#this was a PERFECT mirror of the last battle

[markantonys]

THEEEEE POINT of rand is that, in the end, the reason he's able to succeed where lews therin failed is NOT his power, it's his good heart and the support of his found family. in the end, he's not a warrior hero, he's a philosophical hero. rand's fight in the last battle is a fight of philosophy and ethics, and it's his friends who are out on the frontlines of the physical fighting, leading armies and protecting him.

so people complaining that the battle with ishy was changed from Solo Rand Power Trip To Show Why He Is More Special Than The Other Characters to a moment of all his friends gathering together to support him, protect him, fight with him, and remind him that he is not alone in this and that they're stronger when they're together...............i'm sorry, but i truly don't think you read the same books i did. (and before you come for me, rand is my second favorite character in the whole series after elayne, so don't come in here saying that i Just Don't Get It because i don't love him enough.)

[theskywithin]

Why Love Feels So Hard, Based on Your Natal Chart

Love isn’t just hearts and poetry. Sometimes, it’s a mirror. Sometimes, it’s a storm. Some souls come into this life with love that is effortless, gentle, uncomplicated. Others come with lessons to learn, cycles to break, wounds to heal. If love has felt like a battle, a question, or a wound that never quite closes, your birth chart may hold the answer.

Venus-Saturn Aspects: (Especially conjunction, square, or opposition)

There is something about love that feels distant, delayed, or just out of reach. Maybe you were never taught how to receive love. Maybe love always comes with conditions, if you work hard enough, if you prove yourself, if you hold yourself together no matter how much it hurts.

People with this aspect often experience early heartbreak, abandonment wounds, or relationships where they feel unworthy. They may attract partners who are cold, unavailable, or emotionally distant, not because they don’t deserve love, but because they are learning how to believe they do.

✨ Your lesson: Love is not a debt to be repaid, a task to complete, or a reward for perfection. You do not have to prove you are worthy of it. You already are.

Venus-Pluto Aspects: (Especially conjunction, square, or opposition)

You don’t just love, you merge, burn, destroy, resurrect. Love is not a soft place for you. It’s a wildfire, a black hole, a gravitational pull that you can’t resist, even when you know it will ruin you.

You attract relationships that dig into your deepest fears. Betrayal, obsession, jealousy, power struggles, these are not coincidences, but karmic lessons. You are here to learn how to love without losing yourself, without breaking yourself to keep someone else.

✨ Your lesson: Love should transform you, but it should not consume you. Let go of the belief that suffering is proof of love. Love should heal, not hurt.

Venus-Uranus Aspects: (Especially conjunction, square, or opposition)

You love like lightning, intense, electric, and gone before you can hold onto it. Maybe it’s you who runs, maybe it’s them. Maybe you crave love, but the moment it feels too predictable, too steady, too certain, something inside you resists.

You may find yourself in relationships that start with a spark but fade fast. Or in love with someone who is always out of reach, physically, emotionally, or both. Commitment feels suffocating, yet loneliness feels unbearable.

✨ Your lesson: Love does not have to be chaotic to be exciting. You can have love that is both freeing and grounding. Do not mistake stability for stagnation.

Venus-Neptune Aspects: (Especially conjunction, square, or opposition)

You fall in love with ghosts, illusions, and ideas of people rather than who they truly are. Love, for you, is a dream, beautiful, intoxicating, but often unreal. Maybe you see the best in people. Maybe you give too much. Maybe you fall for potential rather than reality.

With this aspect, love often comes with disillusionment, heartbreak, or one-sided devotion. You attract unavailable people, not because you enjoy suffering, but because your soul is learning how to see love clearly.

✨ Your lesson: Love is not meant to be chased or sacrificed for. Let yourself be loved in the real world, not just in your fantasies.

Moon-Saturn Aspects: (Especially conjunction, square, or opposition)

You grew up believing that your emotions were too much, that love had to be earned through self-sacrifice, that no one would stay if you weren’t strong.

People with this aspect often feel unloved, unseen, or emotionally repressed. Relationships can feel like emotional deserts, partners who cannot give you what you need, or the inability to express your own desires.

This placement often brings delayed love, real love comes later in life, after deep healing. But when it comes, it is stable, lasting, and worth the wait.

✨ Your lesson: Love is not a burden. You deserve love that nurtures, supports, and stays.

Moon-Pluto Aspects: (Especially conjunction, square, or opposition)

Your emotions don’t just run deep, they run into the underworld. Love, for you, is never lighthearted. It’s raw, transformative, a collision of desire and destruction.

You attract relationships that force you to confront your fears of abandonment, of betrayal, of losing yourself in someone else. You don’t love softly, you love like a hurricane, a fire, a secret you don’t dare say out loud.

People with this aspect often experience deep emotional wounds from childhood, which replay in their relationships until they face them head-on. Love, for you, is both your deepest wound and your greatest source of power.

✨ Your lesson: Love does not have to be a battlefield. Let love heal you instead of break you.

Venus in the 12th House:

You love quietly, secretly, in the spaces between words. Love, for you, often feels like a dream you once had but can’t quite remember. You long for something you cannot name.

This placement often brings hidden or unspoken love. Relationships that are secret, forbidden, or left unfinished. You may love people from a distance, fall for those you can’t have, or feel like love is something you must sacrifice.

But Venus in the 12th House also carries a deep soulmate energy. Love, for you, is something ancient, something that transcends lifetimes. When you find the right love, it will feel like something you lost long ago finally finding its way back home.

✨ Your lesson: Love does not have to be hidden or sacrificed. Let yourself be fully seen.

Neptune in the 7th House:

You are a dreamer in love, but dreams are not always reality. You see people through rose-colored glass, fall in love with their potential rather than their truth.

Neptune in the 7th House can bring romantic illusions, unrequited love, or relationships that slip through your fingers like smoke. You may attract people who are mysterious, unavailable, or who leave without warning.

But this placement also gives you the ability to love unconditionally. To see the best in people. To believe in something greater than just ordinary love.

✨ Your lesson: Love is not about fantasy. See people for who they are, not who you want them to be.

South Node in the 7th House:

Love, for you, is familiar. Too familiar. Every relationship feels like you’ve been here before, like you are repeating something that happened lifetimes ago.

You attract lovers who feel like unfinished stories. People who enter your life with intensity, only to leave just as quickly. Love can feel fated, magnetic, but also draining, as if it is keeping you from something else.

This placement often indicates past-life connections, love that is beautiful but heavy, karmic but unfinished. You may feel like relationships are holding you back, keeping you in the past instead of moving you forward.

✨ Your lesson: Love is not meant to repeat itself forever. Let go of what was, so you can step into what could be.

♾️ Karmic Aspects:

Certain aspects indicate karmic love, souls that have met before, unfinished business, love that feels fated but difficult. These relationships feel undeniable, magnetic, and often painful.

💜 South Node conjunct Venus or Mars – A lover from a past life. Familiar, intense, but rarely meant to last. This love teaches you what to release.

💜 Vertex conjunct Venus or the Descendant – A destined meeting. Fated, unavoidable, but often fleeting. This love shifts your life in ways you never expected.

💜 Chiron in the 7th House or conjunct Venus – Love as a wound and a healer. This placement brings deep pain in love, but also the opportunity for profound healing.

💜 Saturn conjunct the Descendant or Venus – The relationship that feels like fate, but requires immense effort and maturity. If both souls evolve, this can be a lifelong bond.

[rockingbytheseaside]

✦ You test out a new lipstick

(Pierro, Capitano, Dottore, Scaramouche, Pantalone, Tartaglia)

Tw: smooches! Shield your eyes!

Oh, would you look at that, you bought a new lipstick. You just need to test whether it wears down quickly or leaves any mark. 

✧ Pierro is in a haste. You blurt out that you need a new lipstick once, and the next thing you know, he purchases several high-quality ones for you. Offering you swatches of colors, makeup removers, different shades, and lipstick textures, he observes with analytical admiration as you sit in front of a mirror and apply the lipstick carefully. 

One last step is missing – to try its imprint. The Jester is ready to reach for a napkin to let you try. But you only smiled. Before he can comprehend, your hand reaches to turn his head and gently guides him closer to your lips until you sweetly capture his. It’s not often that The Jester experiences a complete blank out, but when you deliberately trace your lips across his skin and start preparing his face with kisses, how else is he supposed to react? Hold in his hitched breaths? Not deepen the kisses to relish the ambrosia of your lips?

Suffice it to say, you are proud of the imprints on his pale skin. He seems even prouder, wearing them like a badge of honor, despite his stoic appearance.

✧ You asked Il Capitano to evaluate the new shade of lipstick you bought. Like any loving partner, the honorable Captain stated honestly that any hue suits you elegantly. Even if his knowledge of cosmetics is minimal, he felt delighted and proud of your looks.  

But that wasn’t the issue. Now you were standing in front of him, smiling menacingly.  

“What is it, my treasure?”  

You stepped closer.  

“Dear…?”  

You stepped even closer. Oh no, thought the Captain, he’s in danger. His pleas for reason and mercy went unheard. Instead, he faced a bigger battle—a battle that left his helmet not with scratches but with various imprints of your kisses. You stood triumphantly, happy with your lipstick and the numerous marks on his helmet and neck. 

Il Capitano lost the battle that day. 

✧ At last, Il Dottore mused to himself, the perfect hue of lipstick designed scientifically for you. You voiced your issue in finding a suitable shade of makeup for yourself, hence you asked none other than your beloved to find a logical solution. So he took matters into his own hands to find the best chemical solution and accurately create the best shade to match your skin. 

Naturally, it was a success. With his gloves stained in various colorful substances, he proudly handed you a slender tube with a delicate black cap from the table as if it were a casual concoction he could make on a whimsy. Hence, you thanked him and blithely applied it on the spot.

