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buttercupjosh · 3 months ago

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The Perfect Proposal (the 4 times you expected that Mat was going to propose + the 1 time he actually did)

(Gif credit to @mattymartin)

word count: 1,968

genres: established relationship, fluff, self-insert

warnings: none

A/N: This story is based off of the song “Joy of My Life” by Chris Stapleton and I make references to this song throughout the story. I highly recommend listening to this song before reading my story. This story is short, sweet and fluffy. It’s not set at a specific moment in time (It’s taking place in a fictional future but you could also say that it’s set this upcoming season or even a past season). It’s written with a female reader in mind because I’m a female of color but the reader doesn’t specifically have to be a POC or a woman and there’s little dialogue. This is not a sequel to Your Favorite Secret (which you can still read and check out and if you want this to be a sequel to that, you can interpret it that way). As always, I’m open to any and all feedback, comments or questions; just put them in my inbox or dm me. Thank you so much in advance for reading, I appreciate it😌

(P.S. I have other stories (linked here) that I have written for other players as well if you want to check it out)

“Someday it will come right on cue.” -Somewhere Love Is Waiting for You from the Schmigadoon TV series soundtrack

Prologue

Meeting Mat changed your life in the best way possible. You took Mat’s breath away when you met up for your very first date and since then, you continued to take his breath away in small doses every time you saw him. He added so much goodness and love into your life and you did the same for him. Mat felt so grateful to have you in his life and even though he made millions, being with you was his greatest treasure. You and Mat deeply appreciated each and every moment you had together, no matter how big or small it was; the two years that you had been together so far were some of your greatest times. You were both so smitten that you always looked at each other with such deep love and devotion and couldn’t get enough of your significant other’s presence. For a while, Mat knew that he wanted to propose to you but he just needed to figure out the best way how to and time when to ask that all-important question.

————————————————————

It finally happened. After 3 challenging years, you finally completed law school and earned your Juris Doctor degree from NYU. All of your friends and family came into town to celebrate your accomplishment. In order to accommodate everyone, Mat graciously rented a large AirBnb house in the Hamptons to host your graduation party. You handled some aspects of the party planning while Mat handled the rest and the party went very well. During the congratulations portion of the evening, Mat wanted to give a quick remark to acknowledge your achievement.

“For the past 2 years, I watched this wonderful person ambitiously work their way through law school. There were a lot of late nights, early mornings and so many case reviews and vocabulary study sessions that I think I could go get a law degree. Y/N, to say that I am proud of you is a massive understatement. My love, you are so amazing and you did it. I love you so much. Because I love you so much, I have a surprise for you.” Mat spoke.

This moment seemed like it was the right time for Mat to ask for your hand in marriage; you had been dating for a while, you lived together and blended your families together, and he had just finished a great speech that made all of the party’s attendees realize how much he was in love with you. Instead, Mat handed you an envelope. Inside the envelope was a copy of a check for the exact amount that you owed in student loans and a letter informing you that your loans were fully paid off. You couldn’t believe what was happening and began to cry.

“How did you do this?”, you mustered out through your tears of joy.

“So you know how you gave me access to your book of important information in case anything happened to you? Well, I asked Liana to call the loan office to pretend to be you and ask for your account balance”, Mat cheesily revealed.

Mat saw firsthand how much distress and frustration law school caused you so he wanted to help out someone he deeply loved by eliminating the stress of having to pay for a student loan; this surprise was better than an engagement ring.

————————————————————

After your graduation party and after the Islanders were eliminated from playoffs, it was the official start of the off-season. This year, it was a milestone birthday for Mat’s dad so the Barzal family decided to do a European summer vacation to celebrate. You were important enough to their family that you had been invited and Liana, Mat’s sister, also invited her best friend to accompany her on the trip.

Hand-in-hand with the man you considered to be the love of your life and his family, for 3 weeks, you explored England, France, Monaco, and Mat’s ancestral homeland of Italy. In England, you indulged in English culture while Mat hilariously attempted a British accent. In France, you shared plenty of kisses with your lover in the City of Love, swooning every time Mat spoke French. In Monaco, you and Mat felt like the protagonists of a spy thriller while hanging out in the city.

Once you arrived in Italy, you got to see a different side of Mat that rarely came out. He had been to Italy several times before but he was thrilled to share all that he knew about that special place with you. Mat glowed differently whenever you got authentic gelato together or when he swam in the waters along the Amalfi Coast. Of course, throughout the trip, you still spent plenty of time with Mat’s parents, sister, and her friend and attended a lovely birthday dinner on a boat for Mat’s dad while visiting Sicily.

On the plane ride traveling back to Canada after your whirlwind European tour, you thought to yourself that you were going to come back to North America with a new jewelry addition to your left hand; you did have a lot of date nights and one-on-one time with Mat on the trip. However, your wonderful boyfriend did get you a gorgeous Cartier love bracelet from the official store in Paris and you were returning back with the gift of good memories that were created with your future in-laws.

————————————————————

The remainder of the off-season went by so quickly; between weddings, summer holidays, and other events all happening, you and Mat were swept in so many different directions. Time flies when you’re having fun and soon, it was already time to return to Long Island for the hockey season.

The usual ups, downs, and chaos of the hockey season lingered in your household but you navigated through it together. As the season went on, you spent a lot of time studying for the Multistate Professional Responsibility Exam and Universal Bar Exam, which allowed you to become eligible to be admitted to the New York State Bar next year. Even though you had those responsibilities, you still supported Mat at most of his home games. One of the things about Mat that you loved was how he would always quietly tiptoe into your shared home after a late game but he loved how you always waited up for him to come home after every game, regardless of what time he returned. Before you both knew it, the year was winding down and it was almost Christmas time. You and Mat had decided to host Christmas this year and both of your families were coming. This wasn’t the first time that both of your families had been together to celebrate an occasion; they were there all together for your law school graduation earlier in the year and both sides enjoyed being together as one cohesive unit but for some reason, things felt different to you this holiday season.

You spent hours preparing and making sure that everything was right for the arrival of your guests. Christmas came and went wonderfully. It was so nice to have your families together during the holidays. You gifted Mat a new game day tie and a gift card to one of his favorite road restaurants; Mat got you a nice bag to carry all of your work things and a personalized padfolio for you to take all of your legal notes in.

Yes, you were secretly expecting a diamond underneath the tree this year but it was okay because you still got other great gifts as well. Despite wanting something else, you still deeply cherished the time you got to spend with your loved ones.

————————————————————

After the holidays were over, you and Mat settled back into your respective routines until it was All-Star Break. Mat was not chosen for the All-Star Game that year and some of the Islanders players and families decided to go to the Bahamas for their team All-Star Break trip. The time away gave you and Mat both some essential rest and relaxation. At the end of February, you were scheduled to take the Universal Bar Exam but you took a break from studying to enjoy your mini-vacation. You stayed with your lover and company at a phenomenal resort; you swam with dolphins, relaxed at the spa, and ate so much tasty food. You also enjoyed lots of group activities with Mat and his teammates and their respective significant others. During the trip, one of Mat’s best friends’, Anthony, and his long-term girlfriend, Emma got engaged. It stung a little to see someone else reach the relationship milestone you deeply desired to share with Mat and you had expected that it was going to be you and your lover’s turn to share that special romantic moment on this trip, however, you were happy for your friends.

————————————————————

One evening, you came home from a long, exhausting day of work. After passing both the Universal Bar Exam and Multistate Professional Responsibility Exam and completing some other requirements, you were admitted to the New York State Bar last month and got a job as a junior attorney. It was a pleasant surprise to see Mat cooking; he was subtly singing in the kitchen and tenderly caring for some handmade pasta. You couldn’t quite make out what song Mat was singing but it didn’t matter what it was because you had caught him singing songs that you’ve played around the house and pop songs from the radio plenty of times before. You smiled to yourself as watched him in his element before slipping away for a much-needed shower.

After you came out of the shower and changed, there was a beautiful plate of pasta waiting for you on the table. Mat tapped deep into his Italian heritage and made a delectable dinner for the two of you. You shared with Mat the details of work and although, he may not quite fully understand everything you were expressing your feelings about, he still listened to you as you rambled on. After dinner concluded, you and Mat were going to share a box of bakery cannolis and watch a movie on the couch but Mat told you to wait at the table and suddenly got up. He returned to the room with a look of nervousness on his face. You asked Mat if he was okay but you could tell that he had something important to say.

“I’ve been holding onto this ring for a while. There were so many other times that I wanted to ask but there’s just something that feels so right about this moment. Sitting here, I realized something very important. I want to spend the rest of my life, making you dinner when I can and listening to you speak. I want to continue to come home from my games to you and wake up next to you. I have the greatest honor of knowing and loving you. You have the sweetest heart that’s made of gold and you are like an angel brought down to Earth from Heaven. I want to be by your side forever. Y/N, you are the joy of my life. Will you marry me?” Mat declared while holding out the engagement ring of your dreams in a Tiffany blue box.

You were speechless because Mat was right; this was the perfect moment. You looked straight into Mat’s green eyes that you admired so dearly and accepted his marriage proposal; you were both super excited to embark on this new journey in your relationship. You and Mat swayed with each other to the sound of your fiance’s voice, serenading you to “Joy Of My Life” by Chris Stapleton, the same song Mat was singing to himself earlier. Patience was an important virtue and all of that waiting paid off at the right time.

#mat barzal #mat barzal x reader #mat Barzal imagine #mat Barzal fic #ny islanders #my writing #hockey writing

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gay-dorito-dust · 7 months ago

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( ´∀`) I am possibly missing where it says your requests are open or not. I apologize if it is.

If it interests you (your batfam posts bring me joy) how would the boys Jay, Dick, Damian (whoever else) would react to only being able to tell the truth for a day? Like they confess all the things they like about their crush, compliment their family, admit to disliking a dish Alfred made (GASP <(｀^´)> ).

Thank youuuuu~

Jason wore his heart on his sleeve, he lets anyone knows what’s on his mind with zero filter, so him being forced to be truthful was no different to how Jason actually was on a day to day basis.

So at first he doesn’t think anything was out of the ordinary until you asked him a question one day regarding your love life;

‘I don’t think I’ll be able to find anyone here Jay, I mean what do I have to do to find somebody.’

‘You don’t have to do anything because everyone else is the problem, not you.’ Jason found himself answering before his mind could find an appropriate response without crossing the boundary of your friendship. ‘They obviously don’t see perfection when they see it because they weren’t looking at you and I find that insulting because who wouldn’t look into your eyes and see forever within them?.’ He finishes and was quick to cover his mouth with his hand, worried that he might’ve said too much for you.

‘And do you see forever in my eyes jay birdie?’ You asked softly, leaning towards him.

Jason drops his hand from his mouth. ‘Hell yeah I do, amongst many other things because you’re worth every heartbreak I’ve ever had in the past because being with you would be my life’s greatest dream come true.’

The next time Jason spoke truthfully was when Dick came to visit and it was after a long, long night of patrol and sleep was at the forefront of his mind, causing it to fog as he let it slip on what he truly thought of Dick.

‘You’re my brother, we may not be related by blood but no one has stood in my corner and was so prepared to be in the wrong then you Richard, and for that I thank you. You really are the best of us.’

Needless to say when he found out that Dick had the whole thing recorded, he wanted to strangle the fucker and make his death look like an accident. Sibling things.

Now, Jason -much like any other- loved Alfred’s food and would never raise an issue over it as he’d pretty much eat anything with his bottomless stomach. So even if he didn’t like one of Alfred’s recipes more self then others, he would say it in the most politest way possible. He loved that kindhearted man too much to ever say anything in regards of the food he’s made him since he was a young lad.

Dick would find peoples expressions to him being honest and truthful funny, but at the same time would be somewhat relieved with this turn out, as he wouldn’t have to force himself to be truthful just to get people to stop asking whether he was alright or not.

He knew he wasn’t always open and honest with his innermost thoughts and feelings at the best and worst of times, knowing all too well of how that would cause lead to the occasional argument of two down the line for himself, but he was never really given the space to figure it out himself on his own time.

So when he found himself speaking the truth to just about anyone, it was as though his heart was exposed for all to see it beating and all. It was as though all of his innermost thoughts regarding everyone in his life was being broadcasted to anyone and everyone with ears and the ability to hear it.

‘You’re so good with Hayley you know.’ Dick blurted once when you were playing with Hayley, stoping as soon as you heard him say this, allowing for Hayley to snatch the toy from your limp hand and lie down elsewhere to amuse herself with the squeaks that the toy would make every time she bite down on it.

‘What?’ You asked.

‘I mean it, you’re really good with Hayley and you’ve been nothing but an amazing person with a pretty smile and addicting laugh.’ Dick adds as he held his head in his hands as he looked at you with a soft look upon his face. Dick wasn’t still that bothered that you knew how he felt, it was bound to come out sooner or later and would take it in stride, even if he didn’t have control over what had just came out of his mouth just now.

The next time Dick finds himself being truthful was when he visited Jason after a long night of patrol and in the midst of a silent period Dick then said;

‘You’re amazing Jason. Bruce doesn’t know what he’s talking about, he never did when it came to us Robins, using one of us as a frame of reference for everyone else isn’t fair but you are my friend, my brother and I am so proud of you. You are not a failure, you’re anything but one.’ Jason sat silent the entire time and after Dick had finished he made a noise from the back of his throat, a small smile gracing his face as he looked out over the streets of Gotham, reaching out to pat Dick on the shoulder and said. ‘Thanks man.’

Dick always cared deeply for Jason, seeing him as his little brother and would gladly stand in his corner no matter what, even if he was wrong because that was what older siblings did. Dick never shied away from how deeply he felt agonising pain when he though he had lost his little brother and confronted Bruce about the entire thing, enraged and grieving simultaneously. Now whenever he caught wind of what Jason was doing as red hood, he can’t help but smile knowing his brother was doing just fine, but would always make it known that he was just a phone call away.

Dick knew Alfred wasn’t going to bite his head off for saying that he didn’t like something but would instead ask how he could better it for his taste. So even if Dick did say anything about one of Alfred’s recipe, he knows Alfred would be more than understanding. However it was an unspoken rule amongst him and his siblings that they’d eat anything and everything Alfred made them without a single complaint unless it was necessary.

They all love that man too much to ever say anything negative about his cooking.

Damian would hate being forced to speak nothing but the truth.

He’d really hate it as being blunt and opinionated was how he always was and so being open and honest wasn’t his forte and it felt wrong in a sense due to it feeling as though he was put in a position of vulnerability.

He hates it even more when he finds himself confessing to all the things that he liked and or found remotely interesting about you whenever you were near, it felt as though someone was pupating him to say these things when deep down he knew they were how he genuinely felt but was too deep in denial to admit this to himself.

