 

“What are you… what am I…? Rook, what happened?”

Only now does she become aware of their proximity. It hadn’t seemed so strange before – Spite can’t really be expected to have the same understanding of personal boundaries among polite society with so little exposure to the idea, but now she realizes that they’re so close she can feel the warmth radiating off of him – so close she can feel his breath against her skin. Maker, they’re practically nose-to-nose – and they are still holding hands.

It’s a realization he makes a mere fraction of a second after she does, as his eyes take in the room around them, the candle on the desk, her, and then finally dart down to their joined hands between them.

Ah. 

She takes a step backward, chagrined to find that detangling her fingers from his is slightly trickier than she’d anticipated and she does not manage to do it in the swift, smooth motion she was hoping for. It takes only a moment, but that moment seems to stretch out for far too long. 

“Lucanis,” Rook says again. “It’s… good to see you awake again.” That… was not an answer. And she should probably not still be this close to him, even if she has let go. She takes another shuffling step back. “I, ah, came to ask about how things were going in Treviso, but when I got here, Spite was writing, and he had some questions. …about hands.”

“About hands?” Lucanis’ brow furrows slightly. “Again?”

Again?

“Oh, did he already ply you for answers? That… rascal. Ha.” What the hell is she saying? She’s veered too hard into trying to sound nonchalant. Pivot back, now, before she makes this even stranger. 

“He – nevermind.” Lucanis shakes his head. “He didn’t do… anything else?”

“Not as far as I’m aware,” she says. “I mean, I can’t speak to what he was doing before I came in, but… making notes and talking, that’s all I saw him do.”

“Good. Still…” Lucanis glances askance, sighs, and runs a hand through his hair. He looks up at her then, and Maker but he has the most beautiful eyes. No, focus, he’s speaking now. “I am sorry. That he bothered you again.”

“No! No. It’s fine, really, it’s – I know what he’s like and he was only curious, and I… really should have just waited until you were awake and came back then, instead of… intruding.”

At that, Lucanis chuckles. “Rook. You’re not intruding.” The ghost of a smile that graced his lips fades quickly into something markedly more bitter. “If anyone is, it’s him.” There’s no heat in the words, though, just… exhaustion. Another sigh, and Lucanis swipes a hand over his face. “...no. It isn’t his fault, either. I just wish–” 

His words fade into a grumble she can’t quite make out, but… she can imagine how he would’ve finished it. The looming threat of a loss of control – of waking up somewhere else having done Maker knows what – lurking around every corner… well. It can’t feel great.  

“…hey,” she starts, “at least he stayed put, right?”

Now he does smile wryly. “I asked Emmrich to put wards on the room,” he says, “after the last time Spite slipped out.”

“Ah.” That… makes sense, actually. Something about the pantry did feel different lately. She might be losing her touch, to not have recognized it sooner. “Nevermind, then.”

“You should rest easier now, knowing he won’t be able to wander as freely,” Lucanis says. 

His words give her pause.

While many outside Nevarra may call those such as Spite demons, the Mourn Watch takes a more… nuanced stance on such matters. Each spirit is unique, just as each living person is, and while there may be certain dangers or pitfalls associated with some, they must be taken as the individual they are to truly understand them – and, when considered this way, Spite just… isn’t a fearsome figure. There’s the risk of being caught up in a tantrum, she supposed, but she can’t say she’s ever lost sleep over fears of what Spite might do.

But. Lucanis does not share in this conviction. And it seems… uncouth to belabor the point. Again. 

“I suppose that explains why Emmrich hasn't been setting out an extra tea cup lately,” she says instead. “And here I thought it was just because he’d given up winning me over to the tea-loving cause.”

She cannot deny the flicker of satisfaction that sparks when her words make Lucanis’ smile widen. 

He breaks eye contact and looks around the room once more. 