“Dottore, it turned out magnificently!” – you said as you looked into the reflection of your face. But when you turned to look at him, Dottore’s complexion went vaguely blank. “Hm, what is it? Isn't it good? You made it matte, too.” 

He silently stepped forward; even behind his black mask, you could sense his full attention zooming on the beauty of your lips. 

"Well, true... I formulated it to be stain-proof, so it won't smudge as you go about your day. However," - he hummed, his hand cupping your jawline warmly. "Every product requires assiduous testing. We could conduct a few tests of our own to ensure its performance. If I may," 

Of course, he would test it personally. Of course, he then captures your lips in a kiss, his hand on the back of your head, his touch an ardent mix of passion and desire. He explores your mouth, his tongue caressing yours with a fervor, wanting to test how long the lipstick will last under the pressure of his kisses. You should've expected this, as his other hand encloses around you to press you flush against him. 

"Ah... interesting. It's held up quite well. There's no transfer on your skin or mine, but I do think further testing is necessary."

“Enough, enough! That’s plenty of testing from you!” 

✧ Scaramouche dislikes shopping. It’s a hassle, truly. You requested him to accompany you on a leisurely stroll, oblivious of your trap to drag him to some quick shopping. Except this quick shopping turned into a full-blown shopping spree. The question is: was he here to accompany you or to pull you away from wasting all your Mora on fleeting indulgences?

“No, you don't need any more clothes. You have plenty of unworn ones.”

“No, we don't need any more plushies, your bed is already littered with them.”

“And no, you already had some snacks on the way here. Stop buying more!”

You couldn't escape his stern reminders, even if they were practical. However, there was still one shop you left as an ace up your sleeves. Before finishing today's trip, you encouraged The Balladeer to join you in cosmetics shopping. Your innocent smile spoke promises of letting him choose your new lipstick color if he so desired, and the allure of it caused him to halt. 

“... Me? Why must I choose? Can't you pick a simple color and call it a day, huh?” - Scaramouche feigned annoyance when, in reality, he quickly grabbed your arm and led you hastily to the boutique. “We'll quickly buy one, but don't get any ideas that we're staying here for any longer.”

Poor Harbinger; he didn't have to lie to himself so cruelly. The two of you stayed in the boutique for a long while, not because you were indecisive, but because Scaramouche suddenly took the matters with utter seriousness. Should he suggest a carnelian shade? It would match with his own red eyeshade. Or perhaps a darker one would suit your complexion? Especially if you decided to leave contrasting lipstick imprints all over his porcelain skin- 

Scaramouche shook his head. Your voice interrupted his train of thought.

“Um… Scara, sweetie? Could we decide already? We spent the whole day in this shop.”

“We'll buy all of them, then,” - he held up your face, his full focus on you as you timidly averted your gaze. “Here. Now let me help you apply it.” 

✧ Pantalone sat behind his desk, fingers intertwined thoughtfully. Silver glasses cast a shadow upon his already darkened gaze. His expression, unfortunately, was far from pleased. 

“L-lord Harbinger Regrator,” – the Fatui subordinate uttered. “It is with utmost sorrow that I must inform you that- that the cosmetologists you hired have not finished their work. They are still in the process of creating the products you requested.” 

The silence of the office was deafening. The Harbinger granted no mercy with his prolonged pause.

“... I commission the best cosmetologist in all of Teyvat, and they still dare to waste my Mora and time? Is this some frivolous matter for them?” - The Harbinger's hands sternly pressed against the table, his voice raised “My beloved requested a new lipstick! They deserve the best of the best, as soon as possible!” 

“Uh, honey… I am still here in the room.” - your voice interjected awkwardly. Indeed, it's true; you are sitting nearby, blinking in confusion. You waved at the Fatui subordinate to take it easy, signaling sympathetically that your partner was having another one of his ambitious episodes. 

“Honey, my love, this is no fleeting matter! I wanted you to get the highest, custom-made quality for cosmetics. You rarely ask for anything, but when you do, I can't just let you down!” 

“It's just lipstick…! I didn't even say what color or kind I wanted.”

“And that's precisely why you shall get all of them. You there,” - he signaled back to the subordinate swiftly. “Quick, send the letters to those cosmetic chemists to hurry up if they want to make themselves worth the Mora. Delays are not negotiable.”

With the Fatui worker scurrying away in a hurry, Pantalone sighed deeply before plopping down beside you on the sofa of his office. You patted his back, amused by his sudden precedence over something so mundane. 

“There, there, Pantalone. You know it's nothing urgent. It's just lipstick.”

“Not any lipstick. Your lipstick, darling! I need to see you don the most dazzling color on your lips.” He turned to gently trace his thumb across your jawline, his voice softening. “...The lips that should be showering me with kisses and leaving lipstick prints on my skin.”

You laughed heartily – “Oh, so that's what it's all about? You know, makeup or no makeup, I can still kiss y-”

You didn't register how The Harbinger's head bowed lowly in reverence. “I would pay you any amount of Mora for you to do so.” 

Pantalone truly knows how to blow up over the most bizarre things. Either way, as the weeks passed, the newly ordered cosmetics did arrive as instructed. How did people know? Because Pantalone didn’t shy away from flaunting the traces of your delicate lips on his neck and blouse. A testament to stolen kisses and intimate moments behind closed doors. His triumphant grin says it all. 

✧ Your ever-observant boyfriend, Tartaglia, noticed you mulling something over by the mirror. You seemed in deep focus, a new item in your hands as you inspected your visage. You tried on a new lipstick! 

Childe, being the endearing goofball that he is, complimented your new purchase with delight. You appreciated his knack for noticing even the smallest changes, even if you didn't directly tell him you tried on something new. All was well! 

Or was it? For beneath his easygoing smile, in the deepest recesses of his soul, Tartaglia was begging, crying, screaming. He wanted to hold your face in his palms and kiss you senseless. He wished to taste the sweetness of your lips until this adorable color of your lipstick was smeared on both of your faces. He wished to soak in the warmth of your pecks and kisses, dreaming for your touch to litter his face with imprints.  

Did he say all of that? Of course not. He kept beaming at you in adoration, his smile tender while his thoughts devouring. Yet, after days of wrestling with his unspoken desires, Childe devised a plan – a very, very subtle plan.

“Oh nooo,” - he lamented dramatically, leaning against the doorway with a hand draped theatrically over his forehead. “If only my beloved was here to bestow me some loving kisses, especially when they look so alluring in their new lipstick! If only!” 

You raised an eyebrow at Tartaglia’s shenanigans as if asking him: Really? What is this damsel in distress act? Nonetheless, luckily for the 11th, his oh-so-subtle hints hit the mark, because you happily cupped his cheeks and smooched them with fervor, feeling his warm skin under your lips as he chuckled.  

Needless to say, your lipstick didn’t stand a chance.

[gtgbabie0]

Can I make a request for Ambessa with wife!reader and reader is a few months postpartum and she’s insecure about her figure. Ambessa decides to comfort her and show her how special she really is.

⋆⁺ ✮⋆⁺ Ambessa Medarda x Wife!Reader

Synopsis: {The birth of your child left you with many doubts and your wife proves them all wrong} CW: talks of childbirth, body image issues, themes of postpartum depression, bathing together. AN: I got so carried away with this. oml.

The birthing bed was your battlefield as the wife to a fearsome warlord— a fate that had surprisingly brought you more happiness than you had originally anticipated, that was until your waters broke and the contractions started. Then you were cursing Ambessa’s name.

You were prepared for this, your handmaidens spent day and night explaining to you the pain and showing you hand-drawn pictures— your mother had even told you of her own experiences. It was all pointless because you quickly learned that no word or picture could ever even begin to describe the pain of childbirth.

It didn’t get much easier from there. The battle continued even after the birth of a healthy baby boy and girl—oh how grateful your wife was—twins, a strong boy and girl to carry on her name… a miracle. You only wished you could share her joy, but you couldn’t. There was an odd disconnect that had managed to wedge itself between you, your children, and Ambessa.

Your skin didn’t feel your own, hell, your whole life didn’t feel like yours— almost as if you had taken the place of some stranger, a different woman that was not you. That woman was more suited to be a mother, a wife. It was a sickening feeling, one that often left you immobilised in bed.

You didn’t want to face the mirrors, hold your babies, or have your wife look at you, much less touch you—hence why you slept with a pillow stuffed between you both, not wanting to risk it… despite how much you deeply yearned for it, and oh how you really did yearn for her comforting touch.

It was the reason your maid brings you your nightly tea with just enough crushed poppy flowers to knock you out— you preferred to sleep before your wife got back from her duties, although you told your maids differently.

“Leave it on the table.” The words leave you with a sigh, not looking over to her from your place on the sofa— a deep red velvet colour, soft to the touch, your wife only accepts perfection.

“Lady Medarda, surely a simple ginger tea would be better for you?— The pain shouldn’t be lasting this long.” bless her, she sounded so concerned. Of course, your excuse of birthing pains could only last so long, five whole months had passed since— the warmth of summer slowly dwindling away, replaced by a sharp chill that autumn brought.

You shake your head, bringing your fingertips to your temple with a pitiful glint in your eyes, ready to put on a show— then the bedroom door opens and your handmaiden is bowing to Ambessa, whose eyes are fixed onto you, stepping off to the side politely.

“You’re back early.” The words fly from your lips faster than you could even process them and far more harshly than intended, however, the quiver in your voice gives you away. Your false bravado was not lost on Ambessa, that mask you wore did not fool her.

“Leave us.” Her words are sharp, stern and has the maid scurrying off— dress clutched in her hands. You could already hear the gossip she was sure to spread with the other servants.

A sigh escapes you as your eyes flicker over to the flames in the fireplace, watching the embers dance wildly within the hearth— Ambessa’s heavy, golden spear hanging above, displayed proudly, every nick and indent tells a different story. You let your mind wander in hopes she'll drop it.

