#s: bound by faith

[fistsoflightning]

sudden deluge

for wolcredweek day 4: rain/sparks

i think everyone should know this one was saved as was ‘thunderclap to ur bf to hug him’

“Looks to be clearing up,” Thancred said, peering through the window across the room, and leaned his shoulder against the wall beside it, arms crossed over his chest. True to his word, when they glanced up the thunderstorm had died down enough that it was only drizzling over the Crystarium, the afternoon skies gone a light bluish-grey with the clouds. “If only you’d seen Captain Lyna’s face when I told her I could take care of the storm.”

Their hands were still occupied toweling off their hair, but Zaya huffed and rolled their eyes from where they were sitting, knowing they were just at the edge of Thancred’s field of vision even half-turned to the window. It was the Scions’ collective delusion that they were the cause of any unnatural or frequent storms in the area—weather was so fickle, and only bowed in the face of immense aetherial disruption, or whatever Urianger had said. After a hundred years of Light of course the weather would be strange, now that it wasn’t being forcefully dragged into eternal stillness.

Still. It did tend to rain a lot when they wanted to go adventuring, especially when they weren’t looking for it. There was only so much they could write off as bad luck before they started to wonder.

They bent over to comfortably dry the back of their head with the too-large towel; it draped over their forehead and caught on the tips of their horns. “You di’n’t do anything,” they said, muffled but teasing. It was nice to hear him not calling himself useless for once—or unneeded, or other words with similar meanings—but this was a little silly. Probably why he was able to do so, but still.

“I came to get you with an umbrella.”

“Still soaked.”

Thancred paused thoughtfully. “Here I thought that was on purpose,” he said, his voice too close to actual remorse, “but if not I apologize for my late arrival. Never studied the weather in Sharlayan, I’m afraid; I was hardly expecting the cloudburst either.”

“‘s okay,” they said, reaching back with both hands to wring their hair in the towel one last time. A haircut might be nice, soon, but they liked how long it was now even if it was a nuisance when wet. “I did stay in it f’r a bit. Was nice.”

He laughed softly. “It is rather warm today, isn’t it? Ryne’ll be complaining about how humid it is later, I’m sure.”

Zaya made a small noise in acknowledgement, finally freeing themselves from the formerly-white towel; they’d forgotten about their face paint earlier, distracted by all the water dripping down their chin, and now there was a blue smudge smack in the middle of it. Thancred hadn’t seemed to care, though, only giving it a amused look before he walked over to the window. Satisfied that their hair wasn’t dripping onto the shoulders of the dry shirt they’d changed into, they reached down for their shoes to dry off the insides, then glanced up again at the window, and to Thancred.

He was still looking out the tall window at the rain, but there was a certain distant look in his eyes. His voice was quieter when he said, mostly to himself, “Never thought I’d end up homesick for rain.”

They blinked a few times. It was a little too easy to forget how long everyone had been living on the First for, some days. Five years on their end had only been a handful of moons back home, even if those moons felt impossibly long for them.

Thancred glanced back at them, as if suddenly remembering he wasn’t alone to—reminisce, or brood, whichever he was doing—then looked back out the window. “It rained for three days straight before you arrived on the First,” he said, voice clearer now for them to hear but no less sentimental. “Somewhat of a blessing, at the time. Upon seeing the night return to Lakeland, Ryne ran away from me to find your fellow Warriors, and you know well how that went. The downpour kept the Eulmoran airships grounded while the Crystarium gathered its forces—and you, though I didn’t know it then.”

Zaya didn’t know what to say to that. They slipped their now-dry leather shoes back on quietly, the light tap-tap of them putting their feet back down on the tiled floor and the patter of rain against the window the only sounds for a while.

When he spoke up next it was with an exhale, like he was clearing something heavy from his lungs. “When I managed to catch up to Ryne, close enough to see Laxan Loft and the Eulmorans, I remember seeing the curtain of rain and thinking—‘They’re finally here,’” he said. He looked at them almost teasingly, except his eyes were too soft at the corners, matching his smile just shy of a smirk. “It was as if the skies opened the floodgates in preparation for your arrival. Had to get to the Crystarium just to be able to dry off.”

That was even sillier than the belief that they left rain and storms in their wake—they weren’t even on the same shard when it had happened—and Zaya started to laugh without sound but not out of mirth, the muscles in their throat feeling tight and relieved all at once. Thancred finally turned away from the window and the rain to look at them with a slight frown.

“Was what I said that ridiculous?” he asked, but they shook their head and left him to sort out the confusion on his face. Tossing the towel onto the bench, Zaya stood up and with a light crackle of sparks at their heels rushed over, appearing at his side before he could register the sound and wrapping their arms around his neck, pushing up on their toes to not throw him off balance any more than necessary when his head dipped down suddenly from their weight.

“Missed you too,” they said, voice embarrassingly thick for something so little as words. Their face grew hot, but maybe Thancred would pass both off as a side effect of having to tilt their head up not to stab him with their horns, their throat pressed right against his shoulder.

It took a moment, but eventually Thancred returned their hug, and it didn’t matter that they’d already told him how much he was missed before because he tipped his head to press a kiss to their pulse and said, “I suppose I did, didn’t I.”

[tonyjwash]

Do You Obey?

Nothing can make you bristle like the “O” word. I pose this question tonight, not because I am seeking to find you out, but rather so you can find out. Often when believer types think of obedience, their minds turn straight to obeying the rules, known as the commandments. In a general sense they sort of conclude that obeying means following a set of standards, presumably falling short of those…

[oceandolores]

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐫'𝐬 𝐝𝐚𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐞𝐫 | series

Dbf! Joel Miller x female reader

"𝘉𝘶𝘵 𝘐 𝘢𝘭𝘸𝘢𝘺𝘴 𝘬𝘯𝘦𝘸 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘦𝘯𝘥, 𝘯𝘰 𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘰 𝘴𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘮𝘦."

summary: In the small town near Austin, Texas, you are trapped in a life of rigid expectations and silent suffering. As the preacher's daughter, you endure the mental and physical abuse of your father while your mother, bound by obedience, offers quiet love. Your longing for a father's warmth finds an unexpected solace in Joel Miller, your father's best friend and neighbor. In Joel's presence, you discover a forbidden sanctuary, where your yearning heart is met with a gentle strength you've never known.

warnings: 18+ only, Minors DNI, AU, No outbreak. (TW) mentions of substance abuse/alcohol use disorder, adult content, religion abuse, violence, blood gore, mentions of death, sexual abuse, sexual content, domestic violences, ped0ph!l1a, cann1bal!sm, human traff1ck1ng, dad's best friend!Joel, HUGE age gap (i will not specify her exact age, but she's legal and Joel is 49), daddy issues, mentions of toxic family dynamic, Joel is widowed, Ellie is 16, angst, smut A LOT, forbidden relationship, soft and protective Joel, innocent and pure reader. your last name is Gibson. any other details will be explain throughout the story. inspired by the album Preacher's daughter by Ethel Cain and also mix with lana del rey vibes.

CHAPTER 1

masterlist of the series!

next | chapter 2

The Texas sun had a way of casting long, dramatic shadows across the sprawling landscape, painting the world in hues of gold and amber. In small town near Austin, the heat clung to everything, wrapping the town in a sweltering embrace that seemed to slow time itself. You, a preacher's daughter on the cusp of graduation, trapped in the rigid confines of a life dictated by faith and fear.

Your father, Reverend Gibson, was a towering figure in the community, his voice booming from the pulpit every Sunday, filling the church with sermons about sin and salvation. To the congregation, he was a man of God, a beacon of righteousness. But within the walls of your home, he was a tyrant. His heavy hand and harsh words left marks not just on your skin, but deep within your soul. Your mother, ever the obedient wife, offered what little comfort she could, but her love was a quiet, subdued thing, overshadowed by her fear of defying your father.

The Millers lived just a few houses down, their home a testament to both prosperity and tragedy. Joel Miller was your father’s best friend from high school, a bond forged in the fires of youth but strained by the paths they had chosen. While your father found his calling in the church, Joel built a successful construction business with his younger brother, Tommy.

Joel and Tommy not live far from each other, while your house is just one house away from Joel, Tommy is a few houses down from Joel's.

The Miller brothers were well-known and respected in the community, their work evident in the many buildings that dotted the town.

Joel’s life had been forever altered by a single, devastating moment. He had lost his wife and daughter in a car accident, an accident where he had been behind the wheel. The guilt of their deaths weighed heavily on him, a burden he carried in the lines of his face and the shadows in his eyes.

Since that tragic day, he had distanced himself from the church, finding solace instead in his work and in raising his adopted daughter, Ellie. Joel has adopted Ellie when she was only 10 years old with the help of Tommy.

At 16, Ellie was a spirited girl, one of your juniors at school. She attended church every Sunday with her uncle Tommy, her presence a reminder of the Millers’ lingering faith.

Tommy, married to Maria, had recently welcomed a baby boy into their family. The joy of new life was a stark contrast to the sorrow that had marked Joel’s existence. The Millers were a close-knit family, their bonds of loyalty and love a stark contrast to the fractured and tense environment of your own home.

You had known the Millers your entire life, their presence a constant thread in the fabric of your existence. Yet, as you stood on the brink of adulthood, your interactions with them took on a new significance. Your father’s sermons about the dangers of straying from the path of righteousness echoed in your mind, but so did your longing for something more, something real and tangible.

It was just another Sunday, and you were helping your dad with the after-service fellowship. The congregation mingled in the church hall, sharing coffee and pastries, their voices a low hum of conversation and laughter. You moved through the crowd with a tray of refreshments, offering smiles and polite nods, your mind elsewhere.

The Sunday service had been like any other, filled with hymns, prayers, and your father’s booming voice delivering his sermon. Today, he had spoken about temptation and the perils of straying from God’s path, his words heavy with the weight of his own fervent belief. As always, you felt the eyes of the congregation on you, the preacher’s daughter, the living example of his teachings.

You couldn’t help but glance towards the back of the room, where Tommy and Ellie stood, their presence a rare but welcome sight. Joel, as expected, was absent, his appearances in church growing increasingly sporadic since the accident.

Your thoughts kept drifting to Joel Miller. It had been years since the tragedy that had claimed his wife and daughter, leaving an indelible mark on him, transforming a once regular churchgoer into a haunted, reclusive figure.

You didn't really know or remember Joel's wife and daughter. Sarah Miller had been much older than you, and she passed away when you were only five. The memories you had of them were hazy at best, a blur of faces and voices that you couldn’t quite place.

Ellie caught your eye and waved, her smile bright and genuine. You waved back, feeling a pang of longing for the carefree spirit she embodied. She was one of the few people in your life who treated you like a normal person, not just the preacher’s daughter.

After the service, as the crowd began to thin, you found yourself gravitating towards Tommy and Ellie. Tommy, ever the warm and approachable figure, greeted you with a smile. “Hey, kiddo. How’ve you been?”

You returned his smile, the tension in your shoulders easing slightly. “I’m good, Tommy. How’s Maria and the baby?”

Tommy’s face lit up with pride. “They’re great. Little Luke’s growing like a weed. Maria’s over the moon, of course.”

Ellie nudged you playfully. “You should come over and meet him sometime. He’s the cutest.”

You laughed softly. “I’d love that.”

Tommy’s expression grew more serious as he glanced around the room. “How’s your dad doing with all the church activities? Keeping busy?”

You nodded, forcing a smile. “Yeah, he’s always got something going on. Keeps him out of trouble, I guess.”

Tommy chuckled. “Good to hear. Your family always looks so put together. It’s impressive, really.”

You shrugged, trying to brush off the compliment. “We just try to do our best.”

As you continued chatting, the weight on your shoulders seemed to lighten, if only for a moment. Ellie shared stories about school, her infectious laughter bringing a smile to your face.

“So, any plans after graduation?” Ellie asked, her eyes twinkling with curiosity.

You hesitated, the uncertainty of your future looming large. “I’m not sure yet. I’ve been thinking about college, but it’s complicated.”

Tommy’s expression grew serious again. “You should follow your dreams, kid. Don’t let anything hold you back.”

You nodded, grateful for their support. “I’ll keep that in mind. Thanks, Tommy.”

As you chatted with Tommy and Ellie, you couldn’t shake the feeling of being watched. Glancing around, you caught your father’s stern gaze from across the room. His eyes were a silent warning, a reminder of your place and the expectations that came with it.

Excusing yourself, you slipped out of the church hall, needing a moment of solitude. Your dad won't notice you are gone a little, your job has been taken by your mom.

The Texas heat hit you as soon as you stepped outside, the late afternoon sun casting long shadows across the gravel parking lot. You decided to walk, the streets feeling empty because everyone was still in church. As you walked aimlessly, your mind whirled with conflicting thoughts and emotions.

You found yourself drawn towards the lake behind the church and the town, a place far enough to avoid everyone. The lake and the surrounding forest were comforting, a sanctuary from the oppressive atmosphere of your home.

Looking around to ensure you were alone, you carefully pulled out your cigarettes and lit one, taking a long drag. Your parents never knew you were quite a smoker, especially your father. If he ever found out, the repercussions would be severe, his wrath swift and unrelenting. The thought of his anger made you shudder.

You decided to sit by the old fallen tree near the lake. It was very quiet, the only sounds were the rustling of leaves and the gentle lapping of water against the shore. You loved to come here every chance you got, a hidden escape from the prying eyes and harsh judgments of your daily life. As you exhaled a cloud of smoke, you heard a rustling sound in the underbrush.

Startled, you quickly put out your cigarette and looked up. Emerging from the trees was Joel, a hunting rifle slung over his shoulder. Your heart pounded in your chest as you met his gaze. "Joel?" you stammered, hoping he hadn’t noticed the cigarette.

He looked at you, then at the still-smoking cigarette butt near your feet. His expression was unreadable, but you felt a wave of fear. What if he told your father?

Joel approached, his steps slow and deliberate. "Didn’t expect to see you out here," he said, his voice as gruff as ever.

You swallowed hard, trying to keep your voice steady. "I… I just needed some air."

Joel’s eyes flicked to the cigarette again. "That why you’re hiding out here? To smoke?"

You bit your lip, the truth hanging heavily between you. "Please don’t tell my dad," you whispered, the desperation clear in your voice.

Joel sighed, his expression softening slightly. "Your secret’s safe with me," he said finally, a hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

Relief flooded through you, and you nodded gratefully. "Thank you,"

As you stood up, brushing off the dirt and bits of wood that had stained your dress, you noticed Joel's gaze lingering on the rifle in his hand and the heavy boots caked with mud.

"You didn’t come to church today," you said, your curiosity overcoming your apprehension. You had noticed his absence with the frequency that had become almost routine over the years.

He glanced at you, the stern lines of his face softening slightly. “Yeah, I’ve been... busy,” he replied, his tone clipped and noncommittal.

You took in the sight of him, his rugged appearance a stark contrast to the tidy, polished look of the other churchgoers. The rifle and the muddy boots seemed to tell a story of their own, a story that was far removed from the neat rows of pews and the polished wooden floors of the church.

“You know, Father always says that you used to come every Sunday,” you said, trying to sound casual. “He misses you at church. Everyone does.”

Joel’s expression hardened again, the hint of vulnerability disappearing behind his usual reserve. “Yeah, well, things change,” he said tersely, his gaze fixed on the horizon. “People change.”

You wanted to press further, to understand what had driven him away, but you knew better than to push too hard. Joel was a man of few words, his emotional landscape a guarded territory. You had seen it in the way he interacted with Ellie, the way he kept his distance, the way he seemed to be perpetually battling some invisible storm.

"Are you okay?" you asked quietly, your concern slipping through despite your efforts to remain detached.

Joel’s eyes met yours, and for a moment, you saw a flicker of something raw and unspoken. He shook his head, as if to clear the thoughts from his mind. "Just trying to get by, same as anyone," he said gruffly. “Out here, it’s a little easier to do that.”

You nodded, accepting his answer even if it left many questions unanswered. The silence between you stretched, filled only with the distant chirping of birds and the gentle rustling of leaves.

Joel shifted, breaking the silence. “What are you doing out here anyway? It’s quite a trek from town. This place isn’t exactly safe, you know.” His tone was a mixture of concern and curiosity, revealing a sliver of his protective nature.

You sighed, glancing around the lake and forest. “I needed a break. Just... needed to be away from everything for a bit. It’s peaceful here." You looked at Joel, your eyes subtly asking if it was okay to continue smoking.

Joel noticed your look but chose not to comment immediately. Instead, he took a few steps closer, his boots crunching softly on the gravel. You took that as an invitation and sat down under a large tree near the lake, patting the grass beside you.

“Feel free to join me if you want,” you offered, your voice light despite the heaviness of the situation.

Joel hesitated for a moment before sitting down next to you. His presence was a grounding force, even if he wasn’t the most expressive. He glanced at the cigarette pack you had placed on the grass between you.

“Want one?” you offered, extending the pack towards him.

Joel shook his head with a faint, rueful smile. “Nah, I’m good. I’m not sure it’s right to be smoking in front of you.”

You laughed softly, shaking your head. “I thought you of all people wouldn’t judge me for it.”

Joel chuckled, a rare, genuine sound. “Yeah, well, I guess I’m a bit of a hypocrite when it comes to that. I’ve had my share of bad habits.”

You nodded, accepting his refusal. “How are you, Joel? I don’t see you much,” you said, your curiosity evident. It was true; Joel had been increasingly distant from the people in your town, retreating into a shell of his own making.

He met your gaze briefly, a flicker of something you couldn’t quite place crossing his features. “Just... getting by. Working hard, dealing with stuff. Not much else to it.”

There was a weariness in his voice that spoke of battles fought silently and wounds healed only with time. It was clear that the years had not been kind to Joel, even if he tried to mask it behind a facade of rugged determination.

You sensed that pushing further wouldn’t get you anywhere. Joel was not one to open up easily, and you could see that the topic of his feelings was closed off. You decided to shift the conversation, sensing that it was best to focus on something lighter.

"How’s school?” he asked, his tone shifting to something slightly more personal but still restrained. “Almost done, right?”

You nodded, a smile touching your lips despite the lingering tension. “Yeah, I’m just a few months away from graduating. It’s been a whirlwind, but I’m looking forward to it.”

“That’s good to hear,” Joel replied, giving a slight nod. “High school’s a big deal. A lot changes after that.”

You shifted slightly, tucking your legs beneath you as you sat on the grass. “It is. It feels like the end of one chapter and the start of another.” You took a deep drag from your cigarette, the smoke curling around you in the still air. Exhaling slowly, you continued, “I just want to get out of here.”

Joel’s gaze, always direct, fixed on you. He didn’t speak immediately, allowing the weight of your words to settle between you. He shifted his weight, leaning slightly on the rifle, his hands still coated in the grime of the day’s work. “Yeah?” he finally said, his tone soft but edged with curiosity. “Where do you want to go?”

You looked out over the lake, its calm surface reflecting the last rays of the sun. “Anywhere but here,” you said with a sigh. “I want to leave this town, start fresh somewhere new. I’ve been dreaming about it for a long time.”

Joel watched you silently for a moment, his expression unreadable. “Sometimes getting out can seem like the only way to find something better,” he said slowly. “But it ain’t always as simple as it sounds.”

You took another drag from your cigarette, the ember glowing brightly as you exhaled. “I know it’s not that simple,” you said quietly. “But it feels like I’m suffocating here. I just need... something different. Something real.”

Joel’s eyes narrowed slightly, his gaze not unkind but keenly observant. There was a protective instinct in him that had always been there, even when you were much younger. He sensed there was more to your words than just a desire to leave town. The carefully constructed façade of normalcy that your family projected wasn’t lost on him, though he had never delved into the specifics of your home life.

“You know,” Joel began, his voice taking on a slightly softer tone, “sometimes people want to leave for reasons that go beyond what they’re willing to say. It’s one thing to want a new place, but it’s another to be running from something.”

You stiffened slightly, the cigarette now nothing more than a stub between your fingers. You were careful not to let your emotions betray you. “It’s not just about running away,” you said, trying to keep your voice steady. “It’s about finding a place where I can breathe.”

Joel nodded, his gaze steady. “And you think you’ll find that out there?”

“I hope so,” you said. “I just need to get out and find out for myself. It’s been hard to see beyond this place.”

Joel shifted his weight, leaning on his rifle. His rugged face, often set in lines of stoicism, now bore a hint of concern. “You know, I’ve seen a lot of folks runnin’ away from what they don’t want to face. Sometimes they find what they’re lookin’ for, sometimes they don’t. But it’s dangerous out there for someone who’s not ready.”

You looked at him, sensing the genuine concern behind his words. “I’m ready,” you said softly. “I’ve been ready for a long time.”

Joel studied you for a moment longer, his fatherly instincts kicking in. He could see the innocence in your eyes, the quiet strength that belied your troubled soul. He had been a father before, and he knew what it was like to want to protect someone from the harsh realities of the world.

But then, with a shift in his demeanor, Joel decided it wasn’t his business to involve himself further. He cared for you, that much was clear, but he also knew his boundaries. His expression hardened slightly, a testament to his tendency to keep people at a distance. 

“Look,” he said gruffly, his Southern accent thickening his words, “it’s not my place to get too involved in this. You’re gonna have to handle things your way.” His tone was direct, carrying the weight of a man who had learned to let his actions speak louder than his words.

Despite the coldness in his voice, there was a flicker of tenderness in his eyes, a brief glimpse of the protective instincts that lingered beneath his guarded exterior. Joel operated in a morally gray area, making decisions that were often difficult and controversial, and he understood the complexities of navigating a world where right and wrong were not always clear.

He wanted to help, but his experience had taught him that sometimes the best way to show care was to step back and allow others to find their own way.

“You know,” Joel said, shifting the topic slightly, “Ellie talks about you sometimes. Says you’re smart, and she admires you for stickin’ it out. She’s got a good head on her shoulders, but she looks up to you. So, if there’s ever a time you need someone to talk to, or if you just need a friend, don’t hesitate to reach out. I may not be the best at this whole ‘talkin’’ thing, but I’m here if you need me.”

You appreciated his attempt to offer support, even if it came in a roundabout way. “Thanks, Joel. It’s nice to know that someone cares,” you said, smiling as you put out the cigarette.

Joel watched you with a mixture of concern and curiosity, as if weighing whether to press further. You could see that he was struggling with how much to say, his usual reserve at odds with the genuine warmth he was trying to convey.

“Well,” you said, glancing at the fading light, “I should head back to the church before Dad notices I’m gone.”

Joel shifted his stance, a hint of hesitation in his eyes. “You sure you don’t want a ride back? It’s a long walk, and it’s gettin’ dark.”

You shook your head, feeling a pang of guilt for declining his offer. “I appreciate it, Joel, but I don’t want to trouble you. I can manage the walk.”

Joel’s brow furrowed, and he gave a firm nod. “It ain’t no trouble. It’s just a ride. Besides, I’d rather make sure you get back safely.”

His insistence made you feel slightly uncomfortable, but you also recognized his sincerity. Raised to be polite and considerate, you found it difficult to refuse when someone was being genuinely helpful.

“Alright,” you said reluctantly, “if you insist. Thank you.”

Joel nodded, his face softening a bit as he walked over to his truck. The vehicle was old but reliable, with a rugged appearance that matched Joel’s own. He opened the passenger side door for you, gesturing for you to get in.

As you climbed into the truck, Joel got into the driver’s seat and started the engine. The interior was a mix of practical and worn, with a faint smell of leather and earth. Joel drove with a steady, practiced hand, the truck rumbling over the uneven terrain as he navigated the path back to town.

The silence in the truck was comfortable, with only the sound of the engine and the occasional rustle of the trees breaking it. You stared out the window, the fading sunlight casting a warm glow over the landscape. You could feel the weight of the day’s conversations settling in, and the quiet offered a moment of reflection.

After a few minutes, the truck rolled into town, the familiar sights coming into view. Joel slowed as he approached the church, where you could see the remaining congregants beginning to disperse.

Joel pulled up to the curb and stopped the truck. "We're here."

"Thank you once again, Joel. It’s good catching up with you," you said, giving him a grateful smile. Just as you were about to step out of the truck, you spotted your father from a distance. A sinking feeling washed over you as you realized he had seen you.

“Oh no,” you muttered, catching Joel’s eye. He turned to see your father walking towards the truck, a determined look on his face.

Joel, ever the gentleman, exited the truck as well. You followed suit, feeling a knot tighten in your stomach. Your father, who had been conversing with some church members, excused himself and made his way towards you and Joel.

“Evening, Reverend,” Joel greeted, extending a hand.

“Evening, Joel,” your father said with his usual charming demeanor, shaking Joel’s hand firmly. “It’s been a while. I hope you’ve been well.”

Joel’s expression was polite but reserved. “Can’t complain. Been keeping busy.”

“I’m glad to hear that,” your father replied smoothly. “You know, we’ve missed you at church. It would be good to see you back.”

Joel gave a noncommittal nod, his discomfort barely masked. “Maybe sometime.”