‘How do I look?’ You innocently asked.

‘Breathtaking like you always do so seamlessly.’ Damian replied without hesitation before looking up from his sketchbook once realisation hit him, only to see that you were already looking at him with wide eyes.

‘You mean that?’ You said, wanting to know whether or not you heard him properly.

‘Of course.’ Damian said and when he felt his mouth open, he tried to close it but it seemed as though his body had a mind of his own as he found himself continuing to speak. ‘On many occasions have I spent thinking you were naturally breathtaking and have thought so for many more on top of that to the point you are my one sole muse.’ He finished and it wasn’t long before you were planning your first date together.

Damian knew this wouldn’t be the first time he was going to be forced to speak the truth and the second time came in him actually complimenting Tim on his smarts and combat prowess, something that he’d rather drink pure poison before ever admitting out of pride.

‘Tt. Don’t sell yourself short Drake, you’re a competent Robin and an exceptional detective.’ He’d say when it was just him and Tim in the Batcave and immediately regrets it and makes him swear to secrecy, obviously this doesn’t last long after the period of speaking truthfully wears off and Damian goes back to being his blunt, straightforward, unapologetic self.

Damian loves Alfred’s cooking, but all of his cooking weren’t Damian’s favourite and while he wouldn’t hesitate to tell others how he felt, he didn’t feel the same when it came to Alfred’s cooking despite the man being nothing but kind and open minded.

So if he ever were to speak about his least favourite food Alfred had ever made and even when Alfred was more then accepting of his opinion, Damian would try to help Alfred however he could in return for his comments about his cooking. Alfred was probably one person he’d never want to hurt with his words.

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austerity-audacity-asceticism · 3 months ago

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The atomic habits of St. Therese of Lisieux

I used to be one of those people that were like “oh I love St. Joan of Arc, St. Thomas Aquinas, St. Paul, St. Teresa of Avila” because I thought they were Cool and Heroic and they did Big Things

And whenever someone would talk about “The Little Flower of Lisieux” I was like “mehhhhh… okay”

Not in a way that was totally disrespectful, but not totally aware of the enormity of her interior life

Because guys

Wow

You’d have to read The Story of the Soul to really appreciate just WHY she is a doctor of the Church

(She’s the Doctor of Divine Love, btw)

Because St. Therese? She was in the details

They like to say the devil is in the details, but let’s face it— God is in the details, and in his mercy and wisdom, he placed St. Therese there for us to learn from and imitate in our own ways

She had to reconcile her great desire to be a saint with the enormous legacies of the saints that came before her, especially Joan of Arc and St. Teresa of Avila

(She, along with St. Joan, are the patron saints of France. I’m sure that’s something St. Therese never dreamed of)

And she had the realization that God would not have given her a desire that she was incapable of, and that there must be a way for someone “as small as her” to become a great saint

Which lead her to meditate on Mathew 18:4 (Whoever humbles himself like this child is the greatest in the kingdom of heaven)

And she was like “oh, okay. This desire planted into my heart is an invitation to become a little child, because the Lord wants to be the one to carry me to Heaven”

(I am heavily paraphrasing so that you guys won’t be spoiled for Story of a Soul. Go read it!!!)

All of this is to say that her writings and her life reflect a simple but profound theology

The Little Way is one of total dependence on the providence of God, of total surrender and self-mortification— the emptying of the cup of one’s self little by little, so that the Lord can fill it with his graces and abundance, and ultimately, with His own divine self

The Little Way is one of the smallest acts of radical love, because the only person who needs to see it is God

The Little Way is St. Therese going out of her way to nurse the nuns that she didn’t get along well with

The Little Way is St. Therese is doing her best to hold cheerful conversations with a particularly surly nun

The Little Way is St. Therese relishing being splashed with dirty laundry water as a sign of the smallest of suffering that only God would see

I called this particular post her “atomic habits,” because she believed that small acts can lead to holiness when done with great love for our Lord

Small acts of love and self mortification were the things that she sought for while in the Carmel

St. Therese elucidated in her signature sincere and effervescent style the enduring idea that there is no suffering too small, no act of love too small, to offer the Lord— because what he wants is souls, what he wants is us

That’s not to say that her interior life was always rich

She suffered so much from months of aridity that she grew an affection for atheists, even going so far to say, and I quote:

[God] allowed my soul to be overwhelmed with darkness, and the thought of Heaven, which had consoled me from my earliest childhood, now became a subject of conflict and torture. This trial did not last merely for days or weeks; I have been suffering for months, and I still await deliverance. I wish I could express what I feel, but it is beyond me. One must have passed through this dark tunnel to understand its blackness ... When I sing of the happiness of Heaven and the eternal possession of God, I do not feel any joy therein, for I sing only of what I wish to believe. Sometimes, I confess, a little ray of sunshine illumines my dark night, and I enjoy peace for an instant, but later, the remembrance of this ray of light, instead of consoling me, makes the blackness thicker still.

It’s thought that St. Therese experienced this interior anguish up until the end of her battle with tuberculosis, with her final words being: “My God, I love you!”

To summarize everything, reading St. Therese is a study not only of radical love, but also radical humility

From a spoiled child to a martyr of the Carmel, St. Therese lived an inner life that very few of her own sisters in the convent were aware of

Her life is also a testimony to God's perfect timing; St. Therese wanted to be a missionary in Hanoi, but was prevented from doing so when she contracted tuberculosis. She was later named a patron saint to missionaries.

St. Therese's Little Way informed the spirituality of many of the saints and intellectuals that came after her: St. Josemaria, St. John Paul II, Mother Teresa, St. Teresa of the Andes, Blessed Cecilia Eusepi, Hans Urs von Balthasar, and Dorothy Day

On her feast day, let’s take the time to reflect on what small things we can do today for the Lord; what small sufferings we can offer him with great love and humility

God would never inspire me with desires which cannot be realized; so in spite of my littleness, I can hope to be a saint. — St. Thérèse of Lisieux

St. Therese of Lisieux, pray for us.

#catholic #catholicism #theology #spirituality #catholic saints #saints #christianity #therese of lisieux #st therese of lisieux #story of a soul #the story of a soul #doctors of the church

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the-californicationist · 8 months ago

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Hiii

First of all I wanted to thank you for your amazing fics 🤩. They have become a part of my life and I can’t live without them anymore 🥹💖

Secondly, I wanted to ask about a fic if you would consider. 🫶

Price is injured in his thigh and we are a medic. When attending to the wound the tension rises and a little bit of teasing from our part? 😌

Also, Price can’t take us like he wants because of the wound but we can do 69?

Or maybe something more thrilling! I know you are the greatest in ideas and writing! ❤️‍🔥

Thank you a loooot. (*＾3＾）/～♡

Do No Harm

After being shot in the leg, Captain Price is put on strict bed rest by his medic: you. When he threatens to break your orders, you decide to use your rank against him.

AO3 Link

TW: female reader, face fucking, hurt/comfort, come play

When the captain got shot, all hell broke loose. Ghost and Gaz retaliated swiftly, and the bomb that Soap rigged to blow the enemy encampment was more than a little overkill. The four of them had shown up back at your makeshift base, sweaty, bloody, and exhausted.

“What happened?” You asked the tall lieutenant, searching his face as he removed the skull mask, looking for signs as to how serious it was.

“He took a hit to the thigh. Dead bloody center,” the tall Brit rolled his captain over, the latter of whom let out a torrid string of curses and shouts, nasty enough to make you blush.

You inspected the wound, but his clothing was in your way. Ripping your scissors out of your chest armor, you set to cutting him out of his trousers, and you tried not to let the panic get the best of you.

The truth was that you were keeping a secret. You were sleeping with their captain. You and John had broken a series of rules (and furniture) over the past four months, enjoying each other in the most primal, carnal way. Every night that he was on base, he sneaked into your medbay, aching with something other than pain and searching for his cure.

You knew it was wrong. It was so far beyond protocol that you wouldn’t be surprised if they court martialed you when they found out, but you didn’t care. You were addicted to him. When he was away for too long, you crawled through the hallways and out into the common rooms with a slick problem between your legs. Something only his fat cock and filthy mouth could solve.

He was terrible with you. Nothing was off-limits. He used you like a toy, and his fervid want was enough to burn you alive. In the darkness, his grasping hands and hot breath scorched your skin, searing across your belly, pinching your nipples, playing in your lips, all for the express purpose of making you come. It was his favorite thing. By the sixth, the seventh, when you were begging him to squeeze his pulsing rod inside of you, pleading in whispered cries for him to fuck you, he would chuckle with a dark joy. Teasing you, calling you his pretty little plaything, reminding you that you were fully at his mercy.

It was hard to see him like this, but you were good at your job, and luckily, the bullet had gone right into the muscle. No broken femur, no arterial damage. Your predator would live to hunt you another day.

“I need everybody out. Come back in an hour,” you commanded.

“Yes, ma’am,” Gaz replied, leading the others out of the clinic to debrief and regroup after a hard night.

You sliced through his canvas pants, slipping the shears through the fabric to reveal his bare skin. He never wore any underwear, which you were always quick to rib him for. Then, you inspected the wound. They had packed it in the field, and as you removed the dressings, more and more blood pooled out of the hole, obscuring your view. You worked as fast as you could, administering as much anesthetic as you had on hand, knowing that it wasn’t enough. He was doing everything he could not to writhe in pain as you threw stitch after stitch.

“Jus’ wanted to get me alone, didn’t ya?” He teased you through gritted teeth. His voice was weak, but he was feisty, which was a good sign.

You smiled down at him, joking around,

“You know it. But, you’re lookin’ a little worse for wear today, Captain. Might have to get my fix somewhere else.”

“Don’t even think about it,” he growled, grabbing the side of the table hard enough to make the metal frame whine when you hit a nerve with your needle, “Another man lays a fuckin’ hand on you, and he’ll wish he hadn’t.”

“Can’t have you reopening this wound, John. I worked hard on these stitches.”

“How’m I gonna sneak in to see you tonight?” He looked up at you with softer eyes, a youthful gaze on his face.

You pitied him, winking cheekily,

“Might just have to keep you here for observation.”

His whole body relaxed then, relieved in a way you hadn’t expected. You had just been kidding around, but his reaction made you change your mind. If he felt better with you in your clinic, you’d add it to the orders. The last thing you needed was your headstrong man limping through the base just for a chance at some action.

You finished up, cleaning the wound and surrounding skin, wiping down the rest of him as best you could. He was filthy, and the water in your bucket was full of sand by the time you were done. But, he still smelled like the sun and his sweat, and it was enough to make the animal part of your mind practically salver at the idea of how his skin must taste. The saltiness, full of his pheromones… you chastised yourself for even thinking about it.

He was finally asleep, full of morphine and exhausted from his ordeal. Gaz popped back in, and you told him you’d be keeping their commander overnight. You thought you’d gotten away with your little game, but there was a knowing glint in the sergeant’s eye that told you he knew more than you thought.

You tried not to stress about it. His men were loyal to him, and you knew they wouldn’t rat you out. But, still. You made a mental note to be more careful in the future.

Your bedtime routine was short and easy. You slipped into some shorts and one of John’s abandoned tee shirts. Luckily, it looked like everyone else’s tee shirt, so no one was the wiser. You could always say you stole a larger one from the supply room. But, it smelled like him, and you slept like a rock when you wore it.

You climbed into bed, and before you could even think about going to sleep, the ache between your legs reared its horny head, coaxing you to touch yourself, disguising itself as a tingle, an itch that needed to be scratched. As soon as your fingers pried apart your soft petals, you discovered the truth. You were soaking wet, and your core was hot like molten lead, giving your digits no resistance as you played with yourself, slipping them in and out of your slick folds.

You heard a noise escape from your throat against your will, and you tried to hold it back, rolling your eyes from the slam of pleasure that rushed to your head. You were dizzy with want, and even though you tried to quiet the sound, you could hear your own wet flesh popping and sluicing with more and more of your precome, preparing you for an encounter you knew you couldn’t have.

You came quickly, and without much warning, clenching down on nothing, biting your hand to keep from screaming for him. You peeked over your shoulder, and luckily, he hadn’t woken up. You thought about how nice it would feel to have his big body curled against you as you crashed into a deep slumber, the scent of your wet hand and his old shirt mixing together and lulling you to sleep.

There was no way to tell how much time had passed, but when you woke, it was still dark. Your eyes darted over to the clinic table, and John was… missing?

You sat up with a start only to find him fully naked at the end of your bed, getting ready to crawl in beside you.

“John!” You hissed, “What are you doing? You can’t be walking around.”

“Gotta have you, love. I’m so hard, it hurts.”

“You were shot in your fucking leg, Jonathan Price. Let me see the dressing.”

“Quit fussin’ over me, girl. C’mere,” he covered you with his body and grabbed your wrists, forcing you to lay beneath him, flat and vulnerable. He set to pulling away your clothes, making quick work of it, sighing raggedly when he felt your naked body beneath his own.

But, he was in pain. You could see him adjusting and readjusting, trying to figure out how he could fuck you like he wanted to, unable to find a solution.

“John,” you whispered, feeling his mouth on your neck, “We can’t. You’re going to hurt yourself. Don’t make me order you to stop.”

“I’m your commander,” he breathed, threatening you with his teeth, leaving a bruise on your sensitive skin.

“Don’t…” you gasped as his fingers found your gooey center, “Don’t confuse your rank for my authority, Captain Price. You’re under my care.”

He glared at you, coming to a pause, leaving his fingers in you to play in your hole, gently pulsing in and out, teasing you just enough to keep you on the edge,

“You want me to stop? Hm?”

The more he teased you, the more hot slick collected on his hands, sticky and clear, covering his fingers and making him harden with every moment.

Then, he took a sharp breath in through his nose, and paused, hiding his grimace in the crook of his arm. You canted your hips, removing his hand from you, fed up with his defiance,

“John, that’s enough. If you make me restitch that wound, I will have to do it without drugs. We’re out of anesthetic.”

“Please, love,” he held you close to him, letting you feel his hard length as it rolled against your tummy, making a trail of precome across your skin, “I need you. I’ve missed you so bad. Lemme fuck you. Put my cock in you.”

“Hold on,” you shifted your body so that he would turn on his side. Then, you lay opposite him, your head laying at the foot of the bed, bringing you face to face with his swollen, hungry cock.

In this position, you could suck him off, and he wouldn’t need to use his thigh.

You licked your lips, trailing them across his cockhead, collecting his salty pearls of pleasure and wearing them like gloss, suckling from his tip as softly as you could just to taunt him further.

“Ahhh, fuck…” His sigh was delicious. All of that pain and all of the stress that had made him so tense rushed out of him, making his skin pebble with bliss.