“Do I need to send for a doctor?” She doesn't. Your wife was a smart woman, she knew you like the back of her hand and could read all your inner thoughts, until recently— now getting a single word out of you was like trying to get blood out of a stone. Instead, she was left with this distance you had managed to put between yourself and her. Ambessa felt it, she just didn’t know how exactly to approach it and it was driving her crazy.

She was a practical woman, fixing her problems with strength, not emotions, this was not her strong suit. But she also did not know defeat.

“No, I am fine.” The lie didn’t sound convincing in the slightest, not even in your own ears— the words make you wince and from the sound of her scoff she didn’t believe you either.

You hated to be the cause of her concern, gods only know how busy the woman already was. Ambessa watches you, studying your movements with slightly narrowed eyes as you tug your shawl over your shoulders— grasping the soft fabric as if it were some sort of protective shield, a lifeline, that you wished desperately to disappear into.

“This is not fine, lie to your handmaidens all you want but do not lie to me.” Her tone is much softer than you deserve, you can’t help but cower away with a look of shame in your eyes— it only triples when she kneels down in front of you, her big, battle-worn hands resting over your knees.

The Ambessa Medarda, a feared warrior, kneeling before you like you were some sort of deity worth praying to… no it didn’t feel right.

The words die on your tongue, getting stuck in the back of your throat tightly— a whimper is the only thing you can let out, such a weak sound, strained with this insecurity that had been eating away at you for months.

“I do not know what it is— just an ache I cannot rid myself of, no matter what I do.” you breathe, dropping your head slightly as your gaze falls to her hands, the way her thumb rubs the inside of your knee. “I bring shame upon this family— upon you.”

Ambessa tuts at your words, pinching your chin between her index finger and thumb. “Shame?— look at me,” your eyes find her own hesitantly. “You are my greatest treasure… my proudest accomplishment.”

“I can’t be— I’m not fit for motherhood, to be your wife. I am weak.”

She bristles, “No flower, you are the furthest thing from weak. Motherhood is no easy feat, but we strengthen each other… you have me. Forever.” her eyes never once straying from your own.

You have only ever heard such loving sincerity from her a handful of times, on the day she asked you to marry her and the first time she had taken your maidenhead— your wedding night, and now. It’s a stern tone that is draped in earnest, so heavy with love, leaving no space for arguments.

Ambessa wouldn’t hear another word of it, of you speaking poorly of yourself— she had taken someone’s tongue after they foolishly insulted you, that wasn’t for nothing, that was out of devotion.

So all you can do is apologise— “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry—” but even that she doesn’t want to hear, her lips pressing a soothing kiss to the corner of your mouth.

“No more apologies, no more distance. You have me.” She promises, words whispered against your cheek before she pulls back to admire you with a soft yet firm stare. “Understood?”

“Yes, I understand.” You whisper, leaning into her hand as soon as her rough palm meets your cheek— your chest tightens and your eyes prickle with tears, it had been far too long since you felt her tender touch. With a hum of acknowledgement, she leans forward, still kneeling before you, her hand curving across your jaw to cup the back of your head— her lips meeting your own in a slow kiss, the rough pad of her thumb brushing your tears away.

“Shh my heart, I’m right here.” She soothes, lips brushing along your jaw when you melt further into her— trembling hands resting upon her broad shoulders which she cages within her own big ones as she pulls back to admire you. “I’ll have a bath prepared for us.”

Her words make you tense, something uncomfortable churning within your stomach at the thought. “No, my body has changed— it’s—”

“—It is just as perfect as the night I first had you.”

“No, it’s different.”

“Sweetling, you have brought life into this world. It’s a beautiful change.” She murmurs against your knuckles with an almost reverent gleam in her eyes, one that almost breaks down the defences that you have built up around your fragile heart, almost.

Ambessa can sense your unease, the hesitation— the way you can’t seem to meet her eyes and it destroys her, how had she failed to protect you from this? She brings your palm to rest over her heart, her eyes searching your own. “Trust me with this, let me worship you.” there's a soft question hidden beneath her tone, behind the firmness of what sounds like a demand.

“Just— Just a bath,” you whisper, glossy eyes and strained voice and she nods in response— cupping your face ever so gently as she repeats “Just a bath.” in agreement.

You trust her enough to guide you to your shared bathroom, enough to let her peel your nightgown off with careful hands, fingertips grazing across your body ever so slightly. The comforting scent of rose and honey wisps around you, carrying memories of nights you’ve shared like this and the prospect of being close to her seems a little less daunting as the familiarity warms your heart and the hot water envelops your body.

Ambessa's form engulfs your own as she sits behind you, strong thighs caging either side of you. It was protective, how her hands rub across your shoulders soothingly and the soft whispers of sweet nothings that leave her lips, muffled into the nape of your neck. She wishes to rid you of any self-doubt that had wormed itself into your mind.

Bubbles splay across your chest, your arms wrapped tightly around your knees that you’ve tucked beneath your chin in an attempt to make yourself smaller. “Flower?— relax into me,” her voice breaks you out of your thoughts as she slowly guides you back against her chest, wrapping an arm around your abdomen whilst the other moves to cup your cheek.

The candlelight flickers against your face as you tip your head backwards to look up at her, her thumb wiping away a stray tear that had escaped you. “Forgive me for not noticing your pain sooner,” She whispers, dropping a kiss to your forehead and then another to the tip of your nose.

The warm water laps at your bodies slightly as you move to curl up further into her, wanting to disappear in her embrace. “Just don’t let go,” and with that her arms tighten around your body, leaning to rest her forehead against your own.

“You’ve got nothing to worry about. Your place in my heart is yours, no one can take that from you.” You sigh at your words, letting out a teary giggle as she peppers kisses over your face. For the first time in a while, you felt whole, full, in a way you thought you would never feel again, for the time being at least… you savoured every second of it.

Her fingertips trace over the stretch marks left by your pregnancy, letting her lips trail over the dewy skin of your shoulders whispering soft “I love yous,” against you as she washes your hair— smirking at the way you let your guard down for her, how your eyes flutter close and the way sigh and hum in delight as she massages your scalp.

The water felt cleansing in a way, as it trickles down your head and along your back, washing away the months of aches that weighed on top of you. “How does that feel?” She asks, lips brushing along your jaw.

“Good, much better.” The relief in your tone brought immeasurable amounts of satisfaction to her that she couldn’t help but chuckle, happiness blooming through her chest as she replies with a soft. “That’s what I like to hear, my sweet.”

Ambessa vows to herself in that very moment to spend the night and every other night paying homage to the curves and dips of your body, to each stretch mark that maps over your skin until you feel nothing but love— she would put your pieces back together again no matter how jagged the edges were.

[solxamber]

Supervillain's Guide to Romance || Rook Hunt

You, Supervillain, planned for a lifetime of rivalry, but instead, the Hero, Rook Hunt just keeps breaking into your lair with snacks.

Where did it all go wrong?

(Villain! Reader x Hero! Rook)

You have waited for this moment forever.

The world has been terribly dull as of late. Sure, your evil empire is thriving, the peasantry cowers at the mention of your name, and several major institutions have crumbled beneath your perfectly polished boots.

But without conflict, without an opponent, it’s just… paperwork and infrastructure maintenance. And while managing the economy after singlehandedly obliterating capitalism is hilarious, it does not provide the visceral thrill of a good old-fashioned deathmatch.

But now. Now.

The Goddess has finally chosen her Hero.

And you are so ready for this.

Your Ultimate Doomsday Device™ is primed. Your Evil Lair is bathed in appropriately dramatic red lighting. Your constructs—hulking, ominous, heavily armed—are lined up in terrifying symmetry, all enhanced with freshly sharpened weaponry and, crucially, eyeliner. Because aesthetic matters.

And you?

You are a vision of villainy. Cloak billowing, sword gleaming, boots heeled just enough to exude power but still practical enough for dramatic combat maneuvers. You spent three hours in front of a mirror perfecting your “I’ll kill you and laugh about it” smirk. You are prepared to be an absolute menace.

And then he arrives.

Standing atop the nearest cliff, silhouetted by an impossibly well-placed moon, is him.

The Goddess’s Chosen Hero.

Rook Hunt.

He is posing. His bow gleams. He looks like a romanticized painting of a hunter-king about to declare war on a stag. And then—

“Ah-ha!” he cries, pointing dramatically at you. “At last, we meet, O Dark Jewel of the Night’s Malevolence!”

…What.

Rook places a hand on his chest, eyes alight with unhinged enthusiasm. “What poetry! What drama! What an exquisite monologue that must have been as you awaited my arrival! Tell me, mon cher adversaire, how long have you rehearsed this glorious moment?”

…What.

You were expecting many things.

A clash of ideals. A heated battle. Perhaps a reluctant respect forged in the fires of combat.

You were not expecting your mortal enemy to sound like a theater major experiencing religious ecstasy at the sight of your properly villainous cape swish.

You squint at him. “You’re… excited?”

Rook nods so fervently his hat nearly flies off. “But of course! To stand against one so resplendently wicked! To trade blows—nay, souls—in this eternal dance of justice and villainy! C'est magnifique!”

He’s smiling.

Why is he smiling.

This is a deathmatch, not a wine tasting.

You clear your throat, lifting your chin in the most intimidating way possible. “Do you have any final words before I bring ruin upon you?”

Rook inhales deeply, eyes glimmering like a man utterly in love with the idea of his own demise.

“You are radiant in your menace! A blinding star of destruction! Smite me, O Harbinger of Dread! Let me bask in the beauty of your malice!”

He spreads his arms as if to embrace the impending carnage.

You slowly lower your sword.

“…What the hell is wrong with you?”

You shrug it off, maybe the Goddess likes them unhinged.

You had prepared for this moment your entire life.

The darkness swirled dramatically around you as you stood atop your obsidian throne, gazing down at the battlefield below. Your constructs—your beautiful, eyeliner-wearing minions—were poised, weapons gleaming, capes billowing, eyes smoldering with unholy (and stylish) rage.