As your father turned his attention to you, his smile faltered slightly. “And where have you been, young lady? You were supposed to help with the service.”

You flinched at the stern tone, feeling his grip tighten around your arm as he spoke. “I was just taking a walk, Dad. Joel gave me a ride back.”

Your father’s grip was rough and unyielding, his fingers digging into your arm with a strength that was both painful and controlling. Joel noticed, his gaze briefly flicking to your father’s hand before returning to his face.

“Is that right?” your father said, his voice carrying a hint of disapproval. “Well, I hope you weren’t gone too long. We have responsibilities.”

"Yes, I'm sorry, father." You said smile a little to hide the pain he's causing you.

Joel cleared his throat, attempting to steer the conversation away from the tension. “I’m just making sure she gets back safe."

“Of course,” your father said, releasing your arm but maintaining a veneer of politeness. “We have a dinner invitation from Tommy and Maria next Saturday. I trust you’ll be joining us?”

Joel looked momentarily surprised. “Well, I'm supposed I am,"

Your father’s smile widened, a glint of satisfaction in his eyes. “Yes, they extended the invitation to our family. It will be good to catch up.”

Joel nodded, his expression neutral. “I’ll have to check with Ellie, but I’m sure we’ll make it.”

“Excellent,” your father said, still maintaining his charming facade. “It’ll be good for everyone to reconnect.”

As the conversation continued, Joel’s discomfort grew. He noticed the strain in your father’s demeanor and the way he seemed to be masking a more sinister undertone behind his polite words. Joel had been out of the social loop for a while, but he was perceptive enough to sense when something was off, even if he chose not to probe further.

“Well,” Joel said, his tone shifting to one of finality, “I better be on my way. Got some things to take care of. It was good seeing you again, Reverend. And you too,” he added, offering you a brief, reassuring smile.

You gave him a grateful nod, feeling a mixture of relief and apprehension. “Thank you, Joel."

Joel, giving one last nod before turning to leave. As he walked away, you could feel the weight of the evening’s encounters settling heavily on your shoulders. The brief respite you’d found in Joel’s company had been overshadowed by the return of your father’s control and the unsettling realization that your escape from this small town and its complexities might be more challenging than you had hoped.

After the Sunday service, you returned home with a heavy heart. The warmth of the day had turned cold, and the familiar feeling of dread settled over you as you approached the house. Inside, the tension was palpable, and the moment you walked through the door, you knew there would be consequences for your absence during the service.

Your father’s voice was stern and unforgiving as he called you into the living room. “You’ve abandoned your duties. Do you have any idea what that means?”

You tried to explain, but his anger cut you off. “I was just trying to get some fresh air, Dad. I didn’t mean—”

Before you could finish, he was on you, grabbing your arm with a grip that left no room for argument. He dragged you to the center of the room, his face a mask of fury. “You’ve abandoned your duty. It’s about respect and responsibility. You know how important this is.”

“No, please, Dad, don’t. I’m so sorry. I will not do it again,” you pleaded, your voice trembling.

The fear in your voice only seemed to fuel his anger. He disappeared into the hallway, returning with his belt in hand. The leather looked menacing, and your heart raced as you saw it.

“Please, Dad, I’m sorry,” you continued to beg. “I didn’t mean to disobey. I’ll make it right. Just please—”

Your father’s face was a mask of cold determination. “Take off your dress and face the wall,” he ordered, his voice steely. “You needs to be taught a lesson.”

You could barely keep your composure as you undressed, your body shaking with fear and dread. The scars on your back from a previous punishment throbbed with anticipation. When you were finally positioned with your back to him, every nerve in your body was on edge.

The first crack of the belt was sharp and painfully immediate. The sound echoed through the room, followed by a searing pain that made you flinch. You cried out, tears streaming down your face. “I’m sorry! I’m so sorry!” you sobbed, your voice breaking with each cry of pain.

You could feel the belt cutting into your already tender skin, the sensation of bleeding mixing with the agony of the blows. Each strike felt like a betrayal of your trust, a reminder of the harsh world you were trapped in.

Your mother stood in the doorway of the kitchen, her face pale and tear-streaked. She wanted to intervene, but fear held her back. She could only watch helplessly as you were punished, her own sobs mingling with your cries of pain.

In a desperate attempt to mask the sounds of the abuse from the neighbors, she turned the gospel music up loud, hoping the noise would cover your screams and your father’s harsh words.

The music blared in the background, a twisted contrast to the suffering in the room. It felt like a cruel mockery, the joyous hymns clashing with the reality of your punishment. Your mother’s tears fell silently as she stood by, unable to offer more than the muted comfort of her presence.

As the beating continued, your strength waned. The pain was overwhelming, a relentless reminder of the control your father exerted over every aspect of your life. You could only endure, hoping for it to end soon, each moment stretching out painfully as you clung to the hope that this would be the last of such torment.

When he finally stopped, you were left huddled on the floor, your body aching and your spirit broken. Your father’s anger subsided, leaving him with a cold, resolute expression. “I hope you’ve learned your lesson,” he said gruffly, his voice devoid of empathy. “Disobedience won’t be tolerated.”

Your mother rushed to your side as soon as your father left the room, her hands trembling, “I’m so sorry,” she whispered through her tears, her voice filled with sorrow and helplessness.

You looked at her through blurred vision, your own tears mingling with hers. “I—It's okay, mama." you said weakly, your voice strained and shaky. “It’s my fault."

She helped you put your dress back on, her fingers brushing gently over the raw marks on your skin, causing you to wince. Each movement was a reminder of the pain you were enduring.

As you slowly gathered your strength, your mother helped you to a nearby chair, her hands still shaking. She sat beside you, her presence a small but comforting anchor in the storm of your emotions. The music from the kitchen blared on, a cruel backdrop to the quiet moments of shared sorrow between mother and daughter.

In the midst of the pain and turmoil, there was a flicker of hope that someday, somehow, you might find a way out of the darkness. For now, though, you could only cling to the small comforts and the hope that things might one day be different.

[novaursa]

Ashes of the Faithful

- Summary: After Faith of the Seven has sent an assassin to kill you, Maegor declares war against the gods.

- Paring: niece!reader/Maegor I Targaryen

- Note: This story is part of Fire and Blood series, and it happens right after Fragile Hope. The masterlist is pinned to the top of my blog.

- Rating: Mature 16+

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @alyssa-dayne @oxymakestheworldgoround

The flickering light of torches casts an eerie glow over the Great Hall, illuminating the black banners emblazoned with the three-headed dragon of House Targaryen. The air buzzes with the voices of lords and ladies gathered to celebrate Maegor’s victories and his long-sought return to the Iron Throne. A bitter smile plays across your lips as you shift your hand to rest protectively over your stomach, feeling the soft, burgeoning weight there—the promise of Maegor’s heir. After years of separation, of exile and whispered prayers in the cold halls of Dragonstone, you’ve finally returned to his side, bound by his unbreakable will. Maegor’s unwavering gaze follows you as you rise to mingle with the guests, his expression one of fierce pride and possessiveness.

The evening wears on, and you share fleeting glances with your husband from across the hall, silently marveling at the sheer force he exudes even from a distance. Though your union remains contested by the Faith, and many openly despise him, none would dare deny the power Maegor wields. The hall quiets as he rises to make a toast, raising a goblet of wine.

"To House Targaryen, unbroken and bound by blood and fire," he declares, his voice a low, dangerous rumble that commands attention. "And to my queen, who carries our future within her.”

The guests raise their goblets, voices mingling in a chorus, though you can see the apprehension in some eyes, the covert glances exchanged by certain highborn lords and pious knights, wary of the Faith's condemnation.

As the applause fades, you make your way toward the shadows for a brief respite from the crowd, grateful for a moment to gather your breath. But in the next heartbeat, the chill of steel presses against your throat, and you realize—too late—what is happening. The assailant’s voice is a venomous hiss in your ear, dripping with fervent conviction.

“Your unholy union will end here, for the gods do not suffer blasphemy.”

You struggle, reaching instinctively to shield the precious life growing within you, but the assassin’s grip is unyielding. A muffled shout erupts somewhere in the hall, and the clash of steel on steel fills the air. In the chaos, you’re suddenly yanked backward as Maegor’s knights descend upon the attacker. The glint of Maegor’s own sword, Blackfyre, catches the torchlight as he strides forward, his face a mask of pure, unrestrained fury.

His voice is a low snarl. “Who sent you?”

The assassin glares defiantly, his eyes bright with fanatical zeal as he spits, "The Faith will never bless your bastard line."

The words are met with the brutal swipe of Maegor’s fist, sending the man sprawling. Maegor’s rage is unmistakable, a tempest waiting to be unleashed. He barely spares a glance for the blood pooling beneath the assassin as his gaze shifts to you, his voice softening, though the raw intensity remains.

"Are you hurt?"

You shake your head, reaching a trembling hand toward him. "Our child… I feared…"

He clasps your hand in his, grounding you with the weight of his presence. “No one will dare harm you again,” he promises, his tone as unyielding as iron. His thumb brushes over your knuckles, a rare display of tenderness that only you are allowed to see, and in his eyes, you catch a glimpse of the lengths he would go to keep that vow.

The assassin, barely conscious, is dragged upright by Maegor’s guards. Without hesitation, Maegor approaches, towering over the man like an avenging shadow. “Tell me the names of those who sent you,” he demands.

When the man remains silent, defiance flickering in his gaze, Maegor lifts his sword. Blackfyre’s blade gleams ominously in the torchlight, and his words are laced with icy finality. “If the Faith dares to send another of your kind, I will burn their septs to the ground. And you will be the first to watch.”

A ripple of fear passes through the onlookers, their expressions a mix of awe and terror as they watch their king take vengeance. Maegor turns to you, his voice softer. "Return to your chambers, Y/N. I will handle this."

Though you hesitate, knowing the bloodshed to come, you nod. "I trust you, my king," you whisper, pressing a hand to his cheek before leaving.

In your chambers, guarded on all sides, you try to steady your breathing. The shadows outside flicker, signaling the torches carried by men as they move through the halls. Soon, shouts echo from the square below, where you know Maegor has gathered his court to witness the assassin’s fate, a display meant to instill fear in any who would challenge his claim—or threaten his family.

As you sit, the quiet hum of life within you reassures you. Whatever comes, you and your child are shielded by the relentless force of Maegor’s love, a love bound in fire and forged through blood.

Hours later, he returns, smelling faintly of smoke and steel, his eyes softening when they meet yours. "It is done," he murmurs, his voice a mixture of exhaustion and conviction.

You reach for him, pulling him close, and whisper, "Thank you, Maegor. For us… and for our child."

He presses his lips to your forehead, a rare, almost reverent gesture. "No one will take you from me, Y/N. Not the Faith, not the realm. None can come between us."

And in that moment, beneath the pale moonlight, you believe him.

The dawn breaks in a haze of gray clouds, but for you, the morning feels no less ominous. You watch from a high window in Maegor’s hall as Balerion, the Black Dread, spreads his wings wide across the sky, casting an enormous shadow over the land. Maegor’s resolve is unshakable, and he has vowed that the Faith will answer for their transgressions. He has given orders, brief and absolute, his voice carrying the weight of his fury. None could miss the look in his eyes—the wildfire rage that demanded to be sated.

As he prepares to mount Balerion, he approaches you, his gloved hand reaching out to tilt your chin upward, forcing you to meet his gaze. His eyes, dark and relentless, seem to devour you.

“This realm has mocked me for the last time, Y/N,” he says, his tone simmering with a quiet rage that sends a chill through you. “They do not know loyalty or respect; they only know fear. I will make them remember it.”

You rest a hand over your belly protectively, feeling the faint stir within you, as if the child growing there senses the dread. “And the Starry Sept?” you ask quietly, knowing all too well what its destruction would mean, not only for the Faith but also for the Hightower family—his late wife’s kin.

His lips twist into a cruel smile. “That den of false gods and hypocrites? It shall be the first to burn. None will dare to insult my queen again.”

You nod, feeling an odd mixture of fear and awe as you stand beside him. The Maegor before you is no longer just a man—he is a storm incarnate, a maelstrom of fury bound to a creature of fire and shadow. “They will see Balerion’s flame from miles away,” you murmur, almost to yourself.

He leans in, his hand settling over yours on your stomach, where his heir grows. “I do this for you and for our child. So you will live without fear. So our child will not know a world that questions his right.”

You swallow, feeling the intensity of his words and knowing that, in his twisted way, Maegor does love you deeply—perhaps as much as he can love anything. “Come back to me,” you whisper, pressing your forehead against his. “Return to us, Maegor.”

He gives you a rare, almost tender smile, before pulling away, the steel in his eyes returning. “Wait for me, Y/N,” he says, his voice firm. “By the time the moon rises, the Faith will feel the fire of House Targaryen.”

With that, he mounts Balerion, and you watch as they rise into the sky, becoming a dark silhouette against the dawn. The moment they disappear over the horizon, you turn back into the hall, nerves tingling with the knowledge of the destruction to come.

The Starry Sept in Oldtown stands proud as it always has, a beacon of the Faith’s ancient power. Its towering walls, adorned with stars and golden trimmings, seem almost untouched by the passage of time, a testament to its sanctity. The Faith Militant, dressed in their glinting silver armor, stand guard outside, their hands resting on the pommels of their swords.

And then, a shadow falls over Oldtown.

The people in the streets look up, gasping, children screaming as they behold the black shape in the sky, his massive wings blotting out the sun. The bells of the Starry Sept toll, signaling a warning, but it is already too late. Balerion lands with a bone-rattling impact, his claws digging into the earth just outside the grand doors of the sept. Dust and debris fly as the ground trembles beneath his weight. The Faith Militant immediately raise their shields and swords, but they are little more than ants to the dragon that towers over them.

Maegor, seated upon Balerion’s back, calls out, his voice echoing like thunder through the city. “I am Maegor Targaryen, your rightful king! And I declare the Faith Militant enemies of the realm!”

There is a murmur of defiance from the knights below, and one of the septons dares to raise his voice. “You blaspheme, Maegor! The gods themselves deny your union. You will face judgment!”

Maegor lets out a short, humorless laugh, glancing down at the man with disdain. “Then let your gods protect you from my wrath.” He raises his arm, signaling to Balerion.

With a rumbling growl that reverberates through the stone walls, Balerion opens his jaws, and a torrent of fire bursts forth, consuming the sept’s doors in an instant. The flame spreads with terrifying speed, licking up the stone walls and turning them to blackened, smoking ruin. The Faith Militant try to flee, but Balerion’s fire is relentless, consuming them as they run, their silver armor melting, the flesh beneath charring to bone.

The people of Oldtown watch in horror from the streets and rooftops, their faces pale, their voices strangled with fear. Maegor’s voice rises above the roar of the flames, clear and unyielding.

“This is what happens to those who defy the Crown,” he shouts, his voice filled with the fury of a man wronged for too long. “To those who think they can take my queen from me.”

The sept’s grand structure crumbles as the fire sears through wood, stone, and glass alike. The stained glass windows, depicting scenes of saints and the Seven, shatter in the intense heat, raining shards upon the Faith Militant and those unfortunate enough to be nearby. Balerion’s fire leaves no sanctuary, no corner of the sept untouched. Statues of the gods melt under the flames, the Seven themselves reduced to ash and rubble, as if even they cannot withstand Maegor’s wrath.

From his perch atop Balerion, Maegor watches with an unsettling satisfaction. His expression is grim, merciless, as he surveys the destruction below. The High Septon himself, garbed in his white and gold robes, flees the Starry Sept, clutching a holy tome to his chest as though it might shield him from the flames. Maegor’s gaze locks onto him, his mouth twisting into a sneer.

“You, who claim to be closest to the gods, will not escape their punishment,” Maegor calls, his voice carrying across the square.

The High Septon falls to his knees, raising his trembling hands in a plea. “Spare me, Your Grace! I have served the gods faithfully—I am but their humble servant!”

Maegor’s face hardens, the glint in his eyes cold and unfeeling. “Your Faith sent assassins after my queen, my child,” he growls. “You will burn for that.”

With another signal, Balerion releases another torrent of fire, engulfing the High Septon in a scorching blaze. His screams echo through Oldtown, a terrible symphony of agony that seems to reach even the highest towers of the Hightower itself. The onlookers, paralyzed by fear, watch as the flames consume the last remnants of the Starry Sept and those who served within it. The High Septon’s cries fall silent, leaving only the crackling of fire and the distant sobbing of townsfolk horrified by the display of power.

As the Starry Sept collapses in a smoldering heap, Maegor directs Balerion to soar higher, circling the ruined city below. His gaze sweeps over the Hightower, a place where he once lived when he took a wife from among their daughters—a wife who dared to defy his queen, to question the place of Y/N at his side. Her blood, like that of the septons below, was shed without hesitation. Maegor has always ensured that no voice rises above his own, not even those of the gods.

But now, his voice rings out again across Oldtown, a decree that none can ignore.

“Let it be known throughout the realm,” he declares, “that the Faith Militant and any who align themselves with the false righteousness of the gods shall face the same fate. No man, no god, no Septon shall question the rule of House Targaryen or my right to claim my queen.”

The words echo in the silence, seared into the minds of all who listen, the weight of them settling upon the city like a brand. And then, with a final glance down at the burning ruin below, Maegor commands Balerion to rise, leaving a trail of smoke and ash in their wake.

Hours later, Maegor returns to the capital, his armor and cloak singed, his face streaked with soot but unbowed. You wait for him at the entrance, heart pounding, watching as he dismounts Balerion and strides toward you, his gaze hard and impenetrable. Yet, as he nears, that hardness softens, if only slightly, as his eyes meet yours.

Without a word, you reach for him, pressing a hand to his chest, feeling the heat still radiating from his armor. “You’ve done it, then,” you murmur, barely above a whisper.

He nods, his hands coming to rest on your shoulders, his grip firm but protective. “No one will dare threaten you again. They have seen what becomes of those who defy us.”

You meet his gaze, searching for the man beneath the rage, the one who has risked everything for you, who will stop at nothing to secure the life of the child growing within you. “And the Faith? Will they stop?”

His jaw tightens, and his voice lowers, almost gentle but carrying a fierce undercurrent. “If they don’t, I will burn every sept in the Seven Kingdoms until not a single one remains.” His hand slips to your belly, resting there possessively. “They will never again come close to you or our child.”

You nod, feeling the weight of his promise, the depth of his wrath. Maegor may be feared, hated even, but in his own brutal, unyielding way, he is yours, and he will keep you safe no matter the cost.

He steps back, exhaling, his eyes never leaving yours. “Tonight, let the realm know that House Targaryen’s fire is boundless,” he says, his voice softer now, almost a murmur. “I will destroy all who oppose us. And in time, they will kneel, knowing they have no choice.”

In that moment, you feel a surge of fierce pride, not only in Maegor’s power but in his loyalty, however ruthless. With him, you will carve a place in this unforgiving world for your child, even if it must be forged in flame and blood.

“Then let them see,” you reply, matching his intensity, feeling the strength of his determination coursing through you. “We will stand together, and the realm will learn to fear us.”

Maegor’s hand tightens over yours, a silent vow exchanged between the two of you. And as he pulls you close, pressing a lingering kiss to your forehead, you know that whatever comes next, you will face it together—bound by blood, fire, and an unbreakable loyalty that no god or mortal can shatter.

[izzabela]

Hi! Can I request fem reader who is tall, strong basically ideal woman for Bi-Han who is interested in her but instead reader chose Kung Lao cause “he makes her laugh.” (*^▽^*)

Jessica Rabbit - Kung Lao x fem!reader x Bi Han

in which you find your Roger Rabbit between two men

a/n: if you make her laugh and giggle, you can make that gyatt clap and jiggle

ship[s]: kung lao x fem!reader x bi han

warning(s): semi-kanon

You laugh at Kung Lao's horribly flat joke as you ate lunch. Midday, perfect breeze, and at a temperature not too hot, it was a good day for lunch outdoors.

While you're laughing wholeheartedly, it's Kenshi who points out the obvious cringe in that joke.

"It wasn't even that funny, he missed the punch line," Kenshi states in his usual deadpan voice.

You shake your head as you keep laughing, and he sighs as Johnny pats his back.

"You seriously don't get women, Ken-doll," Johnny tuts, and Raiden rolls his eyes as he continues to watch his best friend and newfound friend share a laugh.

Kung Lao has been interested in you since you came to the Academy as the final Champion for Liu Kang. You were but an ordinary farmer in the village over, past Fengjian, picking out crops for the upcoming festival. Suddenly, your village was attacked by black-clad ninja-warrior-men-things, and you had run in to join the fight with your limited knowledge.

Of course, like the rest of the champions, Liu Kang revealed himself, explained the circumstances about this "mortal kombat tournament" and the existence of realms. Oh, and how your mentor was the descendant of a former champion.

As you trained, you got to know your other champions better. You were stand-offish first, since many people were taken aback by your height and overall broadness of body. You were right to do so since the monks avoided sparring with you since your height may give an advantage.

The first person to break that ice between you and them was Kung Lao. You learned from Liu Kang that his ego knew no bounds, but you didn't think his ego was afraid of social anxiety. He came up to you like a normal person, treated you as such, and sparred with you that fateful day.

You remained reserved, since you were afraid this was all a joke, but when his friend, Raiden, came along, then Johnny, then Kenshi, you realized it was in good faith.

Since then, you five have grown close, but no one can deny that you were closest to Kung Lao. Despite his inflated personality, he's honest, kind, sensitive, objectively attractive, and personable.

You understood why he and Raiden were friends, and you commended him for not letting his ego get to him despite everyone praising Raiden. You remembered what he said about that topic.

"I trust Raiden as much as he trusts me. He gives me the strength to act like this, because I know he has my back."

That made up a good seventy-five percent of the reason why you liked him. But what about the other twenty-five? Well, that brings us back to the lunch outside the academy.

You wipe your eyes as you give Kung Lao a weak high five, and he smiles brightly before tackling you into the biggest of bear hugs. You can't help but laugh more as he tickles your sides, tears of happiness leaving your eyes.

"Kung Lao, stop that. She'll have cramps later during our spars," Raiden scolds, pinching his ear for him to let go. Kung Lao whines, releasing your reluctantly as you settle down fully.

"Alright, mother. Whatever you say," Kung Lao teases.

"She could've peed too," Johnny points out the (gross) truth. You sigh and shove him playfully, and he's feigning shock that everyone's turned on him.

"Oh come on, I'm funny too!" Johnny pleas, and Kenshi flicks his forehead.

"Vulgarity does not equal hilarity," Kenshi quips.

As you guys finish up, you all take the trash from your lunches back to the canteen room, only to meet Liu Kang and three men in blue, yellow, and gray uniforms. You five recognize them as the grandmaster and his seconds-in-command: Bi Han, Kuai Liang, and Tomas.

All five of you bow, and you lead the introductions. "Greetings to the Lin Kuei."

They nod their heads as a sign of acceptance, and Liu Kang asks you all to rise. "I see your meals are over, I hope everyone enjoyed, yes?"

Everyone nods, and Liu Kang hums in content. "Well, since everyone is present, I will announce our next training plan for the month."

Liu Kang states that because it is the final month before the tournament, he invited the Lin Kuei's leaders to take charge of a more intensive training.

Of course, the final representative would be chosen the week before they left for Outworld, so everyone was getting learning how to defeat different kinds of opponents.

The Lin Kuei would be aiding in representing figures like General Shao, Reiko, Kotal, Sheeva, and other "magically huge" (Johnny's words, not Liu Kang's) opponents.

Not only were the contenders non-human, but possessed qualities and traits only heard of in fairytales.

"Hence," Liu Kang finished. "I have enlisted the help of the Lin Kuei to train you all. I hope you all get along well."

Liu Kang bows and takes his leave, also stating he had prior engagements. So, it left the eight of you in an awkward situation. Rather, awkward silence.

"You've all eaten, yes?" Tomas breaks first. Raiden then answers, and they walk together as everyone else follows suit.

"Thank the elder gods for Raiden and his personability," Kung Lao whispers to you, and you nudge him playfully.

It's Tomas's turn to talk, and he immediately talks to Johnny about his movies. While Tomas doesn't see he's clearly stroking his ego, Johnny keeps rambling about how this experience will make a great movie (if he can make it). Kenshi just rolls his eyes and tells Tomas to ignore him.

The only one left to say anything was Bi Han, the leader of the clan. He pulled back behind everyone to assess the current situation.

He didn't address you nor Kung Lao, and you two kept to yourselves as you talked about other matters. Even so, Bi Han can't help but stare at you.

Your height was the first thing he took into account when looking at you. Your hair suited you as well, long and the color practically glowing under the sun. Your arms were out due to the attire of the training clothes, but they were muscular and well-toned.

And when you smiled at whatever the hell Kung Lao was yapping about, Bi Han can feel his chest hurt a bit. Tight, warm, and burning with... a feeling.