Without hesitation, John bent his head, pulling your hips to his open mouth, and wrapping your leg under his arm, eating your pussy and groaning with a lurid, feral pleasure.

The feeling of his soft lips and scruffy beard against your sensitive skin flung you into a spiral of pleasure. You could feel his warm tongue prodding and exploring through you, greedily splitting you to get to your hot, honeyed center.

You wanted more of his taste, so you went to work, stretching your jaw to accommodate his girth, taking him deeper into your throat, using your tongue to trace a wet circle around his head when you needed to catch your breath, teasing him just beneath his foreskin. When you did, his cock throbbed for you, egging you on, eager to drip its load into your mouth.

“Fuckin’ hell, love. Gonna make me come,” he threatened.

Suddenly, you felt his fingers dip back inside of you. He was aggressive with his fondling, shoving two of his thick digits deep inside of you, curling them cruelly to press upon your most pliant, responsive spot.

As he fucked you with his hand, he let his tongue lap against your clit, making you whine around his dick, muffled by his shaft. You felt his hips begin to thrust forward and back, desperately fucking your throat, getting closer and closer to releasing his orgasm inside of you.

You couldn’t wait to taste him. You wanted him to use you. You didn’t want to hurt him, but the truth was — as hungry as he was for your body — you needed him just as badly.

You felt your body begin to tense, and you knew it wouldn’t be long before he would have you coming on his hands. He kept his pace, knowing your favorite rhythm, humming to himself as he devoured you, sucking up every drop of your wetness as if he’d never drink from your tight font again.

Your toes curled, your legs tried to close in on themselves, stopped by his body trapped between them, and something snapped inside of your core, letting loose spiraling sparks of pleasure, breaking you apart over and over, only for each gentle lick from his tongue to put you back together.

“Mmhm,” he praised you, “Good girl. Just like that. Rub your come on my mouth.”

You did as you were told, no longer in the driver’s seat when it came to your body, fully trained to submit to his will. You shamelessly smeared your pussy across his bearded jaw, humping lewdly against him, all for him to whisper gratefully between licks,

“Yes, more. More. Give it to me. Fuck my mouth, love. Fuck, I love it. Fuck…”

All the while, he was thrusting into your mouth, deeper and deeper, choking you on his hardness. But, you let him. You allowed him to use you, holding onto his hips for dear life, breathing in every gap that he left, gasping for air, feeling yourself getting dizzy.

“Are you ready for me?” He groaned, peering down at you between your bodies.

You moaned something you hoped sounded like a yes, and he turned his full attention towards you. You felt his fingers leave your pussy, only to wrap themselves through your hair, sticky and messy, making a strong, merciless grip at the base of your skull.

He fucked you in earnest, then. It was gratifying to hear his satisfied grunts, and as you felt his cock swell even more, you knew he was about to come. Your mind wanted air, but your body wanted his load. You wanted to feel it slip into your throat, hot and milky, pouring down your neck like a salacious prize.

Finally, he went stock-still, and the only thing that moved was his cock. It throbbed inside of you, shooting rope after rope of heavy come down your tongue, painting your mouth white.

He removed himself from you as quick as he could, pulling your head back up to your pillow, bringing you face to face with him, whispering in an animalistic tone,

“Lemme see it, pretty girl. Open up. Let me… ahh, yes. That’s it.”

He dipped his finger into your mouth, gathering up his own orgasm onto the tip, smearing it around your lips like he was putting on your makeup.

You were panting, gasping in the air you so desperately needed, and you tried not to swallow, gathering up as much of his foaming fluid on your tongue as you could, sticking it out for him, showing him what a good girl you could be.

He took more of it onto his hand and dipped down between your legs, painting your swollen folds with his spend, mixing your come together like some ritual.

You couldn’t help but whimper. You were overstimulated and raw, and he shushed you, bringing his hand back up to play with your soft nipples,

“Shh, it’s okay, love. It’s okay. Kiss me.”

You felt his mouth crash into yours, and your own heady taste invaded your senses, folding in with his, making your body roll itself against him, begging him for more.

“Leg already feels better. C’mon, love. Give us the go ahead, hm?”

“I will tie you to this bed, John Price. Don’t test me,” you looked up at him before laying your head on his furry chest, breathing when he breathed, watching his hairy belly rise and fall.

“Promise?” He chuckled, pulling you closer and holding you there all night, unwilling to compromise, claiming you in every way he knew how. You dozed against him, sated and happy, wondering how long you could keep a secret this good.

Sorry for the wait! Work is hellish right now, but as soon as this semester is over with, I'll be posting more. Thanks for letting me know your thoughts.

#call of duty fanfic #cod mw2 #cod mwii #captain john price #john price #cod #captain price #captain price x you #call of duty #captain price x reader #captain price x female reader #captain john price x female reader #john price x female reader #john price smut #captain price mw2 #oh captain my captain

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lvlyfawn · 4 months ago

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KATE MARTIN X PREGNANT WIFE READER

word count; 640 words.

authors note; i love love love feedback!! please come into my inbox and tell me what you think, it really helps to motivate me!

— cried when you told her. tears of joy of course, the two of you had been expecting it. the treatment was bound to work at some point, and if it didn’t, you’d adopt. holding the pregnancy text in hand, you’d cried as well.

— you had recorded your reactions as the test was flipped over. just for the memories, not to post. the pregnancy was not nearly ever posted, you preferred to keep these nine months all to yourselves. the public knew that the kate martin and her wife were expecting their first child, but it wasn’t found out until you were almost ready to give birth. once the baby was born, you tried to keep their face and name out of the media as much as possible. you and kate only wanted this baby to have the most normal life they could have.

the most you’d post, was pictures where you bump was not shown.

— nearly always had her hand on your stomach. everywhere you went, kate stood next to you holding onto you protectively. if you wanted space, your wife stood not too far away, but far enough to keep you happy. in addition to always touching your belly, she’d kissed it all of the time. she truly couldn’t believe it was finally real.

— kate just hopes for a healthy baby, not specifically a boy or a girl. but, when you found out the gender of the baby, the girl was over the moon. you were having a boy. every second she got, she rambled on and on about how good this would be for her nephew, carson. one of the greatest joys of the pregnancy was watching your wife hold carson in her arms and tell him about how his new cousin would be his bestfriend.

— every morning your wife sat on the side of the bathtub, holding back your hair and rub her hand on your back attempting to soothe you. she wishes morning sickness wasn’t a thing at all :((

— cooked for you every night, and every morning. always making or buying what you craved. her cooking wasn’t great, but you never wanted to hurt the poor girls feelings. so the two of you spent lots of time eating out. the thought was what counted after all.

— kate was forever thankful that carson had provided her with practice, and that she had awesome role models that gave her many tips. of course, you’d wake up late in the night to pee, and you’d find the blonde in the living room tiredly watching videos on how to swaddle or burp a baby.

“kate, baby, come back to bed. give the teddy bear a rest. you’ve got six months.”

— speaking of late nights, the girl would sit next to you with her hand on your stomach trying to feel some sort of kick. she couldn’t help but feel jealous that you’d always get to have the extra closeness to the baby during these nine months. and that you’d always be the first to feel the kick. but times like these, she cherished, it helped you to share the experience with her.

— after the six month mark, and your bump had grown larger, kate did everything for you. she took care of everything, cleaning, preparing the nursery, and she still had time for her career. the girl was constantly doting on you, showing how much she truly loved you. no matter how many times you told her she didn’t need to do this all, she’d insist.

— and once your child is born, it’s born somehow looking like the perfect mix of both of you, even though you knew that wouldn’t be possible. funny how you carried this baby for nine months, yet he is just as sassy as kate.

divs by @/anitalenia , feedback encouraged + anons are on. taglist; @bveckers @kmoneymartini @cosmopretty @charlottehughess @aubreygriffin. comment to be on taglist!!

#kate martin #wnba basketball #kate martin x y/n #lv aces #iowa wbb #kate martin x reader #las vegas aces #kate martin fanfic #iowa hawkeyes

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celaenaeiln · 1 year ago

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Hiii, I don't really know if you made a post about this or not, but can I ask what you think of damian and dick's relationship? you have a really deep insight on the bat family's relationship, so I'm curious on how you would describe those two

Damian and Dick are probably the most important to each other in the family with the other being each other's most favorite person in the world. Dick is Damian's father, brother, mentor, and best friend. Actually it's reflective of Dick's relationship with Bruce but none of the toxic expectations and brute force of misplaced responsibilities.

Dick is loving and understanding of Damian and he's able to read him before Damian can even express his words.

For example, when the Black Lantern things open the caskets of Martha and Thomas Wayne, Dick asks Damian to help him wrap up the bodies but-

Blackest Night: Batman Issue #1

He's able to anticipate and take care of Damian before Damian can even tell him what he's thinking. That's the level of love and understanding Dick has of him.

Damian is insanely protective over Dick. When Deadman, Boston Brand, jumps into Dick, Damian gets super protective of his Batman.

Blackest Night: Batman Issue #1

Also Dick CANNOT STAND IT when someone hurts or insults Damian.

Blackest Night: Batman Issue #1

Honestly I think Dick loves Damian's sass. Even when he says he wants to kill people Dick's just like, "not today another day kiddo" which is just super heartwarming when you hear their banter.

Anyways, Dick and Damian have the funniest back and forth!

Batman and Robin (2009) Issue #21

Damian values each and every word of Dick's.

Batman: Streets of Gotham Issue #1

While Damian respects Batman for what he created and wants to be appreciated as his son, Damian just loves Dick for who he is. I know some people think Bruce may be jealous of Dick and Damian's relationship, and while it's possible, I think Bruce is just super proud and happy. His greatest joy in life comes from Dick succeeding and he would have found it weird if Dick and Damian didn't get along because he inherently believes that Dick is the peak of goodness.

What I love most about Dick and Damian is that Damian is always shown as a loveable kid when he's with Dick. In the Batman and Robin (2011) comics with Bruce and Damian vs the Batman and Robin (2009) comics with Dick and Damian, Damian is much softer. Part of this comes from Bruce's refusal to treat him as robin originally, but their interactions are more stilted than the easy-going and funny ones between Damian and his big brother. But here's where it gets interesting. The writers write the characters in terms of how they would react to each other. What perception they would have of each other. So subconsciously the writers are creating the characters based on how they look at each other - meaning, Dick only sees Damian's good sides and finds his darker ones humorous whereas Bruce sees more of Damian's darker sides and has to rework himself to acknowledge Damian's growth.

I find that so fascinating how a character's personality in accordance with their relationships feeds back into the writer's writing rather than the writer influencing the relationships.

The most Dick has said about Damian willing to kill criminals is-

Batman: Streets of Gotham Issue #3

Another reason why Damian values Dick aside from being on the receiving end of his unconditional love is that Dick treats Damian like an equal. Dick doesn't command Damian to stay at his side at all times, he send Damian to do one task while he finishes up the other half. This indicates the amount of trust and faith he has in Robin's abilities and Damian in turn respects that.

Something that needs to be brought to attention is that just as much as Dick stops Damian from killing people, he is also his number one aiding and abetting partner.

Nightwing (2016) Issue #1

I LOVE THE MEAN LITTLE GRIN ON HIS FACE!!

My favorite part is Dick makes time for Damian just to have fun. He's a mentor and a father, but he's also the best brother someone could ask for.

Nightwing (2016) Issue #4

Honestly Gotham War Issue #138 was so confusing to me because there's just no way Damian would pander mindlessly to receive Bruce's acceptance. He literally broke from Batman to become his own person - he ran away - and suddenly he's back and begging for Bruce's love?? Even fighting over Dick is fine but the lack of connection between them?

Damian is single handedly the most important person in the world to Dick.

Damian is Dick's son.

Robin (2021) Issue #5

I find their relationship special because this is the only in his entire time life that Dick has ever given away a family momento of his own volition first. His parents and his background mean the utmost to him; he cradles the memories with longing and love. But inspite all this, he's giving away the last piece of family history. No, giving away isn't the right word. He's passing down his legacy. Damian is his son, he's literally inheriting the Grayson legacy in the way that only Dick can give. Bruce gave the kids Dick's mantle but he cannot give any of them Dick's history but Dick gave that to Damian. That's beautiful.

He straight up says it too

Nighwing (2016) Issue #20

"When your dad came back, there was a moment I thought it would be better for you if you stayed with me. As my partner. As my..." "Really?" "Yeah."

DC SAID DICK AND DAMIAN FATHER AND SON RIGHTS AS CLOSE AS THEY COULD WITHOUT TAKING AWAY BRUCE'S BLOOD CLAIM.

Damian considers Dick his father.

Nighwing (2016) Issue #18

"Finding a new life. Considering a child to replace me. I don't know what I will be...alone. I need you here, Richard."

"Considering a child to replace me. "

Damian is heartbroken at the idea that Dick will have a kid and move on.

He loves Dick so much he goes all the way to Bludhaven just because he loves and misses him after Bruce took over as Batman.

Nighwing (2016) Issue #20

Batman Incorporated (2012) Issue #8

"Are you with me Nightwing? The odds are completely against us."

"When did we ever let something like that get in the way? Robin the boy wonder, Damian."

Batman Incorporated (2012) Issue #8

"So far I'd say you've been my favorite partner. We were the best, Richard. Not matter what anyone thinks."

Robin (2021) Issue #5

Nightwing (2016) Issue #20

The world can stand against Damian but Dick will always be on his side.

Which is a problem in recent DC works because

Dick & Damian:

og panels Batman & Robin (2009) Issue #17

#honestly I didn't even do them enough justice: but I also couldn't upload entire comics either #their relationship moments are spectacular - all of them #dick grayson #nightwing #damian wayne #robin #batman dick grayson #damian grayson #damian wayne loves dick grayson #dick grayson loves damian wayne #cl anon asks #thanks for the ask!#cl asks

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coopers-hand · 2 years ago

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your 6H and how you find comfort

TLDR: our 6H is responsible for our day to day lives, including our habits and routine. one thing about those is that through these repetitive actions people find the sense of familiarity, stability and comfort. the position of the ruler of this house will show you areas through which you may find this comfort❤️‍🩹 to gain more insight, look at the signs of both 6H and it’s ruler, as well as to your Moon and virgo-pisces axis! ٩(^‿^)۶

~ the position of your 6H ruler and how you find your sense of comfort

1H: pampering oneself, being pretty and comfy, and being well fed and having walked on their little walk, and their skin is moisturized and their nails are groomed — these people need to take care of themselves and their own body to feel comforted🍃

2H: those people may be the type of ppl that have their emotional support stuffed animal, or sweater, or coffee mug — anything, actually, that they can hold and touch and that has some physical weight to it. they may sleep with plushies and wear the same mittens their mom knitted for them centuries ago🧶☕️

3H: escaping to the books, movies, series, etc. — these ppl find the most comfort in stories and ways people share their thoughts with the world ✏️ so they may have their comfort piece of media that they keep coming back again and again

4H: sense of comfort is brought through the feeling of home and passed childhood. the perfume of their mother? that one sandwich they’ve been eating since they turned 5? that one pair of socks knitted by their grandma? you tell me 🥹 || I have my 6H ruler in here, and I find comfort in eating the same breakfast my mom was cooking for me when I was at school, so yeah…

5H: hobbies!! those people may be the ones that have been doing the same thing since childhood, like they’ve always been drawing with crayons, or collecting stickers, or crafting, or making little silly songs with their old electronic piano. they may find comfort in their old creative supplies, in their ancient watercolors they bought like in 7th grade, or in that one song that makes they soul dance itself out

6H: regime!! those people need to have their own familiar structure of life, even if this structure doesn’t make sense for everybody else. they need their morning walks, they need their sunday movie nights with that one person, they need to do this exact type of exercise bc it’s important for them and only they will get it.