The sky rumbled, lightning cracked, your "smite-a-city" device hummed ominously, and a general sense of doom and destruction filled the air.

This was it. The fated clash between good and evil. The battle that would shake the heavens, rend the earth, and—

"Ah, mon cher, your stance is exquisite! But tell me, would you rather have dinner instead of world domination?"

You freeze mid-swing, sword inches from his throat.

Your constructs freeze mid-battle, one still mid-air, about to deliver a flying kick. The thunder hesitates, the lightning awkwardly fizzles out, the wind that had been howling through the battlefield just kind of... stops, like it forgot what it was doing. Even your "smite-a-city" device lets out a confused beep.

Rook Hunt—the Goddess’s Chosen Hero, The People's Champion, The Bringer of Light and Justice, The Reason You Haven’t Been Able to Have a Peaceful Afternoon in Months—gazes at you with sparkling green eyes, utterly unbothered. He is smiling. He is batting his eyelashes. He is somehow more dazzling than the lightning.

You, in contrast, are short-circuiting. "HUH??? WHAT??? NO???"

"Magnifique." He lunges again, sword clashing against yours, his grin only widening. "Then I shall vanquish you with the elegance you deserve!"

The world unfreezes as if someone hit 'play' on reality again. Your constructs return to attacking, the wind resumes howling, thunder remembers how to be intimidating, and you—still reeling—dodge a particularly poetic strike from the overly enthusiastic Hero of the World.

You're not sure what just happened, but you do know one thing:

You absolutely refuse to die without getting some answers first.

And maybe, just maybe, you need to recalibrate your entire life plan.

You had been prepared for a worthy opponent. You had been prepared for grand battles, for expertly crafted schemes, for a rivalry that would echo through the annals of history.

What you had not been prepared for was Rook Hunt.

You take a sip of your tea, relishing a rare moment of villainous peace. The sun is setting, your latest evil scheme (a devastating tax loophole reform) is progressing smoothly, and—most importantly—Rook Hunt is not around.

Or so you thought.

Because the moment you relax, you feel it. That unmistakable tingle of being observed.

Slowly, you lower your cup.

And there he is. Peeking through your window.

His stupid hat. His stupid cape. His stupidly enchanting green eyes shining like a cursed emerald in the dim light.

"Bonsoir, mon cher!" he greets cheerfully, dangling upside down from your roof like a particularly well-dressed bat.

You nearly drop your tea. "WHAT THE FU—"

You're exhausted. Emotionally, physically, spiritually. You decide to dedicate an entire day to self-care. Face masks, fluffy robes, a villainous bath bomb infused with the souls of the unjustly rich—you are determined to ignore the world.

As you stretch luxuriously in your grand lair, you hear a faint thunk.

You pause.

Slowly, you turn your gaze toward the door.

There, pinned straight through the wood by an arrow, is a neatly wrapped face mask.

You take a deep breath. You count to ten. You fail to count to ten because you are seething.

You yank the arrow out and unroll the note attached to it.

"Self-care is crucial, mon ami! Hydrate well and let your skin glow like the celestial heavens! À bientôt~!"

There is a little hand-drawn heart at the bottom.

You have never known rage like this.

At this point, you’re convinced the Goddess chose him purely to fuck with you.

There is no other explanation. None.

Because every time you turn around, he is there.

He is watching.

He is smiling.

He is way too into this.

You are a responsible supervillain. You do your own paperwork.

This is crucial.

Do you have minions? Yes. Constructs? Absolutely. Are they efficient? Of course. Do they understand the fine intricacies of tax-deductible lair maintenance expenses? No.

So here you are, suffering, hunched over your desk, reviewing budgets for your upcoming Doomsday Apparatus™ (pending patent).

Your shoulder aches. The price of evil, you suppose.

Then, hands.

You sigh, assuming it’s one of your constructs trying to be helpful, but the texture is all wrong. Not cold. Not metallic. Not vaguely threatening.

You freeze.

These are human hands.

You whirl around so fast you nearly fall out of your chair.

And there he is.

Rook Hunt. The Menace of Your Existence.

Wearing that same infuriatingly pleased expression he always has when he manages to unnerve you.

“Mon trésor, you are so tense! Do not fret, for I am here to ease your burdens—”

Your hand is already on your emergency drawer.

Because of course you keep a glock in there. You’re a responsible supervillain.

But before you can make him truly holy, he lifts a plate of your favorite cookies.

You squint.

You squint harder.

The cookies look perfect.

You hate him.

But you love those cookies.

“...Fine,” you grumble. “Dining room. Now.”

And that’s how you end up having the most awkward tea party of your life.

Your constructs—tall, looming, deadly—stand against the walls like confused statues.

You glare at Rook. He beams at you.

You eat a cookie. He sips his tea like he’s the most welcome guest in the world and not your mortal enemy.

Finally, you break the silence.

“I’m going to destroy an entire city district next time.”

Rook hums, interested. “Hm. But which one? Have you considered an aerial attack for maximum devastation?”

Your constructs shift uncomfortably.

You blink. “...What.”

“If you truly wish to inspire terror, mon cher, a coordinated offensive utilizing shadow and fire would be most spectacular. Oh, imagine the fear in their eyes! The poetry of destruction!”

Your constructs are now visibly uncomfortable.

You stare at him. “...You realize I am trying to defeat you, right?”

“Oui.” He takes another dainty sip of tea. “But what is a villain without a hero? What is a hero without a villain? We are locked in the most beautiful dance, and it would be a shame if your evil was anything less than... magnifique.”

You hate how good that sounds.

Your constructs, sensing the sheer unhinged energy at this table, collectively decide they are done.

You’ve had it.

Rook Hunt has been breaking into your lair every other day, treating your villainous empire like it’s some kind of all-you-can-antagonize buffet.

So tonight? You strike back.

Your plan is perfectly petty. You sneak into his house, bypass his defenses, and leave a nasty little surprise—a copy of his stupid hat, but without the feather. Symbolic. Brutal. Devastating.

It’s dark inside. Suspiciously dark. You move silently through the halls, your villain senses tingling, when—

A hand grabs your wrist.

You let out the most unvillainous, undignified little squeak known to man.

A candle flares to life.

And there he is.

Rook Hunt. Smiling. Smug. Suspiciously pleased.

And behind him?

A fully set candlelit dinner table.

What.

You yank your wrist free and glare at him. “How did you know I was coming?”

“I didn’t!” He laughs, delighted, as if this entire scenario isn’t absolutely deranged. “I’ve merely been setting this up every night for the past week, hoping one day you would.”

You stare.

Your brain buffers.

Your evil plan—your brilliant, petty, symbolically devastating evil plan—is completely ruined.

But also.

You are weirdly, deeply flattered.

Which is so annoying.

You grumble and stomp over to the table. “Well, I’m not wasting a perfectly good meal.”

Rook positively beams as you sit down, pouring you a glass of something fancy.

You stab at your food aggressively. “You suck, Hunt.”

“Ah, mon amour, flattery will get you everywhere.”

You contemplate murder.

You also contemplate dessert.

Your life is hard.

As a renowned and feared supervillain, you have many responsibilities—world domination, economic destabilization, overthrowing the bourgeoisie—but even the greatest of evildoers need time to unwind.

For you, that means art.

Tonight, you sit in your grand lair, sketchbook in hand, dreamily doodling while fantasizing about the day you will finally, unequivocally, beat Rook Hunt.

Perhaps you’ll trap him in an inescapable dungeon.

Perhaps you’ll trick him into an elaborate psychological game that will break his very spirit.

Perhaps you’ll put a single grain of sand in his boots and let nature take its course.

The possibilities are endless.

You’re so absorbed in your creative villainous process that you fail to notice the cryptid himself materializing behind you like some kind of woodland horror story.

“Ah, mon trésor, what are you drawing?”

You freeze.

Your villain instincts kick in, but it’s too late. Before you can shove your sketchbook under your cloak and play it off like a true mastermind, Rook Hunt has already peeked.

A beat of silence.

You watch as, for the first time in history, Rook Hunt blushes.

You look down at your sketchbook.

Oh.

It’s a doodle of him.

With a heart drawn near it.

Obvious context:

It’s a threat.

Clearly, you meant “I will rip your heart out with my bare hands.”

Obviously, this is not romantic.

Clearly, he should know this.

And yet—

Before you can explain this very normal and absolutely not embarrassing drawing, Rook makes a strangled noise—and then, without warning—

He launches himself out of the window.

Full-speed.

No hesitation.

You stare blankly at the gaping hole in your wall.

The night breeze drifts in.

A loose paper flutters off your desk.

Your jaw clenches.

You pull out your calculator.

“Alright. How much is this repair gonna cost me this time?”

It had been months. Months of what was supposed to be an intense, dramatic rivalry, full of mortal combat, fire, and the kind of operatic duels that would make even the gods weep. Months where the world should have trembled at the very mention of your name as you and the so-called Goddess’s Chosen Hero waged battle across the land.

Instead, what had actually happened was this:

Rook had become a persistent, feathered plague upon your life. Every time you so much as breathed, he was there. If you drank tea, he was peeking through the window like some kind of blonde cryptid.

If you took a relaxing villainous bubble bath, he left a scented candle by your doorstep with a little handwritten note.

If you tried to sleep? Oh, well clearly that was the perfect time for him to send a love arrow straight through your pillow, just narrowly missing your skull.

This was not how hero-villain dynamics were supposed to go.

And apparently, the Goddess had finally taken notice, because today, as you and Rook clashed swords atop your usual scenic cliffside battlefield—lightning flashing, your cape billowing just right—a new hero arrived, looking exactly like the bootleg discount protagonist you’d expect from a last-minute recast.