After walking out of the canteen, down the shaded walkways of the training grounds, you all stop at the courtyard where the training dummies are. Bi Han gets in front of everyone and announces the new changes.

"We'll be sparring every day for two hours. Meals will be shortened to thirty minutes instead of the forty-five, and at the end of each week, I will host mini tournaments to see how far each of you has come."

You collectively sigh, Johnny more vocal about the loss of his break time. Kenshi and Raiden are the first to speak-up about their distaste of the changes.

"I don't think all of this is necessary, Grandmaster," Kenshi begins carefully. A vein in Bi Han's forehead is visible as he lays out a punishment already.

"Laps. All of you."

Ah, what lovely training you'll be receiving.

*******

A month passes by and training with the Lin Kuei is actually okay.

Waking early, shorter lunches, longer training, it all benefited when it came to the accuracy and power of landing hits.

Except for you.

"Sloppy," Bi Han sums you up as you're panting and gasping for oxygen. You look at him with an incredulous look.

"Grandmaster, I don't understand?" you ask as you breathe heavily between words.

"We train after your dinner," Bi Han orders you. "Dismissed for the night, except you."

You groan, the sun beating down on you before the shadow of a familiar silhouette falls over you.

"See you at dinner? In a couple?" Kung Lao asks as he helps you up.

"Of course, I have yet to hear those jokes you made up," you giggle.

Kung Lao is doing his best to keep his shyness to a minimum, but it's hard when his hand is touching yours as he lifts you. It's difficult when his hand fits so well on your lower back.

It's impossible when his heart is beating through his ears, and three of his friends are staring bullets into the back of his head.

Kung Lao walks with the other boys, looking back at you one last time before you're left alone with the beast.

Bi Han tries not to come off like an asshole, he's actually way more chill than this. With the weight of the tournament, plus his need to do something for the clan, he can't help it.

Besides, sparring takes his mind off of things.

You deal with it surprisingly well, and Bi Han doesn't know if he feels bad for his methods of keeping you around or proud of how well you deal with stress.

Bi Han has had a crush on you the minute he saw you and Kung Lao together. He wasn't rude enough to interrupt the conversation, but he wanted more of you.

Over the course of his and his brother's stay, he held you back purposely to talk to you. Invited you to eat with him and his brothers, hell, he even sparred one on one with you.

He usually reserves that last aspect for people closest to him.

However, despite Bi Han's darndest efforts, you could not feel anything towards the man.

He was enjoyable to talk to, his brothers were equally matched in that aspect too. He was kind and considerate to you after the fact he was a strict instructor.

But something was... missing. He's as stiff as a board, a little too rough around the edges for you.

But Bi Han didn't know that, and since the training is coming to an end, Bi Han decided to really step up his game and confess to you. Something he talked to his siblings about.

While Tomas was more than supportive, Kuai Liang was a bit more reserved with his opinions.

"Brother, I don't wish to look at yourself differently, but she might be looking at someone else completely," he said to him as they were cleaning up one day.

"If you have nothing better to tell me, make yourself useful with Tomas," Bi Han gruffed.

He kept that in his mind, though, and now that you were here, just the two of you, in the warm afternoon and setting sun of the academy, there was no turning back.

"So, Grandmaster, what about me is sloppy this time?" you ask, settled down and finally having gathered enough air.

Bi Han places a dummy in front of you, then another one next to it.

"Your knees lock too early when you kick," he point to the torso of the dummy. "Strike here."

You give a good sidekick, but it's caught early. The grip he has on your shin is surprisingly soft as he points out the flaws.

As you two talk, you don't realize that Kung Lao has the perfect view of you two. He's slurping his congee and hard-boiled egg, glaring at the sight of Bi Han holding your leg like that.

"If you stare any longer, she'll die to a gunshot wound on her head," Johnny teases.

Kenshi flicks his forehead, scolding him about his senselessness. Raiden, though, looks at him with more concern.

"What has you so concerned?" Raiden asks. "Do you believe that she actually will choose the Grandmaster over you?"

Kung Lao freezes, his eyes widening a bit at the thought. You and Bi Han, a couple. Deadly, beautiful, a perfect match for each other.

Still, Kung Lao recovers, "What's there to worry about? I'm the greatest catch on the market!"

Raiden's hand is on Kung Lao's shoulder, and he stares into his eyes to try and fish out what's really eating at him.

"Kung Lao..." Raiden calls his name softly.

For once, Kung Lao sighs and admits defeat. He takes his hat off, dropping it next to him as his head meets the table with a harsh thud.

"I just... She is such a catch!" Kung Lao admits with a red face. "She has been with the Grandmaster after every meal, and for hours on end..."

Johnny and Kenshi stop bickering finally, hearing the dilemma their dear friend is in.

"And she and Grandmaster Bi Han would look great together..."

It's true that perhaps you and Bi Han would make a great couple, but Kung Lao underestimated himself greatly in the part of him that made him... well, Kung Lao.

Bi Han couldn't make you laugh as hard as Kung Lao did. Often times, his jokes fell incredibly flat, or the punchline was missed, or his tone was just off.

This was unknown to Kung Lao, though, so he sits with his friends as he continues to ramble.

"Just, stop.." Kenshi halts his incessant yapping. "You're going to have to tell her. You can't keep this a secret forever."

Johnny burps before adding on, "Especially with the tournament so soon, who knows when we'll have time like this again."

Kung Lao groans heavily, throwing his head back and scratching his head roughly with thoughts on how he'd do so.

What he doesn't realize is that you're in front of him. Freshly showered, clothes somewhat sticking to your body, and the most damning thing that makes him realize he's too late.

A bouquet. Beautifully assorted flowers are wrapped in paper and tied at the stems in an arrangement that screamed "money money money". You were smiling at him as he looked at you from his point of view, head parallel to yours.

"What'cha thinkin' about, Lao?" you ask.

Kung Lao doesn't hear a thing as his heart beats erratically. Harsh, angry, frustrated, he stands up abruptly to leave dinner.

With his food still unfinished.

Knowing something is wrong, you place the flowers in Raiden's arms and rush after him, not even bothering to say anything to the other men. He may be tall and fast, but your strides were longer and you peak over him a bit in height.

You catch up to him with ease, grabbing his wrist and forcing him to face you (isn't this supposed to be the other way around?)

"Lao, you left your food... you never do that," you inform him, and his looks away with gritted teeth and a scowl.

"Leave me, I am not hungry anymore," Kung Lao lies.

You scoff, "Kung Lao, be real with me." You let go of his wrist, your eyes trying to find his as he obviously darts away.

"The flowers," he breaks. "Where did you get them."

It's not a question when he "asks" you. He's pissed, clearly disappointed too.

"The Grandmaster," you answer truthfully. "He gave them to me as a gift."

"Why."

"He confessed to me."

Kung Lao turns away to walk, "Congratulations. I wish you two-"

"I rejected him," you interrupt him.

He turns back to you, his eyes practically spilling out of his eye-sockets as he waves his hand in a motion that says "continue".

"He told me that he had intentions of courting me, but I rejected him," you explain as you begin walking back to the canteen. He follows you, listening in disbelief.

"Why would you reject such an offer? He is the perfect suitor!" Kung Lao praises, dropping his egotistical façade. You shake your head, a bit pink on your neck and ears as you tell him the truth.

"He doesn't, well- he can't make me laugh."

Kung Lao is slack-jawed, shocked at such a trivial personality point that tipped Bi Han out of your favor. Taking this opportunity, you take his hands and slip your fingers in his.

"And besides, you're my favorite clown among everyone here," you admit shyly. Kung Lao is beet-red now, stuttering like a failing engine as he tries to sell himself short. You stop him, though.

"No matter what anyone says, you are you. This version of you is the one I want," Kung Lao is silent as you keep going. "You're not a Raiden copy, 'Thunderland', or anything else."

Kung Lao's heart actually skips a beat, and he taps his chest to try and get it back in rhythm. You giggle and kiss his cheek.

"This is what I mean by clown. You're always making me smile, no matter what."

Kung Lao forgets about his food, and you ignore your stomach as you both go on a moonlit walk on the training grounds.

Just the two of you, the pleasant sound of your laughs ringing in the air as Kung Lao keeps firing joke after joke.

=====================

"seriously, what do you see in that guy?", "he makes me laugh."

never settle for less, Jessica Rabbit loves a man who makes her giggle

see y'all in the next fic!

[thyras]

→ dark!reader masterlist

PAIRING → mairon | halbrand | annatar (sauron) x f!elf!reader

WARNINGS → 18+ mdni - dark!reader, mentions of abuse, pregnancy, smut, dark themes, manipulation, murder, mentions of blood, possessiveness

SUMMARY → in which you have spent ages with your beloved husband and carved a life out for you both, even if it may lead you down an irredeemable path toward despair and destruction.

In the First Awakening, when the stars were young and the light of the Valar shone pure, a maiden was brought forth, fair beyond mortal ken. Her hair was spun like the finest strands of silk weaving, and her eyes were set with the light of Eä itself, kindled from the stars that Varda had strewn across the heavens. Her skin glowed like the first light of Ithil upon the world, for Ilúvatar himself had fashioned her, giving her the grace of the Valar, yet with a spirit of unknown depth.

In time, she bore a child—a child whose beauty struck awe and unease in the hearts of the Elves, who whispered that her spirit held a shadowed aspect. They feared her as they feared the night, and some spoke in hushed voices that she was wrought not by the hand of Eru alone, but by the dark forces that lurked, unseen, in the depths. For a purpose shrouded in mystery and woe, it was said, had woven her spirit.

When Oromë, great hunter of the Valar, found her people, he drew them forth with words of light, but when he beheld her, he turned aside. At the pleas of her mother, who implored his mercy, he spoke in solemn prophecy, saying, “This child was fashioned in love, yet bears the mark of shadow. Sorrow and ruin shall follow in her steps; she is not counted among my beloved Eldar.” So it was that her mother went into the West, grieving deeply, leaving her child to grow under the twilight’s hold.

In those days, the maiden’s heart darkened further, though surrounded by the praise of her new kin, who marveled at her beauty. Yet her spirit grew chill, filled with bitterness toward the Valar, until the allure of the Moriquendi path ensnared her wholly, and in the dark she became enmeshed, bound in heart and thought to the shadow’s deep call.

Far away in Angband, a dark being stirred. He felt the lure of the shadow growing within her, the darkness that had woven itself into her soul. She, who was fair as starlight yet rotten with hate, would not find her place in Aman but would suit his own grand purpose. And though his desire burned, he withheld himself, for patience was his art. And in the fullness of time, his waiting would be repaid, for she would be his Queen.

. . . p a r t s ( c h r o n o l o g i c a l ) 🌋 → smut

your divine 🌋 → you have been sauron's betrothed since the days of old, his faithful servant. you spend your days carrying out his plans in Eregion, but with each passing century, you long for your husband's awaiting arms until one day you finally get your wish. the bearer of fruits 🌋 → after your husband’s departure of Eregion, you are left hollowed and sorrowed. you find solace in your work and planting your seeds until an unexpected visitor shows up at the gates of Eregion.

[w2soneshots]

Brother’s best mate -W2S

words: 0.8k+

warnings: smut, swearing, alcohol consumption.

summary: you and harry meet through your brother ethan. After a night spent with the side girls you crawl into bed with your favourite guernsey boy.

notes: I haven’t written anything like this in ages!🤭 hope you enjoy🔥🫶🏼

Liked by wroetoshaw and 301,583 others

y/username: spending time with my favourite people💞 (even if it's on a golf course😒😂)

Tagged: @faithloisak @behzingagram @wroetoshaw

-comments-

faithloisak: aw I love you

-> y/username: ❤️🫶

y/nfanpage21: she's so 🌼🧺☕️🧘‍♀️🥐 coded

user19470245: omg they went to golf together😭

user83271430: the pic of ethan and faith is adorable

Last year I moved to London to be closer to Ethan when Faith fell pregnant, to help her and to spend more time with the both of them. I also bought an apartment so I'm just a 20 minute drive from them. I finally met the sidemen at the gender reveal. I'd never actually been introduced to them before, which was weird because they are basically the reason Ethan has a career and they helped him so much a few years ago when he was in a really dark place. Me and Harry didn't immediately hit it off, don't get me wrong I thought he was attractive but he's also very awkward and was wary that I'm his best mates sister.

After almost five months of being friends with the group, going to little parties or just hanging out with them me and Harry kissed. I knew it was bound to happen since we had both quickly developed a large crush on each other but after it had happened we'd decided not to tell anyone (especially Ethan) before we knew we were actually good together. It took just one month before we were officially dating and decided it was the time to tell everyone. Of course we told Ethan first, he was shocked but (to our surprise) happy that his best mate and sister were dating. Everyone else was so excited.

We've now been together for 6 months and only told the fans recently. Today I'm going to dinner with: Talia, Faith and Freya for Talia's birthday. Harry had a more sidemen shoot today so wouldn't get home until six. I had a shower, dried and styled my hair, applied some makeup then chose an outfit. I was on my way out just as Harry arrived back. "Wow," He glanced down at my outfit before returning his attention to my face "you look beautiful." I smiled "thank you Haz, I'll be home by ten." "You better be, I can't wait to rip those clothes off."

I arrived outside of the restaurant, thanked the uber driver then spotted Talia getting out of another car. I quickly walked towards her "happy birthday!" We excitedly hugged each other. "Thank you! Freya's already inside." She beamed. "Ok. I think Faith's running a little bit late, let's just go inside." I replied. We headed into the fancy restaurant and were taken to our table where Freya already sat. When she spotted us she immediately leapt from her seat. She said happy birthday to Talia then we all sat down. Faith arrived a few minutes later and we ordered our drinks.

After eating our starters, mains and desserts me Freya and Faith split the bill (not before trying to convince Talia to let us treat her for her birthday). Thankfully I had only had two drinks so I was just a little tipsy. We left then ordered a taxi. Freya was dropped off first then Talia and I was third. I said goodbye to Faith then hopped out.

y/username

Liked by miniminter and 480,231 others

y/username: my girl @taliamar 's birthday dinner with @freyanightingale and @faithloisak 🤍💫

-comments-

taliamar: I had the best night ily😘

-> y/username: ily

freyanightingale: 💓💓

y/nfanpage21: omg you look stunning!!

user91037494: I love that the side girls are actually friends irl it's so cute

When I got up to mine and Harry's apartment I unlocked the door, opened it, kicked my shoes off and dropped my bag. "Haz?!" I shouted through the apartment. I walked through into the bedroom, Harry sat waiting patiently for me "Hey." My mouth curved into a smile "hi." I jumped onto the bed next to him. "Have fun?" He asked. "Mhm" I hummed.

I turned to him and pecked his lips. The kiss deepened, he grabbed the back of my thighs and pulled me onto his lap. I reached my hands down to the belt wrapped around my waist, I pulled it off and threw it to the floor. I moved Harry's hands from the back of my thighs to my ass. He groaned into the kiss then rushed to pull the zipper down on my dress, then he pulled it off and over my head, leaving me in just my matching black lace bra and underwear set. Harry broke the kiss to look down at me "you're so fucking beautiful." He rasped. I pulled his shirt over his head, followed by his pyjama pants. While Harry unclipped my bra, allowing the straps to fall from my shoulders.

Within just a few minutes we were both completely naked. Harry flipped me onto my back. I whimpered as I rubbed my thighs together, desperate for any sort of friction. "Harry, please." I cried out. "What do you want baby? Use your words." "I need you to fuck me."

[inubaki]

Touched by an Angel

-chapter 1

Adam was raised in the confines of a church-run compound, a peculiar community where the walls echoed with prayers and hymns. His childhood unfolded amidst a tapestry of rituals and routines, where every day was marked by the rhythm of faith. Despite the serene environment, Adam often felt the weight of solitude, as he had few friends beyond the church's boundaries. 

The friendships he cultivated were deep and heartfelt; those who knew him cherished his easygoing nature and infectious laughter. They often marveled at his ability to find joy in simple moments, whether it was playing in the sun-drenched gardens or sharing stories by candlelight during evening gatherings. 

His journey began long before he could form memories—left on the steps of the church as an infant, he became the responsibility of the current Priest, a well-meaning but somewhat forgetful figure. The Priest had his quirks: he often mislaid his glasses or forgot the names of the parishioners. Yet, beneath his absent-minded demeanor lay a genuine warmth. He took Adam in without hesitation, treating him like a son despite his own shortcomings in parenting.

Adam grew up enveloped in a cocoon of care, the kind that radiated from the Priest’s heart, even if it sometimes lacked the precision and presence a child might crave. He may not have had the traditional family support system, but the kindness and affection he received filled his life with a sense of belonging. He never doubted his worth or the love surrounding him; in his eyes, he was cherished, a vibrant spirit thriving within a nurturing, albeit imperfect, home.

At the age of thirteen, Adam received the unexpected news that would alter the course of his life: he was to be trained to take over the church and ultimately become a priest. The weight of this announcement settled heavily on his young shoulders. In truth, Adam had never harbored any desire to don the robes of a priest. Instead, he often found joy in simpler pursuits—spending his afternoons spinning enchanting tales for the neighborhood children or tending to the vibrant community garden, nurturing the fruits and flowers with his own hands.

However, Mr. Brown, the aging priest and a father figure in Adam's life, had other plans for him. Mr. Brown believed firmly that Adam possessed a calling destined for the spiritual realm, a belief that brought pressure akin to a heavy cloak draped over the boy. Adam felt trapped, caught in a web of expectation, unable to voice his true desires. But, he would do it for Mr. Brown.

At the age of seventeen, Adam found that his priesthood was being approached with a gravity he hadn’t fully appreciated before. The days of leisurely gardening, spinning tales by the fireside, or experimenting with flavors in the kitchen were long gone. Instead, he was now expected to immerse himself in the study of the Word of God, diligently deciphering its complexities to gain a deeper understanding that would prepare him for the teachings he would one day share with others. 

If Adam were to be honest with himself, he recognized that his efforts were not as earnest as they could be. While he put on a brave front and showed a respectable level of dedication for Mr. Brown, his true enthusiasm for teaching was lacking. The passion that ignited Mr. Brown’s eyes when he spoke of scripture was something Adam admired but did not possess. Despite this inner conflict, Adam had made a commitment at the tender age of thirteen, one that bound him to the path of priesthood. He reflected on that promise often, reminding himself that, regardless of his feelings, he was determined to fulfill his obligation, even if his heart wasn't fully in it.

When Mr. Brown suggested that it might be beneficial for Adam to choose a “Patreon Angel,” someone he could look up to in addition to God, Adam was initially confused. He didn’t grasp that Mr. Brown’s idea was meant to be symbolic and that there wasn’t a requirement to actually set up a Patreon. Instead of delving into a thorough search of the Bible to find an appropriate figure, Adam opted for a quick online search.

As he scrolled through the search results, the first name that caught his eye was “Samael.” The letters seemed to dance before him, and he struggled with the reading process due to his dyslexia. Was it Samael or was it Samuel? The uncertainty gnawed at him. He wished he could find clarity in the text as others seemed to do so effortlessly, but the words blurred together, making comprehension a challenge.

Despite the chaos of letters in his mind, Adam didn’t dwell on the details. He felt a sense of urgency to complete this task, hoping to align himself with an inspirational figure. With a hint of hesitance, he decided to go with “Samuel” as his chosen angel, ready to embrace the connection, even if he hadn't fully understood the significance behind it.

Later that night, the room was bathed in the soft, warm glow of candlelight. Adam carefully arranged the flickering candles on a small table, their wax drippings forming delicate sculptures as they melted away. He sank to his knees on the cool, hardwood floor, his heart racing with a mix of anticipation and hope. In quiet reverence, he clasped his hands together, closing his eyes as he began to pray to the angel Samael—or was it Samuel? A sense of uncertainty nagged at him, and he pondered for a moment if he should invoke both names, just in case he had inadvertently chosen the wrong one.

As he focused intently on his thoughts and intentions, he failed to notice the peculiar behavior of the candles. They flickered and danced erratically as if stirred by an unseen force, and the stillness of the room was marred by an elusive whispering that seemed to echo from the very shadows themselves. Straining to listen, he might have heard faint murmurs mingling with the crackling of the candle flames, but he was too far gone in his own world of prayer to pay any attention to such anomalies.

When Adam finally opened his eyes, his heart sank as he found the room unchanged; the only evidence of his effort was the faint scent of melting wax lingering in the air. He felt a mixture of disappointment and frustration wash over him. So much for that connection he had hoped to forge. Pouting slightly, he gazed at the unresponsive candles, wondering if perhaps he hadn’t put forth enough genuine effort. With a resolute sigh, he decided that he would give it another try the following night, determined to find the clarity he sought before drifting off to sleep.

The angel appeared in Adam's dreams like a whisper of light, illuminating the serene landscape around him. Adam had often wandered through this enchanting Garden in his slumber—a vivid tapestry of colors and fragrances that seemed to bloom just for him. Each flower glowed with an intensity that reflected his innermost yearnings, while the gentle rustle of emerald leaves danced in the soft, warm breeze. He enjoyed the tranquility, completely unaware that he was not alone in this ethereal sanctuary.

As he strolled deeper into the Garden, a peculiar sensation pricked at the edges of his consciousness. It was as if invisible eyes were watching him, observing his every step. He brushed off the feeling until, suddenly, the atmosphere around him shifted. There, among the vibrant foliage and the shimmering petals, appeared the angel. 

This celestial being had an otherworldly presence, elusive and enchanting. Adam found it difficult to focus on any specific detail of the angel's form; it seemed to shimmer and morph as if woven from light itself. Its wings glistened with a celestial glow, creating an aura that captivated the very essence of beauty—a sight far beyond his comprehension. 

Overwhelmed by the angel's majesty, Adam instinctively fell to his knees, the soft earth beneath him a comforting reminder of his mortality. A ripple of laughter echoed through the air, a sound both melodious and slightly mocking. "My, this is an unexpected sort of event," the angel mused, amusement lacing its voice. "You, of all beings, pray to me?" 

Adam's head remained bowed, his heart racing in his chest, blissfully ignorant of the smirk playing upon the "angel's" lips. In that moment, he was engulfed by a blend of reverence and confusion, caught in the web of a dream that would forever alter his understanding of the divine.

"I have prayed to you, oh Samuel, for guidance. I seek your wisdom to be my faithful Patreon." The atmosphere seemed to shift as Adam spoke, his voice filled with earnest desperation. If he had dared to lift his gaze, he would have noticed the mischievous smirk growing on the lips of the figure before him, an entity that resembled an angel but exuded an unsettling presence. The corners of the angel's mouth curled upwards, exposing elongated, sharp teeth that glinted in the dim light. 

"You have?" The angel replied, amusement lacing its tone. "Well, how fortuitous! I currently find myself without any pressing matters." With an air of mock benevolence, it leaned closer, its radiant wings folding elegantly behind it. "I would be delighted to take on the role of your Patreon, guiding and leading you on your path toward Priesthood."

Adam felt a wave of warmth wash over him as he kept his head bowed, a mixture of relief and excitement flooding his heart. The angel's presence was both comforting and thrilling, and he could hardly suppress the smile that tugged at the corners of his lips. In a gesture that felt almost tender, the "angel" gently ran its fingers through Adam's hair, a simple act that sent a shiver down his spine, evoking a blissful sigh of contentment. Little did Adam know, the path he was being led toward might be far more complex than he ever imagined.

——

idea and art by me. Story written by @libby-for-life! For an art exchange. I feel I got the better part of the deal knowing how my art is. But I can’t write so I’m very lucky to have them. They’re amazing!