7H: those people are about lifelong relationships, they may be one of the most devoted partners you can find. they find comfort in people they’ve been with since forever, they are feeling sure and good and comfy around their best friend that they’ve known for 20 years, that they’ve grown up with and that they share almost all of their life experiences with👭

8H: those people need their alone time. they need their sacred space, their little castle that nobody can invade and make them put on a human suit again. they find comfort in knowing that there’s completely no one around so that they can be so much and unapologetically alone and themselves.

9H: those people are the greatest optimists, that will not let the humanity destruct itself in the storm of hate and pessimism. those people always know that there’s hope, that the world is a good place to be in, that there’s joy and love and laughter and cool people and also little animals and big animals and flowers and so much more!! I love them so much omg sorry but those people literally save the world by finding their own sense of comfort😭

10H: another type of people that need the structure, but, on the contrary with 6H fellas, this is kind of an external structure. it may be a literal social institute that provides them with it (e.g. school, work, gym membership, language clubs??), or a kind of style of living that they accept to follow. those people may find comfort in knowing that they have their life together, in knowing what will happen tomorrow🏹

11H: those people crave the sense of belonging. they need to know that they are not alone in this world, that there’s at least another person on Earth that can say ‘hey! im here! I know how you feel’. the greatest sense of comfort for those people is knowing that they are understood.

12H: hello my lovely existentialists 🥰 for these people comfort may look like something unattainable, bc they are prone to existential dread every working day and holidays included. however, the sense of comfort is attained through daydreaming, sleeping and meditating — and also other 1000000 things that can be linked to sleep. I also have noticed that those people may need more sleep than others to stay healthy. so, remember — it’s not that the world hates you, maybe you just had very little sleep in the night💤

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chuluoyi · 1 year ago

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UNHOLY MATRIMONY — 07

✩°｡ ⋆ love unspoken

- fushiguro megumi x oc/reader - oc/reader's character name is hara sena, pronouns still refer to “you” and i won’t mention it often—just for the sake of aesthetic rather than repeatedly writing "y/n"

in another life, in which fate is still screwing his life over, Fushiguro Megumi finds himself in an arranged marriage―with you.

genre/warnings: arranged marriage au, gojo cameo, jealous!megumi

notes: ladies and gentlemen, it’s with great pleasure to tell you that another drama is about to unfold after a one-week break :)

series masterlist | next. all falls down

Harajuku, Shibuya. The busiest ward in the city is the most lit spot to meet up with anyone. And the greatest place to hide in plain sight.

Gojo Satoru, suave and neat in his casual shirt with that distinctive sunglasses, undoubtedly drew the eyes of many. He appraised you from head to toe, from your curled hair to your blue floral sundress, and then let out a chuckle.

"Well, well… Look at you. Now quite happily married, eh?"

You regarded him with a furrowed brow. "It's been a while, Gojo-san."

"How's it going? No regrets, I hope? You look absolutely stunning, so I'd assume not."

This isn't a good idea, you lamented internally. You shouldn't have agreed when he asked to meet at this popular bakery in Harajuku.

After Megumi's more or less confession on that morning, you immediately contacted Gojo, because in the end, he was the only one who actually could help you and Megumi.

You cleared your throat. "Megumi treats me well, yes."

"As I expected of someone I raised," Gojo proudly quipped with a proud smirk on his face.

You remembered the night following that fateful morning a week ago. Megumi told you that he was this close to finding someone who might be able to break his sister's curse.

“A curse-breaker, also a jujutsu sorcerer,” Megumi explained. “She possesses a nullifying technique capable of canceling all curses. Perhaps she can help to free Tsumiki as well.”

A beam bloomed on your face upon his explanation. "That's great! Like, if she can cancel the curse, there's a high chance for her to recover right?"

"Should be... I've got to meet up with her first though. So far, I'm still using the Zen'in name to contact her." He had this look of being deep in thought briefly before fixing his gaze on you. “Well, I just want you to meet Tsumiki soon.”

The fact that he wanted you to meet his remaining family filled you with joy. "You never talk about her much. Tell me more."

"She's exceptionally kind. In short, she is different from me." His emerald eyes crinkled a bit, seemingly remembering a fond memory. "She is against cruelty, even though there were many people who weren't nice to us."

"For as long as I can remember, it's only been Tsumiki and me," Megumi proceeded to add, as if sensing your curious stare. "Gojo-sensei is there too but I can't say he's my father now, can I?"

No, Gojo is more like his benefactor, and with his sister cursed, Megumi is essentially alone. Your smile fell a bit at that.

It was strange, you did feel sympathy for Megumi before, but now that you had acknowledged that you were in love with him—and even more now that he also made it clear that he felt the same, the thought of him being alone sent needles to your heart.

"Don't make that face," he retorted and you glanced at him. "I'm fine now. It was not that bad."

He then went after your hair and messed it up, making you scrunch your face in faux indignation.

Before you even realized it, you were down bad for him. You didn't want to see him get hurt or upset, and ultimately, you wanted to stay by his side for as long as possible. And that was what hurt the most, because you didn't know how long this could go on.

That was why now you were facing this six-eyed devil once again.

"Gojo-san," you exhaled. You didn't come here just to let him mess with you. "With what I've heard, the first hearing went well. The second one will be held soon. You… will be there, right?"

He let out a thoughtful hum. "Well, if I don't have any missions lined up, then sure."

"Please treat it more seriously. You know how they wouldn't dare to touch him with your presence alone."

"Oh, it seems you've forgotten already," Gojo remarked with a snort as he plucked a mini tart and popped it into his mouth. "That should be your part, Sena-chan. I'm just here to assist."

You clicked your tongue in irritation. "My point exactly. I'm asking you to provide your assistance."

You couldn't really believe him. He had said it himself—he had raised Megumi. Why wasn't he slightly bothered at all?

"You know, you're really cunning now that I thought about it," he blurted, mouth still stuffed full, as if mocking you altogether. "You're playing him like a puppet just to fulfill your goals."

"Don't act like you don't have your own agenda too." You bite back your anger, disregarding his comment. Apparently, true to many rumors about Gojo you had heard, this man was truly infuriating. "You want control over Zen'in. That was why you agreed to my proposition in the first place. You're using Megumi too."

"Are you really in mourning?" Gojo fixed his gaze on you, his clear blue eyes seemed to shimmer. "Barely a month after your mother's passing and you are instigating another bloodbath without knowing the consequences."

You felt your breath hitch at the blunt words. Something inside you snapped at his mention of your mother, and you bit your lower lip, willing your tears at bay.

Gojo's mouth was split into this rather manic grin, satisfied at how he managed to make you clam up. He wiped his mouth with a napkin. "Crankiness doesn't suit you, Sena-chan. And you don't have to worry if I will be there, because as you put it yourself, I do have my reasons."

But now your mind was pulled elsewhere. "Did you know something about who murdered my mother?"

"No. But she wasn't even a sorcerer. Who would target her? Someone who pins a mark on you would."

"Zen'in Naoya..." You gasped at the realization. He was the first person you should look into, how could you overlook it?

"Nah, but that's jumping too early," Gojo huffed. "You can't just come with nothing and accuse him of murder. Naoya would have your head before Megumi's."

"But he—!"

"Keep your eyes forward, Sena." Gojo's voice dropped, nearly sending a shiver down your spine. This sensation felt familiar to you, you could have sworn you have gone through this washed up terror before.

Your father's warning words. The way you would lower your forehead to the dirt ground, asking him for permission only to be told to remember your place.

Gojo Satoru was this era's strongest sorcerer, and now he was staring you down as if you were the stupidest person he knew. "I see through you. You can't run away from this. Not anymore."

And his smirk made you flinch.

"Not when Megumi is involved. Figuratively and literally speaking, you can't do that."

You shuddered this time, as what he said sank into your core. Figuratively and literally was the cold truth, incorporated in your binding vow, and not for the first time, you truly feared what and where this would lead to.

Perhaps sensing your silence as petrification—which wasn't far off the mark, brutally speaking—Gojo threw his hands in the air and barked a sardonic laugh to ease the tension. "Well, you've got me. Don't stress too much about him. Worry about your actions more."

"I'm doing this for him as well, you know," you snapped. "All of this, now I'm doing this all for him too, not solely for myself anymore."

Megumi was now so close to breaking Tsumiki's curse. As much as the prospect of him becoming the Zen'in clan head wasn't appealing at the slightest, that vile name was still useful and you could worry about that later.

Gojo released a derisive snort. "Is that so? Then, what's still in it for you?"

You looked at him with blind determination.

"I'm going to destroy Zen'in Naoya by taking away the one thing he covets the most."

Megumi thought it was going to be an ordinary day. As ordinary as meeting someone new would be, at least.

He was meeting up with a woman by the name of Kurusu Hana to discuss the possibility of curing his sister in Shibuya. At first she was acting fine, he was certain of that.

"Zen'in, right?" her voice sounded hesitant. He snapped his head towards her, and nodded. She promptly took a seat before him in this high-end cafe. She seemed nice, and he was convinced after she introduced herself.

"Let me introduce myself first. I'm Kurusu Hana, it's a pleasure to meet you, Zen'in-san."

"Oh, that... actually—" He never rectified it in their calls, but it felt wrong if he didn't disclose it to her now. "I'm not actually a Zen'in—please call me Fushiguro. Fushiguro Megumi."

"Fushiguro... Megumi...?"

That's when he noticed a sudden shift in Hana's gait. It occurred to him that she might be not as cooperative now after knowing that he was a not true-born Zen'in. However, this theory didn't align with her behavior, as she continued to respond to his inquiries and displayed genuine interest in Tsumiki's condition.

"Uh—oh, so it's been nine years..." she mumbled, lost in thought. "A curse as profound as that is not easily undone." Hana briefly met his eyes, then quickly looked away, a shy expression crossing her face.

If he were honest, her demeanor made him uncomfortable. He saw that kind of expressions on you, and you looked adorable, whereas she... was not. Well, might be because he definitely wasn't remotely attracted to her.

"Can it be reversed somehow?" he asked curtly.

"In theory, there's a chance. Possibly 40% actually," Hana responded, though her tone lacked the firmness he would have preferred to hear. "A curse residing that long in a human's body have... ingrained into the body itself, so it's not going to be as simple as exorcising newly-planted curses."

Megumi knew it wouldn't be easy, but hearing it firsthand was undeniably disheartening. "I see... Is there something that I—or you—can do?"

"I can attempt to break it, but the cost of it failing would mean the vessel’s immediate death."

He took a sharp intake of breath at that, his chest feelings suddenly tight.

Why was this world so unforgiving to kind people like Tsumiki and your mother? They hadn't done anything wrong, so why did they have to bear such heavy curses?

It was hard, but stalling any longer still meant Tsumiki’s impending death, so he decided to go through with the idea.

Hana would do enchantments for three weeks straight as a preparation to lift the curse from Tsumiki's body. And Megumi would be there to keep watch. Ah, he was thinking he could bring you too to switch with him if needed.

Wrapping the discussion up, he expressed his gratitude to Hana and prepared to take is leave. However, she halted him with a hesitant look.

"We have met before." She looked at him with such a hopeful expression it was jarring. "D-Do you... remember me?"

To him, what she said sounded like the peak of absurdity, and so he blurted the first thing that crossed his mind. "No, we have not."

"But..."

Megumi wanted to argue but then noticed something peculiar out of the corner of his eye. Through the glass panel of the quaint cafe, he could see the establishment next door that just happened to be where you and Gojo were.

Wait, you and Gojo-sensei?

"You saved my life!" Hana exclaimed, her raised voice shattered his thoughts and drew the attention of nearby diners. "You had two dogs with you—they led me out safely. If it weren't for you, I wouldn't have made it until today."

There were many things on Megumi's mind then. It took him a few seconds to discern her words as his eyes flickered again to where you were, and this time he saw you getting up from your seat and grabbing your purse.

And how Gojo seized your arm, pulling you roughly enough that you stumbled back a couple of steps.

Megumi saw red.

"I don't remember."

He knew it was his irritation speaking. He shouldn't have brushed her off like that, especially since he was the one in need of her help, but an overwhelming urge to stride over to where you were surged within him, and Hana's insistence was starting to grate on his nerves.

"I'm sorry, but I need to go." He completely missed Hana's crestfallen face as he fixed his gaze on you. "Thank you. I'll be seeing you again soon. Will contact you later."

He marched towards where both you and Gojo were, forcefully yanking the door that it caused the bells to ring with such intensity that it startled the girls waiting in line for pastries. That was when he realized that this fancy place was the one that required reservation before you could have a seat here.

Was it Gojo? Or you?

In any case, it appeared that both of you had finally become aware of his presence. You whirled to face him, wrenching your hand off Gojo's grasp.

"Megumi." Your voice came in a tense gasp. "What are you doing here?"

In sharp contrast to you, Gojo Satoru was jolly and didn't seem to care if he had just manhandled another man's wife. "Yoo, Megumi! It's been a while!"

It was as if every wire in his body had switched to autopilot. He remained expressionless, but he swiftly grasped your hand and pulled you to his side.

"I'm the one who should be asking you." His voice carrying a hard edge as he turned to you. "What are you doing here with him, of all people?"

"Booo, Megumi, you wound me! It's not like I would do anything to Sena-chan—"

Gojo's familiarity with you seemed to irritate him even further as he shot him a warning look. "Shut up, you're annoying," he said, lacing his fingers with yours and glancing at you from the corner of his eye. "We're going home."