“...at least he did not seem to cause too much havoc, except on my notebook.” Lucanis picks it up and narrows his eyes at the open page. “Mierda, what was he even trying to say here? And here, and…” He flips a page. “On my notes? The messes he leaves me to clean up…”

He sounds, as he ever does, tired. And perhaps her presence is not helpful in that regard. Waking up in strange circumstances likely does not help with that, and she… was the cause of today’s odd awakening. 

“Y’know, I should… probably… leave you to your evening in peace. Let you orient yourself again. …sorry about your notes.”

His mouth opens a half-beat before he speaks, as though he means to say something else but stops himself. “You are not the one that needs to apologize,” is what comes out. 

This… is something for the two of them to sort out; not much she can do to smooth this over. 

As she leaves, she hears faint muttering –

“What is ‘the infinite?’ And what do you mean by a ‘small shade?’ Spite, what–?”

It takes no small amount of effort to keep each step steady and even, but she concentrates on this task and this task alone until she has managed it. 

Only after the dining room door has clicked decisively shut behind her does she allow herself to lace her fingers together and remember the warmth of his skin again. 

Maker’s breath, she’s in trouble. 

[screampied]

if requests are open, can we see nanami x breeding kink? i know he would be the perfect daddy 💕

❤︎ ໋𓈒 husband nanami finding out he has a breeding kink.

warnings. fem! reader, mating press, breeding kink, praise, soft dom nanami, mdni.

breeding.

he wouldn’t even know he had such a kink until afterwards, finishing inside of you for about the third time with hot puffs of air running from his lips.

his eyes, dark brown pools that intently stared into yours, he’s in utter love with you and only you. your current position was supine—your legs would be perfectly sprawled and spread for him. mating press, such a deep and thorough angle. so deep to where you were practically seeing stars.

“… you drive me crazy, you know that?” he’d huff out lowly between rough breaths. you stare at him with glossy eyes, a hand softly clinging onto his wrist. he was always so gentle, deep yet precise strokes to make you feel every inch. such eyebrows of his curl up and furrow as he intakes a single sharp breath, the feeling of such thick ropes spewing inside your walls makes him groan. “always s—so good at milking me.”

sloppy hips thwack and drill into you, and that’s when he leans right up close to you—you’re met with lust filled fawn eyes and a needy smile.

“ah. eyes up here, wanna see that pretty face,” and his tempo was so unhinged. you glance up at him and he mutters off a soft, “hi my love,” and you could have just melted right there. nanami lightly presses a hand against your tummy, a thumb swiftly tracing near the exact spot where he was reaching you inside. so full, you moan before he leans in to kiss you, yet instead, he conceals his own whine into the crook of your neck. “this—tummy would look so pretty if it was nice ‘n round for me like last time.”

the very corners of your lips tugs, it outlines into a sweet pout before you whimper, “make me fuller then, kento,” you’d heave out. he was jackhammering such merciless yet tenderly passionate thrusts into your cunt, effortlessly smacking back against you. “wanna f-feel fuller.”

you had the white bed sheets bawl into the palms of your hands. everything felt so warm, his hips just continued to rotate and jerk and jerk and jerk. it was hypnotic, he knew just where to prod the head of his cock right against you.

you’re nearly drooling. just imagining such lengthy ropes of his pump you full. you wanted it, no—you needed it. desperately, you were practically being fucked into the mattress—the mattress in question creaked and sang in such harmony it was hard not to ignore its sounds.

the entire feeling, you were clamping down on him so tight that his jaw tenses. a simple sight like that was oh so sexy in the slightest, nanami lightly bites down on his lip. a cute flushed expression slowly painting over his face once he catches you still staring. he was chasing his own breath, giving you slow yet perfect full vivacious thrusts.

“k-kento,” you’d moan with a slight gasp, he brings a hand to slide your arms all the way up. it’s almost teasing, the way he makes you hold your hands high, a soft simper rests against his lips the entire time. your legs quaver, feeling how easy it was for him to stretch you out. his touch, it was blisteringly hot, blisteringly tender.

he made sure to delicately trace his fingers all over your skin. he wouldn’t dare miss a spot. not with a body as perfect as yours. that’s what he saw in his eyes anyway. “so—so goooood, don’t s-stop baby.”