Life has been…harsh. So, this is certainly helping me. I just hope I don’t disappoint them.

next:

[fairyhaos]

how seventeen end up falling for their s/o

requested by anon: "i wanna know from your opinion, things that make svt fall in love with their s/o? "

masterlist

seungcheol

your unwavering faith in him. there has never been a moment where you doubted him, nor where you doubted your love for him. you're always, always letting him know how much you trust him, and how much he's able to trust you in return, and even if those displays of faith are small, they're there, and knowing that you have his back is just one of the many, many things that made him lose his heart to you, honestly.

jeonghan

the way you made him work to gain your trust. jeonghan knows how to work hard, has had to for most of his life, but it amuses him how you're not falling into his lap instantly. it made him want to get to know you more, wanted to truly work to gain your interest, and as he's sitting there and thinking about how your relationship had progressed to where you are now, he knows that he wouldn't have loved it if you had been anything else. 

joshua

because you love him too. he loves you because you are so loving yourself, so free and willing to express just how much he me and to you, and in this way it makes him love you even more, because in being so loving it makes you an easy to love person too. he loves how you make him feel, and he wants you to feel the exact same way because of him as well. 

junhui

your willingness to go along with anything he does. sometimes, he does get insecure of himself, unsure of if he's doing the right thing, but you're always there to take his hand with a smile and say that you'll have a go, that you'll be there with him, that you want to see how it turns out too. it gives him strength, someone to smile with, and he loves you all the more for your willingness to stay by his side. 

hoshi

the push and pull of your dynamic. it wouldn't be fun if you just fell right into his arms, would it? he loves how you balance each other put perfectly, with him bright and hyper but quiet on the inside, and you being the exact opposite. it makes everything with you all the more interesting, and it means that you just understand each other perfectly. even if you look like you'll do anything but that. 

wonwoo

how bright you are. your unending enthusiasm, your chipper nature, the way you're so bright and lovely and make him smile no matter what you do. he's a quiet person, leading a quiet life, but then you came bounding up to him with your blinding smile and he realised he wouldn't have his life any other way. 

woozi

your endless understanding. woozi is not an easy person to understand, he gets that, because sometimes he's too snappish or too intimidating-looking and sometimes people don't want to take the chance. but you did, and you stayed, and he loves that you made that move to truly understand him because really, he thinks he's his realest self when he's with you. 

minghao

your warmth. minghao strikes me as someone who loves the brightness and positivity that others have, their vibrant nature, the way they make everyone feel warm in their presence. but with you, he's noticed that it's like lying on sun-warmed flagstones rather than being thrust under the heat of the sun. comforting. safe. 

mingyu

how you're always ready to tell him how proud you are of how he's doing. mingyu needs words of affirmation like he needs air, and to hear such words spilling out of your mouth so effortlessly like you were made to say them has him staring at you, starry-eyed, realising that he really does love you so much. and when he says "i love you" once you've finished talking he really means it with his whole entire heart

dokyeom

he's always been in love with you. from the moment he first saw you, from the first time he ever learned your name, he knew he was going to love you. love at first sight, if you will. he'll always trust his instincts, and his gut told him that you were someone he would love forever, and you know what? is instincts were right. because from that moment on, he's been in love with you. always. 

seungkwan

the quiet way you love him. seungkwan likes to fly, likes to soar in the skies amongst success, but it brings him comfort to be able to fall into your arms. into your unquestioning love, the gentle, calm, reassuring way you'll always be there for him, and perhaps it's not a loud love but it's there, and he appreciates you all the more for being there in that way. 

vernon

he's not entirely sure. that might sound terrible, but it's simply because he really just doesn't know. for him, he can't pinpoint which exact trait or characteristic of yours made him fall for you, because all of you is just so, so wonderful to him. it's a bit shallow to just say One thing was what made him fall for you, anyway. he just loves… you. 

chan

because you're just like him. you match his energy so, so well, understand him in the blink of an eye and it's almost as if your brains are wired identically, able to pass signals seamlessly as if you are one. it's a soulmate kind of feeling, he thinks, and having found someone who is exactly like him in so many ways is just one of the many reasons why he fell. 

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[potionpeddlerpatchy]

word count: ~10.4K

paring: God!Sero x f!Nymph!Reader

warning(s):  dubcon, drugging, use of aphrodisiacs, loss of innocence, first time, marking, oral (f!recieveing), creampie, sero being manipulative in general.

authors note: hello again! Figured i would repost this lovely Sero piece once again as I have its sequel coming out very shortly, and its best to have everything in one place. This was part of a Mythology collab, and I loosely based it on the Apollo and Daphne myth; though I twisted it a little. So please, enjoy Sero using sweet words to convince you into his conniving plan~ 🔮

Nymphs, nature deities that are not fully gods yet not mortal as well. The only true creature that lives for themselves and yet the only one invariably bound to the land of mortals. And what more can a nymph do than to plenish their lands, give lone travelers a peek of god-like beauty, and to tempt the gods?

A long time ago, Gods ruled the world.

Before mortals became too abundant, their faith lost, and took over everything; the gods controlled all that was seen, heard, and felt. They gifted the mortals things like the wheat in their fields, the water in their cups, the hearth and warmth in their homes, and even the beautiful visions they would see when they slept.

The gods were kind enough to bless them with the sun, the moon, the tide,  the rain that filled the clouds, the mountains that provided shelter from the harsh winds, the peacefulness of being guided to safety in death, and even love; in the many beautiful shapes and forms they came in.

And beings.

Ones that were not fully mortal, yet not fully gods. Creatures created by the gods to simply be enjoyed by the mortals; those that were lucky enough to find them. Maidens of rare beauty, and melodic laughter, that could be found in all parts of the mortal realm. 

Some say they were a gift from Aphrodite herself, as a way to give her thanks to those that were ever devoted to her. Some say they were a gift from Apollo, another form of his muses to gift them with beautiful singing and subjects to paint. And some say it was Zeus, having to give away all of his lovely daughters to the mortals to appease his queen.

Either way, they existed too.

Nymphs, they were called. Nature deities that were beyond that of mortals, but not powerful enough to be labeled gods, or even demi-gods. They lived hidden away from all. Not wanting to be seen or disturbed by many, if any at all. But, if a lone traveler was lucky enough, they may spot a few bathing by waterfalls, or dancing amongst the forest's trees, or soaking the sun rays in a beautiful meadow.

They were everywhere. The oceans, the rivers, the mountains, the forests, the meadows, anywhere the gods had touched and blessed there were to be nymphs to plenish and restore. To keep alive what the gods had left behind; to love what had been forgotten.

You were what the mortals called an Anthousai, a flower nymph. The luckiest of all spirits that were contained to forests and fields; even your fellow wood and plant nymphs were jealous of what you were. A beautiful flower to be admired.

Though the tree stands tall, and grass gives plenty, they could not compare to the beauty that came from anthousai, not even if they were to give up their lives and transform; for a tree could not compare to the beauty of an everlasting flower.

Though you never knew what flower you truly were, whether it be a rose, bluebells, or peonies, your beauty was beyond compare. Even your sisters, fellow flower nymphs like you, over time grew to be spiteful at just how radiant you had become; overshining even them, and they were to be just as beautiful.

They were resentful of you, the one that was most blessed by the gods.

You never were to be invariably bound to one place, for no place wanted to keep you. You constantly were searching, trying to find a home to be secure within, to find sisters that loved you and would dance and sing and care for you as you cared for all that crossed your path. But over time it was made clear that those of forest and field would not want to keep you and call you their own.

So you fled towards the mountains, where the springs and rock would be; hoping they would provide you with what you needed to live.

And, as luck and fortune would bless you once more, you came upon a fellow nymph that was like you. An Oceanid, one that was to be associated with water, as the personification of the springs that dwelled within the land you stumbled upon. And much like you, she was blessed more than anyone else and cast out for it.

She took you to where she lived. A place hidden by rock and trees and held within it a large pond of water that was so blue and clear one could get mesmerized by the simplest ripples on its surface. Not far from it was a tiny home, cozy and sweet that made your heart fill with warmth when you stepped inside it for the first time. And right below it, a passageway that led to a path, that if a traveler was lucky enough to stumble across, could cut his journey through the mountains in half.

Not ideal, truly, for a nymph that wishes to hide away from any mortal; and though this path and place were hard to reach, it had a higher probability to have a mortal stumble upon it, and you, than where any other nymph resided.

But, where one saw misfortune, you both saw the opposite. 

If travelers wished to use your sacred path, to hopefully gaze upon beauty that they will never see again in their life, to trespass and invade your home, then they must leave a gift upon your altar. Failure to do so meant traveling back to where they once came, and conquering the mountain with even fewer supplies. So it only made sense to give up a small token, or bits of coin and gold to you both to be able to pass through.

And oh how blessed with gifts you were. Piles of gold and silver coins filled tiny satchels that hung upon your walls; and made beautiful jingling sounds whenever the wind would shift them. Jewels that would glisten in the sun whenever you held them up to gaze at their beautiful colours. And trinkets, both old and new, that decorated any part of your dwelling with their unique beauty; with some you would wear or attach to your clothing with how much you adored their charm.

It was not long that the news of this passageway, and the creatures that were being treated better than the gods, reached the heavenly realm. 

~~~

“It’s becoming ridiculous!” Ashido cried out, bringing a golden fan up to cool her heated face “They’re getting more offerings than me now! Me!”

Ashido threw herself down on a nearby chaise lounge, the pillows making a soft landing on her otherwise dramatic display, as she brought an arm up to cover her eyes. The fellow gods around her just rolled their eyes, more than used to the over-dramatics their friend and fellow deity was currently putting on display. They knew that, in due time, this would all blow over and she would be acting as if nothing ever happened.

“So, it’s all well and fine if we lose out on offerings. But the moment the Goddess of Love and Beauty starts to lose just a few, then it’s an issue?”

Denki smirked from his spot, chin in palm, as he retorted back to the fellow god that was throwing a fit, more than amused by it all - unlike his fellow brethren. His smile only became wider when he saw Ashido’s eyebrows furrow and a scowl form on her face.

“Oh don’t make such a face!” He laughed, throwing his head back so far he too was lying comfortably on his chaise “It’s very unbecoming of you!”

“Will you two knock it off?” Katsuki grumbled, hands working a stone over the blade of his sword with practiced ease “Who cares about what offerings two stupid nymphs get?”

“I do!” Ashido sat back up again, her glare now pointed towards the man sitting on the floor “They lesser beings! Lesser creatures than I am! And yet their beauty is being more devoted than mine! It’s not right!”

And while those words only received an eye roll from the War God, another god’s interest was now piqued. Sure he knew of the situation, it was all anyone could talk about up in the heavens, but to now know that these creatures were deemed more lovely and fair than his friend? Well, it was certainly interesting news, to say the least.

“Fascinating…”

“Oh come now Hanta!” Ashido cried once more, knocking the arrow he was absentmindedly twirling in his hands “Really? As a fellow love god, I figured you would take my plight more seriously!”

“It is your plight, not mine” He hummed in response, before scoffing in mirth “Come on, how can you not find this interesting? When in our lives has any nymph really claimed the hearts of so many mortals? To the point where they are mistaking them for Gods?”

“Well….”

“Never! We have only ever seen them as nuisances at best, or in Denki’s case a quick romp to let off some steam. Nothing more than a means to an end. Now they are controlling mortals, and even us to a degree! Surely you should find that quite amazing of creatures you half-heartedly help make, turning into something almost as beautiful and powerful as you.”

Ashido rolled her eyes at the last statement, not liking having her greatness compared to that of two lowly nymphs; but Hanta did have a point. Though she would never admit it, her scoff and abrupt standing proof she no longer wished to be in the same room as him for simply being right.

“If you find them so fascinating, then why don’t you meet them?”

Hanta, or any of her fellow friends, did not have a chance to reply before she stormed out of the room. It caused Katsuki to scoff once more before resuming his task, this time with more vigor. And for Hanta to roll his eyes, fingers deftly twirling his silver arrow once again as his mind began to wander.

Just how beautiful was the pair of you?

Before he could ponder the question any further, he stood abruptly too. Not wanting to waste another moment wondering about those thoughts, instead, he wanted to see for himself. He was a god after all, so why shouldn’t he know more about these beings that were creating quite a stir in his realm? 

“Maybe I will…” He mumbled to himself, feet starting to take him to where he wanted to go before his mind could fully comprehend where.

“Like hell you are!” Denki stood in his way, effectively blocking the taller god from taking another step “Not without me!”

This caused Hanta to smirk down at him “Nymphs are cautious creatures, and due to their nature one must be careful how they interact with them. And if I actually want to interact with them at some point, my best bet isn’t to bring the one god known for sleeping with, and breaking the hearts of, almost everyone single one.”

“W-well! So what?” Denki’s skin became flushed as blood rushed to his face in embarrassment over his friend's truth, “You’re a god too, and it's clear they don’t like any! So what makes you think you can succeed with them, huh?”

“Because, my simple friend,” Hanta smiled, side-stepping the flustered god to continue on his way “I am the God of Flattery and Sweet Words, hard to lose the trust of such lovely creatures with that.”

~~~

Though it took a lot of effort, and even more flattery, to get just where in the mountains (and which mountain) you and your friend were calling home from Ashido, he still managed to get it. And with gleeful steps, strong winds to help his wings glide him swiftly through the air, and the gracefulness of his very being, he managed to find you both with no issue at all.

He perched himself upon a nearby tree, high enough that one would not notice he was there if they were to walk by, and just observed the pair of you. 

Your friend (or sister, as you kept calling her), he would admit, was beautiful. She was the one that caught his eye first. The way her skin seemed to always glow under the sun's rays as she gracefully danced upon the meadow you were residing in was hard to ignore. He chuckled to himself at the thought of some mortal stumbling across her, just knowing they would mistake her for his dear friend Ochako mid-hunt with how ethereal she looked.

But then his eyes finally glanced over to you, unable to help himself from sparing you a glance when your sister had called out to you, and it was then he felt his heart stop in his chest and for the world around him to stop moving. 

It was your smile, or so he thinks when he thought back at that moment again and again, that caused such a powerful reaction within him. How radiant it was, how it lit up the world around you brighter than a thousand suns. How warm it made him feel when it unknowingly was sent in his direction. And how it made him finally look at your beautiful face.

After he saw that smile he wondered why your sister had ever caught his attention in the first place. The way the flowers around you sat upon your head and fell into your hair, the way your eyes looked so bright as they gazed up at your companion, and how soft and small your hands look when they reached out to her, to allow her to pull you up into a dance, were all so captivating.

He may have been fascinated before as to why mortals were throwing themselves into danger just for a glimpse of you, but now he understood fully. You were the most breathtaking creature he had ever witnessed in his long immortal life, and he could not lie when he thought to himself that day that your beauty could rival that of Ashido’s. In fact, he could not lie and say that he wouldn’t choose you over his old friend if he had to judge who the most beautiful in all the realms was.

He wanted you.

He wanted you more than he had ever wanted anything else in his life, and he wanted for very little. But he knew that you would deny him from plucking you from where you called home; it was in your nature. And in a perfect world, he can simply walk up to you and say a few pretty words and you would be his.

But thanks to his friend Denki, you would not trust him in the slightest; nor his intentions, for you could sense that they would not be pure. For how could they, as nymphs really only existed to be temptresses to the gods and then have their hearts broken once they gave their flowers to them. And you knew you were a rare flower, one that would not choose so willingly to be plucked up and away from your life, home, and companion. 

No. If Hanta wished to have you, all of you all to himself, he would have to be patient. And well, it was a virtue and he knew he was virtuous enough to conquer the lust that raged within him when he looked at you to see himself succeeding. To see you run into his arms and ask him to take you away and be his forever.

And what better way can he think to court you, to earn your favour and trust, than to leave you gifts at your altar?

Not just any gifts though. No, he would not waste your time with the meaningless trinkets and coins that those travelers gifted you, he would give you things only the gods could. To give you all the spoils known to them as a way of proving his devotion to you; for why else would a god willingly give up all his riches if not for love?

~~~

It was strange to you at first, the small gifts that were left at your door. Usually when there was a gift there was a traveler nearby, waiting for you or your sister to allow them to pass. But these gifts would just appear as if they came into existence by the wind.

And what gifts they were! 

Robes made with the brightest and finest silks, always adorned with beautiful gold and silver embellishments, with a few jewels within the intricate carvings. Rings that were so heavy your hands always felt like lead when you wore them. Bracelets that could wrap and entangle all the way up your arms and legs, adorning your whole limb in its beauty. And necklaces that always perfectly sat upon your chest, with their large gemstones settling flawlessly in between your bosom. 

You always shared these splendid and grand gifts with your sister, not wanting to be cruel and hoard all the splendor to yourself. But over time you started to grow nervous about where these gifts were coming from, about who was sending them to you. For who could afford to give you these things if not a god? And if it truly was a god, how did you catch his eye? And why would he only want to give you these things, never your sister? 

Soon there were gifts being given to you every day. As every morning they would sit at your doorstep, waiting for you to collect them. There was little space for you to place them in your home over time, with many of the gifts being left unopened; them sitting upon shelves in the bindings they came to you in. 

And one day, upon a pile of other treasures that awaited you that morning, a golden apple sat glistening in the sunrise. That was the day all your doubts and nerves got the better of you as you shut the door and hid yourself away. 

That was the day you knew for certain a god was trying to court you, for no other being other than god could get ahold of golden apples. The heavenly fruit that they all ate upon as if it was nothing more than a common fruit; but to you and all other mortals it was more than that. It was the only thing that could grant any being immortal life.

Therefore the reason it was given to you, sat upon piles of other treasures, was a sign that a god had wanted to take you away; to call you their own. And the thought terrified you. For where would you end up? What would they want from you? And would they cast you aside as if you were nothing, like all nymphs were treated by them? And what would happen to your sister? Would you never see her again?

That was the thought that terrified you the most.

Heartache, terror, abuse, you could bear if it meant she was by your side. You had waited long enough to finally get the companionship you had always craved; the one you searched for in many lands, and you did not want to give it up any time soon.

So the gifts, and that apple, stayed outside for days as you stayed hidden behind your walls in hopes that the sender would take that as a sign of your rejection. A sign you did not want, or need, the lavish gifts anymore and for him to move onto a more wanting and deserving creature.

When Hanta saw that his gifts were left untouched, the apple still perched precariously upon the other lavish items he had wanted you to wear and adore, it made his entire being slouch in despair. 

How could you not like them? Why would you not take them?

He knew they were no different from all the other gifts he had given you, and he knew you loved those. He watched as you glided through the forests, and that wonderful meadow where he first saw you, twirling in those gowns. Giggling with your sister when you were jangling those bracelets as you danced, holding those rings up to the light. Unable to let his eyes wander whenever his necklaces would sit between your breasts. 

And though he was never a fan of whenever you shared those gifts with your sister, he only ever wanted you to wear what he gave, he knew that you did so out of excitement. Excitement that you would show with every new gown and jewelry you placed on your body you would always pair it with a new crown made of the very flowers you tended to.

He watched you, from his favorite spot in the trees, as you gleefully would make them. Hands always hurried as you tried to finish them as quickly as possible as if you could not bear to wait another moment without it upon your head. And though they always looked so beautiful upon your brow, he always promised he would give you a real one someday.

One made of gold, if you were to say yes to him; to be his. But there it sat, collecting dust upon your altar. A rejection of him and all other splendors he wishes to give you. 

It made him furious, just as it did fill his being with sorrow. Not furious at you, no, he could never hate you. Furious that he overturned his hand and made you skittish. Made you untrusting of him and his intentions. Made it seem like you did not want him.

But of course, you did. Of course, you wanted him.

He just had to make sure you understood why you wanted him. How no one else could compare to him. How no one else would treat you with such warmth and comfort and give you any spoil your little heart could ever desire for the rest of your life.

And well, it seemed only fitting that you should finally meet him as he told you all these things.

~~~

It was in your springs where he found you that night. Though it was not Hanta’s intention to spy on you while you both bathed in the cool waters, he couldn’t help it. How could one resist that temptation? To hear the sweet laughter mixed with the splashing of water to lure one in, and then to see the sight of two beautiful maidens while they bathed. It was simply not fair.

If he were a lesser man he would have jumped out to try and take one of you then.

But he was not and found great pleasure simply watching the pair of you. How the moon illuminated your skin to make it that much more supple; that much more tempting for him to touch. How he could not stop his eyes from roaming your figure as you brought oils to your skin, to lavish and clean it before they disappeared into the water around you.

Hanta was almost envious of the suds, the small bubbles, that had a chance to touch your perfect body and soft skin. Of the water that elicited such sweet squeals of excitement when it was splashed onto you, to the soft sighs it cast from your lips when you would lounge back into it. And of your sister, the only one who was able to witness all of these things about you; and so selfishly kept it all to herself.

Though it was only when a twig snapped under his foot, an oversight he normally wouldn’t let happen, that he realized his mistake. Realized that his first meeting with you would be tarnished over impure thoughts and actions, which would only lead to you not trusting him even more.

For what nymph could trust a god they caught spying on them while they bathed?

But he had to try. And he leaped from his spot once he saw the pair of you scurrying for your clothing and out of the spring. He cared not for your sister, and allowed her to run towards your home, though he followed you closely; making it impossible for you to return to the place you felt the safest.

He managed to corner you once again, back to where it all started. The waterfall from the springs could be heard faintly behind you as you watched him approach the tree you had hidden behind. Your breathing labored as you held your clothing up to your body as best you could to conserve what was left of your modesty.

“I won’t hurt you.” Hanta called out to you, his voice soft to not further spook you “And I won’t cause you any harm, I promise. I just think you are the most beautiful maiden I have ever seen; so won’t you please come out and talk to me? For just but a moment?”

You glare at him, eyes holding suspicion over his claims. Though you finally relented when you watched as he stepped closer and closer to you, in your ever-vulnerable state.

“S-stop! Please stay where you are…” You called out, voice losing strength as you continue to cower away from him “I will speak with you, only if you promise to turn your head away and allow me to get dressed.”

Hanta gave a small smile, hands clasping behind his back as he turned his body away from you; making sure to keep his head and gaze straight ahead of him, to not make you suspicious that he was trying to catch another glimpse.

“Did you not like them?” 

His question startled you, a small gasp slipping out as you stumbled with your garment; almost tripping over your own feet. You took a deep breath to regain some level of composure as you shakily slipped your legs through the gathering.

“I am not sure what you mean…” You pulled the fabric upwards, placing the final strap over your one shoulder; your eyes never straying from the back of his head.

“The gifts.” He replied, “I have given you plenty, but it seems that lately, you have not accepted any. I am wondering if you did not like them.”

“Oh, it was you…” You made your way from out behind the tree, the movements being heard by the man before you as he finally turned back around to face you.

He was taller than you by a far margin, one that kept growing as he made his way towards you; his steps were careful to show he was not to harm you. When he finally reached you, he crouched down as close to your level as he could and clasped your hands in his, gently squeezing them in his hold.

“I am.” His voice was but a whisper as he pulled you closer, trying in vain to get you to look up at him, wanting nothing more than to gaze into your beautiful eyes.

“Then you should know why I did not accept them” You voice soft but strong, as you turned your head away from him “You are a god, the gifts you have given proof of that. And from all the tales I have heard and seen, all a god does is take the chastity of nymphs before casting them aside.”

“How could I ever do that to you? I would never do that to you. In my eyes, you are far too lovely and beautiful to ever just be cast aside.” 

He heard you scoff, head moving away from his deft fingers as they tried to tuck a piece of your hair behind your ear, clearly not believing him. His actions just displayed proof of why you were untrusting, and so he would have to use his sweet words in a different manner.

“In all truth, had I not come down this very night to see you, I am sure my brethren would try and take you away.”

You stiffened in his hold, fear gripping your being at his words. Frozen in place you finally allowed him to move your head up to look at him, into his dark eyes that told you what he said was true.

“W-what…?” Your voice was shaky, as was your body when you continued to scan his face for any semblance of trickery; only to still find none.

“My fellow gods, the ones I call friends from time to time, they heard the stories of nymphs in the mountains that had caught all sorts of mortals' attention.” Hanta began, “They were curious, and wanted to see for themselves just how beautiful you were. But my friends are more beast than gentleman; I fear of what might have become of you had I not scared them off.”

You collapsed into him, the shock of his words controlling your body more than your mind as you clung to his tunic. Though you could not see it, Hanta had an impish smile on his face as he comforted you; his hands running soothing patterns up your arms.

“But you needn't worry!” He pulled back to look at your face once more, squeezing your arms in comfort “I will protect you from them. All I ask is that you accept me, take my gifts, and allow me your company.”

“How… how will I know?” You looked back up at him, hands lowering from his chest “How will I know you are being truthful with me?”

“I am a God of Love, my dear,” Hanta fluttered the wings on his back to make light of that truth. “And as one, I never appreciated or cared for those that would take advantage of it; to abuse it and harm others with their lust. I can tell my friend's intentions are not pure, as I can with any being, and I cannot bear it if they were to harm a precious flower like you.”

Hanta watched you carefully. Watched how your eyes glanced at his wings, back to his face, and turned downcast once again as you took in his words. He has hoped the sweet words he was known for would work on you, to break down your walls to allow him in.  He had to hide the victorious smile from gracing his features when you gazed up at him and accepted his protection and his terms.

“Tell me your name” You mumbled, taking a step away from him. “If I have to agree to all of this, then please allow me to know the name of my protector.”

“Hanta, you may call me Hanta.”

Your head shot back up to look at him, eyes once again glaring at him as you took another step away from him “There is no god named Hanta.”

“None named for the mortals.” Hanta smiled, closing the gap between you once more “None of us gods are ever named what mortals claim we are, even in their stories. Our true names are only spoken and used amongst each other, in the heavens. Only you, in this mortal realm, shall have the knowledge and privilege to call me it.”

“Hanta.” You whispered out, nodding your head in agreement with his words.

“Good, now be off.” 

It took all of his strength to step away from you; not wanting to be away from your warmth now that he finally had it. But he did. Only if it were to prove to you he was on your side, that he wanted to protect you.

He watched with bated breath as you scurried away, back to your home. Only allowing himself a breath, and a mirthful smirk to appear, once he knew you were too far away to see it. His wings stretched out behind him as he took flight back home.