The three of you—or rather, Megumi—definitely had made a debacle that onlookers were left with gaped expressions. He scowled and passed by them, maintaining a firm grip on your hand.

Gojo couldn't suppress an amused smile. "Well, well, Megumi-kun... Look at how much you've grown up."

Kurusu Hana was in love with Fushiguro Megumi.

She had convinced herself of that fact somehow, going as far as thinking of him as her destined one.

On a harsh snowy day, when she was teetering on the brink of certain death, a fluffy dog suddenly barked at her and indicated the path to safety. She recalled crawling on her hands and knees, following the white dog, until she felt the warm touch of local police guiding her to a secure location, away from menacing curses. She also remembered how the dog had dashed toward a boy who promptly patted it on the head. The boy, whose name she would later learn as Fushiguro Megumi, looked at her with a straight face, before a smile slowly spread across his lips.

She really didn't expect that she would really meet him again. More than ten years had passed by, and yet she still held that boy close and dear to her heart. Her savior.

Meeting him again this time was, of course, fate, or at least that was what she thought. She was about to erupt with euphoria… until he didn’t acknowledge her and left to catch another woman, pulling her along in a display of possession.

She was heartbroken. Maybe it was her fault too for keeping this love unspoken for as long as she did. But then again, how would she even speak it out loud? She never got the chance.

The way this encounter had played out and that she had seen him firsthand with a woman who clearly had his affections made her realize that there might not be a chance for her after all. Hana felt disheartened once more. But her spirits were consoled somewhat as she reminded herself that, from now on, she would be in contact with Megumi regularly due to her involvement in breaking his sister's curse.

It’s okay… Even if she couldn't have him, she could still admire and be near him.

That… should be enough.

next : all falls down

🏷️ taglist

@moonmalice @hellothere9597 @qtnfer @firstplaidpeachnickel @waddlingwanderer @chilichopsticks @satorus-slut @dcvilxswish @lees-chaotic-brain @tojirin @bluebreadenthusiast @pandabooster @cole-silas @becsmarvel @giuli-in-earth @fuckimgenderfluid @haitanisrarity @kimura-uzuri @bicchaan @lunavixia @stevenknightmarc @rory-cakes @sushisimp

#jujutsu kaisen #fushiguro megumi x reader #fushiguro megumi x oc #fushiguro megumi #megumi fushiguro #jjk x reader #megumi fushiguro x reader #fushiguro megumi fluff #jujutsu kaisen x reader #megumi fluff #arranged marriage au #fushiguro x reader #megumi x reader #jjk megumi #jjk fanfic #jjk imagines #fushiguro megumi angst #series: unholy matrimony

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chrisevansonly · 1 year ago

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𝐋𝐮𝐥𝐥𝐚𝐛𝐲 𝐁𝐚𝐛𝐲 | 𝐇𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐲 𝐒𝐭𝐲𝐥𝐞𝐬

ღ harry styles x female reader

ღ if there is one thing your baby boy loves in all of this world, and it’s when his daddy sings him to sleep…

ღ very fluffy and soft dad! harry styles

ღ just another little dad!harry piece, im slowly getting motivation back to write, so i hope to be more productive and active now <3

It was no secret to anyone in your lives at just how much of a daddy’s boy your 2 month old son Ollie was, the newborn knew instantly when he was in his fathers arm, and most days if it was anyone else’s we wouldn’t have it. Harry loved Ollie with his entire being, there was no greater joy in life than being a father and being married to you: his two greatest loves.

For a two month old he was fairly quiet, bedtime was usually easy enough for both you and Harry but the odd time it proved to be rather difficult, especially when there were no lullabies as part of Ollie’s night routine. Let’s get one thing straight, you could sing him lullabies, but nothing, and I mean nothing would ever beat Harry’s, you knew that, and little Ollie knew that too.

“My little Ollie bear, shhh daddy will be home soon, mummy promises….shhhh”

You were bouncing gently around the room, little sobs escaping your baby boys mouth, he knew his daddy wasn’t there, and you could only frown and rock the little one hoping Harry would be back from the store soon.

“My little love, it’s okay….”

When Ollie cried, he could cry, his lungs were in perfect shape there was no doubt about it. It also helped because as soon as Harry got home he was quick to leave the bags on the kitchen counter, taking two steps at a time up to your shared bedroom, a bit of a frantic look on his face

“M’sorry traffic was bad, what happened, s’he alright?”

Smiling tiredly you shook your head

“He’s alright, just fussy because his daddy isn’t singing to him”

You watched his shoulders relax slightly as he smile apologetically to you, leaning down to kiss you softly before taking Ollie from you

“Poor mummy huh? Giving her a hard time…? S’cause daddy’s a better singer huh?”

Ollie had begun to quiet down instantly, earning a light smack to Harry’s bicep from you as you rolled your eyes playfully

“I’ll go put the food away, thank you baby”

Smiling Harry kissed you once more before going to sit in the rocking chair that rested beside the french doors in the far end of your room, the sunsetting over the English countryside

“There we go, time for bed now my love”

Harry was quick to pull out the soft grey blanket you kept in a basket beside the rocking chair, covering Ollie with it before he began to sing softly

“Baby mine, don’t you cry, baby mine, dry your eyes, rest your head close to my heart, never to part, baby of mine”

Harry watched as Ollie’s eyes began to flutter closed, his tiny hand holding onto the string of his pleasing hoodie in a grip to ensure his father wouldn’t move.

“Little one when you play, don’t you mind what you say, let those eyes sparkle and shine, never a tear, baby of mine..”

Humming softly to finish off the lullaby, he waited until he could hear the little baby snores Ollie made, letting him know he was finally asleep. Pressing a few soft kisses to his cheeks, Harry lay him down in his bassinet, placed on your side of the bed for night feedings. Silently hoping he’d stay asleep as he put him down, waiting a few moments before turning the monitor on and making his way to find you.

“Did he go down okay?”

“Like a charm”

You smiled wrapping your arms around his torso

“What would we do if we both sucked at singing?”

Harry laughed

“You don’t suck, he just prefers me that’s all”

“You’ve heard me in the shower….”

“Okay so your tune could use a little work….”

It was your turn to laugh as you shook your head, kissing his stubble covered chin

“I love you H, thank you for always coming to the rescue”

“For you and Ollie, i’ll always come to rescue.”

#rueswrites #ruesanswers #ruesanons<3 #ruesasks #harry styles x wife reader #harry styles x you #harry styles x girlfriend reader #harry styles x reader #harry styles x female reader #harry styles x y/n #harry styles fluff #harry styles #dad!harry #dad! harry styles #harry styles imagine #dad harry styles #harry styles fic #harry styles fanfiction

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chaninfused · 4 months ago

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Roseborn: Part Two | Hwang Hyunjin

◤“For at that moment, on the chalky sand, under the gracious sun, and hidden from the unforgiving world, this became a secret that the two of you shared. A heavy tapestry woven with bitter understanding and a strange form of trust that draped over the both of you.” With his newly awakened magic at hand, the heir to House Amaranthine faces his greatest challenge yet — befriending another. ◤Disclaimers: This is the backstory of Hyunjin’s character in my ‘Gilded Kingdom’ wip. Can be read as a standalone. Female reader insert. An enemies to lovers, forbidden love, fantasy debacle. Slow burn. Angst and fluff. Abusive mother. Descriptions of heavy violence, fighting, killing, blood, and injury. ◤Word count: 10.4K ◤Note: This idea is a 100% mine and any case of similarity with someone else’s is purely coincidental. Events are pure fiction. Please do not take my content without my consent. masterlist.

Part One | Part Two | Part Three

“Good day, Sōrsānt.”

Hyunjin could only stand there, watching you leave as his feet stayed rooted to the ground stubbornly. Though he didn’t acknowledge your words, there was a raging conflict in him to say something, stop you before he lost his chance.

There was new magic coursing through his body, and his fingers were itching to touch the ground and break the sand with blossoms. It was an achievement that made his frigid heart giddy with excitement, pride, and joy—emotions he had believed to be lost in the past. Emotions he couldn’t contain to himself alone, didn’t know how to.

He needed to show someone. He wanted to share the feat he’d only dared to dream of.

Of the two people who knew about his Tilt, you were the more sensible choice to share his little accomplishment with. You would continue to keep the secret if you cherished your life. Hyunjin knew that, and selfishly so, he found that he was willing to take advantage of that fact.

He only wanted to share the overflowing elation that suffocated his heart yet freed his soul, and see it reflected in someone else’s face. He wanted to see that wonder fill your eyes again, drink in the sight to forget the silent guilt creeping over him.

So, he blurted, “Wait!”

You froze, and Hyunjin noticed the momentary clench of your fists before you turned around. “Is there something I can help you with, Sōrsānt?”

Your formality was funny, especially when Hyunjin recalled the way you recklessly accused him of being a liar while restraining him against the ground and aiming his Kizāri at his neck. It was as though the fight brought out a different side of you, one you concealed perfectly outside the square of sand.

You were a fool, but perhaps Hyunjin was the greater fool for letting you be.

“I want to show you something,” the words felt like coarse dirt in his mouth, but he managed to utter them, nonetheless. One timid step forward.

You hadn’t expected his response, mumbling a faint ‘Oh’ as your eyebrows lifted in surprise before you could think better of it.

Hyunjin, however, didn’t anticipate a proper answer from you. He knelt and pressed a palm against the sand with the hopes of you stepping closer without him explaining too much.

He practiced this throughout the night until he found himself slouched asleep against his desk, in a miniature bed of flowers. Luckily, no one had spotted him in that state, and he quickly discarded his flimsy creations.

Now, Hyunjin mimicked his previous efforts. He reached for his magic and pulled at it, stiff from years of disuse yet there, nevertheless. The action was so mentally taxing it felt like he was running for his life despite not moving, but he dragged himself through, willing the magic to gather at his fingertips and manifest into a flower in the sand.

Cold washed over him, prickling and addicting, followed by the tickle of petals against his palm. He was getting better at cultivation.

Hyunjin suppressed a smile when he pulled his hand away and a single plain-looking flower smiled back up at him. Standing on a weak stem with thin, pale petals and a center that was duller than it should be, the result wasn’t nearly as perfect as his mishaps, but it was something.

Something that Hyunjin was proud of.

Muted footsteps caught his attention, and he glanced up to see you walking toward him carefully. You set your Kizāri on the ground to crouch in front of the frail blossom, and he couldn’t help but follow the tides of your expression with the utmost attentiveness. As if he’d find a crack in your aloof guise.

Seconds stretched like hours until you finally spoke, “It’s beautiful.”

Hyunjin loosened an anxious breath. He was suddenly so exhilarated he wanted to laugh. He wanted to throw himself back on the sand and drown in the sun’s warm embrace. Thoughts that materialized into words spilled past his lips in a rushed whisper instead, earnest, “I can control some of it now.”

Your gaze flicked up to meet his, and there it was.

Wonder.

Not pity. Not scorn. But breathtaking wonder that struck him with such an earth-shattering force he didn’t realize he’d been seeking it so fervently all this time.

You didn’t say anything, and Hyunjin supposed he should’ve been ashamed. After getting so irritated with you for handing him the book and threatening you into silence about his magic, he went ahead and did the opposite of everything rational. He attempted to learn using his magic, succeeded, and even showed you.

But all Hyunjin felt was kind relief, like a weight had been lifted off his shoulders. For at that moment, on the chalky sand, under the gracious sun, and hidden from the unforgiving world, this became a secret that the two of you shared. A heavy tapestry woven with bitter understanding and a strange form of trust that draped over the both of you.

Eventually, you hummed in acknowledgment, looking down at the flower and then asking, “Is this all?”

You were doing the right thing by ending the interaction, but Hyunjin still felt a twinge of hurt at your quickly returned indifference. The truth was that there was no place for his excitement in the world you lived in, and his few moments of happiness ended with that abrupt reminder.

He cleared his throat. On the rack of Azāri equipment was the leather-bound book that he wanted to return, but it was long forgotten. “Yes. You’re free to go now.”

You waited, as though weighing his answer, before unfolding from your crouch and picking up your Kizāri. With one last glimpse at the flower, you turned on your heel and resumed your leave like nothing had happened.

For a minute or two, Hyunjin stayed there, staring stupidly at the door you left through. He didn’t know what to make of your exchange, and he didn’t dwell on it further. All that mattered was the memory of the awe in your eyes, sincere, real enough to touch, and he cradled that image in this mind as he carried on with his slow day.

•❃•

Chapter Two: Understanding Flowering.

After the user has achieved basic cultivation, the following step is to refine and advance their creation abilities. It is imperative for Flowering Tilts to delve into the field of Botany, specifically in regard to flowers and flowering plants. Understanding the structure and functionality of the end product helps the wielder achieve the desired result. In this chapter and the following chapters, we will study the following aspects of interest to a Flowering Tilt: roots, stem and leaves, petals, and disk and reproductive systems—

A yawn interrupted Hyunjin’s reading. It seemed that he had reached his limit of staying up.

He shut the book, carrying it with him over to his bed where he stuffed it in its hiding place underneath his mattress and then fell on the silken covers. His long nights felt shorter when he had something to do, and sleep always approached him before he’d had enough reading.

Now that Hyunjin knew how to find and use his Heart of Magic, he wanted to learn more. His flowers were dull and sickly, nothing like the exquisite creations that slipped through his fingers in fear or in rage. It was greed hazing his thoughts, a vast and intoxicating desire. The wishes of a frightened six-year-old finally gaining a voice.

Yet another promise to himself broken.

A promise to yourself or to your mother?

Hyunjin didn’t want to answer that thought. He’d felt happier than he could ever recall when he succeeded in summoning his magic, even though it was something that would’ve angered his mother. So who was he addressing when he promised to return the book after a brief read?

If that book’s knowledge brought light into his bleak world, why should he want to rid of it?

There was an answer to that somewhere, locked away deep within his soul and guarded by messy, bittersweet memories that Hyunjin wasn’t yet prepared to untangle.

•❃•

Iron screeched against iron as your Kizāri clashed with Hyunjin’s. The two of you were the only viciously active beings at such an early hour of the day. You were sure that if you squinted at the sky enough, you would notice the sun’s frown for having been awakened by your sparring.

You spun, directing your Kizāri away and around to aim at Hyunjin’s legs instead. He foresaw your actions and leaped backward, arcing his weapon down to meet yours. If he succeeded, then he may be able to trap you.

You weren’t willing to give him the chance.

Flicking your wrist upward, you swung your Kizāri at his with increased force. It won’t disarm him, but it would divert his aim and switch your position in that second from defense to offense. And it was always better to be the one on the offense.

Clang! and Hyunjin’s weapon was sent arcing away, his attack foiled. Any average Azārāhi would’ve lost their grip on their Kizāri after such an assault, but the Sōrsānt was anything but average.