“Villain!” he bellowed, dramatically pointing his sword at you. “Your reign of terror ends—”

You vaporized him on the spot.

Your constructs, standing dutifully in formation, collectively gasped.

Rook, who had been mid-flourish with his sword, stopped and blinked at the rapidly dissipating ashes of what had, just seconds ago, been an eager new recruit in the grand war of good versus evil. Then, he turned back to you, smiling fondly.

“Ah, mon trésor, how dashing you are when you wield your power with such effortless grace!”

You scowled, pointing your sword at him this time. “Why are you acting like I just did something romantic? I murdered that guy.”

“Oui! And beautifully so!” Rook twirled his own blade, utterly unbothered. “Like a star snuffing out another in the vast cosmos! Poetry in motion! Ah, my heart beats faster just thinking of it.”

Your constructs, meanwhile, were losing their collective minds.

One of them, a hulking, six-armed behemoth of enchanted steel, hesitantly raised a hand. “Uh. So. Boss? Just so we’re clear—”

“Don’t,” you warned.

“No, no, just a quick question,” it continued, with the slow, careful tone of someone addressing a very temperamental god. “You just smote a hero instantly. Like, zero hesitation. Which means you can do that. So, um. What exactly is stopping you from smiting him?” It pointed at Rook.

Rook, the absolute menace that he was, waved cheerfully.

You opened your mouth. Closed it. Considered your options.

Then, in a show of supreme villainous dignity, you turned on your heel and dramatically stomped away.

Your constructs stared after you.

Rook sheathed his sword and sighed wistfully. “Ah, such passion. Such fire. Such restraint! Truly, they are the one chosen for me.”

The constructs turned to him in absolute horror.

“What have you done to our boss?”

You were having a perfectly normal evening.

By "normal," of course, you meant that you were lounging in your grand, candlelit villainous dining hall, sipping a glass of expensive wine (stolen, obviously), while Rook Hunt, your mortal enemy and frequent dinner guest, debated you on the finer points of mid-air combat.

"Mon trésor, think of the artistry!" Rook exclaims, gesturing wildly with his fork. "A battle in freefall—two souls clashing against the endless sky, the wind whipping our capes, the suspense of who will deploy their parachute first!"

You scowl, jabbing a piece of steak. "No. That’s impractical. There’s no stable footing, gravity ruins your attack trajectory, and if one of us dies before hitting the ground, there’s no dramatic final duel."

Rook gasps. "But what of style, mon cher? What of the poetry of two destined foes plummeting through the heavens, locked in the embrace of battle?"

You roll your eyes. "What of the reality that I’m not breaking my legs just so you can fulfill some mid-air fencing fantasy?"

Before Rook can counter with another unnecessary metaphor, there's a knock at the door.

You pause. Rook tilts his head. Your constructs—the ones assigned to not be traumatized by your ridiculous rivalry—shift uneasily.

No one knocks on the door of the Evil Overlord.

You cautiously rise, striding toward the entrance, adjusting your cloak. If this is some dumb assassin, you’re going to vaporize them before they finish their opening monologue.

You throw open the door.

Standing there, shimmering with divine light and looking deeply, deeply exasperated, is the Goddess.

You blink.

Rook, behind you, immediately bows with theatrical reverence. "Ah, my divine patron! What honor do we have to—"

She shoves a hand in his face, shutting him up. "Not a word from you."

Rook makes a delighted noise behind her palm, as if being personally scolded by a deity is the highlight of his week.

Then, the Goddess turns her gaze to you.

"You," she says, voice layered with millennia of barely restrained frustration.

You raise a brow. "Me?"

She points accusingly. "You are not even a villain."

You stiffen. "Excuse me?"

"The people adore you!" she snaps, throwing up her hands. "Your so-called empire? Has better infrastructure and social services than any kingdom in the world! Your so-called evil policies? Fixed the economy! Your supposed tyranny? Universally beloved by the peasantry!”

You gape at her. "I run a dictatorship."

"A benevolent dictatorship!"

Your eye twitches. You glance back at Rook, who is absolutely vibrating with amusement.

The Goddess rounds on him next. "And you!"

Rook straightens, looking delighted to finally have her attention. "Oui?"

"You are the worst hero I have ever chosen."

His smile widens. "Merci!"

"That wasn't a compliment." She pinches the bridge of her nose, like she’s developing divine stress migraines. "You were supposed to defeat them. Not take them to dinner, deliver self-care gifts, and give them advice on better city destruction tactics."

"But, my Goddess, what is heroism if not—"

She holds up a finger. "Finish that sentence, and I swear on the cosmic balance, I will smite you myself."

Rook, wisely, shuts up.

Your arms cross, and you scowl at her. "So what do you want, exactly?"

The Goddess sighs. "Nothing. I am done. I am sick of this. I gave your world a clear narrative, and you two have turned it into—into—" she gestures wildly at the two of you, "whatever this is."

She looks exhausted. You take a slow sip of wine. Rook sips his tea. Your constructs, still lurking awkwardly in the background, look on in silent horror.

Finally, the Goddess rubs her temples and lets out a long, world-weary sigh.

"I give up," she declares. "I abandon this world."

You blink. "What."

Rook gasps. "Mon Dieu!"

She throws her hands up. "No. Not your "Dieu" anymore. Do whatever you want. I don’t care anymore. Conquer the world. Get married. Build a flying opera house of destruction. I do not care."

She turns on her heel, divine light flaring around her, ready to vanish back into the heavens. But before she fully ascends, she pauses, turns back, and levels one last glare at you.

"And fix your damn roof. I know he broke it." She jerks her head at Rook.

Then, with a flash of light, she is gone.

Silence.

Your constructs do not move. You do not move. The air is thick with the weight of divine abandonment.

Then—

"Mon trésor," Rook breathes, eyes sparkling. "Did you hear? We have divine permission to wed!"

You throw your wine glass at his head.

You were going to prove a point.

The Goddess’s words still echoed in your mind:

"The people adore you."

"Your so-called tyranny is beloved."

Absolutely not. You are terrifying. You are a villain. You are the Dread Overlord of Shadows and Eternal Night, not some beloved community figure.

So, naturally, you stormed into the city streets in full dramatic regalia, determined to strike fear into the hearts of the people.

And, of course, they were absolutely terrified.

(There are children braiding flowers into your hair.)

Their knees knocked together in terror.

(The baker personally handed you a warm loaf of bread, saying, "It’s your favorite, dear. Fresh out of the oven.")

They shrank away from you, trembling.

("Can we get a selfie, Overlord of Shadows? You look so cool today!")

They screamed in fear.

(M’overlord, would you consider attending our town’s Harvest Festival? It wouldn’t be the same without you.")

By the time you made it back to your lair, the weight of reality had crushed your entire soul into a fine powder.

Your constructs barely had time to move out of the way before you collapsed onto the cold stone floor, sprawled dramatically, staring blankly at the ceiling.

It was not normal.

Nothing about today was normal.

You were supposed to be evil. The darkness lurking at the edges of civilization. The terrifying ruler who demanded obedience, not… not fan interaction.

You reach up and pull a flower from your hair. A daisy. A cute little daisy.

You stare at it.

Then, slowly, you sit up and reach into your pocket.

You pull out the loaf of bread. It’s still warm. It smells amazing.

You take a slow, deliberate bite.

You chew. You swallow.

You scream into a pillow.

Your constructs watch in silence, wisely choosing to let you process your existential crisis.

Then—

A slow, steady clap echoes through the lair.

You groan, rolling onto your side, as Rook Hunt steps into view, absolutely beaming.

"Mon trésor," he breathes, looking so unbearably pleased. "Did you have a revelation?"

You almost hurl the loaf of bread at his head.

You wake up with a revelation so profound it shakes you to your very core.

You don’t have to fight Rook Hunt anymore.

Not because you won—oh no, if anything, it’s because you never actually fought him to begin with.

This so-called “battle” had always been one-sided. You, pouring your very soul into villainy, scheming, plotting, monologuing—only for Rook to respond with enthusiastic admiration instead of righteous fury.

You had never been fighting a hero. You had been performing for a very intense fan.

And you are so tired.

So you get up, summon your constructs, and announce with all the dignity of a fallen monarch:

"I’m retiring."

They blink.

Your war construct, a towering mass of steel and death, hesitantly raises a hand. "Uh. What?"

"I’m retiring." You rub your temples. "I was never really a villain, apparently. The people adore me. The Goddess abandoned this realm. And my greatest enemy is currently sitting on my chandelier, smiling at me like a particularly pleased house cat."

A collective glance is shared. The constructs all look up.

Indeed, Rook is perched there, grinning like the absolute menace he is.

A few seconds of silence.

Then, your constructs all just nod.

"Yeah, okay. That makes sense."

"Honestly, I think we all saw this coming."

"So what now?"

You sigh and gesture vaguely at the lair. "Do whatever you want. You’re free. Find a new purpose. Go live your lives."

And, to your eternal exhaustion, they do.

Your once-feared War Construct? Now bakes delicate cream puffs.

Your impenetrable Shield Construct? Wears a frilly little apron and dusts the rooms.

Your Lurking Shadow Beast of Eternal Horror? Manages the garden.

You watch all of this unfold with a blank stare, feeling your villainous reputation crumble into nothing. And you?

You don’t even care anymore.

You sit at your grand villainous dining table, Rook across from you, smiling, victorious, insufferable.

He raises a teacup in toast. "To the end of an era, mon trésor."

You sip your tea.

Then, with all the resignation in the world, you simply mutter—

"...Yeah."

Rook just winks.

If you were going to commit one last act of villainy, it had to be grand. Poetic. Fitting for the infuriatingly ridiculous story that had become your life.

And so, you decide.

You were going to steal Rook Hunt’s heart.

… Metaphorically. Probably.

So you don your best dramatic cloak, grab the most intimidating bouquet of flowers you can find, and march to wherever Rook is lurking (which, statistically speaking, is either your lair or right behind you).