His meeting with you went far better than he ever planned it. And now he had plenty to dream of that night.

~~~

It was rare for the God of War to come to the mortal realm.

Especially seeing as there was no war to be had. No fight to participate in, no blood for him to shed, and no victory to be won for him once all the dust and debris settled. And it was even more rare that the God of Strength would follow alongside him into this plane when there was no battle to be had.

But there were never ones to turn down a mission.

Their pride and honor to strong within them to let a challenge go to the wayside simply because they thought it was stupid, pitiful, or a waste of their time. And though Katsuki thought what he was doing here, what he was about to do, fit into all three categories he simply could not tell his friend no.

Hanta never asked for much, especially from him. And Katsuki had to admit that his fellow friends served him very well in battles of past; always fighting on his side to help him claim his victories. So, he could swallow his pride for a moment or two so he can fulfill a small favour in return to the larger ones he was in debt to.

It wasn’t like he had much of a choice either.

“Why are we doing this again?” Ejirou asked, scooting himself closer to his friend while still staying crouched behind some foliage.

“Because Hanta asked us to.” Katsuki mumbled, huffing out his answer as it wasn’t the first time he was asked.

“But it doesn’t seem right, doing any of this. And you normally don’t waste your time on such trivial things, especially when it comes to beings like nymphs, so why are you here? And why did you drag me into this?”

“Because!” Katsuki hissed, baring his teeth in warning “Hanta asked for us to do this! And the last time I refused that bastard made it impossible for me to be intimate with anyone for over 200 years!”

Katsuki huffed, watching his friend eye him warily before shifting slightly away, the action making him slump his shoulders in slight defeat. 

“Listen. I don’t want to do this either. If I had it my way, we would all just leave these two idiots alone for the rest of their lives. But Hanta seems to like one of them, and we all know there is nothing we can do to stop him.”

“You’re right….”

Ejirou mumbles that last part, knowing that his friend was right. There was no way to change Hanta’s mind once it was set on something, much like it was impossible to change any of their minds. They were gods, and they were selfish. They took what they wanted and when they wanted it.

It was just that both of them were unnerved at the taking of a nymph away from the place they were bound to. Something that was never meant to be done. When they were created they were made to be invariably bound to the mortal realm, to avoid any chaos that may happen if they were to come to the heavens.

Hanta was playing a risky game, and though they trusted he would play his cards right, and well. They could not be sure that his actions would not cause a ripple effect that would turn into a grand-scale fight amongst them; like the choosing of the fairest once again.

Though they had no time to further delve into their thoughts on the matter, not when you and your sister had approached where they were hiding. Your giggles filled the air as you came into the springs once more; wanting a dip in their cool waters to help quench your thirst and cool you from the warm summer rays.

Both men tensed, breath hitching in their throats as you both started to slowly undress; taking off your charms and jewels, and placing them into neat little piles by the water's edge. Katsuki hated that you were lovely, hated that the stories of you both were true; for if they weren’t he would be able to justify what he was about to do as some sort of favor - to save those travelers all that time from trying to seek out a creature that turned out to be hideous.

Eijirou hated what he was about to do because you were so beautiful. Hated the fact that he would have to scar and torment such enchanting creatures for the sake of his friend; for if it were up to him, he would just bask in your glow until he was satisfied, and leave this place with a beautiful memory to last him eternity.

But it was not up to him, nor his companion next to him; and with deep, quiet breaths they both solidified their resolve and stood from where they once were hiding. 

The startled gasps, the scrambling, and the screaming were all something they loathed to hear from you both as they made their way over to where you were. They hated how they had to play the part and chase you both down, to separate the both of you to further petrify you both. How they had to watch you stumble and fall, to scratch your perfect skin on tree branches and rock as you tried to get away from them; all of it.

They hated all of it. 

But once they watched the pair of you rush into your home is when they stopped their chase. Made it seem like they had lost you somewhere within the trees; mumbling to each other how they would just come back another day before walking off, back to where they once were.

Sickness, that was all they felt at the bottom of their stomachs as they returned home. This victory was not like the one found in battle. Not one filled with glory and blood and sweat. This one was hollow, shallow as its waves crashed down upon them in a way that made them feel uneasy.

It was not the first time they chased a maiden down in hopes to garner their sweet bodies as their rewards. But somehow it felt like it was, and they could not look upon their friend when they told him of what had just transpired; couldn’t bear to see the glee in his eyes when he heard it all.

~~~

You both had not slept that night, for how could you when the one thing you were most afraid of happening to you, happened.

So, when Hanta visited you the next morning you couldn’t help but run out to him. Sprinting through the field of tall grass and throwing yourself onto him; clinging to him like he was the other tether keeping you to the ground.

“You cannot leave us again!” You cried out, tears flowing freely from your eyes and soaking into the cloth of his tunic “You cannot leave me again! Please! You cannot, not again!”

Hanta had to hide his smile, one that was filled with so much joy and satisfaction, from you as he further buried your head into his chest—allowing himself this moment to hold you close and shush you, to try and calm his body down and act the part of a confused and concerned friend.

“What has you so upset, my beloved?” He asked, pulling you from him to gaze upon your face, to allow you to see his concern for you. “What has gone wrong?”

“Y-you were right!” You wailed, unable to hide your sniffles and sobs as you spoke “T-they came! Y-y-your friends! They tried to take us!”

“Shhhh…” He cooed softly, pulling you back into him to try and calm you down “I know you must be terrified right now, but I’m here now. Nothing to worry about.”

“But you’re not always here!” Your voice was muffled due to your position, as you brought your arms up to dig into his side “You weren’t here yesterday! And that‘s when they came! You promised you would protect me!”

Hanta would admit, he hated seeing you cry. Hated hearing the way your voice, one usually filled with cheer, sounded so broken; so miserable. And he hated knowing he was the cause that set in motion the event that shook you to your core.

But it needed to be done, you needed to see how important he was to you. Needed you to see that your place was to be by him, that was where you were meant to be. 

“I am trying to protect you, my honeysuckle…” Hanta brought a hand up to pet your hair, “But it is difficult for me to be in two places at once. My home is in the heavens, it is where I am to fulfill my duties to the mortals; it is rather difficult for me to make these trips to you as it means neglecting what I am meant to do. Unless....”

He let it hang in the air, a pregnant pause for you to become curious about what he might say. He knew he had you when you lifted your head up to look at him once again, repeating his last word back to him.

“Unless…” Hanta sighed, “Unless you leave with me, and come to live with me in my domain. Only then can I assure your protection.”

He knew you would not like his answer, especially as he saw new fresh tears starting to fall from your eyes, staining your cheeks with their hot streams. He cupped your face in his palm, wiping them away as he tried to comfort you once again, playing the part of a torn man in a tough situation perfectly, as he tried to reason with you.

“B-but my sister!” You babbled, head shaking at every word he was saying “I cannot leave my sister behind! I won’t do it!”

“Your sister can find solace in the mountains if needed! An anthousai is bound to meadows and fields! You cannot find that there, cannot find safety anywhere but where I can protect you!”

“B-but...”

“I know that it is a difficult thing to accept, a difficult choice you must make. But if you want the protection I can provide you must leave with me. I can promise you that nothing will harm you; not a finger to be laid on your skin while you are within my domain.”

You sniffle, looking into his eyes once more; to see if there was any trace of dishonesty within them. And, like always, there was none. With a shaky breath, and a nod of your head, you stepped away from his hold to walk back to your home to say your goodbyes.

Your feet felt like lead with every step. Your heart ached at every flower, leaf, and blade of grass that you passed for you knew it would be the last time you saw it. And as you made it closer and closer to where your sister was, to the home that made your heart feel warm. 

Now it filled you with sorrow and dread, as you wondered if you would ever again feel the kind of happiness you felt when you first stepped within these walls. Wondered what would become of your sisters once you left this place for good. You hoped for nicer and better things, better companions, but your heart could not promise you such things, your mind could not ease its worries. 

You couldn’t speak when she opened the door, asking you what was going on. All you could do was pull her into you, hold her in your tight grasp as you whispered how much you loved her. How brighter sunrises were upon her horizon, and how you would miss her so.

She watched you walk back down to him, your body shaking with the violent sobs coming forth. Watched as this man, this god, took you back into his arms and shushed you; claiming you down and whispering what she could only assume was sweet nothings to you. 

She watched as you turned back to her once more. A broken smile, one that looked more like a pained grimace, appeared upon your lips as you brought a weak hand up to wave your last goodbye to her. A goodbye she never envisioned ever happening.