The sheer strength of your training partner was evident in the way he maintained his hold and redirected his Kizāri’s path to pierce the ground. He halted its hurtling all while righting his footing with immaculate grace. It was impressive, you’d hand that to him.

The sand in the air had barely settled before you unleashed another attack and Hyunjin reciprocated. You took turns parrying and ducking and jumping around the square, destroying the circular indentations on its surface and creating newer ones with the movements of your weapons. Like the masterful strokes of a painter’s brush.

It was easy to let yourself get dragged by your Kizāri. The heaviness of the weapon’s head, paired with the way it was wielded, resulted in a tremendous force that was enough to knock its user off their feet. As such, Azārāhis were trained to become the unmovable center and source of the torque. Taught to control the force and understand its nature in order to utilize it at its highest output. It was ingrained into your muscles and mind like a primal instinct.

When you swung your Kizāri wide, you expected Hyunjin to counter with a similarly large move. Instead, he chose to tread closer and direct his Kizāri up in a pointed attack, turning this into a close-quarters spar and safely leaving the range of your Kizāri. In less than a second, he had put you in the worst situation imaginable.

It felt like time had slowed down. Your weapon was out of range, leaving you defenseless and open for attack. You couldn’t move or dodge, not without abandoning your Kizāri. Abandoning your Kizāri meant disarming yourself, and once the weapon hit the ground, you would lose.

An embarrassing loss.

You weren’t such a coward to disgrace yourself like that, but you weren’t willing to let Hyunjin best you so easily either.

A wild idea crossed your mind at that desperate moment. You were the center of the torque. Your Kizāri swiveled around you. If so, then—

You let the handle of your Kizāri slip out of your grip and swept low to evade the silvered blur coming for your neck. With a pivot in a direction you loosely guessed, you stretched your arm out, barely touching the smooth handle of your flying Kizāri before you clasped it fully.

You reclaimed the upper hand.

If so, then you could vaguely trace the path the weapon would take if you let go.

Your Kizāri swung at Hyunjin again and he blocked your attack with ease.

“That was good,” his remark cut through the tension of the fight, and you scowled. What the hell?

You decided to remain quiet, but it seemed to urge him on. “Letting go of your weapon is a risk. People don’t use their Kizāris like that often.”

The Sōrsānt seemed to make a hobby out of confusing you each passing day. He was hostile sometimes and once threatened you into keeping his secret. Then came mornings like this, where he pretended to indulge you like one would a proper training partner.

The two of you would never have that kind of relationship, yet he rambled on, “I knew one person who used the Kizāri as more than a blade. He would propel himself into the air with it, much like a catapult. Though I suppose his Tilt might’ve aided him.”

He tilted his head at you, as though expecting you to add to his one-sided conversation. Curious, calculative eyes, but there was a strange expression of mourning ghosting his features. As if his words grazed a wound he didn’t realize wasn’t fully healed yet.

Your scowl deepened.

When your last practice session had ended, he'd said he wanted to show you something and you hadn’t turn him down. Realistically, you couldn’t, but part of you argued that you did it for the vulnerability cowering behind his tone. Not typical command, but like that of a hesitant, excited child.

Then he made a flower bloom in the sand, frail and pale, and you couldn’t help but compliment it. It only felt right to do so. Though that was all you’d said.

Did he think that exchange made you friends?

You lessened the force holding your Kizāri against his and narrowed your eyes. “If you think that—”

A dangerous grin split his features and he pushed against your weakened Kizāri before swinging at you with full force, barely giving you time to process his actions. “We haven’t drawn new half-moons yet. Don’t you dare let your guard down!”

Damn bastard. You gritted your teeth as you brought your Kizāri up to deflect his blow, narrowly avoiding a serious injury.

What’s with him today?

You put some distance between the two of you, and he seemed to be amused. Twirling his Kizāri in his hand, Hyunjin shrugged. “See? I have dirty tricks of my own too.”

A dumbfounded blink.

Was all that talking just a trick? Infuriating shame prickled over you before bursting into a fierce inferno. You would play his game if he wanted.

“Talkative today, huh, Sōrsānt?” you brandished your Kizāri, prepared to counter any sudden attacks. The timid breeze chose to kiss his cheeks then, meddling with the dark wisps of hair framing his face. Unkempt, yet eerily perfect.

That curiosity glinted in his eyes again, and he regarded you as if he were weighing an idea in his mind. Perhaps deciding to spare you a witty response, he trailed a new half-circle in the sand around him instead. An invite to another round.

You relented, drawing out your Kizāri for a start-over.

As your Kizāris flashed in the sun’s disgruntled glare, you ignored the murmuring voice in your head. Hate him all you wanted, sparring with Hyunjin was its own twisted form of fun.

And you were beginning to enjoy it.

•❃•

Hyunjin set his quill down, turning his attention to the sickly flower whose roots he had severed to examine.

Studying wasn’t something he shied from. Growing up, his time was split between Azāri practice and long lectures covering subjects that ranged from mathematics to politics. All to shape him into the perfect heir for House Amaranthine.

He became adept at dissecting the text and annotating pages upon pages of information on his own. If he were to have a tutor alongside him, it would only be a waste of that scholar’s time. Hyunjin never thought that he would be thankful for such a skill, yet there he was, tirelessly trudging through the night with his worn-out quill in hand.

Hybrid Types were more technical than the Old Disciplines. In order to wield his magic in a way that mattered, Hyunjin had to study flowering plants thoroughly. As he learned from the book, his Tilt worked by mimicking the ideal environmental conditions for the desired product; manipulating earth, water, and sunlight. To do that, he had to pick and choose the traits he wanted for his creations and determine the correct conditions for said traits to grow. That was why he needed an arsenal of knowledge to refer to.

With enough practice, the process would boil down to simply imagining the flower he wanted and manifesting it. Everything else would become second nature, much like speaking and breathing.

Hyunjin peered at the tangle of thin roots he held between his fingers, checking for the signs mentioned on the page in front of him. The light of the lone candle he had lit swayed with the calm breeze that came through his open window.

“Too dry…” he muttered as a conclusion, putting the roots back and returning to the leather-bound book. They weren’t dead, he could determine that much, but the roots weren’t nearly as succulent as they had to be.

Hyunjin’s palm settled over the small mound of sand on his desk, now surrounded by imperfect blossoms, and tried again. Healthy roots this time, he willed the thought into his magic as he directed it out of his fingers. Just give them a little bit more water.

The flower that sprung in the sand was identical to the tens before it, but what mattered to Hyunjin was the state of its roots.

He pulled them out, running his thumb across the web that provided the plant with life. To any other eye, they would’ve appeared to be the same as before, but Hyunjin saw the minuscule difference. He felt it.

These roots were healthier, albeit slightly.

He dropped the flower beside its sisters and picked his quill back up, dipping it in ink before scribbling his observations at the foot of the page. Hyunjin knew that he was still far from perfecting his creations, but he was slowly getting better at his magic, and that was enough to stoke his newly kindled fire.

•❃•

Hyunjin made his way out of the cellar with an armful of firewood for his burner. He was sorely out of place, it was obvious in the wary glances that passing palace staff threw his way, but he couldn’t risk ordering a servant to run the errand for him instead. He was yet to dispose of all his blooming creations.

All the palace’s overground grandeur was a product of the work being done in the underground chambers. Food and resources were stored underground, alongside rooms for laundry, tailoring, and tapestrying. It was also where low-ranking staff found their sleeping quarters.

Though, beneath the bustle of workers, the underground chambers served darker purposes.

Hyunjin’s steps faltered by a door wide open in a secluded area of the tunnels. No staff were in sight. He must’ve wandered there accidentally while trying to avoid drawing attention to himself.

The room was scarcely lit and barely a quarter the size of his bedchamber. Inside, three guards dragged a bound, blindfolded, and bruised man across a square of dark stone where an Azārāhi stood waiting, Kizāri gleaming in the lamplight. A human girl, Hyunjin noted before his gaze strayed to the side and his eyes widened in surprise.

The Ērmār was watching them, draped in shadow beside a figure he couldn’t identify in the darkness.

The guards kicked the man to his knees, and he succumbed to gravity like a rag doll. A whimper left his bloodied lips, dying in the grim walls of the room. Unease trickled into Hyunjin’s heart at the sight. He should leave, he knew, but his feet were frozen in place, his eyes fixed on the scene before him.

The guards had barely loosened their hold on the man when the Azārāhi unsheathed her Kizāri, a familiar swiftness to the motion, and raised it high. Before Hyunjin could realize what was happening, she brought it down in one great swoop, slicing through the man’s exposed neck unhesitatingly.

Any sound he would’ve made was suffocated by the scream of wind.

Blood smattered the ground, a crimson crescent around the Azārāhi.

The man’s head rolled on the stone.

Too late did Hyunjin realize the room he’d stumbled upon. His hand flew to his mouth, physically suppressing a gasp as his gaze snapped to the ground underneath him. That was an executioner’s square. He had just witnessed an execution.

Breath stilled in his lungs like invisible pebbles that obstructed his airways. Death’s grisly fingers ran across his spine, crooked nails leaving their unwanted marks on his skin. He couldn’t move. He couldn’t blink. His horror was a bottomless pit that suddenly revealed itself under him, and he was falling, hurtling, with nothing to stop him.

The sound of muted steps cut through the haze of his panic, followed by the Ērmār’s taut voice. “Sapphirine are becoming foolish.”

Hyunjin’s ears perked at her statement, both intrigued and chilled. What had conspired between the two houses that he didn’t know of?

“To even think of assassinating a head of one of our branch houses… They call for a war they cannot win,” she spat, then, after a beat of tense silence, she said, “Leave us.”

Hyunjin dared to raise his gaze then, just in time to see the Azārāhi sheath her bloodied weapon and turn around.

Your gaze slammed into him like a boulder.

No… The thought wriggled in his mind uncomfortably, bitter and broken with disbelief. What is she doing here? Why—

Your expression was blank, as if you weren’t in that dim room but some foreign entity had inhibited your body instead. Even though you were looking at him, it felt as though you were staring at something far ahead of you. Something that wasn’t quite there.

The firewood in Hyunjin’s arm felt heavy and weightless all at once. He wanted to crumble and disappear. He wanted to run and outrun the sight that burned itself into his memory.

You killed a man — he saw you do it — and you seemed to care not.

•❃•

It was the dead of the night. He shouldn’t have been there. Yet, by all the forces of fate, you saw the Sōrsānt standing outside that wretched room, blanching with naive shock.

It angered you to an unfathomable degree. How could he dare to wear such an expression of disappointment? He had no right to be betrayed by what unfolded in that room, so why did he stare at you like he was?

You halted at the double doors of his training court, taking a deep breath to steady your emotions before pushing the lacquered wood open. Whatever you had to do and whatever you saw the previous night didn’t matter now. “Good morning, Sōrsānt.”

Hyunjin was standing in the middle of the square, his back given to you as you walked in. As usual, your greeting went unanswered.

Though, what made you furrow your brows was his complete indifference to your arrival. Were you supposed to ask him to turn around and take his position?

“I didn’t know you were an executioner.”

You paused, one step into the square of sand, and snapped your head up in surprise. What?

The Sōrsānt whirled around. That was when you noticed the fists he made at his sides. His eyes seemed haunted when he croaked out, “Why?”

“Oh, no, no, no,” you scowled, your earlier attempt at pacifying your anger going in vain. “You can’t pretend to be hurt by what you saw last night, Sōrsānt.”

“Pretend? You—” his expression fell, and he gazed at you as if he were searching for an answer in your countenance. “You killed him…”

“So?” you pressed, not bothering to hide your annoyance. He really was a fool. And like a fool, he had no response to give you.

“Unlike you,” you jabbed a finger his way, “I don’t have the freedom to deny orders.”

At that, his expression shattered further. “You were…ordered to kill him?”

“Nilfyn don’t dirty their hands with such grim deeds.” you nearly laughed. Was he acting oblivious for the fun of it?

“But I thought—”

“What did you think, Sōrsānt?” you reached for your Kizāri instinctively, the challenge clear in your tone. Hyunjin didn’t miss the action. His towering figure stiffened as his eyes followed your hand warily.

Again, he gave you no response, and the coiled fury in your heart snapped. Sand rose with the movement as you wrenched out your Kizāri and swung it at him, a pale uproar.

The Sōrsānt parried your blow, his Kizāri drawn impossibly fast. You bit back a snarl as you arced your weapon back then at him repeatedly, blood running hot with anger and grief and so many muddled emotions you couldn’t place. How did you always find yourself in this situation? Was fighting the only way either of you knew how to deal with frustration?

You leaped out of Hyunjin’s reach, pointing your Kizāri downwards to catch your breath and clear the fuzz in your mind. You couldn’t fight that way unless you wanted to do something you’d regret later.

Hyunjin didn’t make a move to attack, simply choosing to watch you from his side of the sand square, poised for defense if need be.

“Do you think I wanted to kill him?” you asked through gasps of breath, not anticipating an answer. “I don’t have a choice, Sōrsānt. This is what I have to do to remain the so-called best human Azārāhi.”

You pointed your Kizāri at him. “Surely you know that it is a way to test my loyalty. Having me execute other humans—it’s a warning. What would become of me were I to betray the House.”

Your Kizāris clashed again when you ran up to him, not giving him the time to answer. You wanted to shout all the thoughts that had kept you up at night. The truth was that you were afraid of so much. Every day felt like a battle in a never-ending war. You strove to win, even though you knew that you would be defeated in the end regardless of your efforts. Such was the kind of life you led.

“Do you think it doesn’t hurt me?” the words escaped before you could stop them. Half a sob, half a shout, as though Hyunjin would understand the anguish that tore at your conscience.

For some reason, you knew he would.

You aimed your Kizāri at Hyunjin’s with all the might in your muscles, and the weapon tumbled out of his grasp, landing on the sand with a disgraced thump.

There, you thought in delirious triumph. You won.

Your Kizāri was cutting through the air again, fueled by the rage still pumping in your veins, but it never made contact with your target. At least, not in the way you unwisely intended.

Hyunjin was gripping part of the Kizāri’s long handle, impeding its fierce arc of motion. The deadly edges of your weapon were mere inches away from his face, but he seemed nonchalant about it, much to your annoyance.

You didn’t bother trying to wrest your Kizāri from his hand.

“I hate you.”

Hyunjin blinked, both taken aback and amused by your abrupt declaration of distaste.

You didn’t allow his demeanor to faze you, soldiering on with a sentiment that, by all logic, you shouldn’t share with him. “You know why? You have power and respect and a voice you choose not to use. You pretend to be weak when you’re not.