“wasn’t gonna,” he huffs out, and his voice was so raspy and rich. a subtle coarse of baritone hidden underneath his deep tone. you peer up at him and he leans in to kiss the tip of your nose. “if my princess wants to feel more full, i’ll do just that. give her anything she wants.”

you whimper, feeling him hit such a sensitive angle, he hit it just right too.

the crown of his dick made its way through every crevice of your walls. he reached in spots that you didn’t think he’d reach — not at all, you failed to hide your moans by this point and he thought you sounded so cute. knowing he was the one to make you sound like this, feel this way, it made him happy. that’s all he wanted, your pleasure was his pleasure.

every. single. spot.

whilst your toes curled, you feel your back start to seemingly arch on its own before even more sweetened whimpers fly past your sheeny lips. “give m-me,” you started to speak. he raises a brow marginally, brushing a thumb against your lower lip before feeling himself about to bottom out. at that point, he was fully inside, you felt it and you only mewled out a candied, “give me another baby kento. please.”

“oh,” he softly murmurs, and his tongue playfully licks against your neck—a sweet lap, he savored your taste before teasingly starting to nibble.

“gonna give you triplets this time,” and he brings a hand down your chest, then towards your stomach, real slow. you moan once he gingerly lifts up your leg before giving your ankle a kiss. “this what you want, sweetheart? more of this? more of … me?”

“yes,” you pout, feeling your cunt just swallowing his hefty shack, his base smacks back and forth against you to where you’re almost giddy. you felt like you were on cloud nine, nanami’s strokes, his thrusts hell, his enticing rhythm had you nearly speechless. you let off a soft meek once the shivering cold metal of his watch band slithers against your skin.

the more he touched you, the more close you became to making yet another mess on him. of course, like the good husband he was, nanami would happily clean you up.

“y-yes, kento,” you repeat in a honeyed voice, by this point, your legs were well wrapped around his waist. fully having him in a secure lock, not ever thinking to let go, you couldn’t nor did you want to. he drove into your gummy walls so good that you let off the sugared most melodic moans right up against his earlobe. “want…..another baby.”

“i know you do,” he hushes, bringing a chaste kiss towards your collarbone. you swallow a thick imaginary lump that grew into your throat. only tiny squeaks would come out — you moaned, tightening your legs hold around him before you started to picture such fanciful things.

fanciful things like nanami pouring yet another a thick load into you, and as you’re deep in thought he’s doing just that. a gasp gets caught in his lips before he leans up close to you. his broad chest presses up against you before he groans. out of all the notorious enemies he’s had to fight, he was simply no match for your pussy. its grip had him being the one with his eyes nearly rolling back.

“f-fuck,” and you felt yourself throb, making direct eye contact with him. it was rare, yet hearing nanami swear was so infrequent.

it was the way he swore, spewing out such filthy words underneath his breath. long ruffled strands of messy hair nearly occluding his view of vision. he reaches to move some of his hair away from his face, just so he could get a good glimpse of you—a good glimpse of his wife.

“look at me,” he says in a soft tone, he was buried so deep within you, you saw how his muscles tensed and his jaw tightened. he made his hips come to a halt completely before he leans in to gift you with another kiss. “mwah,” he smooches near your jawline, “mwah,” near your chin, and a final kiss near your lips.

your heart, it fluttered.

nanami felt warm all over his body, as well as the sheer warmth that coated him from being inside you. “i—i love you,” you’d whine, feeling such massive velvet ropes of cum going all inside of you. he merely lets off a purr at the way the back of your heel skims down his back. “so much.”