But before you can utter a single villainous declaration, you stop.

Because Rook is already kneeling.

Already holding out a ring.

Already smiling like he knew this would happen.

"When’s the wedding, mon trésor?" he asks, eyes gleaming.

You stare at him. Stare at the ring. Stare at the flowers in your own hands like an idiot.

And then—

You laugh.

You laugh so hard you nearly double over, because this is your life now.

The Goddess abandoned your world. Your constructs run a quaint domestic empire. The people adore you. And the so-called Hero?

The Hero beat you to the proposal.

You shake your head, still chuckling, before pulling him up by the front of his shirt and pressing a kiss to his lips.

"Maybe," you murmur, "we can have the wedding on the anniversary of the day we met."

Rook exhales something close to a sigh, grinning against your lips before kissing you again, soft and victorious.

"Magnifique," he whispers.

And, honestly?

Yeah.

Magnifique indeed.

Masterlist

[lordtraco]

Behold!! My Shadowpeach Bio Parents AU TAKEOVER contribution! Rìloù Bàng in teeny tiny form!

And an accompanying mini fic under the readmore

Mk gripped the weapon born of his own shadows. It thrummed in his hands, as full of life and energy as Monkey King’s staff. The key difference was that this was his.

Would it be rude to ask his new staff to perhaps not yeet him into the sky on their first day together? Probably. He saw a faint shift in the colors.

Oh no, you like that idea, don't you? 

MK wasn't certain how much his own silliness was just being mirrored back at him, but it slowly started growing as if playfully threatening to do so. 

“...you can morph it freely as you're capable of.” MK tuned back in to the end of Chiyou’s explanation.

“It’s-It’s… WOW it's perfect!” He smiled at them all, looking back at the staff for a moment. 

It was quiet, solid, real. It was his through and through, but… It needed an ode to his hero-turned-family, a reminder of the joy and wonder he felt upon first seeing the staff. 

“It's only missing one final touch!”

Taking a piece from his scarf, MK tied it to his new staff. It cascaded down, not catching on any wind. There were no explosions, no battles to run towards or from, just a quiet, happy moment with his family and a very kind god of war.

It wouldn't last, something would come along and twist his life into a tornado again. But when it did, Rìloù Bàng would be at his side to face it head on. And their ribbons would flow, a heroic sight in both light and shadow!

Thank you @kyri45 for this wonderful comic and inspiration!

[oddinary4bts]

To Give a Helping Hand | jjk (ch 2)

☆summary: when Jungkook finally approaches you at the gym, he realizes you've been wanting him just as badly as he's been wanting you.

☆pairing: idol!Jungkook x female reader

☆rating: 18+ (minors DNI)

☆genre: smut, idol!au

☆warnings: unedited, curses, explicit content: mentions of hard drugs (in a metaphor, no character does hard drugs), jerking off, oral sex (male receiving), fantasies about female oral sex (face riding), ball fondling, a tiny bit of marking, exhibitionism (they are in a car?), deep throating ish?, mouth fucking

☆word count: 3.1k

☆a/n: pure unedited sins again bc you guys asked for it and I am far too horny for mr jeon jungkook (thank you, calvin klein). I also wrote this when I was severely depressed and in need of a distraction so my bad if it sucks haha

☆☆☆☆☆

Jungkook watches himself in the mirror. His hair clings to the sweat on his forehead as he curls his arms, the strain enough to make him wince. Yet he pushes through, finishes the motion and then goes for another one.

He always trains until failure. Because it’s the best way to grow muscle, yes, but also because he likes the pain of it. Likes the burn, likes to put his body through the worst.

He knows he can take it.

It helps that you’re just a few benches away, doing some Bulgarian split squats. Twenty-five-pound dumbbells in each hand, you’ve been going for twelve reps each time, your focus unfaltering as you stare at a spot on the floor in front of you.

Jungkook wishes you’d look at him.

His next bicep curl ends on failure, and he winces as he lets go of the weights, putting them down on each side of the bench. He grabs his water bottle, taking a long swig of it as he looks at your reflection in the mirror.

You’ve got perfect form, your strong thighs pushing up on what he thinks is your fifth – sixth? – rep on your right leg. Your muscles shift under your skin as you move, and Jungkook forces himself to look away.

He doesn’t want to end up with a boner like he did last time. He’s been ashamed of himself somehow, and he doesn’t want to repeat it.

But it’s like you’re keen on teasing him. On being a walking nightmare, with those same devilish biker shorts that fried his brain that time. He’d told himself that he’d approach you, but so far he hasn’t been successful.

Indeed, you’ve suddenly decided to start coming to the gym with a friend, and though your friend is cute, with dark skin that hints at a perfect skincare routine, Jungkook doesn’t want to embarrass himself in front of you.

But yes, you’re keen on teasing him, doing squats next to him after he’s moved to do shoulder press on the machine. Indeed, despite all the squat racks being empty in the gym right now, you choose  the one right in front of Jungkook, and it’s a battle of will to refrain from looking at your ass each time you’re bending down.

So Jungkook looks up to the ceiling, pushes up, and he clenches his jaw at the strain in his shoulders. It’s a good burn, one he knows will leave him sore, but it’s also one that leaves him thirsty when he finishes his reps. Unfortunately, his water bottle is empty, so he walks to the water station, the music in his earbuds loud.

He’s almost done refilling his bottle when you come up behind him, with your own water bottle in hand. He feels your eyes on his profile and, heart suddenly racing, Jungkook meets your gaze.

You already have a small, knowing smile on your lips when his eyes find yours. Beautiful as ever with your high ponytail, Jungkook finds he gets lost in your gaze, unable to find the exit.

It comes to him when the water in his bottle overflows and he makes a mess on the floor. You chuckle and, despite his cheeks burning, Jungkook faces you fully.

“You come here often?” he asks over the sound of his earbuds, and he quickly takes one out.

If you’re surprised that he’s speaking to you, you don’t let it show. Instead, you raise your water bottle, motioning towards the water station. “Just a couple of times per workout.”

Jungkook feels like an idiot, yet he steps aside to let you fill up your bottle. He doesn’t walk away though, just watches you, and damn if you aren’t even more beautiful from so close.

It isn’t fucking fair.

“I’ve noticed we often come here at the same time,” Jungkook says, scrambling to find something to talk to you about.

You offer him a corner smile as you finish filling up your bottle, twisting the cap back on. “We do.”

He purses his lips, wondering if you can hear the thunder in his chest, and then he says, “I’m Jungkook.”

Your eyes twinkle with mischief, and he wants to curse himself because obviously you know who he is. But you surprise him, replying with your name and a polite bow of your head, and immediately mirrors the motion.

Then he says your name, and he has a feeling it’ll become his favourite word to moan whenever he comes. It’s inevitable – the lust he has for you is clouding his vision even now, as if the rest of the gym is fading out of focus. You don’t disappoint, holding his gaze, lips slightly parted as if you, too, are imagining what it’d be like to be together.

To tangle in bed together, up until the rest of the world cease to exist.

Is it stupid that Jungkook asks for your number next? He doesn’t think so. Especially not as you oblige, putting it into his phone. It feels like a victory – a huge one, one he knows he’ll celebrate in an entirely not appropriate way, yet he can’t stop himself from smiling to you.

It’s like you’ve given him strength to finish his workout grandly. Indeed, he maxes his PR on his next two exercises, and he leaves the gym with a comfortable soreness in his arms and shoulders, right after he’s taken a quick shower.

To his surprise, you’re standing outside, near the building in the dim light of dusk, eyes glued to your phone when he steps out of the gym.

“Need a lift?” he can’t help but ask.

You startle and he does feel bad, up until your features break into a smile that makes his heart race in his chest. “Just waiting for the bus,” you say.

Jungkook cocks an eyebrow, surprised that you can afford this gym yet use public transport. He wonders, are you the kind of girl who cares about the environment to the point that you decided not to get a car? Something about the thought is adorable, and Jungkook toys with his lip piercings for a few seconds.

“I mean, I really don’t mind lifting you if you need to,” he repeats, hoping with everything in his soul that you’ll say yes.

“I don’t want to be a burden,” you insist, scrunching up your nose cutely. “But thanks for offering.”

He takes a few steps towards you so that you don’t have to speak so loud anymore, desperately looking for something else to say. “Where’s your friend?” he asks, thinking he’s a genius for asking.

“Sera?” you answer, as if he has any clue what your friend is called. “Oh, her boyfriend picked her up earlier.”

“He didn’t offer to drive you?” Jungkook says, not bothering to hide the condescendence in his tone.

You wince. “I fear that’s too much to ask of Yeonseok.”

“Then I really must drive you home,” Jungkook insists, offering you the sweetest smile he can convey.

“And what, find out where I live before you’ve even taken me out on a date?”

It’s like the world stops turning, and all Jungkook can see is you, and that twinkle of mischief lighting your gaze.

“You want me to take you out on a date?” he asks, fully aware of that bright pink Kooky plushie swinging from your keychain right now.

“Who wouldn’t?” you tease.

He narrows his gaze, yet can’t help but play along with you.

He’s been going insane for this moment for weeks after all.

“Then let’s say this is our first date,” he says. “We can drive around and if you like it, I’ll drop you at home, if you don’t I’ll drop you somewhere else. Deal?”

You smile, genuine, eyes sparkling with amusement. “Deal.”

And that’s how Jungkook finds himself in his car with you seated next to him, your head bobbing along to the music on the radio. Though you’re quick to turn towards him, your gaze burning on his profile.

“How long have you wanted to talk to me?”

Jungkook chokes on his saliva, and he coughs as he glances at you, the tip of his ears reddening. “What?”

“You think I haven’t noticed you staring at me every time we work out at the same time?” you tease, and you laugh as he shrugs his shoulders.

“You’ve been putting on a show, it’s not my fault.”