And then she watched him take you away; forever.

~~~

Hanta’s home was beautiful.

It was filled with golden pillars and furniture. Marbled rock adorned many surfaces, with plush pillows and linen upon beds, lounges, and chairs. You knew they would feel like clouds, be the softest things you could ever lie on. 

But at this moment you couldn’t care for how soft anything felt, how plush and inviting the comfort was as it sank perfectly when your body had collapsed on top of it. Or how inviting it was to allow your body to enjoy it all, to allow it to lure you into a wondrous sleep.

No, for at this moment you were mourning the greatest loss you could possibly think of.

Hanta was kind enough to sit next to you through it. A hand running soothing patterns up your arms, your back, and even your hair as you cried out in anguish; never saying a word. Only murmuring out to you, after what felt like days of sobbing, to rest your head; to let yourself enter the land of dreams, and for Hitoshi to guide you to a sweet one.  And you could not stop your body from finally agreeing. 

For you would need your rest. 

Hanta had waited long enough to finally have you here with him. He adored that you always believed him, that your naivete allowed you to trust him and his sweet words. To allow him to take you here, to the one place where you will never be able to escape him; for once a nymph was the enter the realm of the gods, she would lose her ability to transform - for how could a nymph become a tree, or a flower, while in the heavens?

They couldn’t. And now you were forever at his mercy. Forever to spend your days with him, indulging him in whatever splendor he wanted from you; for he was kind enough to indulge you for the months it took to woo you, it was only fair to pay him back in kind.

You, the sweet little anthousai. One too blinded by the God, whose sweet words and flattery made you melt, to notice that he had other titles too; that treachery and deception and craftiness came hand in hand with sweet nothings and empty compliments.

And oh, what a crafty web he had spun for you. The one who laid so sweetly upon his bed.

The one who called to him like a lost and sad child when you finally awoke. Your big eyes stared up at him, as you asked him for some food for your hungry tummy and something to quench your dry throat.

And who was he to deny someone so precious? A sweet little thing that asked him so nicely? He couldn’t and wouldn’t, and so he went to fetch you some of the finest fruits and ambrosia to nibble on as you tried to awaken your tired body. And wine, his special and most favourite wine for you to sip on.

When he held out the goblet to you, you hesitated; your arm halting before it could reach the drink. “I-it’s pink…”

“Yes, yes it is!” Hanta couldn’t help but laugh at your obvious statement, enjoying the way you eyed the pink liquid that seemed to swirl within its confinement with a mind of its own “A special kind of wine, the only kind reserved and enjoyed by the gods.”

The way you looked at him, eyes still showing trepidation over what he was offering. He couldn’t blame you for it, someone like you would not know the type of splendors the gods enjoyed from day to day; you were but a humble and simple thing.

Hanta shrugged his shoulders, bringing the goblet to his lips and taking a gulp of its contents. “Look see? Nothing wrong with it at all! Just a sweet wine, one that tastes like wild strawberries.”

He smiled when you finally relented, a sheepish smile gracing your own face when you finally accepted his offer; almost like you felt silly for doubting him in the first place. But again, you were just a sweet simple thing. How could you have known that gods are immune to the effects of aphrodisiacs?

How could you have known what they would feel like once they had taken hold of your body?

You couldn’t. And when you felt your breathing become labored, your body started to sweat as your heartbeat quickened, and for a strange heat to enter your belly; you grew scared. Wanting whatever heat that had entered you to subside and allow you to breathe; to allow the aching you felt to stop.

Hanta watched with mirth from the corner of his eye at you. Watching how your body squirmed and shifted, trying to get comfortable but never succeeding. Trying to ease your discomfort but failing to do so, not knowing how.

“Honeysuckle, are you alright?” He asked you, moving aside the platter of fruit to shift closer to you.

“I-I feel funny…!” You mumbled out, hand grasping around the wrist trying to check your temperature; unable to help yourself as you pulled him closer to you “I don’t know what’s wrong!”

You wished you could stop yourself, and show some form of modesty and restraint. But your body was on fire, and your mind had no way of stopping it from acting on its own. You clung to him, yet again. Though this time you had climbed into his lap, your hips stuttering as you inadvertently ground your lower half onto his leg.

“Funny how?” Hanta asked, eyes turning dark with lust as he watched you try to relieve yourself upon him so shamelessly, it made blood rush to his cock as he had to hold your hips in place; to help ground himself.

“I don’t know!” You whined, nails digging into the muscles on his shoulders - wishing he would allow you to move your hips again “I feel warm and funny, and it hurts!”

“It hurts?”

“Mhm!” You nodded, head ducking down to rest against his chest as you panted heavily, trying to get a level head once more, but failing miserably “I don’t know what to do!”

“I can help you” Hanta murmured, taking some of your hair and pushing it aside so he may be able to kiss along your neck, smirking when he heard you whine at the contact “Will you let me help you?”

You frantically nodded your head, but he tuts at that response; teasingly squeezing your hips in his gasp “Ah, ah, ah, I need you to say it love.”

You moved your head back up to look at him, and he relished the frustrated tears that were now forming in your eyes. The way your lips formed a pout, made them look more plush and delectable to try and bite and suckle on.

“Please help me Hanta” You whimpered out, unable to resist pushing yourself closer to him.

“Say that you’re mine, and I will give you everything you could ever need.” He baited, wanting to hear even more of your sweet voice.

“I’m all yours…”

You were going to say more; going to beg him further to finally help you; to ask him to stop prolonging your suffering. But you were silenced when you felt his lips press into yours. Felt the way they moved against yours, trying to get you to follow suit; which you do after a moment with fever.

You could help the moan that was muffled between you when you felt his tongue peak out, running along the bottom of your lip. You wished you knew what he wanted, you would be more than willing to give it to him. But Hanta seemed to understand this, and he moved your hips against him, allowing you to feel the hardness underneath. The gasp you let out was short-lived, as his tongue plunged into your mouth, exploring it slowly and expertly.

All you could do was melt into him; melt into his touch and the way he was kissing you. He left you breathless, panting hotly into the air when he finally parted from you; unable to keep the smirk off his face when he saw the blissed-out look you had acquired.

Hanta loved hearing the small gasps and whines you would let spill forth from your mouth, almost like you were unable to keep them hidden, when he started to kiss down your jaw. Moving slowly down your neck, leaving little nips to see your jump in surprise; your sweet little mewls going straight to his length that he was slowly rocking you onto

He was taking his time with you; he had waited so long just to have you at this moment and he wasn’t going to rush it; even if it was tempting with the way you kept pulling him closer and calling his name so sweetly. But he knew he needed to do everything right, everything perfectly, so you would crave him. Want him like this all the time.

He slowly pushed your shift down your arms, lips following closely behind his hands; to slowly caress and kiss every inch of skin you had allowed him to see and look upon. And what a sight you were to see; to him every inch of you was perfectly crafted and made him that more elated that you were all his.

“I know…” Hanta cooed, lips lavishing the skin of your breasts, fingers gently tugging on your hardened nipples “I know… it is uncomfortable. But let me take my time, love. I promise you it will be worth it. Let me worship you like you were meant to be.”

You jumped, unable to help yourself from placing a hand in his hair, tugging it harshly, when Hanta’s fingers brushed against your folds. He groaned, both at your harsh tugging and at how soaked you had become; just over some heavy petting.

Though, the feeling was foreign to you; one that kicked your senses into overdrive. You couldn’t help but clamp your legs shut, effectively stopping his hand from continuing, at the sudden and unfamiliar feeling.

“My love,” Hanta cooed, gently pulling your legs apart, “You asked for relief, and I shall give it to you. Put your trust in me, I can assure you it will feel good.” 

He placed reassuring kisses along your chest, slowly petting his free hand up and down your thigh to help calm you; to help relax you and allow him access once again to your dripping cunt.

You sigh out after a moment, trembling legs finally parting for him, freeing his hand once again. Unable to help yourself from keening at his long fingers as they slowly started to up and down your folds. Being careful at where to touch, looking at your face to see which spots you reacted most to; centering in on them to hear you cry out for him. 

Your little bundle of nerves is where he narrows in after he accidentally brushed against it; the way you moaned his name made his whole being shudder - wanting to hear you say it again and again and again. Wanting to watch you writhe and whine atop of him as you finally come undone by him.

You gasped, legs trying to close once more but unable to do so by a hand holding a thigh in place, when you felt his fingers start to circle your entrance, the one place that has never been touched or breached.

“Just breathe, I need to properly prepare you, my love.” Hanta groaned when he felt your quivering hole clench around nothing at his words “I promise you this will be just as good, if not better, than what I have already done.”

He truly had the hands of a god, the way they so delicately entered you; stretched you in such a way that you had no choice but to moan out for more. You never could have imagined this feeling, even in your sweetest dreams. 

And it was accompanied by his words. Oh, how you could listen to him forever with the way he was groaning and purring our praises. Telling you how good you were doing, taking his fingers so well. How beautiful you looked like this, how he couldn’t imagine a more beautiful sight. And for you to come undone, allowing yourself to feel euphoria and grant him the chance to see it.

Who were you to deny such a tempting offer?

You were such a sight to behold. The way your body trembled, legs buckling as they struggled to hold your weight, hips unable to stop jerking away from his touch by still trying to keep the beautiful friction all the same. The way you cried out his name, unable to stop chanting it as you tried to breathe at the same time.

Hanta couldn’t help but push you down on your back, to hover over you as you tried to gain some semblance of thought once more. Hastily unrobbing himself, hissing when his cock was freed; having to take a deep breath and he stroked himself a few times before placing the blunt head at your leaking entrance.

“W-wait!” Your mind snapped you back into reality so quickly, you almost felt lightheaded “Hanta please wait!”

“For what?” He panted, hands gripping under your knees to lift your legs higher, “You are ready for me, my sweetest, and this will finally make all the unpleasant feelings disappear.”

“M’afraid!” You whimpered out, feeling the entirety of his length move between your folds as if to try and entice you once more; and the heat within you was proof it was working “Afraid it will hurt”

“You need not worry,” He purred, thumb rubbing little circles by your knees as he drank in the sight of you almost folded in half; how complacent you were. “For a moment it will, but only a moment. Then it will start to feel heavenly. Trust me, for I have not lied to you yet, have I?”

You shook your head, the action saying what you wanted to say - as words were failing you. He was right, he had always been honest with you, and even now he had shown you patience and pleasure beyond your wildest dreams. So why doubt him now?

He started to sink into you, after you had asked him to do so. Hanta let out a long groan as he felt your tight walls clamp down on him, both in trying to prevent him further but also milking him for everything he had to offer, and inch by inch he carved his way into your heat.

The burn was as he claimed, painful. But once he was fully sheathed, that burn began to change from that of pain, to that of wanting pleasure. The agonizing heat that had come from nowhere was coming forth once again to consume you in its agonizing flames. 

“Hanta, please!” You cry out, hands reaching out to grip where his sat on your legs “Please move! Make this feeling go away!”

He was never one to say no to you. He nodded his head, taking a shaky breath, before slowly moving his hips; taking his length almost completely out of your weeping cunt, before pressing it back into you. Watching your face carefully to see if any discomfort could be found.

When your pinched brows started to relax, your breathing changing from pained chirps into those sweet breathy moans, and when you start to cling to him once more - nails finding purchase into the skin on his arms - does he pick up the pace.

Though, Hanta knows he will not last much longer, not when your warm heat clings to him so tightly, begging him to claim what is rightfully his and paint your pretty cunt white with his seed; he knows he must first have you cum around him. To selfishly feel your messy cunt spasm around him like it has never done before.

He brings one of his hands from where it was placed on your knee downwards to your bundle of nerves, moaning when he feels you instantly tighten around him. 

“Come on, my sweet love” He pants, hand rubbing messy, uncoordinated, circles upon it “Let go for me, please? Trust in your god, and let that coil within you snap. Make a mess of the both of us.”

You keen and whine, the pressure building to an almost painful level within you. Though the dam finally breaks when you felt his length hit a particularly sweet spot within you, one that had you seeing stars. Your back arched, as you felt your breath hitch in your throat; unable to make any noise as your mind and body ascended to that plane of euphoria once more.

Hanta could not help but follow suit. Only a few messy thrusts and he stills inside you, his grinding up against the swell of your thighs as he moans; painting your insides with his seed - finally claiming you, completely, as his own. After regaining his breathing, though not fully, and placing your legs back down; he starts to pull out of you. 

“No please!” You cry out, eyes turning glassy as you wrap your arms and legs around him once more “Stay with me please! I don’t want you to go!”

“I am not going anywhere, I promise” He smiled gently down at you, tucking your head under his chin as he pulled you to lay atop of him.

Hanta watched your breathing, watching you try and calm down. He cannot blame you for being so emotional, after all the highs the aphrodisiac gives are much stronger than anything you have ever been used to. 

He smirks to himself when he sees your breathing finally began to even out, sleep over-taking you in its grasp. For now, he finally has you right where he wants you. And now, thanks to that wonderful potion, you will never, or want to, leave him.

Much like a rose and its petals, once one is swept away by the wind it is gone; forever. You were his rose petal and he was the wind that snatched you away.

[zoeysdamn]

"Is that a ring?" - Knight!Nikolaï x reader

A/N: you know what I love with @corpsebasil Knight Nikolaï AU? Crushing angst and secret lovers/marriage trope, yes. I wrote angst already so let'ssssssssss goooooo

absolutely self-indulgent, I'm weak okay

“Is that a ring, Sir Nikolaï?” 

The question came out from the mouth of the lady-in-waiting with a gasp and made every head in the room swirl to the knight. Looking up from the handkerchief he just picked up, Sir Nikolaï found himself lost for words. When the piece of fabric dropped from the edge of your lap, he couldn’t help himself but practically dropped on his knees to catch it and bring it back to you. What a devoted knight he was to his princess. And one of the maidens clearly noticed the glimmering band around his finger. 

You couldn’t help but to let out a faint giggle behind your hand. Just as quick, the knight recomposed himself with his usual polite smile. 

“Ah, yes, it seems that it is indeed, miss Ankorov,” Nikolaï agreed politely, his natural nonchalance back as he straightened himself. 

Your ladies in waiting exchanges confused looks and giggles at the newly found information. Sir Nikolaï, the most dedicated, handsome, sworn to celibacy and never once seduced  knight, had a ring on his finger? Since when?

As the ladies exchanged hushed whispers among themselves, you shot an amused look at Nikolaï. He answered back with a quick wink without anyone else noticing. Oh, this was going to be fun. 

“I didn’t realize that wearing a piece of jewelry would be so disturbing,” Sir Nikolaï chuckled charmingly – eliciting more giggles from some of the women in the room. “I apologize for the turbulence, ladies.”

“Not at all!” assured one of them, blushing in embarrassment,  “It’s just that…well…”

“We are quite surprised to see you wearing such a ring on that particular finger,” quipped another, wiggling her eyebrows a little to her embarrassed colleague. “Is it what we think it is?”

“And what do you ladies think it is?” 

Chuckling softly, you hid your amusement by taking another sip of your tea. This should be an interesting exchange to watch, you thought. One of the ladies noticed your amused smile and gasped softly. 

“Do you know what it is, your majesty?” she inquired, greedy for the gossip. 

Setting your tea cup slowly, you raised an eyebrow to the blonde knight. “Actually, I don’t. Would you please be so kind as to enlighten us about that infamous ring of yours, Sir Nikolaï?” 

He bit back a smile at your feigned confusion, while the ladies in the room looked at him with expectation – knowing that Sir Nikolaï would never refuse a demand from the princess. So he straightened his back and put on the most charming smile of his. 

“It was given to me by someone very dear to my heart, ladies.”

Of course his carefully picked, provocative chosen words made another round of hushed shrieks erupted among the handmaidens. Even you feigned a shocked gasp – very useful to hide your giggles at how easy it was for him to mess around your poor ladies-in-waiting’s brains. All of their minds clearly got into certain places very fast. And yet, by the magic of etiquette, none of them dared to ask the infamous – scandalous question. 

“Someone dear to your heart?” repeated one of them, giddy with gossip. 

“Indeed”, nodded Nikolaï, still collected and professional as ever. Oh, how he was making them stall with the small answers.

“May we inquire who? Or maybe you’re bound by secrecy by that love of yours, Sir?” giggled the youngest lady, filled with romance novels thoughts. 

The question elicited a soft chuckle from the knight. Thankfully none of the other ladies in the room noticed it, but it came with a warm twinkle of affection in his eyes. 

He bowed slightly, disguising his smile to the eager ladies-in-waiting. 

“I’m only sworn to my lady,” he smoothly said, “I’m afraid she’s the only one I can truly be faithful to, sorry ladies.”

Some of the ladies pouted, deception draping over their features. “So there’s no one?” 

As an answer, Sir Nikolaï offered them an apologetic smile. “I would be a poor excuse of a knight if I vowed my life to someone other than my Lady.” 

The ladies in waiting groaned at his words, disappointed by the lack of juicy gossip after all. Soon, the topic drifted to something else entirely, and Sir Nikolaï’s ring was long forgotten. Maybe it was a family heirloom from his mother after all? It would make sense. But fortunately for the knight, the ladies in waiting’s mind ended up filled with other things as the afternoon passed. Ultimately, the ladies had to leave and bid their goodbyes with a respectful bow. Once they exited the room and the door closed, you let out a long sight, as you got up on your feet. Those afternoons with your ladies in waiting were great, but sitting for hours had your legs tingling. Stretching your legs you moved to the window, eager to feel a bit of natural light. Still, the best feeling was the warmth of Sir Nikolaï’s hands on your shoulders, sliding to hold you close as he pressed a kiss on your temple. You leaned on his chest, humming at the peaceful sensation the embrace brought. When a ray of light caught the surface of the golden band on his finger, a fond smile graced your lips. 

“So,” you started teasing softly, “tell me about this someone dear to your heart, Sir Nikolaï.”

The blonde knight chuckled, nuzzling his nose in your neck. 

“You’re never gonna let this down, are you?”

“Never,” you smiled. “Please oh good sir, tell me more about this dear lady of yours,” you asked dramatically. 

Sir Nikolaï laughed lightly, gently turning you around to face him. Your breath stopped for a second when your eyes caught his, and the pure look of adoration he seemed to always have when he looked at you, no matter how many times he did. 

“Well,” he started softly, “she’s a sight. She’s kind, brave, beautiful, and has quite a good taste, if I may add.” 

A light laugh escaped you at his last comment, and Nikolaï’s smile got even wider at the sound of it. Saints, your laugh. 

Another ray of the soft late afternoon light glimpsed on your collarbone, catching his eye. His fingers delicately pinched the glimmering surface, pulling on the thin, almost invisible to the eye, golden chain. No one ever noticed it, but he knew it was here, almost burning and begging him through your dresses and delicate silk tops. And when a golden, delicately carved gold ring looped around the chain finally emerged from the censoring fabrics, he felt his heart soar with joy. 

“It appears you also do have someone dear to your heart, my lady,” he smiled softly. 

You grinned as you nuzzled yourself close to his chest, “I do, dear husband, I do.” 

His lips caught yours in a loving and long awaited kiss as soon as the words left your mouth – and you gladly responded to it with a smile. 

Unlike your beloved knight of a spouse, you couldn’t wear your ring in public. Sure, you had other rings, but this one would certainly be suspicious. So you wore it underneath your clothes, always close to your heart ; until you can one day wear it on your hand, just where Nikolaï had put it when he married you in secret, away from everyone’s eyes. 

“Aren’t you going to show me how dear I am to you, Sir Nikolaï?” you asked huskily after you parted away from your kiss. 

He grinned and immediately holstered you in his strong arms. “Most certainly, my beloved wife.”

[yxstxrdrxxm-a]

SYNOPSIS: Lyney has a patience of a saint, but he's had enough of this game of cat and mouse. This time, he wants you, and no one will stop him for getting what he wants. (2nd POV) [ IDENTITYV AU ]

TW/S: Yandere tendencies, stalking (he's chasing you), minor character death (other survivors died), emotional manipulation, Arle teaches him how to """metaphorically""" cut off someone's 'wings', ooc Lyney and Arle, gore, teeth, Lyney is unhinged

You couldn't remember what tipped him off. It could be from your actions, or it could be from what you said. Hell, it may as well be something that you unknowingly did that offended him— something that would normally not be a bother to him that became its own trigger.

Whatever it could be, you were in the other end of such a horrible fate. And alas, the last place you wished you didn't end up in had to be the one you loathed the most.

The eerie chimes of the bell echoing around the haunted town continued to plague your senses, followed by the faint meowing of the grin-malkin cats as you sprinted for your dear life.

You can hardly focus on what is there and isn't there, as all you had is to get the hell out of here and save this sinking match.

Your only task is to survive.

Survive the madness of the man that loved you in such a twisted, horrible way.

You were his rabbit, and Eversleeping Town was the location of his greatest show yet— a show that will capture not just your attention, but your own will.

Granted, the ever forgiving Illusionist made a simple deal— if you get out by any means necessary, be it the dungeon, exit gate, or, hell— even by completing the ciphers with your companions or saved by the Nightingale… He'll let you go.

However, should you go down, he would consider that as a win of his own, and that meant you cannot leave this forsaken match that you're under.

It's why you were prepared. You came with a companion or two that can assist you, even if it had its own drawbacks.

Alas, this did not stop the Knave from simply going after them first, leaving only 4 ciphers and the dungeon still hidden and closed from many prying eyes. You were clever to cover your tracks, but he is more so with removing the most trickiest companions yet.

…

Or, that's what many may think.

The Knave bas been taught from the best of the best— his "Father" has taught him of how to, in simpler terms, keep a bird from flying away in its cage.

Should Lyney need it, he needed to learn one crucial detail: he needed to learn just how to clip his beloved's wings first and keep them in his cage.

After all, if he had found a way to do such a thing… the outcome of the match will be nothing but predictable.

And the Knave thrives off of the uncertainty, and especially with being dubbed the Trickster of Eversleeping.

He'll let you off for now. He'll let you scurry around, trying and praying that he never catches wind of your antics.

After all, the moment he catches you, you will have to pray to whatever God you believed in that he feels nice enough to not take you down to his very grave.

"Now, Lyney," he could vaguely hear 'Father' speak as she handed him his cards. Gesturing right before them was the sight of someone bound in the chair. The magician stood as he saw the stranger shake and struggle, trying to say something under the gag.

"You must learn how to use your tricks to matters such as this. I'm sure it will be hard, but I have faith that you can do it."

He seemed rather hesitant to speak with how the fool was trying and failing to scream. To beg, even. It was a pathetic sight if Lyney didn't had morals... Which he had, much to 'Father's' chagrin.

Oh well. It wasn't as though having morals can be a bad thing. Maybe it was better, so she can use it to her advantage.

"Take this, Lyney."

She hands the young magician an item. One that can be used with just a bit of force.

"Now, let Father teach you how to clip a bird's wings. All you have to do is watch and follow my lead. You can do that, right?"

He turned his gaze to the taller woman, then to the item she handed to him. The sight of the iron and leather caught his attention, and especially with the ends of it's 'mouth' being bloodied.

Pliers.

He should've dropped it the moment he had it. He should have done that and not agree. It was brutal to harm another person, and he knew that.

... But his 'Father' would simply dangle the life of Lynette over his head. She could simply threaten to send Lynette off to a dangerous mission, especially one where dying is guaranteed.

Many have died, and Lyney was not a stranger to that.

However, his sister was special. She was the only one he had left, and she to him. Should she die, he didn't knew what he'd end up doing.

And so, with a deep breath, he nodded and faced his 'Father'.

"Yes, Father."

...

That day didn't end in a simple case of dental work.

But he learned how to 'clip' a person's wings in exchange.

Your chest began to heave as you traversed through the empty buildings of the town, fatigue catching up to you the more you spent running.

Although your legs ached and begged for a break, you continued running, feeling the rush from behind you— one from the grin-malkin cats.

Now, one can say that you thought covering your tracks was a skill you need to learn. And with that, you assumed it to be the case. However, you've yet to learn that it was better not to underestimate a hunter's skills.

A lesson that Lyney, a man whom you've helped when you were both survivors, would be more than happy to teach you.

As you vaulted over an open window, you felt the air grow harsh as it whipped you on your descent, your feet landing on the pavement. Feeling your muscles tighten, you grit your teeth and sprinted onwards.

Come on, I just need to get to the graveyard. I can lose him from there!

Alas, you were not gifted with the matter of stamina. Just as you've reached past the tracks of the tram, you could hear Lyney speak from behind you.

"Look at what we have here! Scurrying off, are we?"

And then, you felt it.

Pain.

The harsh hit from Rosseland, his cat, as you vaulted over the window leading to the land of tombstones sent you flying; your back soon collided with one of the worn headstones, making you groan in pain.

In the midst of your suffering, Lyney vaulted through the window, his purple eyes twinkling as he crouched down to look at you.

"My, my, my little rabbit," he tutted, chuckling as he watched you crawl away from him with no avail. "Haven't we made a deal? If you manage to escape this match, I'll let you go. But since you went down... I get to keep you. Do you remember that?"

... You kept your mouth shut.

"... [Name]," he said, his right hand reaching over to grab your neck. "Answer me. Do you remember what our agreement is?"

"... I do."

And yet it feels like it's stacked against me.

Coughing, you turned your head away from him. You didn't need to see his face to know that he was happy to hear your agreement to the matter.

"See? It isn't so hard to agree, now, is it?" he asked with a lit of his voice. "Now, my darling... Now that I have you, I'd like for you to answer a few questions for me."

Questions?

"... And if I refuse?"

Lyney laughed at that, but his voice was less composed. Perhaps it was more manic.

"Ahahahaha! What makes you think you're able to refuse, my little hare?" he asked, his eyes closed before reaching up to grab your chin. With an iron grip, he turned your head to him, his eyes open to face you with a chilling smile.

"I'd hate to have you toy with me like that. You know that, right?"

You wanted to say otherwise, but you were already incapacitated. If you ever decided to counter his claim, you knew that he would do worse than simply chairing you to one of the... Less than desirable chairs with rockets strapped onto them.

".. Fine," you breathed out. "I agree."

"Splendid," he said, pulling his gloved hand away to grab his hat. As he pulled it off of his head and turned it upside down, he reached his left to slip inside.

"Now, I don't want to you to force my hand. It's only a few questions that I want you to answer, and if you answer them truthfully... I may spare you by chairing you myself."

You didn't knew what that meant...

... Up until you saw a pair of pliers peek out from his hand, the dull gleam of iron greeting your horrified face.

"But if you lied, I'll have to resort to some more... Drastic measures."

The hours you two spent together was, in short, torture.

You couldn't count the amount of times that your teeth got yanked with those metal ones, the pain and blood gushing as you wailed.

You could count other ways that would be better than feeling metal graze and nick at them. You could've asked for simply to be drugged, to face death by his hands, to bleed onto the ground that he walked on.

However, death was not a fate worse than this. And Lyney— rather, the Lyney you see now, not the one you know of— was a man who had a manic streak hidden under that smile.

As he yanked the nineteenth tooth out of you, he turned his head down to see blood drip down and stain your clothes. He scowled and placed his pliers down with four teeth now on his right side, grabbing a handkerchief to wipe the blood away.

He knew it was pointless. You did, too.

Maybe it was a way to distract yourself from the pain, and for him to justify his actions in doing such a thing.

Alas, delusions can only take you so far, and pain is karma's many mistresses. One of many that everyone in the manor is familiar with, you and Lyney included.

"Shhh..."

He began to dab the cloth more as blood spilled and tainted the fabric, his smile empty of its sympathy for your decision to lie to him. All he could see before him was his darling, whose way, way too stubborn for his good.

And one that is good to make him lose his patience.

"I have warned you, haven't I?" he asked, his voice chilling yet sickeningly sweet while he pulled the handkerchief away. Tossing it to a direction he could care less to look, he grabbed another from his hat to continue his 'treatment'.

"If you had simply stayed truthful, you wouldn't have to loose your teeth! And yet, you didn't listen," he concluded, tutting as you sobbed and turned your head from him.

"I pity you, my dear hare. But it's the price to pay with how you didn't listen to my warnings."

When the blood stopped spilling, he placed the bloodied fabric and stared at his handiwork. From the answers he got from you, he was quite... Intrigued with what you told him.

"Now... I'm going to ask you one more time."

Grabbing the now bloodied pliers, he positioned it to your twentieth tooth, ignoring the sobs you let out and your gaze full of fear.

"Do you prefer my dear sister, Lynette?"

He could hear your breath heave as the metal 'teeth' of the pliers began to tighten.

However, the answer you gave him was interesting... Especially when you whispered out 'yes' with your greatest efforts.

...

"Is that so?"

He couldn't help but laugh. So, you do prefer Lynette, his sister... Over him? What a farce!

He may care for his sister to death, but he would rather have you than her survive to be his lifelong assistant.

Especially now that his 'Father' gave him the role of Knave, and how his siblings have been punished for trying to go against him and save that sorry excuse of magician. Himself.

"Ah, I see how it is," he said, his voice merely a wheeze as his hand shook. However, it went still and firm once more, and he gave you a lopsided smile.

"Do you remember what I've told you before, hm? Back when we were simply 'survivors' in this forsaken manor?"

Your body shook.

"Magicians generally do not reveal the core secrets behind their tricks," he said, his smile widening. "And especially if it concerns their heart. However, I may just revoke that if you call me 'Master Lyney' and swear to be my only assistant— and only me."

He could see that you were shaking even more, and the fear was what drove him mad. Alas, he knew that he might nick at your gums if he got too rough.

Not that you mind, right?

"I'm curious how much of it you'd understand," he concluded, leaning over to continue in a whisper.

"And how long you'd last, hehe~"

And thus, he yanked your twentieth tooth, causing your screams to erupt all through the barren town and the Illusionist to shiver in glee. He always enjoyed the thought of performing, but maybe he has lost it while staying here for so long.

Putting the pliers away, he hushed you and began to rock your body, uncaring of the sobbing and your blood staining his attire.

"I just wish to make a point. And I hope you understand that, my assistant."