“i love you,” he returns it. his mouth briefly opens, and he was about to say ‘more’ but he pauses. nanami’s weight was still hovering over you before he brings a same big hand down towards your tummy. “now, we wait. you’re such a good mommy for me, sweetheart.”

[anakinstwinklebunny]

hi diva!!!! i was wondering if you’ve seen the movie “secretary” 2002….iykyk..

there’s one scene where the main girl crawls towards her boss with some papers in her mouth…hear me out….that scene x stephen glass….

he can be the boss or the one crawling i don’t care! thank u, i love ur work

-💜

TW: Stephen Glass lmao

Author's note: I am a diva again, slay. Welcome to the bunny's family beautiful anon, hope you'll enjoy it :33 also fun fact, I did literally the same thing with Clayton Beresford here

You stood awkwardly in the doorway, papers clutched in your hand, his email instructions still vivid in your mind:

'I need this report on my desk. No edits. Bring it to me in five minutes. Alone.'

STEPHEN GLASS was seated behind his desk, dark hair slightly disheveled, his glasses perched precariously on the bridge of his nose. The soft scribbles of his pen writing on the paper was the only sound you could hear in the room.

“Close the door,” he said without looking up.

You did as you were told, the sound of the latch clicking shut sending a small shiver down your spine. You approached his desk, the papers trembling slightly in your hand.

But before you could set them down, Stephen’s eyes flicked up, pinning you in place as if you did something wrong

“Not like that,” he murmured, leaning back in his chair “i want you to bring them to my on your knees.”

Your breath caught.

Have you heard him properly?

“Excuse me?” you managed, though the slight quaver in your voice betrayed your attempt at defiance.

“You heard me,” he said softly, but there was nothing gentle about the look in his eyes. “Crawl to me.”

Heat flared in your cheeks, indignation and something else—something choking the air out of your lungs. You hesitated, but the way he was gazing at you was unbearable, stripping away every ounce of resistance until you finally sank to your knees.

The carpet scratched against your skin as you inched forward, the papers clutched tightly in your hand. Stephen’s smirk widened, his eyes darkening with satisfaction as he watched you close the distance between you.

“Good,” he murmured, his voice low and smooth - the one you imagined late at night when none was around. “Keep going.”

“Slower,” he murmured yet it was so commanding and firm you obeyed without much thoughts

Your palms pressed against the rough fibers of the floor while you inched forward, your head bowed, too nervous to look at his eyes. Each shuffle of your knees was deliberate, slow (just as he wished), and humiliatingly loud.

By the time you reached him, your heart was pounding, your breath shallow. You held the papers out to him, your arm trembling slightly.

But Stephen didn’t take them.

“Use your mouth,” his voice barely above a whisper.

His expression didn’t falter.

He was completely serious.

Swallowing hard, you hesitated for only a moment before you obeyed, clenching the papers between your teeth. Stephen’s gaze flicked to your lips, his lips quivering as he reached out, brushing his fingers against the edge of the paper as he took it from you.

“Good girl,” he murmured, his voice dripping with satisfacting approval.

Your cheeks burned, your knees aching from the position, but there was something undeniably electrifying about him at the moment. The power he held over you, making you submit so easily.

“You’ll do anything I ask, won’t you?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper as if he was on the edge of finishing something..

Your thighs clenched instinctively, a spark of heat shooting through you at his words. The question hung in the air, demanding an answer.

Your answer.

“Say it,” he demanded, his tone sharper now, leaving no room for hesitation.

“Yes,” you whispered, your voice barely audible around the papers. “I’ll do anything.”

Stephen’s eyes glittered with satisfaction “Good.”

He set the papers down on his desk without a glance, his focus entirely on you. His hand slid under your chin, tilting your face up to meet his gaze. The intensity in his eyes made your heart race, your entire body trembling under the weight of it.

“Now,” he said, his thumb brushing along your jawline in a touch that was as gentle as it was possessive, “let’s see just how far you’re willing to go.”