“But no matter how much I try, I will always be considered weak and disposable. No matter how much I train, how many necks I have to cut through, I’ll never be more than an inadequate human.

“That’s why I hate you, Sōrsānt. You anger me more than words can express,” you finished with gritted teeth. Your weapon may have been immobilized, but you hurled every word at him like a spear. You hoped it hurt.

When he maintained his silence, you sighed. You had done too much to be considered appropriate. “Why haven’t you thrown me in the dungeons yet?”

You were speaking anything that came to your mind at that moment. You were being careless, and it was almost liberating. “For all the disrespect I’ve shown you, I’m still standing. Why do you keep me here? What is it that you and the Ērmār want from me?”

“I didn’t choose this arrangement. I told you that before,” he finally spoke, and it struck a match in your turbulent temper.

“I remember,” you remarked drily, then tugged at your Kizāri. “Let go.”

“I’m afraid I can’t do that.”

The weapon stood between the two of you uselessly. The Sōrsānt’s eyes were studying you again. “Do you want to be thrown into the dungeons?”

A huff. “Of course not.”

“Then why do you ask?”

“Because it’s what other Nilfyn would have done in your place. I just— I don’t understand.”

You thought you saw Hyunjin’s gaze soften before he averted it almost shamefully. “I’m not sure you will understand even if I did explain it.”

“See for yourself then,” you pressed. “Tell me why.”

Hyunjin shook his head, though it wasn’t a sign of refusal. “Remember our first spar? I should’ve killed you then, you knew it too. But I didn’t. I couldn’t.”

It wasn’t the fondest of your memories, and it was clear that it wasn’t Hyunjin’s either. He shrugged, continuing, “I thought that we could…understand each other because of that. You didn’t scorn my magic either so I thought—” the words caught in his throat, as though he suddenly realized that they shouldn’t be uttered.

“You thought…?” you prompted. The Sōrsānt spoke as though he had a lot to say but never knew the right words. As though he were testing the flavor speech, unsure of whether he liked it or not.

He exhaled, looking up at the young morning sky before bringing his gaze back to the ground, almost glumly.

It was the barest whisper.

“I thought we could be friends.”

And for the second time that day, you found yourself exclaiming inwardly, what?!

“Friends?” you asked incredulously, not knowing whether to be angered or not. “You want us to be friends?”

“I only thought…” he mumbled. Only later did you realize that he was embarrassed by his statement.

Your hold on your Kizāri loosened, and Hyunjin took that opportunity to ease it from your fingers and drop it. You let him. There was no fight left in you, anyway. Everything around you was unfair, and you were so tired of it all; the Ērmār, the palace, the training. It was so easy for Hyunjin to think of such a preposterous idea.

You steeled your shoulders. “We can’t. We can’t be friends.”

“I know,” he admitted. It was the most vulnerable you’d ever seen him. Downcast eyes and shoulders that sagged and lost their prideful edge. There was mute protest in the slight part of his lips, helplessness in the clench of his fists.

This was unlike the discussion of his magic and his status. This was a breach of age-old customs and a defiance of the Ērmār’s rules.

“You accused me of pretending to be weak but in all honesty, I don’t want to be the strongest,” he looked at you, not searching but finding this time. The silver of understanding that began to shine through the mess of your thoughts.

“What do you want then, if not that?”

“I don’t know. But I don’t want to hurt anybody, human or Nilfyn. I thought you were like me in that prospect. That’s why…” Hyunjin’s words weren’t unkind, but you still felt a twinge of bitterness.

“I am nothing like you.”

“Yes, I know that now,” he acknowledged dejectedly. “I apologize.”

You raised a brow. “For what?”

“For angering you with my disposition,” he said, oblivious to how ridiculous he sounded, then tilted his head at the sky. He squinted at the sun before dragging his gaze back to you curiously. “You’re trembling.”

“What? No—” but his remark wasn’t false. Somehow, you hadn’t noticed the slight shaking of your hands.

It wasn’t a product of the weather, for the sun was beaming down on you generously, but an amalgamation of the dissonant emotions running rampant in your heart. The fear that always lined your thoughts. The sadness that followed your executions. The anger that never left you. And finally, unfamiliar relief, as if your earlier outburst was something you’d needed for long but never realized it.

“Listen,” you sighed, electing to ignore your trembling, “we can’t be friends.”

Hyunjin’s mouth flattened into a grim line, and he was about to say something when you interrupted him. “But,” you crouched, picking up the Kizāri you neglected off the ground. Perhaps you would regret your words in the future, but it felt right when you drew a half-moon in the sand, “we can be civil.”

The Sōrsānt’s lips curled in what you assumed was a novice imitation of a smile. “I’d be glad, then.”

•❃•

The reflection on the water stared back at Hyunjin, still and lost somewhere in thought. The words you had uttered yesterday repeated in his mind endlessly. We can be civil.

Truthfully, Hyunjin didn’t know what being friends entirely entailed, let alone what you meant by being civil. It had been thirteen years since the last friends he’d had. It felt foolish to be happy about something he barely understood.

And yet, a small part of him found unabashed joy in the matter.

What could he do to become your friend? What duties must he fulfill to become what you dubbed as ‘civil’?

He stared at the silver goblet of water in his hand, then glanced at the waterskin you chugged water from ungracefully. Surely that leather pouch could not keep the liquid cool under the blazing sun. Should he offer you a drink from the palace’s cooling water channels? Would that be the civil form of kindness you expected of him?

Hyunjin’s free hand found its way to his ear and he subconsciously fiddled with his piercings.

“Sōrsānt?”

He let go as though his ear had scalded him.

It was a bad habit he’d developed after his father’s passing, fidgeting with his many hooped earrings whenever he found himself confused or nervous. His mother would lash his hand with a stick whenever she noticed him do it. He’d long since buried the habit, but it would still appear unexpectedly at times he was unguarded.

Somehow, he’d been so lost in thought that he mistook your voice for that of the Ērmār reprimanding him.

Hyunjin turned his head to acknowledge your call. Sitting cross-legged on the outer edge of the sand square, you appeared somewhat hesitant when you asked, “Can I ask you a question?”

“Yes.”

“I noticed that you have more piercings than other Nilfyn Azārāhis… Why is that?”

Hyunjin felt his ears burn. You must’ve noticed his earrings when he childishly fiddled with them. He fathomed no reason for his current embarrassment by your attention, for you were always poking your nose into subjects that did not concern you.

He took a sip from his goblet. Perhaps this was what you meant by being civil. “The number of Channeling Cores indicates one’s societal ranking.

“First is the royal family. They are marked by the eight diamond Cores.” he ran a finger across the edge of the cup. “Then, seven Cores for those of inner circle aristocratic birth and six for those of outer circle aristocratic birth.

“The commonfolk are given one violet Core upon birth. Low-rank soldiers are given an additional black Core. Then, depending on one’s merits and achievements in society, they may advance to five Cores.”

Nilfyn society was deeply hierarchal. Each newborn Nilfyn was granted a number of piercings according to their rank at birth through the Royal Channeling Core Bureau.

“By that logic, I outrank the Ērmār. Not that it has ever mattered,” Hyunjin scoffed, but before he could let you dwell on his statement long, he added, “Those Azārāhis you mentioned are likely of rank two. Three, if they are squad commanders, but not higher.”

You stayed quiet, and for a moment, he was worried you’d realized what a mistake it was to speak to him. By society’s rules, Hyunjin was only second to the royal family, while you, a mere human who shouldn’t even be in his presence.

That thought made him uncomfortable in a way he’d never experienced before.

“Does the number of Cores affect your magic’s strength?”

Hyunjin relaxed. It appeared you were only processing the new information, not regretting your choice to ‘be civil’. “No. It does not.”

You hummed in acknowledgment then stood, brushed the sand off your trousers, and bowed. “It seems that I have been impertinent with my actions, Sōrsānt.”

Hyunjin stilled, but when you rose, he caught the ghost of a smile on your lips.

Oh.

He emptied his goblet and set it down. Of course, you wouldn’t now be fazed by his status, not when you’d been so brazen as to insult him before. “You have. How do you plan to make amends for it?”

You trailed your Kizāri on the sand, glancing back at him. “A good, honest fight.”

With a small grin, Hyunjin picked up his Kizāri and followed you.

A good, honest fight.

Perhaps being civil was much easier than he expected.

•❃•

A strange sense of awkwardness filled you whenever you thought about the Sōrsānt and the way he expressed wanting to befriend you.

What you were doing was forbidden by the Ērmār’s rules and yet, you found yourself helpless before Hyunjin’s own helplessness. You had decided you could at least grant him half of his wish. After all, you weren’t completely void of empathy, as much as you liked to feign it.

“Could I…show you something after this round?”

There it was again, that sleuthing awkwardness. It had been nearly a week of such tentative conversation. The many days you spent training together seemed to matter none when the idea of becoming friends loomed over your every interaction.

Hyunjin was making some progress though, you thought, bringing your Kizāri to clink with his on the sand. “Of course, Sōrsānt.”

Your agreement seemed to fuel him, for he won that round in a few measly beats. You bit back a curse at the soft touch of his Kizāri on your skin. Talented bastard.

You were crouched on the sand beside Hyunjin shortly, watching as he channeled his magic through the ground. When he removed his hand to unveil the flower, his fingers trembled with exertion.

Delicate snowy petals and lush green leaves adorned the little blossom which stood proudly on a strong stem.

“I have improved,” the Sōrsānt breathed. He reminded you of a pup seeking praise from its doting owner, eager to flaunt even the smallest of achievements.

“I see that.” you smiled, reaching out to brush your fingers over the soft petals. There were no flowers in Amaranthine palace. You allowed yourself to admire the rare view. “It’s very beautiful.”

It was not as perfect as the first, accidental creation of his that you had seen, but this flower was wonderful too. You could tell that the Sōrsānt had spent plenty of time improving his skills, and this blossom was proof. Much like how the previous flower was beautiful, in its weakness and imperfection, for it symbolized a new beginning.

Hyunjin beamed but said nothing in response to the compliment.

You stood a moment later and picked up your Kizāri to continue your training. Following you, Hyunjin pulled his flower from the sand and stuffed it inside his coat. His movements were quick, as though someone might walk in and catch him with this incriminating plant in his grasp.

You frowned, suddenly realizing something. “Do you get rid of all of them?”

He was surprised. “Yes.”

“Oh.”

It made sense that he would. It also made your heart twist with nonsensical loss.

“It doesn’t bother you?”

“It does,” he admitted, turning his Kizāri over in his hand. He appeared upset and suddenly, you found yourself missing his hesitant smile. “But I don’t know of a way to hide my endeavors other than this.”

You nodded solemnly, silently hoping for a future where he doesn’t need to hide his magic anymore.

But you didn’t say that, instead, “I hope it doesn’t weigh you down. I don’t plan on losing to you again today, Sōrsānt.”

To your unreasonable relief, the corner of Hyunjin’s mouth lifted into a challenging grin, and you were taking your positions in the square. “Oh? I wouldn’t worry about that too much.”

As your Kizāris swung, you dared to wonder if your awkwardness was born from your fear of the Ērmār, or of the revelation that you didn’t truly mind the Sōrsānt as a friend.

•❃•

Hyunjin was bored.

So bored that he found the point of his boot against the marble more interesting than the conversation happening around him.

It was neither riveting nor important, and Hyunjin knew that he should at least pretend to be invested in what his mother and the heads of House Carmine were saying, but their voices only droned in the background of his thoughts.

It was the second day of the annual tour of the branch houses, a ten-day-long affair that was meant to strengthen ties between them and the main house.

House Amaranthine had six branch houses located throughout the major cities of the kingdom. They provided a network of informants and allies, ensuring the spread of Amaranthine’s influence across Greria. They also supplied soldiers, consorts, and heirs should the main house lack. Hyunjin knew, for his own mother hailed from House Vervain, the branch based in the far north.

Normally, he would find respite from the dreary palace walls in these visits, but he only felt restless now. As though he would rather be doing something else.

And he would.

It had just begun, but Hyunjin was counting down the days until he could return to his room and study his magic further. Being around the Ērmār and under the scrutiny of members of the branch houses all day meant that he didn’t have the privacy to experiment with his magic.

He was beginning to miss the tingle of it at his fingertips. And he missed something else, a small voice in his head tempted, though he was too shy to admit it.

Despite not paying his fullest attention to the discussion around him, Hyunjin still noticed the hush that befell the room. He fished his mind out of a sea of wandering thoughts and glanced around, finding four pairs of eyes fixed on him, bemused, expectant, and one bothered.

“It appears that we have lost the Sōrsānt in our dull chatter,” the Ērmārvi of House Carmine smiled, dark eyes gleaming with a patronizing kindness. Next to her, the Sōrmārvi laughed, contorting the old scar that ran across his cheek. “Surely not!”

Hyunjin avoided his mother’s reprimanding gaze, hoping a polite bow of his head would hide his embarrassment. “My apologies. I was lost in thought.”

The Ērmārvi turned to her eldest child. “Yeji, why don’t you walk with the Sōrsānt in the garden?”

“Yes, mother.” the Ērsānvi obliged, standing up with a swish of light beige skirts. She drew a pleasant smile on her lips as she addressed Hyunjin. “My Sōrsānt, would you care for a stroll?”

Hwang Yeji, despite sharing a surname, was no relative of Hyunjin’s. Only another rival more skilled and competent in the Ērmār’s eyes. She had her mother’s delicate features and gentle demeanor, and her father’s talent for Pyro magic—the ideal for a lady of the outer circle, and someone he had to be wary of.

The Sōrsānt responded with a courteous smile of his own, accepting her offer as he rose from his seat. He wouldn’t deny her after being caught unceremoniously spacing out in the hospitality of her family. “I would.”

Yeji led him out of the receiving room, into a glass-domed lobby, and out again to a lovely expanse of greenery. The Carmine residence was an extravagant display of architectural mastery. With tall windows, sweeping arcs, and malevolent pillars, the mansion was the image of elegance and wealth.

The garden Hyunjin was ambling through was maintained with visible care. Birds hopped across lush blades of grass and sang between the branches of plum trees, which had borne sweet fruit and sagged with their weight. Pristinely trimmed bushes lined their stone pathway, peonies embracing sunlight with soft pink petals. A lake shimmered at the end of the path, and Hyunjin could see a flutter of swans on its surface.

It was a place that seemed to coax all the restlessness out of his system and discard it somewhere with the playful breeze.

Hyunjin stopped to admire a bed of peach-colored dahlias when he heard the Ērsānvi speak up behind him, “Sōrsānt?”

He straightened and turned around, curious. He had offered a few lines of small talk on their way, but other than that, the girl had been silent. “Yes?”