Alas, the day cannot last forever. Lyney knew that, and it's why he decided to do one last trick.

Covering your eyes, he grabbed a crimson red handkerchief— one tainted with your blood— and covered your face. With a whisper, he pulled it away, leaning back to see his handiwork.

"And... Voila!"

He seemed rather smug as he saw teeth were back in your mouth, each one untainted and straight like new. Still, the damage was done, as you continued to sob and wail, begging for him to not do it again.

...

That day didn't end in a simple denture fix, that he's certain of.

But he utilized what 'Father' taught him all those years ago.

And that was good enough.

@.throw-letter-away | do not republish or repost my works anywhere | 2023

[bones4thecats]

Could I request Poseidon, Thor, and Hades with a fortune teller s/o who is getting flak from her current customers because they don't like hearing the truth?

Type of Writing: Request Characters: Poseidon, Thor, and Hades Name: {Character} Helping Fortune Teller! S/O with Angry Customers Requester: Anonymous

A/N: This was a very unique request, and I have to give you props for making it so cute-sounding! I was actually thinking of the fortune teller from the classic Scooby-Doo show for some reason while writing this, lmao!

P.S: I had the reader be a mix of a nymph and God, since it seemed the most likely scenario for them to actually look at the reader in any way.

✧⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋄✧⋄⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧⋄⋅⋆⋄✧⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧⋄⋅⋆⋄✧⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅

✧⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋄✧⋄⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧⋄⋅⋆⋄✧⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧⋄⋅⋆⋄✧⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅

🔱 He wasn't very amused with your actions at first, claiming the fact that you could see the future? You weren't a full-blooded God, how would you be able to do so?

🔱 Poseidon would normally watch you whenever he could through the magic-ball that you had given him, just so he could contact you during work if he was busy with some things

🔱 But, that day, he decided he wanted to see you in person, so, he walked out of his palace and through Valhalla until he came upon your small place of work in the nearby town

🔱 He froze when hearing the sounds of a glass ball breaking and he stormed inside, taking his trident and gripping it tightly as he walked around in search of you

🔱 When he heard the sounds of your yells against another man's, he burst the door down and pinned the man to the floor, his trident nearly piercing his neck

🔱 Everybody in Valhalla knew that you were his, but that didn't stop people from testing your patience and getting into quarrels once and a while

🔱 The man froze as you watched your husband press his trident more into the guy's neck as he avoided his question of what he was doing

" He couldn't accept the fact that his spouse was bound to cheat on him, so, he started a yelling match. I was about to take the ball and smash it over his damn head. "

🔱 Poseidon's glared darkened as the man sweat more and more, nobody ever experienced a glare this dark from the Tyrant of the Seas and survived to tell the tale

" Let him live, seeing him go through the fear of you, and go through the pain of his spouse being unfaithful kind of amuses me, my King. "

🔱 Your husband just sighed and de-summoned his trident before ordering the man to leave, causing him to scamper out in fear for his life

🔱 Nobody, not even fellow Gods, are allowed to mess with, nonetheless, threaten what was his, especially some puny mortal

✧⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋄✧⋄⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧⋄⋅⋆⋄✧⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧⋄⋅⋆⋄✧⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅

✧⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋄✧⋄⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧⋄⋅⋆⋄✧⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧⋄⋅⋆⋄✧⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅

🌩️ Thor adores watching you work, seeing you hold people's hands, especially his cousin's and father's in your own and telling them what was bound to happen would make his eyes sparkle

🌩️ You were no full-blown God, rather, you were a mixture of nymph and God, with one parent being one and the other being the latter

🌩️ Whenever you were set for a customer, Thor would normally excuse himself to go training to do something work-related, he didn't like it when people invaded his privacy, why would he ignore that and do the same to them?

🌩️ He had just finished training when he was walking through your small shop to grab you to go home, but, when he saw a trench-coat and hat that had to belong to a man, he just sighed

🌩️ Thor knew you were faithful, but, seeing as you never notified him that you would be working late by leaving him a note on your desk, he felt that something was terribly wrong

🌩️ Hearing the sound of yelling, Thor stood up straight from his more slumped position and he immediately began to follow the noise

🌩️ Opening the door, he saw the supposed customer of your's yelling at you, accusing you of lying and ordering you to re-do his appointment and tell him the truth

🌩️ Thunder raged outside as the male lunged back from the force of lightning rushing through his body, causing you to stand up from your seat and run behind your husband

" What is this about? "

🌩️ Thor's voice was alarmingly low and threatening, sending more shocks of fear throughout your customer, he was even freaking you out a bit

" This guy, he keeps saying I was lying about his fortune. " " You are- "

🌩️ He was cut off with the threatening glare of the God of Thunder's, and he sat down on the ground, hiding himself behind his arms, and his silence alerted you to continue your explanation

" I told him his fortune, that his spouse was carrying but he'd lose the baby in infancy and his spouse would end up dying from complications, and after hearing that he went on a frenzy. "

🌩️ Telling you to grab your things, Thor pat your head as the male stayed pushed against the wall and the ground, and as you walked out of your office to grab your things, the sound of your husband's threats made your heart flutter, he may be a tough-person, but it's nice to know he loves you in his own unique way

✧⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋄✧⋄⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧⋄⋅⋆⋄✧⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧⋄⋅⋆⋄✧⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅

✧⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋄✧⋄⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧⋄⋅⋆⋄✧⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧⋄⋅⋆⋄✧⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅

💀 Hades admires your ability of seeing the future, and while many Deities at first believed you to be a mockery of their kind, since you were a mixture of nymph and God, he was the only one to actually voice his real feelings

💀 He adores watching you work, but, due to his role and yours, he nearly always had to work on something whenever you had an appointment

💀 But, whenever he had a break from work, he would go down to pick you up for a break or for your lunch, rarely if ever did he not come himself to pick you up

💀 Much like today, he was heading down Valhalla to take you home from work, since he got a letter from Zeus saying it was supposed to rain and thunder, according to their schedule, and he didn't want you walking in that weather home

💀 Walking inside and pulling in his umbrella, Hades looked around for a note saying you were working later than normal, but, since he wouldn't find one, he began strolling into the back, maybe you were to busy to write a note

💀 That all went out the window when he heard your strained voice yelling at someone, causing him to slam the door open and look around for you, you never yelled for no reason

💀 When his sight landed on your customer being surrounded by broken glass, he snapped in rage, he didn't care if he didn't hurt you, he tried to hurt you, and Hades does not give mercy to those who try hurting those he cares for

" Hades! Let him go! " " He tried harming you, love. Why should I let him go? "

💀 Letting the man down from the neck slowly, you held your husband back from him by locking your arms together. And that was when he demanded the man to leave, not caring to hear his reasons for attacking you

" My dear, grab your things, we are heading home now. I'm going to call my work to a halt for the rest of the day. "

[k-howlett]

H(ear)tline Prologue | Bruce Wayne [Batman] xF!Angel:reader

TW: Possible religious insensitivity, Fallen Angel, Canon-breaking OOC, eventual smut(not in this specific installment)

Rating: Gender Specific (Female Reader), Eventual Smut (Teen+/mature), SFW (Prologue), eventual fluff

A/N:

Thank you so much for your continued patience! I am unfortunately knee deep in moving. Breaking and Entering is on Hiatus at the moment because of my inability to appeal a report (I've been too busy to check my email and missed the 24 hour deadline. Thank you so much(/s) to whoever FALSELY reported my artistry and now cost me hours of setbacks. I don't know if I can repost and change the tag but I did file a complaint with tumblr admin and am awaiting a resolution), in the mean time, please enjoy this concept I came up with half-awake whilst packing boxes!

With love and healing,

-Lark

𓂋

𓏲𝄢 𓏲𝄢 𓏲𝄢˚₊‧꒰ა ♡ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚𓏲𝄢 𓏲𝄢 𓏲𝄢

Bruce Wayne was not one for religion. If there was a God, the creator must’ve had a particular disdain for Gotham City and everything in it. The place was a living hell, overrun with the likes of Scarecrow, Bane, Joker, Penguin—an endless parade of villains. It felt as though God had abandoned him, leaving the city to rot.

When a group of young people stopped him on the street, offering free Bibles, Bruce briefly considered lashing out, tearing into their beliefs with the cynicism that years in Gotham had sharpened. But he held back. Despite his doubts, he couldn’t deny the comfort religion provided to those who believed. He recalled attending Sunday school as a child, his mother’s gentle voice praising the beauty of the world around them, her unshakeable faith even in the face of Gotham’s darkness. In her final moments, she had reached out to God. Who was he to strip these kids of that same hope?

Wordlessly, he accepted the leather-bound Bible. It was crafted with care, though the materials were clearly cheap—the gold lettering was already flaking. He considered tossing it when he got home, or maybe donating it to a shelter. He might not believe in God, but he knew that his own moral compass had been shaped by something greater than himself. Not everyone had that foundation; maybe some people really did need saving.

He sighed as he carried the Bible to his office. The last thing he needed was for anyone to think he’d found religion. He had a carefully curated, morally ambiguous playboy persona to maintain. What if the media thought he was turning over a new leaf? What if they took it as a sign he was ready to settle down? The thought of more women throwing themselves at him—especially devout ones—made him shudder.

He tucked the Bible under his arm, the gold lettering pressed tightly against his side. Maybe someone would mistake it for a journal. A glance at his watch made him scowl—somehow, the walk from the coffee shop to the office had eaten up more time than expected. Lucius would undoubtedly have something to say about it later; they had a meeting, and now he was going to be late—again.

Dragging a hand down his face, Bruce felt the exhaustion deep in his bones. The late nights and early mornings were catching up with him, eroding his focus, fraying the edges of his mind. For a moment, bitterness welled up—a rare flicker of resignation. Did it even make a difference? Gotham’s streets were never truly free of crime. Petty theft, gang violence, the constant churn of the underworld—it never stopped. And the ones he managed to lock up? They always found a way out. Arkham was a revolving door, a sick joke of a prison.

For a fleeting second, he entertained the idea of quitting. The notion of a full night’s sleep was almost unimaginable, but his body ached for it. Was there really no reprieve? After all these years, the despair felt like it was swallowing him whole. Gotham was a sinkhole, and he was drowning in it.

But he shook off the thought, setting his jaw with grim resolve. He would not break, and he would not allow himself the luxury of weakness. He’d let his body rot from the inside out if that’s what it took to see his mission through. It wasn’t just an obligation; it was a promise. And though no one would blame him if he walked away, though they might even understand, he wouldn’t bow down and admit defeat. He’d fought for fifteen years—he could fight for fifteen more.

𓏲𝄢 𓏲𝄢 𓏲𝄢𓏲𝄢 𓏲𝄢 𓏲𝄢𓏲𝄢 𓏲𝄢 𓏲𝄢

Bruce tossed the Bible onto his desk and sank into his leather chair, his eyes heavy as they flicked to the desktop screen. Logging in, he was greeted by a flood of emails—requests for meetings from the legal branch, shareholders bickering over stock distributions, and the usual complaints from board members about his lack of attention to this year’s Gala preparations.

His assistant had already informed him of the missed meeting, explaining that Lucius had been pulled into another matter. The issues were piling up, and for a brief moment, his hand trembled as he reached for the mouse. Wayne Enterprises was his father’s legacy, and Batman was his—but right now, the mission would have to wait. He needed to get this under control, and fast.

Four hours of back-to-back phone calls and troubleshooting. Bruce was now lying under his desk, trying to replace a faulty cable. The entire office was down, and with IT swamped, he had no choice but to handle it himself. He needed to review the quarterly reports before the bonuses were announced, and he knew the company had been slacking—summer interns flooding in and Tim away at college had left him without the structure he relied on.

When he finally sat up from the floor, his head collided with the corner of the desk, sending a sharp pain through his skull. The Bible tumbled from the desk, hitting him squarely on the head before flopping open on the ground, a business card slipping out.

Bruce picked it up, squinting at the bold print: "1-800-ANGEL." He frowned. What kind of absurd, erotic phone service was this? The card was nearly blank, save for a single line:

"May you find your faith."

Real funny, he thought, for a number probably meant to fleece desperate souls. They probably charged by the minute. Bruce rolled his eyes, dismissing it as yet another scam targeting the gullible.

Bruce thumbed the card, skepticism tightening his grip. Surely, no one was desperate enough to actually call. He wondered about the legitimacy of the number, and after settling back into his chair, he opened a new tab. Thankfully, the replacement cable had done its job, and his screen blinked to life. He typed in the number, but nothing came up—not even a link to some sketchy website. He tried the motto next, but all he found were articles on religion and local church recommendations. He raised an eyebrow. For a scam, they were doing a remarkably poor job of marketing it.

Picking up the Bible again, he considered the possibility that the kids handing them out might have been given faulty copies. But as he inspected it, the Bible seemed legitimate enough. He cross-referenced it with an online version to be sure, but everything checked out. The only oddity was the card. Flipping through the pages, he eventually found a strange marking on the back cover, stamped with the words "ales et lux."

"Wings and light?" he muttered, dropping the Bible back onto the desk.

Curiosity gnawed at him. Without hesitation, he dialed the number. Whatever this was, he intended to get to the bottom of it. Maybe he’d caught it early enough—he could pull a few strings with the FBI and shut it down before it preyed on anyone vulnerable. But as the line connected, the voice on the other end made him stop cold.

“So you’ve received the calling card of heaven. We’re so glad you have found your faith. Please note this card is for one-time use. For inquiries about time of death, press 1. For prayers and answers, press 2. For information on Christian denominations and healing, press 3. For nondenominational options, press 4. For Native, Inuit, Norse, and Pagan beliefs, press 5. Unsure what category your beliefs fall under? Press star for a list. For all other healing-related questions, press 6.”

Bruce’s scowl deepened as he listened to the automated menu. The damn phone hadn’t even rung—this had to be some kind of twisted scam. He was about to hang up when the final option made his breath catch.

“And finally, to speak to your angel, press 0.”

His angel? A guardian angel? He doubted he had one. If he did, they’d done a piss-poor job watching over him. The loss of his parents, Jason Todd, and Alfred—the man who had been the closest thing to a father he had left—proved that. Anger flickered in his chest. He wanted to speak to this so-called angel, to confront them, to demand answers for the pain he’d endured. What kind of angel lets their charge suffer like this?

He pressed zero, the cold, rational part of him momentarily overridden by the seething anger and hurt simmering beneath the surface—the hurt little boy he’d buried deep inside threatening to unleash all that unprocessed trauma.

He wasn’t expecting such a soft voice to greet him, nor the surprising calm that washed over his mind as it did.

“Bruce? You really called.” The voice on the other end was feminine, light, almost breathless, as if she had been waiting for this moment.

“...Who the hell are you?” His voice was sharp, defensive.

“Well, my official title doesn’t really have an accurate translation in mortal language, but I’m more or less your protector.”

“Protector?!” He growled, the word scraping out like a curse. “You couldn’t even protect me from a goddamn paper cut, let alone a laundry list of loss. You didn’t protect anything—I protect this city, I protect people. You’re not even real! You’re probably just some credit card scammer, phishing for my personal data. That’s what this is, isn’t it? Data mining. Your entire operation is fraudulent at best, and—”

He cut himself off, his voice shaking with anger. It wasn’t just fury at this supposed "protector"—it was fury at the years of pain, at the endless nights spent fighting a war that never seemed to end, at the world for daring to keep spinning while he bled in the dark. How dare anyone call themselves his protector when every person he’d ever loved had been torn away from him? How dare they try to soothe him with some ethereal nonsense when he was the one in the trenches, the one facing down Gotham’s nightmares every single night?

The silence on the other end of the line was almost unbearable, but he wouldn’t back down. He’d heard enough lies in his lifetime to know when someone was trying to sell him false hope.

“…It doesn’t work like that,” the voice finally replied, a hint of sadness woven into its softness. “I can’t interfere with your life in the way you think. Those losses… they were unfortunate, and I know they fuel the anguish that haunts your mind, but my role isn’t to shield you from pain. My job is to keep you alive. Every close call, every moment when death was just a breath away—that was my divine interference. I won’t let you die, Bruce. Not until the time is right and your body is ready to rest.”

Bruce clenched his jaw, anger and disbelief warring within him. He wanted to tear into her, to lash out at the absurdity of it all. This so-called protector, claiming to watch over him, to keep him alive—where was she when his parents were murdered in front of him? Where was she when Jason died, or when he stood over Alfred’s grave, feeling the weight of yet another life lost because of him?

“Don’t patronize me,” he spat, his voice low and dangerous. “You think I need your protection? You think those near-deaths were some divine favor? I’ve survived because I’ve fought, because I’ve clawed my way out of every hellhole Gotham’s thrown me into. You had nothing to do with it.”

He could almost hear her smile through the phone, a soft, resigned sound that seemed to fill the silence between them.

“You’ve fought harder than anyone should ever have to, Bruce. You’re the purest soul I’ve ever had the privilege of encountering. No matter how much you try to front or deflect, it’s clear you care. You care more than anyone else. If you didn’t, you wouldn’t have taken in those kids, or dressed up like a bat to fight crime night after night. You’re like Sisyphus, eternally pushing a boulder uphill. And while you may not want praise or acknowledgment, you need to know—despite everything, you are a good person. You’re a good man. And in many ways, you’re the closest thing to God’s image I’ve ever seen.”

Bruce’s breath caught, anger and disbelief momentarily overshadowed by the weight of her words. How could she claim to know him so well, to understand his pain and sacrifice? Yet, the very notion of being compared to something divine—despite how hollow it felt—struck a chord deep within him.

“Spare me the sermon,” he growled, trying to regain his composure. “You think you can soothe me with this celestial rhetoric? I don’t need your validation. I need results. I need to keep this city safe, and I need to know that those I care about are protected. Save your platitudes for someone who believes in them.”

There was a pause on the other end, as if she was choosing her words carefully. “I’m not here to validate you, Bruce. I’m here to remind you that even in the darkest moments, you have a purpose. And while you may see yourself as a flawed instrument of justice, remember that even in your struggle, there’s a reflection of something greater—a beacon of hope for others, whether you realize it or not.”

Bruce didn’t respond, his mind a storm of conflicting emotions. The rational part of him dismissed her words as manipulative flattery, but a flicker of vulnerability, long suppressed, threatened to break through. He forced himself to focus, pushing those thoughts aside.

“Enough of this,” he said, his voice cold and final. “If you’re really here to help, then stay out of my way. I’ll handle things my way.”

He hung up the phone, the echo of her voice lingering in his mind. As he turned his attention back to the stack of paperwork and problems awaiting him, he couldn't shake the uneasy feeling that perhaps, in some twisted way, she had touched a part of him he had long buried.

𓏲𝄢 𓏲𝄢 𓏲𝄢𓏲𝄢 𓏲𝄢 𓏲𝄢𓏲𝄢 𓏲𝄢 𓏲𝄢

Bruce landed another punch on the goon, watching as they crumpled to the ground. Fighting at the docks was his least favorite—slippery surfaces and treacherous footing made it harder to maintain his balance. He glanced at the wall, the dim streetlight casting an eerie glow on the dilapidated brick.

In the periphery of his vision, he thought he saw the shadow of wings, a fleeting, phantom-like presence. When he snapped around, though, all he saw were the goons he had already beaten. They lay scattered and unconscious, bloodied and bruised. A quick scan of the area revealed the familiar wreckage of a confrontation: discarded weapons and broken crates.

On the ground, a few feet away from a goon he didn’t remember hitting, lay a gun glinting in the faint light. Next to it was a single white feather. The goon in question had no visible injuries, no sign of the kind of violence Bruce had just inflicted on the others. There were no swollen bruises, no blood—nothing to suggest that they had been involved in the scuffle.

Bruce frowned, his mind racing. He hadn't hit this one, nor had he seen anything out of the ordinary during the fight. The feather seemed out of place, its presence unsettling. It wasn’t like anything he had come across before—an odd detail in an otherwise straightforward altercation.

His instincts, honed by years of vigilant observation, told him this was no mere coincidence. There was something strange here, something beyond the usual street brawls and petty crime. The feather could mean something, or someone, had intervened. And if that was the case, Bruce needed to understand why.

He crouched down to examine the feather and the gun more closely. His eyes narrowed, scanning for any other anomalies or signs that could explain the goon’s sudden unconsciousness. Whatever the cause, Bruce knew he couldn’t ignore it. Not with the pattern of oddities and divine encounters that had begun to surface recently.

He straightened up, the feather clenched in his hand, his mind already shifting gears. There was more at play here than just a fight—something, or someone, was influencing events from the shadows. And as always, it was up to him to uncover the truth.

˚₊‧𓏲𝄢 𓏲𝄢 𓏲𝄢‧₊˚

Approx. Word Count: ~2,746

pt I: Coming Soon(?)

This is a soft-launch of this series, if you guys would like more parts, please let me know in the comments <3 It helps motivate me to write!

//Series Tag List: Available Upon Request!

Status Page 2024: Here

[girlactionfigure]

Druze and Judaism, a thread 🧵(remastered)

🟥The Druze venerate many Jewish figures as sages, including Isaac, Jacob, Joseph, Reuben, Benjamin, David, Elijah, Isaiah, Jeremiah, Ezekiel, Daniel... Solomon and Jethro are highlighted as manifestations of the Universal Mind.

🟥 The Hexagram or six pointed star is very significant to Druze as well, and is often portrayed in books of Exegesis. It is understood as the Seal of Solomon, but also for its pre-Judaic ancient symbolism, as a symbol of the Union of Opposites.

🟥Druze shrines in Carmel and Galilee echo the ancient Jewish shrine tradition, i.e. natural stone mound. Some are architecturally Jewish tombs, with descending staircases into caves.  A Sheikh's striped cloak and the multicolored flag are said to resemble the coat of Joseph.

🟥Esoteric Judaism, or Kabballah, is most similar to Druze esotericism. Especially in its Neoplatonism, Gematria, Belief in Reincarnation(gilgul), Ein Sof. The Hasidic sect also stresses on Ascetism. Their highest soul Yechidah is akin to Tawheed. Batin Al Batin, their Chassidut.

🟥Druze and Jews have lived relatively harmoniously with circumstantial conflicts like the Safed Rebellion being exceptions.  Jews in Druze areas were among the nobles in Prince Fakhreddin's entourage. Their Synagogues thrived in Bhamdoun and Aleyh without persecution.

🟥 Jewish communities in Deir al Qamar and Barouk were also rich land owners.  The "blood bond" between Jews and Druze of Israel is one of the strongest the Druze have done with any another sect. Has been strong for 80 years. Agreed to regardless if one is Zionist or not.

🟥 Druze Sheikh Daoud Bessis who was imprisoned with the British Army while fighting the Nazis and sent to Germany, would smuggle food to Jewish prisoners during the Holocaust with his fellow Druze Prisoners.

🟥 During the recent Anti-Jewish pogroms in Amsterdam. A Druze man tried his best to save the Jews and conceal them from their pursuers. Highlighting the willingness of both communities to protect each other.

🟥 Druze have no occupied territory in Israel, or any encroached on Holy Land or Site. Therefore enmity to the Jews is not justified except on Islamist grounds or leftist brainwashing. Israeli Druze are much better off socially and economically than their peers in Arab countries

🟥 Druze ultimately derive their idea of the Messiah from the Jews and also the Messianic Era. Psalm 37's "The meek will inherit the Earth". Therefore they've avoided belief in Heaven and Hell and Rapture, and taken a reward/punishment in this realm approach, similar to Jews.

🟥 Druze Founder Imam Hamza Ibn Ali, had written in the Epistle to the Israelites, that 2 and a half of the 12 Jewish tribes(Asbat Al Haq) had accepted the Druze faith. This explains the genetic similarity, as Druze tend to cluster next to Ashkenazi and Persian/Kurdish Jews.

🟥 The Return of the Jews is foretold in Druze Scripture as one of the first signs of the end times. Druze 15th century scholar Al Amir Al Sayyed Al Tanukhi expounds that ownership would return to the children of Israel. Thus the creation of Israel lies within Druze Prophecy.

🟥 In the Druze description of Judgment Day in the Epistles of Wisdom, it is said the Druze Five Bound Army will be joined by the lost tribes of Israel. The named tribes are the "Pure of Al Benjamin and Al Naphtali". 

🟥 Druze grievances with the State of Israel are bureaucratic, such as the Kaminitz law in civil development, or the nation state law which lacks a Druze exception. Which we hope are settled. Unlike with other central states, like Lebanon & Syria where grievances are existential.

🟥 The current violent tapestry of the Middle East presents Druze and Jews as natural allies. With Political Armed Islam being the common enemy of both. To come out of manufactured Arabist identity, is to embrace the tribal nature of the Middle East. And the need to save oneself

Druze Founder Baha'ldeen Al Muqtana** 

Link

[mononijikayu]

“a life, a sparkle in your eyes/heaven coming through” — gojo satoru.

It was a smile that spoke volumes, conveying a multitude of emotions in its simple curve. It was a smile of acceptance, of love, of unwavering support for the choices you had made. And in that smile, you found reassurance, a silent affirmation that you were cherished and adored just as you were, in every form and iteration. One that you hadn’t seen in a long time. And Satoru somehow has the kindest one you’ve ever seen before. The most precious.

GENRE: post hidden - inventory arc (2010s)

WARNING/S: domesticity, fluff, angst, trauma, implied death, violence, romance, hurt/comfort, character death depiction of death, depictions of loss and depression, depiction of blood, depiction of killing, depiction of suffering, depiction of anxiety, mention of death, mention of grief, profanity, family drama;

LISTEN: the astronaut by jin of bts

NOTE: jin of bts is returning from the military in a couple of hours and this song was on repeat and i had a satoru idea so here we are!!! anyway, i love you!!! ill see you in the next update of ashes of love <3333

masterlist

u s and t h e m

YOU REFLECT A LOT ABOUT YOUR LIFE. You lost faith in love a long time ago. You had been surrounded by love all your life, enveloped in its warmth and comfort. But then your father died, and you were taken from your mother. Your world shattered, leaving you adrift in a sea of sorrow. Then it was Kaiko and Namie who became your anchors. You clung to them desperately, finding solace in their presence and, once more, you were surrounded by love. 

But the cycle repeated itself cruelly. Somehow, no matter how you want to escape it, the same suffering was bound to repeat itself. Namie died, and Kaiko went insane, driven mad by her own grief, and left you to inflict her pain upon the world. And then you spilled her blood with your hands, trying to prevent more suffering. You were alone again, cast into the abyss of solitude. Suffering the voices in your head and the shadow of a lost love.

It was a bleak existence, a never-ending cycle of loss and heartache, until one fateful day. You found a cat stuck in a tree, its desperate cries mirroring your own silent pleas for help. As you struggled to rescue the frightened creature, a voice called out to you. It was Gojo Satoru, a first-year boy with striking white hair and a confident demeanor. He approached with an easy smile, offering his assistance without hesitation.

It was a bleak existence, a never-ending cycle of loss and heartache, until one fateful day. You found a cat stuck in a tree, its desperate cries mirroring your own silent pleas for help. As you struggled to rescue the frightened creature, a voice called out to you. It was Gojo Satoru, a first-year boy with striking white hair and a confident demeanor. It was hard to not know what he looked like. You’ve seen him enough in the clan gatherings, though never once interacted with him. And besides, the six-eyes was too hard to miss. He approached with an easy smile, offering his assistance without hesitation.

"Need some help?" Satoru called out, his voice light and friendly.

You glanced down, surprised by the sudden intrusion. "I think I can manage," you replied, though your grip on the tree branch was precarious.

Satoru chuckled, easily reading the situation. "Looks like the cat isn't the only one stuck," he teased, his blue eyes sparkling with amusement. "Hold on, I'll get it."

Before you could protest, he effortlessly climbed up beside you. With a gentle but firm hand, he coaxed the trembling cat into his arms. "There we go, little guy," he murmured to the cat before turning to you. "And now for the other rescue."

You felt a blush rise to your cheeks as Satoru helped you down from the tree, his touch warm and reassuring. "Thank you.” you mumbled, feeling a mix of embarrassment and gratitude.

"No problem," he said with a grin. "I'm Gojo Satoru, by the way. What's your name?"

You hesitated for a moment, then replied, "Zenin. Gen—”

Satoru's eyes widened slightly with recognition, but his grin only widened. "Oh! Then you’re my senpai?" he said, a playful snicker in his voice as he eyed you from head to toe. “You look pretty for a Zenin.”

The unexpected comment caught you off guard. You couldn’t believe what he’s saying. No one had ever been this blunt with you. At all. You felt like you were glitching. Your face scrunches up as you narrow your lilac eyes at him.

"Excuse me?" you replied, a mix of disbelief and curiosity coloring your tone.

Satoru shrugged nonchalantly, his smile never wavering. "Just saying, you don't have that usual 'I'm better than everyone else' Zenin aura about you. It's... refreshing. Does that make sense?"

You couldn't help but smirk at his bluntness. "Well, I don't exactly fit in with my family." you admitted, the bitterness in your voice hinting at the pain behind your words. You stopped. He was literally stranger. There’s no need to say anything. “Wait, why am I telling you this?”

“Maybe I’m just a comforting person?”

“No, No, that—”

Satoru's expression softened. "Though, I think I get you, senpai. I get that. Not everyone fits into the mold they're given. But hey, that's not necessarily a bad thing. I mean, you’re already cooler than the rest of your ugly—”

You snicker suddenly.

He looks at you for a moment.

You cough back, waving him off.

“Just a cough, don’t worry.”

“I don’t know, Zenin-senpai. That sounds like a laugh to me.”

"And what about you, Gojo Satoru? Do you fit the mold?" You say, changing the topic. Saying too much will only be a headache.

He laughed, a sound so carefree it was almost contagious. "Me? I'm the mold-breaker," he declared confidently. "I do things my way, and if people don't like it, well, that's their problem. But who are they to stop me anyway? I’m the strongest!”

You couldn’t help but be intrigued by the boy. If it wasn’t for how genuine he is, you would think his latter comment was condescending. But you feel like there was more to him than that. His eyes tell. For the first time in a long while, you felt a glimmer of hope. A glimmer of life itself was in him and you could tell that easily.

This Gojo boy, with his easy going smile and unwavering confidence, was different. He didn't see you as just another Zenin, and that was a revelation. He reminded you of Kaiko for a bit. And that for a moment gave you heartache. But you don’t want to tell him that. You doubt it was proper.

"Maybe breaking the mold isn't such a bad idea, I think." you mused, a small smile playing on your lips.

Satoru's grin widened. "That's the spirit, senpai. Now, how about we get this cat somewhere safe and then figure out how to break a few more molds together?"

“Hm, why not?” you hummed back at him as you took the cat in your arms. The small creature purred, nestling comfortably against you, as if sensing the new bond forming between the two of you.