TAG LIST: @kingdomhate @divineani @haydensprettyprincess @skyguys-princess @catnipaddictt @heartscone @haydensbbg @inneedsoffanfics @jediavengers @literally-izzy @anisluvrgirl @slutforfinnickodair @xhunnybeeex @fuckmyskywalker @gallerygourmet @deceptiive @anakinskwkler @bimbo-baggins17 @cookybananas @emotionallybruisedx @diorvalentina @sevinax @throughparisallthroughrome @aniiuv @ritosparty @ninastyless @lily-strnlo @thesassypadawan @awhhayden @sydkneez

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Frisky Friday thot: you’re in a crowded elevator at work and jostled into one… Andrew Barber. Obviously you’re in love with him and coming on to him, and now you’re gonna belong to him—in every way—just like you want, honey 😌

Going Up

Warnings: naughty Andrew doing naughty and non-consensual humping.

"Oh, excuse me. Sorry, er," you try to dodge the bodies in the packed elevator, only to be elbowed and pushed deeper inside. "Uh, okay, um."

The doors open again and in blatant disregard of the weight capacity labeled on the wall, more people step on. You take another step back, right toward the corner, and hear a grunt as you press into another person. You can't move enough to see who it is; not that you would even know them.

"Sorry," you squeak as the heat and mingling colognes and perfumes thicken the air.

“It’s—” he coughs as you’re crushed against him. He doesn’t finish his sentence, instead letting out a strained sigh.

You try to fold into yourself. Curling your shoulders and hanging your head low. You need to get off of this elevator before you suffocate. You should have just taken the stairs. Now you know better.

Your chest constricts as sweat glazes over your scalp. You don’t do well in crowds. In fact, you’ve only ever worked remotely. Anywhere. Some might think it’s lucky that you’ve only ever worked from your bed or couch, but customer service isn’t exactly your strong suit. No, this office gig is supposed to be a fresh start.

Another man steps on. You can only see the top of his head. You lean as the space gets even tighter and you press into the man behind you again. You try to apologise but it comes out as a whimper.

Panic starts to crawl up your stomach and wraps around your neck. You hold your breath as the walls get even closer and you blink as your vision blurs at the edges. You tremble as you reach to fix the strap of your bag, swaying on your wobbly legs.

You should have stayed home. It’s easier to face people over a headset. This is too much.

“Take a breath,” the man growls under his breath as you feel a tickle on your skirt.

You push the air from your lungs and nearly collapse. He slips his hand around your stomach and holds you up. If it wasn’t for him, you’d fall into the see of bodies. He pulls you back against him.

“Take another,” he girds.

You do as he says.

“Keep it up,” he commands.

You don’t know why you obey. You’re scared. You’re about to shatter to pieces. You can’t think but he can do that for you. You focus on your breath; in, out, in, out…

He brings you flush to him and you feel something else. Something prodding. Oh!

The subtle tilt of his hips catches you off guard. You can’t make a noise as you feel what he’s doing. He grinds against the back of your skirt until it’s warm. You feel along his slacks and push on his firm thigh. You can feel his strength. It sends another jitter through your body.

His own heavy breaths fan over you and dampen your hair. You can’t move, you can’t speak, you’re mortified. All these people. How can this be happening?

He sighs as the elevator doors open with a ding. The top floor. Your destination. He lets go and you stagger out as the suits and heels disburse. You finally get your balance and look around. Who was it?

Everyone is in a hurry to find where they’re going. At least they know. You spin and come face to face with a blue neck tie. You follow it up to the face of its wearer. You gulp.

“Excuse me, sir,” you bat your eyes at the bearded man as your voice quavers. “Do you know where Mr. Barber’s office is?”

He grins, “that’s me.”

His voice sends a chill rippling over you. It’s the same one that spoke to you in the elevator. He extends the same large hand that stretched over your stomach. You stare at his long fingers and reluctantly take it.

“Let me show you around,” he offers as his thumb rubs between your knuckles.