Yeji averted her gaze, turning her head away in the slightest, and the cuff on her ear caught the light. Ruby-red, with six spiked points to indicate each piercing. Hyunjin had often thought it resembled a flame.

“House Carmine will be holding my gracing ball in two months’ time,” she said, the words as soft and tentative as the wind tousling her long hair. “It would be a great honor to have you among the attendees.”

She directed her eyes to look at him then, expectant, and Hyunjin felt his throat dry up. This must have been the Ērmārvi’s plan from the start. A simple suggestion between aristocrats couldn’t be one without ulterior motives.

A gracing ball was a tradition amongst the aristocracy who were seeking partners for their daughters. It was a party with the sole purpose of gathering favors from bachelor prospects. In this case, it was also a veiled attempt at the future position of Ērmār of House Amaranthine.

Hyunjin wasn’t surprised. If anything, he guessed he would only be receiving more such invitations in the upcoming days. He was nearly of age, after all, and each of the branch houses was aware of that fact.

He maintained a refined smile when he answered, “It would be my pleasure.”

•❃•

It was a whim that led to Hyunjin sending a summons to your room.

He and the Ērmār had returned to Amaranthine Palace in the depths of the night and were immediately ushered to rest by fussing attendants. When he awakened the next day, the sun was still slumbering, but he was eager to start. Eager to feel the weight of his Kizāri in his hands, the force of it clashing with another’s.

You burst through the doors of his training court, and Hyunjin’s attention was on you before he could help it. You had been in a rush. Your overcoat was yet to be buttoned, your hair loosely styled, and a strange emotion unfurled in his heart at the sight of you.

“Welcome back, Sōrsānt,” you said, sounding breathless as you offered him a formal bow. He had heard those words from staff, guards, and advisors alike since his return, but they resonated differently coming from you. Even though he knew that you were only saying them for the sake of formality.

The smallest of smiles tugged at Hyunjin’s lips. “Good morning.”

You fixed the leather braces around your wrist, sparing the sky a furtive glance before regarding him dubiously. “It is still dark outside.”

“And yet, you are awake,” he quipped, the words rolling easily off his tongue. It had been a while since he’d had an honest exchange with anyone, unwary of hidden motives and masked insults.

Your hands went to the buttons of your coat, working the strings around with ease. A shrug. “I was doing my drills.”

A thought flickered in Hyunjin’s mind, too quick for him to ponder.

“Drill with me, then,” he was saying before he could stop himself, and your hands halted their movement in surprise.

Perhaps, he was feeling rather bold this day, he surmised when no apologies or excuses took shape in his head. He held your gaze, surprisingly at ease when yours was shocked.

You composed yourself, asking with an intrigued tilt of your head, “Is this the reason you summoned me so early?”

He hesitated for a beat. There was no cause he understood for his wish to see you, but he couldn’t admit that aloud. “Yes.”

“All right,” you sighed, visibly relaxing before unsheathing the Kizāri at your back. Under the light of the lanterns, your weapons swiveled and gleamed, light steps in tandem as the two of you performed the basics. Precise jabs and steep swings, quick spins and swift retreat.

Hyunjin could hear you count the moves under your breath, a steady ‘one, two, three’ that soon made him falter to observe your movements. You were deeply focused, controlling your Kizāri with so much strength despite the early hour. You were not one to take Azāri lightly, were you?

He was suddenly filled with a desire for mischief. “I fear for the air from your wrath.”

“I’m imagining it’s you,” you deadpanned, not looking his way, though the joke was obvious in the quirk of your lips.

“Oh?” Hyunjin stabbed the sand with his Kizāri and leaned on it. “I didn’t know I was on your mind so often.”

It seemed that many days away from the palace truly had emboldened him.

The points of a Kizāri flashed before his face, the deadly blades a whisper away from his skin. Your voice sounded behind the weapon, laden with teasing. “You wish.”

That unfamiliar feeling erupted in Hyunjin’s heart once more, and he understood it this time—he had missed you.

•❃•

“Here.”

You looked up from the mouth of your worn waterskin to be faced with the gleam of a silver goblet. The Sōrsānt towered over your sitting form, growing embarrassed when you continued to stare at him blankly.

“It’s refreshing,” he quickly explained.

Water from the palace’s channels? You hesitated to take his offer. Cold water was a luxury you could only enjoy in wintertime, when the bitter bite of frost steeped itself into the air and shards of ice floated in the wells. It would be nice, you thought, to drink from the cooling channels on a summer day such as this. The water would certainly be cooler than that which was maintained by your trusty waterskin.

Though, you never expected Hyunjin, in all his foolish, aristocratic arrogance, to share his water with you. Your mute surprise had begun to infect him, and he retracted his hand slightly, mumbling, “Actually I—”

You reached out and grasped the goblet, sparing him the awkward excuse. When the tips of your fingers brushed his, he pulled his hand back as though the contact had stung and stepped away.

You could tell that he had been pondering this gesture for a while, for his snarky confidence was nowhere to be found. Instead, Hyunjin watched you with tentative anticipation, as if he had expected his plan to go awry from the beginning and had no expectations for its outcome.

You fought back a grin. To make such a fuss over a goblet of water was something only the Sōrsānt was allowed to do. And, mortified, you realized that you wouldn’t have cared if it were anybody else.

Expressions of gratitude were not your greatest strength nor your favored exchange, but you supposed this matter was an exception. So, you turned your gaze toward him, smiling politely. “Thank you.”

You didn’t wait for a response and decided to take a sip from the silver cup in your hand. Cold water raced down your throat, an antidote to the sunbeams glaring at you. You were not short on water, yet it felt that way as you drank more and more. When the goblet emptied, you were almost remorseful.

You noticed Hyunjin still standing there, beaming as though he had achieved a significant feat. It was endearing, as you were once again mortified to find.

Influenced by the kind atmosphere, you dared to ask, “How has your magic training been?”

“Oh,” he blinked, taken aback by your inquiry. “It has been well. I’ve been training to manifest my magic without using sand.”

There was a beat of silence before he added, “Would you like to see?”

You nodded eagerly, and he clasped his hands before him. Though the way Hyunjin performed his magic wasn’t grand, it left you awestruck in the few times you’d witnessed it. Deliberate and careful, it was evidence of the care he poured into his flowering creations.

After a short while of anticipatory silence, Hyunjin visibly relaxed and opened his hands. You pushed yourself to your feet to get a better look at what lay between his palms.

It was a small flower, with petals the color of the sky at sunrise, and it was the loveliest you’d seen of his recent making. You resisted the urge to reach out and pick it up, instead choosing to murmur a compliment. “It’s beautiful, as always.”

“Can you materialize a flower from thin air?” you wondered, to which he shrugged. “I could try.”

Clutching the pink blossom, Hyunjin turned to the side and raised his free hand before him. Why he was humoring your curiosity, you couldn’t tell, but you didn’t ponder over it further.

Long, futile moments later, Hyunjin frowned, shoulders slumping in defeat as he brushed his fingers through his hair. “I don’t think I—”

Your eyes widened, and so did his.

In the wake of Hyunjin’s fingers, between the dark strands of his hair, little flowers unfurled like a smattering of stars. Smiling, innocent, as though this were their destined home.

You were captivated by the sight.

And when Hyunjin’s hands moved to hastily remove the flowers from his hair, your lips were moving before you could realize what was happening. “Stop!”

The Sōrsānt did, bewildered by your outburst. His brows were raised, and you wished for the ground to split open and swallow you at that moment.

Why did you say that?

“Flowers look good on you.”

And another careless thought.

You were sure that if your embarrassment didn’t suffocate you, Hyunjin’s quietness would have. You had crossed the line, you determined when he swiftly gave you his back.

What a senseless thing to say, you chided yourself, starting to apologize when he said nothing. “My apologies, Sōrsānt—”

“You think so?”

Hyunjin’s voice seemed distant, but the hopefulness in it was so palpable it silenced you. Suddenly, apologizing felt like such a stupid idea.

“Yes.”

“Then…I’ll keep them,” he declared softly, turning to face you.

You let a genuine smile adorn your lips. “You should.”

•❃•

Dinner with the Ērmār was Hyunjin’s least favorite part of the day.

The dismal quiet, the stifling tension—it felt as though every breath he took was incomplete. Ever on edge. Endlessly wary.

On this evening, however, the Sōrsānt had something to distract himself with. A new, untainted memory.

Flowers look good on you.

He had recalled those words over and over in his mind, watched that scene repeat endlessly throughout his lessons and meetings. Five simple words that seemed to unveil a part of his heart that he had thought long lost. A statement that filled him with so much warmth, he didn’t know what to do with it.

He had found himself at once embarrassed and overjoyed. What had possessed you to say such a thing?

What was he to do for you to say it again?

The Ērmār placed her silverware over her plate with a soft clink, indicating the end of the dinner and bringing Hyunjin back to the realm of reality. He stood after his mother did, wordlessly pinning his gaze to his half-empty plate as she passed by him.

He anticipated the distancing clatter of her shoes, but instead, it stopped beside him.

“What is that in your hair?”

Hyunjin’s shoulders went rigid at her icy question. He made sure to remove the flowers from his hair before leaving his training court. Had he missed one?

“An accident,” he said, raising a hand to his hair. “You need not worry. I discarded it and made sure no one saw it.”

He couldn’t turn around to face the Ērmār, and he was glad he didn’t have to meet her gaze. She would pierce through him and his blatant lie with cruel ease. He could at least feign some confidence this way.

The Ērmār scoffed after a beat of dubious silence, resuming her exit from the dining hall. “Go wash up. I do not want a repeat of this incident.”

Right, Hyunjin sighed inwardly. The time he shared with you every day was a strange fantasy, and nothing more. Outside his training court, he was but a magicless, useless heir. If he were wiser, he would forget your kindness and seal its memory where he couldn’t retrieve it. Perhaps even discard his magical studies.

But, the Sōrsānt found that he wasn’t the wisest of men.

•❃•

Heading House Amaranthine was the Ērmār’s rightful destiny.

From the moment she had taken her first steps, her parents had ensured she excelled at every field fit for an aristocratic lady. Her skills in magic, the arts, science, and politics had earned the fervent praise of many masters across Greria. Whispers of her beauty and grace chased her anywhere she went.

In her prime, she was the most fitting of the noble ladies to be at the young Sōrmār’s side. She was the only logical choice.

That man was her better in every aspect. The Sōrmār of House Amaranthine was stronger than she was. Kinder, wittier, braver. More graceful and knowledgeable and beautiful than she had ever known a person to be. In a life where she had been alone at the very top of the world, he was a new height to conquer. A challenge, a breath of fresh air, a consolation.

She had loved him at some point in time, as he had loved her too. They were happy, untouchable in their palace, away from everyone else.

Then, he was gone.

Without warning, she was once again alone. So far from the rest of the world, with no companion, no aide. All he had left her was a title, a palace, and a son whom he had cherished with his entire heart.

Hyunjin was the only living part of his father that had remained. And he was nothing like the late Sōrmār.

So, she had to make him be. To give life to the memory of the man she had loved, Hyunjin had to be better in every way. Better than any before him and any who may come. So that he may reside at the utmost heights of the world, never to be reached by another. Just like his father.

Yet, no matter what she did, she found her son to be lacking. His Tilt was a disgrace, his Azāri was imperfect. No matter what, she never saw the late Sōrmār in him. Her vision was only dying in him, and she couldn’t let it be. She refused to lose him twice.

The Ērmār was determined to see the man she had loved again, regardless of the sacrifices she had to make.

Her son stood before her now, tense, with squared shoulders and a raised chin. There was a brazen air to him these days, she didn’t fail to notice.

“The Carmine ball is a month and a half from now, is it not?” she asked as she opened a ledger lying on her desk.

“Yes, mother.”

His responses were always void of confidence, sounding like admittances of defeat. She thought it was evidence of his inherently weak character.

“I want you to express favor toward the Ērsānvi during the event,” the Ērmār said. Yeji was the most promising of the branch Houses’ eligible ladies. It would be foolish not to grasp the opportunity.

“What?”

She looked up from the ledger to find her son clearly displeased. He appeared almost offended at her order.

“Is there a problem?” she narrowed her eyes at him. She couldn’t begin to guess what silly thoughts rampaged in that mind of his.

Hyunjin clenched his jaw, his frustration evident in the lowness of his tone. “Is that truly necessary, mother?”

“Yes,” she responded simply. “This has nothing to do with your personal feelings. Yeji is an excellent young lady and the perfect candidate for the position of Ērmār. It would do you good to start thinking about the House’s future.”

He said nothing, choosing to glare at the floor as if that could change anything. There was a protest in the hunch of his shoulders, and he seemed to be fighting it.

The Ērmār predicted that this would happen. She didn’t trust Hyunjin to make a beneficial decision for himself, let alone for the future of House Amaranthine. She would have to instruct him, as she had always done.

She repeated, louder, having grown tired of this exchange, “Is there a problem with what I said, Hyunjin?”

He stiffened then gave in, finally biting out, “No, mother.”

The Ērmār returned her attention to the open ledger while Hyunjin stalked out of the study without further comments.

She scoffed inwardly. She assumed he was heading to his training court, where he seemed to enjoy spending his time. From sunrise until the sun centered the sky, he was dutifully training. With that foul human.

That girl was still alive, and it had been months since the Ērmār assigned her to be Hyunjin’s training partner. It had been a test. She wanted him to kill the human, but he failed miserably. And as though the humiliation wasn’t enough, he even continued to train with her.

That human’s survival was unacceptable. It was a shame more grave than imaginable. A definitive sign of weakness, and knowing Hyunjin’s pitiful nature, the matter may have escalated beyond remedy.

The Ērmār needed to rid of the Azārāhi soon, and she had a suspicion that a valid justification would reveal itself once she investigated the two of them.

There should be no acceptable reason for her son to be so attached to a human girl, after all.

Part One | Part Two | Part Three

Mini Glossary:

Azārāhi: a skilled practitioner of Azāri.

Azāri: a fighting art developed by the magical Nilfyn.

Ērmār: high master (feminine).

Ērmārvi: minor high master (feminine).

Ērsānt: lower master (feminine).

Ērsānvi: minor lower master (feminine).

Kizāri: the long-handled weapon with an trident-like head used in Azāri.

Sōrmār: high master (masculine).

Sōrmārvi: minor high master (masculine).

Sōrsānt: lower master (masculine).

Sōrsānvi: minor lower master (masculine).

Hello! Thank you for reading this far! I hope you enjoyed the second instalment. Unfortunately, this series will be taking a break due to the start of the academic year. I'll see you in January 2025 for the finale! Thank you for your patience, and I hope you have a lovely rest of your day! ♡

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