Satoru's presence seemed to imbue the world around him with a sense of joy and vitality. His easygoing demeanor and infectious energy were like a beacon of light in the midst of the wide echo of the school grounds. As you walked beside him, you couldn't help but marvel at how effortlessly he seemed to navigate through life, as if every challenge was nothing more than a fleeting inconvenience.

It was a stark contrast to your own experiences, weighed down by the burdens of your past and the responsibilities that now rested on your shoulders. Yet, despite the heaviness that often threatened to engulf you, being in Satoru's presence brought a sense of relief, a temporary reprieve from the weight of your worries.

There was something magnetic about the way he carried himself, a confidence and self-assuredness that seemed to radiate from within. It was as if he possessed an inner strength that allowed him to face whatever challenges came his way with grace and resilience.

As you observed him, you couldn't help but feel a sense of admiration and awe. Here was someone who had faced his own share of hardships and yet still managed to find joy in the simple pleasures of life. It was a reminder that even in the darkest of times, there was always hope, always a reason to keep moving forward.

In Satoru's lightness, you found a source of inspiration, a reminder to embrace each moment with an open heart and a willingness to face whatever the future may hold. And as you walked beside him, you couldn't help but feel a glimmer of hope stirring within you, a belief that perhaps, just perhaps, there was a brighter tomorrow waiting on the horizon.

"So, Zenin–senpai," Satoru began, breaking the comfortable silence, "what's your story? What makes you different from the rest of your clan?"

You glanced at him, contemplating how much to reveal. "It's a long story and too dull. I doubt it’s one to be heard." you replied cautiously. "Let's just say I don't agree with their methods. Or their values…..Or actually anything.”

Satoru nodded, his expression thoughtful. "I get that. Sometimes family can be the hardest to stand up to. But you seem strong enough to handle it. You got out.”

You gave a small, humorless laugh. "Strength isn't always enough. And I’m not yet out. I bear the last name.”

“But you don’t live in Zenin manor?” He hums, questioningly. “If you had, I would have seen you many times.”

“I did see you many times, before.”

“HUH? Then how come I haven’t seen you before?” His face contorts into a pitiful pout. “I would have noticed a Zenin like you — let alone that geezer’s eldest grandchild.”

You shrugged. “I don’t know, really. But you never greet people.”

“Yes, I do.”

“No, you don’t. I was there.”

“Isn’t my presence enough as a greeting?” Gojo asks, almost haughtily. You want to smack him, but you hold yourself back. He’s such a brat. “I mean, I am a miracle, senpai.”

“No wonder Yaga complains about you.” You mumbled under your breath. “And it’s only the first year?”

“Hehhhhh, he complains about me?”

“Principal Gakuganji’s happier, if I’m being honest.” You look at him, as he seems curious. “Yaga complaints about you and that other boy—”

“Suguru got mentioned? Woah–”

“You both cause him high blood pressure.” You finally finished. 

Satoru's expression shifted from curiosity to amusement as you revealed the cause of Principal Gakuganji's stress. "High blood pressure, huh?" he chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. "I guess we do have a talent for causing trouble."

You nodded, a playful glint in your eye. "It's a special skill you and Geto-san seem to excel at." you teased, nudging him lightly with your elbow.

Satoru grinned, his eyes sparkling with mischief. "Well, what can I say? We're just too irresistible for our own good."

You rolled your eyes but couldn't help but smile at his infectious enthusiasm. Despite the challenges and chaos that seemed to follow him wherever he went, there was something undeniably charming about Satoru's carefree attitude. It was as if he refused to let anything dampen his spirits, choosing instead to find joy in the most unexpected places. The quiet came again between the two of you.

“Sometimes, it's about finding the right people to stand with you."

“Hm?” Satoru looks at you, his cerulean blue piercing towards you.

“That would get you by.” You made it clear to him as you shifted the cat against your kimono’s sleeves. “But I suppose from what I heard, you and the other first years get along well enough. Continue that.”

Satoru's eyes twinkled with mischief. "Well, you've got me now too, senpai. And trust me, I'm pretty good at standing up to people. Aren’t I the one that made Principal Gakuganji nearly shit himself?”

“Language.” You tell him as he rolled his eyes. But he was right. Principal Gakuganji felt like he was about to whip out his guitar when he first met Gojo Satoru. At least that’s what Utahime told you. “I know you’re good at standing up to people. But I hope you’re careful, hm?”

“Oh, is that a senpai’s advice?”

“A friend’s advice.”

“You already view us as friends?” He seemed hopeful about that. His eyes were gleaming brighter than ever before.

You chuckled softly, the warmth settling between you. "I suppose I do," you admitted, a smile playing at the corners of your lips. "Though, if you keep pestering Principal Gakuganji, I might have to reconsider."

“Ehhhhhhhh, but I don’t like him.”

You laughed, shaking your head. "Fair enough. Just try not to give him too much of a headache, alright?"

“I can’t promise anything about that, senpai.”

As you approached the dormitory, the cat still nestled peacefully in your arms, you felt a sense of optimism that had been absent for far too long. Maybe, with Satoru by your side, you could carve out a new path, one that defied the expectations and limitations of your clan. Or at least free you, at least just a little.

Satoru opened the door for you, and you stepped inside, feeling the warmth of the building embrace you. "So, where should we take this little guy?" he asked, looking at the cat.

"There's a place in the courtyard where some of the strays gather. It should be safe there for the little one." you suggested.

Satoru nodded, and together you made your way to the courtyard. As you set the cat down gently among the other strays, it looked up at you with grateful eyes before scampering off to join its new companions.

"See? One problem has already been solved by the great Satoru!" Satoru said with a grin. "Now, onto the next one."

You turned to him, a newfound determination in your eyes. "And what's the next one, exactly?"

He shrugged, his smile never fading. "Whatever we decide it is. The sky's the limit, senpai."

As you stood there, side by side with Gojo Satoru, you felt a spark of hope ignite within you. You didn’t remember him being this expressive or at all talkative all these years ago. But then again, you hadn’t met him in years. He had time to become the boy who met you now. 

"It was nice to meet you today, Zenin-senpai. Really didn't think I'll meet you this soon!" Satoru said, setting the cat down gently. "But y'u know, I think you and this cat have something in common."

You raised an eyebrow, intrigued despite yourself. "Oh? What's that?"

He smiled, a hint of mischief in his cerulean eyes. "Both of you need someone to look out for you."

You looked away, the truth of his words hitting a little too close to home. You can’t believe how easily he sees through you. You just met this boy today and he’s already doing so much. You lived a lonely existence, you know that much. You were content with that. At least that’s what you always say to yourself.

"Maybe." you admitted quietly.

Satoru's expression softened. "Well, how about this? I'll look out for you if you look out for the cat. Deal?"

You couldn't help but smile at his earnestness. "Deal."

You did end up adopting the cat. Despite its initial skittishness, it soon settled into your life, providing an unexpected source of comfort and companionship. You named it "Gojonyan," inspired by the snowy white fur that reminded you so much of Satoru’s hair. And even more coincidentally, Satoru’s blue eyes. 

Gojonyan had a playful and mischievous nature, always getting into places it shouldn't and constantly seeking attention. It would often curl up in your lap, purring contentedly as you stroked its soft fur, and you found solace in its presence. The cat’s energy and spirit mirrored Satoru's in uncanny ways. Just like him, Gojonyan seemed to have an endless reserve of curiosity and an unshakeable confidence, as if it knew it was meant to be part of your life.

Whenever you felt overwhelmed by the weight of your responsibilities or the shadows of your past, Gojonyan was there, a reminder of the moment your life began to change. The cat’s antics often brought a smile to your face, and its loyalty reminded you of Satoru’s steadfast support. 

One evening, as you sat in your room with Gojonyan curled up beside you, you couldn't help but think back to that day by the tree. Satoru had shown you a new way to look at the world, a way that wasn't defined by loss and heartache. He had given you hope, and in a strange way, Gojonyan had come to symbolize that hope.

You often found yourself talking to Gojonyan, sharing your thoughts and fears as if the cat could understand every word. "You know, Gojonyan," you would say, scratching behind its ears, "you’re a lot like Satoru. Always so full of life and mischief. I think you two would get along just fine."

Gojonyan would respond with a soft purr, its eyes half-closed in contentment. You didn’t know if he was agreeing with you or not. But you still found your little one very cute. And comforting too. It was as if the cat understood the significance of Gojo Satoru’s presence in your life and the role it now played in helping you heal. And you feel like you are healing. 

You often brought Gojonyan with you when you came by to Jujutsu High, especially when you had missions in Tokyo. The cat had become a familiar presence, trotting alongside you with an air of confidence that belied its small size. You enjoyed the company, and it seemed only natural to bring a piece of your new life with you.

However, you found yourself puzzled by Gojonyan’s behavior whenever Satoru was around. Despite the cat’s generally friendly disposition, it seemed to have taken a distinct dislike to him. The usually affectionate feline would arch its back and hiss whenever Satoru approached, much to his chagrin.

One afternoon, you were sitting in the common area of Jujutsu High with Gojonyan on your lap. Shoko and Suguru were there as well, enjoying a rare moment of relaxation between their duties. Satoru walked in, his usual confident swagger in place, but the moment Gojonyan spotted him, it let out a low growl and jumped off your lap, retreating to a corner.

Satoru’s shoulders slumped dramatically, and he looked at you with exaggerated sorrow. “Why does Gojonyan hate me, Gen-senpai? I thought we were friends!” His tone was a mix of genuine disappointment and playful theatrics.

Shoko chuckled, her eyes twinkling with amusement. “It’s probably your personality, Satoru. Cats can sense these things. And yours is just that bad.”

Suguru smirked, leaning back in his chair. “Yeah, Satoru. Maybe it’s because you’re too loud and flashy. Gojonyan prefers a more refined company.”

Satoru's eyebrows shot up in mock offense. "Hey now, I'll have you know my personality is top-notch! It's just that Gojonyan hasn't acquired a taste for the finer things in life yet." He flashed them a playful grin, clearly unfazed by their teasing.

“Uh-huh, keep telling yourself that.” Shoko snickers, biting against her lollipop candy. 

“Suguru, defend me here!”

Suguru shrugged nonchalantly. "Can't argue with the truth, can we?" He smirked, his eyes dancing with amusement as he leaned back in his chair, clearly enjoying Satoru's playful indignation.

Satoru huffed playfully, crossing his arms over his chest. "Fine, fine. But just you wait, Gojonyan will come around eventually. He'll see that I'm not so bad after all."

In the midst of all the tension and seriousness surrounding recent events, the playful banter between Satoru, Shoko, and Suguru provided a welcome reprieve. As laughter filled the room, you felt a weight lifting off your shoulders, if only for a moment. It was a reminder that even in the darkest of times, there could still be moments of lightness and joy.

Satoru feigned offense, placing a hand over his heart in mock indignation. "Watch my words! Gojonyan will be in my hands lovingly! One day!," he retorted with a grin. "Gojonyan just needs to learn to appreciate my finer qualities."

Shoko shook her head, still smiling. "Sure, Satoru. Let that copium enter your lungs. I’m cheering for that cope!”

Suguru's smirk widened as he leaned forward, his gaze meeting yours with a knowing twinkle. "Don't worry, Genmei–senpai. We still like you, even if your taste in friends is questionable."

You rolled your eyes playfully, feeling a sense of warmth and belonging wash over you. Despite the challenges you had faced, you were grateful for moments like these — moments of laughter that reminded you that you were not alone. Not anymore.

You couldn’t help but laugh at their teasing. “I have no idea why Gojonyan doesn’t like you, Satoru. Maybe it’s just one of those things.”

Satoru sighed dramatically, plopping down on the couch with a forlorn expression. “This is tragic. I, the great Gojo Satoru, was defeated by a cat.”

Shoko leaned over and patted his shoulder mockingly. “There, there. Maybe if you try bribing Gojonyan with treats, it’ll come around.”

Satoru perked up at the suggestion, his eyes lighting up with determination. “That’s a great idea, Sho! I’ll win Gojonyan’s affection—”

“So, vote buying—” 

“—just you wait.” He stood up, already plotting his next move. Suguru just shook his head. “I’ll get the finest cat treats money can buy.”

Suguru rolled his eyes, a smile playing on his lips. “Good luck with that. Just don’t be too heartbroken if it doesn’t work.”

Despite his efforts, Gojonyan remained indifferent to Satoru’s attempts to win it over. He brought a variety of treats, toys, and even a plush bed, but the cat was unimpressed. It would sniff the offerings disdainfully and then pointedly ignore him, much to everyone’s amusement.

One day, Satoru sat next to you, watching Gojonyan with a wistful expression. “I don’t get it, Gen-senpai. I thought all creatures loved me.”

You smiled, reaching over to pat his hand. “Maybe Gojonyan just needs more time to get used to you. Or maybe it’s just being stubborn.”

He laughed, shaking his head. “You know, I think I’m starting to like the challenge. It keeps me on my toes.”

Despite the cat’s continued aloofness, Gojo Satoru’s efforts never wavered. He took it in stride, turning it into a personal mission to win over Gojonyan. It became a running joke among your friends, a source of lighthearted banter.

But he’ll probably never get along with him.

You were right about that assumption.

Ten years of marriage, Gojonyan still hated him.

YOU DIDN'T KNOW WHAT HIS REACTION WOULD BE LIKE. Gojo Satoru returned from his mission late in the evening, his white hair glistening with the remnants of rain. He didn’t get to use infinity as much this time, the creature being more clever than he would have liked. And he was exhausted now. He sighed as he brushed off the thread of rain on his head. 

As Satoru stepped through the threshold of your home, the familiar comfort of your shared space wrapped around him like a warm embrace. The weight of his journey, the trials and tribulations he had faced during his time away, seemed to lift from his shoulders in an instant. Home, with you, was where he truly belonged, where the chaos of the outside world faded into insignificance against the backdrop of your love and companionship.

The soft glow of lamplight spilled into the hallway, casting gentle shadows on the walls as Satoru made his way further into the house. Tsumiki and Megumi were likely already fast asleep in their beds, the rhythmic sound of their breathing a comforting background melody to the quiet of the night. But even in their slumber, their presence filled the air, a reminder of the love and warmth that permeated every corner of your home.

And then, there was you. The thought of seeing you again after his prolonged absence filled Satoru with a sense of eager anticipation, a longing that had grown with each passing day spent apart. He could almost feel the ghost of your touch, the warmth of your smile, as he approached the living room where you were likely waiting for him.

The mere thought of being enveloped in your embrace, of feeling your arms around him and your soft breath against his skin, sent a shiver of anticipation down his spine. After being so cold and alone for what felt like an eternity, the prospect of being with you again, of being surrounded by your love and warmth, filled him with an overwhelming sense of gratitude and joy.

With each step closer to you, Satoru's heart beats faster in his chest, his anticipation growing with every passing moment. He couldn't wait to see you, to hold you in his arms and whisper words of love and longing into your ear. For in that moment, with you by his side, he knew that he was home.

The anticipation buzzed through the air as you waited for Satoru's arrival, your heart fluttering with a mix of excitement and nerves. The decision to cut your hair had been a bold one, a symbolic gesture of breaking free from the past and embracing a new chapter of your life with Satoru. Yet, as you watched the seconds tick by, doubts crept in, and you couldn't help but fidget with the hem of your shirt, your fingers tapping anxiously against your thigh.

The sound of the door opening pulled you from your thoughts, and you turned to see Satoru stepping into the room, a bright smile lighting up his face as his eyes met yours. But as his gaze swept over you, his expression faltered ever so slightly, a flicker of surprise crossing his features before being replaced by curiosity.

You held your breath, your pulse quickening with anticipation as you waited for his reaction. Would he like your new look? Would he be disappointed? The uncertainty gnawed at you, and you fought the urge to chew on your lip nervously as you watched him approach.

Satoru stopped in front of you, his bright eyes locked on your face as he took in your appearance. There was a moment of silence between you, the air thick with unspoken tension as you searched his expression for any sign of approval or disapproval.

“Satoru, welcome home!” you began hesitantly, your voice barely above a whisper. You turned your eyes away slowly. “I, uh…”

He stops at his tracks. “You cut your hair.”

 “I... I cut my hair.”

As Satoru turned to behold you, his eyes widened in surprise, taking in the sight of your transformed appearance. For a fleeting moment, he simply stood there, his gaze fixed upon you, as if trying to imprint the image of you with your new hairstyle into his memory. The silence between you stretched, pregnant with anticipation, as he processed the change that had taken place in his absence.

Then, like the breaking dawn after a long night, a slow, warm smile unfurled across his features. It started from the corners of his lips, spreading gradually until his entire face was illuminated with genuine delight. The smile reached his eyes, transforming them into twin pools of warmth and affection as he looked upon you.

In that moment, you could see the flicker of recognition in his gaze, the silent acknowledgment of the courage it must have taken for you to make such a bold decision. But more than that, you could sense the depth of his appreciation, the unspoken admiration for the beauty that radiated from within you, regardless of the length of your hair.

It was a smile that spoke volumes, conveying a multitude of emotions in its simple curve. It was a smile of acceptance, of love, of unwavering support for the choices you had made. And in that smile, you found reassurance, a silent affirmation that you were cherished and adored just as you were, in every form and iteration. One that you hadn’t seen in a long time. And Satoru somehow has the kindest one you’ve ever seen before. The most precious.

As Gojo Satoru crossed the room to stand before you, his smile remained firmly in place, a beacon of warmth in the quiet space between you. With each step, his love enveloped you like a protective embrace, banishing any lingering doubts or insecurities that may have lingered in the recesses of your mind.

And as he finally reached your side, he gently took your hand in his, his touch a silent reassurance of his unwavering affection. "You look beautiful," he whispered, his voice soft and filled with genuine admiration. "But then again, you always do."

Your heart swelled at his words, warmed by the sincerity in his voice. You met his gaze, finding nothing but love and acceptance reflected back at you. "Thank you," you murmured, a shy smile tugging at the corners of your lips. "I was nervous about cutting it, but I'm glad you like it."

Satoru squeezed your hand gently, his eyes never leaving yours. "You could shave your head bald and you'd still be the most beautiful person in the world to me," he said earnestly, his tone leaving no room for doubt. "It's not about your hair, darling. It's about you, and you're perfect just the way you are."

A surge of warmth flooded through you at his words, dispelling any lingering uncertainty you may have felt. With Satoru by your side, you knew that you were loved unconditionally, flaws and all. And as you stood there, hand in hand, you realized that your decision to cut your hair was not about changing who you were, but rather about embracing your true self, no matter the external appearance.

You nodded, feeling a rush of relief wash over you at his seemingly positive reaction. "Yeah, I wanted a change." you explained, your voice tinged with nervousness. "I hope you like it."

Satoru's smile widened, his fingers trailing along the curve of your jaw as he studied your face. "I love it, darling" he reassured you, his voice filled with sincerity. "It suits you well enough.”

The tension melted away at his words, replaced by a warm glow of happiness that settled in the pit of your stomach. With a grateful smile, you leaned into his touch, savoring the feeling of his hand against your skin..

You blushed, looking away. “I... I wasn’t sure. I’ve never had short hair before. I did it in front of Zenin Manor, to cut ties with them. Now that I’m married to you, I’m free.”

His smile widened, and he gently cupped your face in his hands, tilting your head up so he could look into your eyes. “You’re always beautiful to me, no matter how you wear your hair. But this... this suits you. It’s like you’re stepping into a new chapter of your life.”

Despite his words, you still felt a pang of uncertainty. “Do you really think so? You’re not just saying that?”

“I mean it,” he said firmly, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead. “You look stunning, don’t worry about it. You’re free from all of them and it shows.”

Your heart fluttered at his words, a small smile creeping onto your lips. “Thank you, Satoru.”

He held you close for a moment, his embrace warm and comforting. But then he pulled back, his eyes sparkling with excitement. “I have something for you.” he said, reaching into his pocket.

You watched curiously as he pulled out a small box. Opening it, he revealed a pair of blue butterfly hair clips, delicately crafted with intricate details. “I found these on my mission and thought of you. I know you’ve cut your hair, but I thought these might still look nice.”

Your eyes widened in surprise and delight. “Satoru, they’re beautiful!”

He grinned, taking one of the clips and gently securing it in your hair. “I’m glad you like them. They remind me of how you’re spreading your wings now, free and beautiful.”

Tears welled up in your eyes as you looked at your reflection, the blue butterflies standing out against your short hair. “Thank you, Satoru. They’re perfect.”

He pulled you into another hug, his arms wrapped tightly around you. “Anything for you.”

To be known, to be seen — it's to be loved. The realization of this truth washed over you, bringing a flood of emotions that you could hardly contain. Happiness, relief, and a profound sense of belonging mingled together in a rush that made your heart race and your eyes well with unshed tears. For the first time, you felt truly like you had found a way to break that cycle — that cursed cycle of loss and heartache that had haunted you for so long.

As Satoru secured the delicate blue butterfly clip in your hair, his touch gentle and reverent, you couldn't hold back the words that had been building inside you. "I love you, Satoru," you whispered, your voice trembling with the weight of your emotions. "I love you."

His bright blue eyes widened in surprise, his usually confident demeanor giving way to a rare moment of vulnerability. This was the first time you had ever expressed your feelings toward him so openly, so unequivocally. For a moment, the world seemed to stand still as he absorbed your words, the significance of them settling deep within him.

"You know," he murmured, his voice soft and filled with awe. He cupped your face in his hands, his thumb brushing away a stray tear that had escaped down your cheek. "You have no idea how much that means to me."

You leaned into his touch, feeling the warmth of his hands against your skin, the solid presence of him grounding you in that moment. "I've never been able to say it before," you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. "But I want you to know, you mean everything to me. And I’m grateful to you. For everything.

In Satoru's gaze, there was a depth of emotion that transcended mere words. He looked at you as if you were the sun and the moon, the stars in his night sky, and the very air he breathed. It was a look that spoke of a love that knew no bounds, a love that had weathered countless trials and emerged stronger with each passing day.

In his eyes, you saw unwavering devotion, a commitment to stand by your side through thick and thin, to support you in every endeavor, and to celebrate your victories as if they were his own. It was a look that filled you with a profound sense of gratitude, knowing that you had found someone who loved you unconditionally, flaws and all.

But more than anything, in  Gojo Satoru's gaze, you saw acceptance. Acceptance of your past, your present, and your future. He saw you for who you truly were, with all your strengths and weaknesses, and loved you all the more fiercely because of it. It was a look that banished any doubts or insecurities, leaving only a sense of peace and contentment in its wake.

As you returned his gaze, you felt a bond between you that was unbreakable, a connection that transcended the physical realm and touched the very essence of your souls. In that moment, you knew with absolute certainty that you were loved, cherished, and valued beyond measure. And as you basked in the warmth of Satoru's adoring gaze, you felt a profound sense of gratitude for the gift of his love, a gift that you would treasure for all eternity.

You were so lucky in this world.

Suffering may come and go to you.

But you will be loved by him now.

He will always be there to love you.

And you could not ask for anything more.

His smile was radiant, a beacon of light that seemed to chase away the lingering shadows of your past. "I love you too, darling." he said, his voice steady and sure. "More than words can ever express."

In that moment, the bond between you felt stronger than ever, a palpable connection that went beyond mere words. You had found your way out of the darkness, breaking free from the cycle of pain and loss. With Satoru by your side, you knew that you could face whatever challenges lay ahead.

He pulled you into his arms, holding you close as if he never wanted to let you go. "We'll create our own future," he whispered into your hair, his breath warm against your ear. "Together, we'll build a life filled with love and happiness. For us, for the kids. Together.”

You nodded, your heart swelling with hope and determination. "Together." you agreed, feeling the truth of that promise settle deep within you. "We'll break the cycle and create something beautiful."

As you stood there in his embrace, the blue butterfly clips shimmering in your hair, you knew that you had finally found a place where you truly belonged. In Satoru's arms, you were home, and together, you would face whatever the future held with unwavering strength and love.

Nothing else mattered to you now.

As long as you have Satoru with you, it’s all good.

As long as you could see the light in his eyes,

As long as you could see that blue spark in them,

Heaven was sure to come through in your life.

epilogue 

The moment had finally arrived — the long-awaited introduction between Gojonyan and your son. Your husband Satoru was a bundle of nerves, pacing back and forth as he anxiously awaited Gojonyan's reaction. It was as if he was more nervous about this moment than he was when you gave birth to Satoshi. After all, the cat hadn't exactly warmed up to him in the past, and now they were about to meet the spitting image of Satoru himself.

You watched with amusement as Satoru fussed over his appearance, smoothing down his hair and straightening his clothes as if trying to make a good impression on a disapproving in-law. "Do you think he'll like me this time?" he asked, his voice tinged with uncertainty.

You chuckled, placing a reassuring hand on his arm. "Relax, Satoru. Everything will be fine."

“Look, our son looks exactly like me and I’m scared, okay?”

“Gojo Satoshi is also my son, but alright.”

You couldn't help but laugh at Satoru's admission, his nerves palpable despite his attempt at nonchalance. "I'm sure Gojonyan will see past the resemblance and appreciate you for who you are," you reassured him, trying to ease his anxiety.

Satoru shot you a grateful smile, though the worry still lingered in his eyes. He pouts. "I hope so. I don't think I can handle being rejected by a cat twice."

“My love, it was more than twice.”

“I know, I know – just trying to lower the blow, okay?”

As you both prepared to introduce your son to Gojonyan, you couldn't help but feel a surge of anticipation. This moment held so much significance — not just because it marked the beginning of a new chapter in your family's life, but because it symbolized the unbreakable bond that had formed between you, Satoru, and Gojonyan.

With your son cradled in your arms, you approached Gojonyan, who regarded you with his usual air of aloofness. Satoru stood by your side, his nerves evident as he watched the interaction unfold. As if on cue, Gojonyan sauntered into the room, his tail swishing lazily behind him. He regarded Satoru with a curious gaze, then turned his attention to your son, who was cradled in your arms.

Satoru held his breath, waiting for the inevitable hiss or swat of disapproval. But much to your surprise — and relief — Gojonyan's reaction was far from what you expected. Instead of recoiling at the sight of your son, the cat approached him with cautious curiosity, sniffing him delicately before nuzzling against his cheek.

Satoru's eyes widened in disbelief as he watched the scene unfold. "I think... I think he actually likes him," he whispered, his voice tinged with wonder. “Oh my god, he does!”

You couldn't help but smile at the sight, feeling a surge of warmth and happiness wash over you. "Looks like you were worried for nothing, Satoru."

You laugh at the sight, marveling at the unexpected turn of events. "Looks like Gojonyan has a new favorite, though.”

Satoru let out a relieved sigh, his shoulders relaxing as he watched the unlikely bond form between his former nemesis and his beloved son. "I guess you were right," he admitted, a hint of awe in his voice. "Who would've thought that our son would be the one to finally win Gojonyan over?"

“Well, he is quite too cute to ignore.” You grinned at your husband. 

As if to confirm Satoru's observation, Gojonyan let out a contented purr, curling up beside your son as if he had known him forever. Satoru's nervousness melted away, replaced by a sense of wonder and joy as he watched the unlikely bond form between his feline nemesis and his beloved son.

Your husband then pauses. "But wait…. Why does he hate me? Satoshi looks exactly like me….”

You grinned at him teasingly. “Maybe it's because he sees you as competition for my love, hm?" you teased, enjoying the playful banter with your husband. "After all, he's used to being the center of attention, and you were always the ‘Gojo' in town stealing his spotlight. Satoshi isn’t doing that, though!”

Satoru's eyes widened in mock realization, a mischievous gleam dancing in them. "Ah, I see. It's a classic case of jealousy, huh?" he remarked, playing along with your playful theory. "Well, I suppose I can't blame him. After all, who wouldn't be envious of someone as charming and handsome as me?"

You rolled your eyes, unable to suppress a laugh at his exaggerated self-assessment. "Oh, of course, how could I forget?" you replied with a smirk, poking fun at his inflated ego. "But, my love, I think Gojonyan just has his own unique way of showing affection. Maybe he's just a tough critic, and you'll have to work extra hard to win him over."

Satoru grinned at your suggestion, the challenge evident in his eyes. "Challenge accepted," he declared, his determination shining through. "I'll make sure Gojonyan becomes my number one fan."

“Well, ten years is a lot. But what’s another ten more, hm?”

“Yeah, why not!? Ten more years!”

You couldn't help but chuckle at your husband's enthusiasm, admiring his unwavering determination to win over Gojonyan, even if it took years. "Well, they do say patience is a virtue," you replied with a teasing grin, enjoying the playful banter between the two of you. "And who knows, maybe in ten years, you'll have Gojonyan eating out of the palm of your hand."

Satoru's grin widened at your response, his confidence unshaken. "Exactly!" he exclaimed, his eyes sparkling with excitement. "Besides, what's life without a little challenge, right? And if anyone can charm Gojonyan, it's me."

You nodded in agreement, feeling a surge of affection for your husband as you admired his unwavering optimism and resilience. "That's the spirit," you replied, reaching out to squeeze his hand affectionately. "With your charm and charisma, there's nothing you can't accomplish."

He grins at you. “Well, I am the strongest, after all!”

“You’re so silly.” You shake your head at him, smiling lovingly at him.

“But you love me, hm?”

“Unfortunately, I do.” You hummed teasingly.

He pouts as he slumps against you. “Huh!? What do you mean unfortunately? Does the vows mean nothing now? Darling….”

You couldn't help but laugh at his playful pout, finding his antics endearing as always. "Oh, you know what I mean," you teased, playfully poking his side. "You're just too irresistible for your own good."

Satoru's pout turned into a mock expression of hurt, complete with exaggerated hand gestures. "Ah, the burden of being so incredibly charming!" he lamented dramatically, earning another round of laughter from you.

"But in all seriousness," you said, your tone softening as you gazed into his bright eyes, "I wouldn't have it any other way. You're my partner in crime, my confidant, my best friend. And even on your silliest days, I wouldn't trade you for the world."

His expression softened at your heartfelt words, a warm smile spreading across his face. "Likewise, darling." he replied, reaching out to cup your cheek affectionately. "You're my rock, my anchor. I don't know where I'd be without you."

In that moment, surrounded by love and laughter, you knew that no matter what challenges lay ahead, as long as you had each other, you could weather any storm. And with a playful grin, you leaned in to press a loving kiss to his lips, knowing that your bond was unshakably true as much as your love eternal.