“I have?”

He lets out a non-committal sound that makes you laugh, a crystalline laugh that sounds like he’ll get addicted to it far too easily. Like heroin – one hit and he’s a goner.

As you laugh, you rest your hand on his thigh, giving it a quick, playful squeeze.

Insane. He’s fucking insane for you.

“Listen,” you say after a tense silence with your hand on his thigh. “I really am not looking for a relationship right now.”

He hears the underlying truth – you wouldn’t date an idol. He doesn’t blame you.

It’s not like he plans on ever dating you anyway.

“But if you want some fun, then I’m all in.”

His throat feels dry, and Jungkook wets his lips, glancing at you quickly. The mischief has shifted into pure lust, something he wasn’t expecting he’d see right away.

Hell, he’d imagined he’d have to work for it. But you’re offering yourself on a silver platter, and he’d be fucking dumb to let the opportunity slip away.

“You aren’t what I expected,” he says.

No, you are ten times better.

You run your hand up and down his thigh, head tilted to the side as you look at him. It’s hard to focus on the street in front of him, especially as his dick already starts getting hard.

“I hope that’s a good thing,” you let out on a low, breathy tone that makes him truly lose touch with sanity.

“Have you ever seen the city from the mountains?” he asks seemingly out of the blue.

You pout, glancing towards those you can see in the distance. “On hikes, yeah I have. Why?”

“I know a spot.”

He doesn’t actually, but he ends up finding one anyway after you’ve driven around for a little while. Though you can’t see most of the city from here, it’s still beautiful, twinkling lights looking back at you down in the city.

You admire the view, and Jungkook gets lost admiring you. Your profile is delicate, your hair still just as fluffy and unruly around your head. He instinctively pushes a strand behind your ear, his fingers lingering on your cheek as you meet his gaze.

The car fills with electricity, with an intensity that cannot be ignored, and Jungkook dives in, pressing his mouth on yours. You immediately kiss him back, your hand finding his thigh again, and Jungkook pushes his tongue in your mouth, lapping you up, making the kiss far too languid for his own good.

You let out a breathy sound that makes him see stars, and when your hand shifts closer to his dick, he feels all his blood rushing down. His own hand finds the back of your head, and he tilts his to the side to deepen the kiss, right as he softly grunts.

You’re a good kisser. All lips and tongue, and Jungkook wants to pull you on his lap, to keep on kissing you all night long, but it seems you’ve got other plans in mind. Indeed, you pull away from the kiss, leaving him breathing raggedly as he looks at you quizzically, but then you’re quickly pulling your hair back into a ponytail.

His heartrate skyrockets as he understands what will happen next. It’s like he’s stuck in one of his deepest, darkest fantasies, and you’re jumping right in with him.

You truly are devilish, aren’t you?

When your hair is safely tucked in a ponytail, you meet Jungkook’s gaze. Your eyes shine with undiluted lust, and it steals the breath from his lungs.

To be the receiver of such desire…

He’s going to come far too quickly, isn’t he?

You pat his thigh again, leaning in for another kiss. Jungkook immediately obliges, colliding his mouth with the softness of yours. You palm him through his pants the second he pushes his tongue between your lips again, and Jungkook grunts as he instinctively bucks his hips, seeking for more friction.

“You’re a little impatient,” you say as you pull away, and you glance down at where you’re touching him. “Maybe we should get you out of your pants.”

It doesn’t take more than that to convince Jungkook to push his pants down, and he’s soon sitting there, his dick out in his car as if someone can’t just pull up and see.

Yet the thought turns him on, and Jungkook is infinitely thankful that he took a quick shower at the gym when you grab the base of his dick, jerking him off once.

“You’re so big,” you breathe.

All he can do is grunt as you stroke him again, your grip firm. It feels even better than he imagined. Like heaven – your hand fits perfectly around him, and you expertly flick your wrist whenever you near the top.

All that’s missing is lube, but you’re quick to bend down, blowing a breath on the sensitive tip of his dick.

“Shit,” Jungkook lets out.

“You often get sucked in your car?” you ask like the brat you are.

He can’t reply. Not when you wrap your lips around his tip, and he thinks he’s floating out of his body. Your mouth is wet, warm and so, so soft around him he thinks he might just come already.

“No,” he chokes out as you swirl your tongue around him before pushing down on him, up until he hits the back of your throat.

It takes everything in Jungkook not to buck his hips and fuck your mouth. But he wants to be nice, wants to play nice, if only so that he won’t scare you.

He doesn’t want to lose you before he’s even had you.

He reclines his seat, allowing you a better access, and you reward him with a small moan as you can take more of him in, and it’s enough to make his mind spin with addictive bliss.

You pull away, a string of spit connecting your mouth to his dick. “Good boy.”

That’s it. He’s a goner. Especially when you truly get to work, offering him the perfect combination of sucking and tongue, of your hand jerking him off in time with the bobbing of your head. He keeps his moans low, more grunts than anything, but when you moan as he hits the back of your throat, Jungkook curses loudly.

“You like this?” you tease, blinking away tears from the gag reflex you’ve been holding in.

“Holy fuck,” he answers, and you laugh lightly before taking him in your mouth once more.

You’re drooling all over him, sucking his soul out of his body, and Jungkook feels his balls tightening.

Already.

“Wait,” he lets out, and you pull away, breathing heavily as you meet his gaze.

“Uh?”

He wipes the drool on your lips, and you immediately suck on his thumb, tongue teasing the pad of the finger. You’re going to fry his brain before the end of the night, aren’t you?

“If you keep sucking me like this I’ll come.”

You smirk, downright lustful. “Isn’t that the point?”

“I want to fuck you,” he says, and he hates that he sounds so pouty, but he can’t help it.

He wants to live every single one of his dirty fantasies with you, after all.

“And I want to know what your cum tastes like,” you counter, squeezing his dick hard.

Jungkook moans, his eyes fluttering shut, his defiance fully leaving him now. If you want him to come in your mouth, then he’ll happily oblige. And then you’re bending down, going back to work as he murmurs your name.

You’re better than he imagined, so much better, and his dick twitches in your mouth as you moan. He feels the vibrations all along his shaft, and he grabs your ponytail, increasing your rhythm. Pushing your head down on him so that you take more of him, and when you don’t complain, instead moaning again, Jungkook stops holding himself back.

He fucks up in your mouth, and your hand flies to his thigh, your nails digging in his skin. The slight pain sets his nerves alight with desire, and he loses himself in you, in the rocking of his hips as he snaps them up in your mouth.

You take him in, holding the gag reflex in, moaning as he establishes a quick rhythm to chase his orgasm. He thinks he’s in love with your mouth – you’re so good, too good to him. He highly doubts he deserves it.

Not when he hasn’t given you anything in return. And he wants to taste you, wants you to sit on his face until he can’t breathe anymore and he gets drunk to the taste of you. It’s that image that brings him closer to his high, so close he already buzzes with it.

You push him over the edge when you grab his balls, gently squeezing. He moans out your name as he comes, unloading his cum deep in your throat as you take over, bobbing your head up and down slowly to milk his orgasm.

And you do milk his orgasm. You fucking do – he’s truly, fully swimming in bliss by the time his dick stops twitching, his balls fully emptied.

You pull away from him, and he thinks he loves your mouth even more when you push your tongue out to show that you swallowed everything. It’s so hot he’d fool himself into going for another round, but the hour is getting late, and he’s got an early morning tomorrow.

“Holy shit,” he lets out.

You laugh, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. “That felt good?”

“Fuck, yeah it did.”

You smirk, tilting your head to the side. “Happy to oblige.”

“I’ll have to repay the favour to you one of these days,” Jungkook says, and he hopes you don’t hear the underlying hope in his tone.

He doesn’t want you to think he’s been dreaming about you, about your body for so long.

You wet your lips. “Your place this weekend?”

And though maybe he should say no, as you’re the fan and he the idol, Jungkook answers with, “Bring a bottle of wine.”

Prev | Next

☆☆☆☆☆

Yeah this is pure sin. Porn with practically no plot hahah did we like it? Let me know what you thought!

All rights reserved to @/oddinary4bts, 2024. Do not copy, repost or translate.

[verricherri]

If you still have slots available for req I would love a little sequel to "yours officially" about like a public date at a dinner or bar or smth (sfw)💋💋

(P.s. I'm the one who requested that one!!)

Yours, Out Loud

A/N: This one’s a follow-up to “Yours, Officially” — written from an ask that absolutely demanded a proper date night 🍒 consider it a sequel, but yes, it can totally be read as a standalone if you're just here for soft, flustered Rhett. Warnings: Prepare to cut your chest open and let soft Rhett stomp all over your heart. you will not emotionally recover. you will crave more, Rhett saying things he means. Masterlist Feedback and reposts are appreciated  ☀️

It started with a knock on your door. A real one. Three short raps and a deep breath on the other side like whoever was doing it had spent the last half hour talking themselves into it.

You opened it.

There stood Rhett Abbott — thumbs hooked in his belt loops, a bouquet of wildflowers clutched in one hand like it might bite him. He looked clean, like too clean, shirt tucked in properly for once, hair doing that slightly-too-perfect swoop like he’d combed it more than once and hated himself for it.

You blinked. “Well, hey.” He nodded. “Hey.” You eyed the bouquet. “I see someone raided a garden.” He glanced down at the wild mess of daisies, dandelions, and something vaguely purple. “Amy said I needed somethin’ rustic. This count?”

You reached out, taking them from his hands. “Very rustic. Especially the dandelion with half its fluff missing.” “I was gonna swap it out,” he muttered. You smirked. “But you didn’t.” “Nope.”

He cleared his throat. Looked at the flowers. Looked at you. And then, a little too fast:

“Would you wanna go to dinner with me? Like… a proper one. In town. Just us.” You tilted your head. “Like a date-date?” He nodded. Then quickly added, “If you want.” You tapped a finger against the stems. “Well, since you brought emotional support flowers…”

His brow furrowed.

“I’m saying yes,” you laughed. “Pick me up at seven?”

The smile that broke across his face — you wished you could bottle it.

---

You got ready at your place — alone, thank God — because the way you were fussing with your hair and second-guessing every outfit would’ve sent even the most patient man running. You’d cycled through at least four different options, each one rejected for crimes like too casual, too desperate, too “oops-I’m-just-hot-and-here”, or worst of all: too obvious you’re trying to impress a man who still wears shirts with pearl snaps.

Eventually, you landed on something soft. A little flowy. Not too tight, not too loud, but enough that if someone saw you with him — with Rhett — they’d know: this wasn’t a maybe. This was real.

Meanwhile, back at the Abbott ranch, Rhett was losing a very quiet, very personal battle with his reflection.

“I swear to God, if you change shirts again, I’m takin’ the truck and leavin’ you behind,” Perry grunted as he passed by, chewing on a carrot stick like it was a cigar. “It don’t look right,” Rhett muttered, frowning at his collar in the hallway mirror. “This one’s got a wrinkle.” “You’re the only one who sees it,” Perry deadpanned. “You’ve already ironed that shirt twice.”

From down the hall, Amy’s voice rang out:

“He’s tryin’ to impress her! Let him panic!”

Cecilia peeked out from the kitchen, drying her hands on a dish towel.

“You bringing her flowers again, honey?” Rhett rubbed the back of his neck. “Already did.” She smiled, soft and sure. “Then you’re doin’ just fine.”

He finally decided on a shirt. The same damn one he started with. Changed his hat once. Then again. Then put the original one back on because apparently the second one was his “stupid hat,” according to Amy, and now he was emotionally compromised.

By the time he made it to your place, he’d practiced what he wanted to say six times in the truck. Changed the station. Turned it off. Turned it back on. Took his hat off. Put it back on. Then decided he was being ridiculous and climbed out before he could talk himself out of knocking.

He raised his fist to your door — and you opened it before he got the chance.

Your hair. Your smile. That dress.

Rhett stared. Actually stared. And then forgot how to breathe.

“You alright there, Abbott?” you teased, leaning against the doorframe like you weren’t trying to survive his flustered little half-smile. He blinked. Twice. “Yeah. I just—” He exhaled like the air had knocked him. “You look real good.” You smirked. “You say that like you’re surprised.” “I am,” he said, voice low. “Every time I look at you.” You locked your door behind you, tucking your keys in your purse. “So… was that your official ask?” He looked confused. “What?” You tilted your head. “Are we going out, or am I just admiring your truck from the porch?” Rhett flushed. “Right. Yes. I mean—” He held the passenger door open like a damn gentleman. “Can I take you out tonight?” You raised a brow. “On a real date?” He nodded. “Real as it gets.” You slid into the seat, the scent of leather and cedar filling your lungs. “Then get in before I change my mind.”

He ducked his head, that crooked grin slipping back onto his face as he shut your door and jogged around to the driver’s side.

Once he started the truck and pulled onto the road, you gave it about three seconds of quiet before letting the grin take over your face.

“You know,” you said casually, “Amy told me you changed shirts three times and nearly forgot your wallet.”

He groaned like a man who’d just been shot.

“She wasn’t even supposed to be watchin’—” “She also said you combed your hair twice. And that you threatened to fight Perry for laughing.”

Rhett muttered something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like “traitor,” then sank lower in his seat.

“Remind me to ground her.” “You can’t. She’s not yours.” “Still. I’ll find a way.”

You reached over, brushed his knuckles lightly where they gripped the gearshift.

“You nervous, cowboy?”

He didn’t answer right away. Just glanced at you with that quiet kind of intensity, the kind that always made your heart trip a little.

“Not ‘cause of you,” he said finally. “’Cause I don’t want to mess this up.”

Outside, the sky was turning sherbet gold, the quiet hum of the tires filling the space between words.

---

The diner Rhett picked wasn’t fancy — far from it — but it was the kind of place with a cracked leather booth, a jukebox in the corner that only played country from before 2001, and a waitress who knew your name before you even introduced yourself.

“You’re the one sittin’ with an Abbott tonight, huh?” she said with a wink, refilling your water without asking. “Bout time.”

Rhett flushed so deep you thought he might actually melt through the floor.

He’d originally slid into the booth opposite you, hat low, hands on the table like he was bracing for a test.

“You nervous?” you asked, propping your chin on your hand. He gave a one-shoulder shrug. “Not nervous. Just… aware.” “Of what?” He hesitated. “That we’re not hiding anymore.” You smiled. “And you don’t like that?” “I didn’t say that,” he murmured, gaze lingering on your mouth a second too long.

You reached across the table and brushed your fingers over his wrist — lightly, deliberately.

He froze. Blinked. Then stood up so fast his knee hit the edge of the table.

“What are you doing?” you laughed as he rounded the booth. “Doesn’t feel right sittin’ across from you,” he muttered, sliding in beside you. “Feels like you’re too far.”

You blinked, startled by how earnest it sounded.

“So now you’re gonna sit next to me in public,” you teased, “like some kind of boyfriend or something?” Rhett turned slightly, resting one arm along the back of the booth. “Ain’t that what I am?”

You looked up at him — really looked — and caught the flicker of anxiety behind his grin. Like he still wasn’t sure if he was allowed to want this out loud.

So you nudged his leg under the table, just lightly, and said, “Took you long enough.”

The food came not long after — burgers and fries, nothing fancy — and Rhett tried to act like he wasn’t watching your every move as you drizzled ketchup in a perfect swirl.

“You do that every time?” he asked. “What?” “Make ketchup look like it belongs in a damn art gallery.” You raised a brow. “You planning to start a sketchbook of my condiment habits, or…?” He laughed under his breath, eyes soft. “I might.”

And for a while, it was easy.

The kind of easy that you didn’t realize you were missing until it settled in your bones.

You talked about little things — Amy’s obsession with ghost stories, how Perry once burned cornbread so bad the smoke alarm shorted out, and the time Royal got locked out of the house wearing nothing but a towel and a whole lot of pride.

Then it happened.

A man at the next booth leaned over, greasy baseball cap low on his brow.

“Didn’t think Rhett Abbott was the dating type,” he said, like he was trying to be funny. “Figured you’d die single and grumpy like your dad.”

You went still.

Rhett didn’t say anything. Didn’t move.

Just… clenched his jaw, fingers curling slightly at your waist where they’d been resting.

But instead of tension, something steadier came out of you.

“Well,” you said brightly, “good thing we’re not asking you to join us.”

The man blinked. Rhett… chuckled.

Just once.

Then he pressed his lips to the side of your temple.

“You handled that better than I would’ve,” he said. You grinned. “That’s why you keep me around.”

He let the kiss linger for a beat longer than necessary — not performative, not possessive. Just his way of saying he heard you. And that he wasn’t going anywhere.

---

The walk back to your place wasn’t long — ten minutes, tops — but Rhett insisted on parking the truck at the far end of Main, claiming it was “easier to get outta town that way.”

You didn’t call him out on it. Not when you both knew damn well it was just an excuse to stretch the night out longer.

The air had that post-rain coolness to it, ground still damp, the stars pricking the sky like they were strung up just for you. And Rhett — well, he kept bumping into your shoulder like his limbs forgot how to coordinate.

“You okay there, cowboy?” you teased, brushing your hand against his. He looked down, ears pink in the porchlight glow. “Yeah. Jus’—can’t believe we did it. Like, real date and all.”

You stopped walking. Turned to face him.

“Did you not want to?” His head shot up. “No—no, I did. I do. Hell, I’ve been thinking about it for weeks. Just didn’t know how to ask without messin’ it up.” “You didn’t mess it up.”

He smiled, just slightly. Then his brows pulled together, like there was still something heavy stuck behind his ribs.

“I ain’t used to this,” he admitted, voice low. “Feelin’ proud about somethin’. Wantin’ to show it off.”

You leaned into him, slow and steady, until your foreheads touched. His hands came to your waist like instinct.

“You can show me off whenever you want,” you whispered. “I’m yours. Out loud.”

He kissed you then.

Not rushed. Not uncertain.

Just sure.

Like he finally understood this was something he could have — not just want.

And when the kiss broke, he murmured it against your lips:

“You wanna do it again? Like next Friday?” Then a beat. “Or tomorrow?” You laughed, fingers curling in his jacket. “How about both?”

His grin softened, proud and a little stunned, like he still wasn’t used to this kind of happiness.

“Maybe next time,” you added, tipping your head with a smirk, “I can shout your name out loud at your next bull riding comp. Let everyone know I’m yours.”

Rhett blinked. Went bright red. Groaned into your neck.

“You’re tryin’ to kill me.” “You like it.” “Too damn much.”

[coffee-blvck]

Soap pops an unexpected question 💍

Originally posted on my AO3 - coffeeblvck

“Marry me.” Nearly drowned out by gunfire, it takes a few moments for the words to settle in your ears. Half pleading, half a grunt, as Soap throws his back against the concrete barrier. Bullets rain above your heads.

When your thoughts finally catch up with one another, you're left staring at your partner. You must look like a deer in headlights, blinking as if trying to convince yourself you had actually heard him. “What??”

“Marry me. Right here, right now.” He breathes, twisting up and firing twice. You continue to stare dumbly. This had to be a joke. You're in the middle of battle right now, fighting for your lives. But his tongue is dripping with fierce honesty and you can't come up with any other reason. “Serious, Major. Marry me.”

Your body reacts before you can form a response, gripping fiercely at his collar and pulling him to you. Gunfire still peppers the air around you as you kiss him. It's hasty and you both jerk a little, pulsing with adrenaline and flinching against the onslaught of gunfire.

It's your turn to twist about, firing down a few loose ends breaking from their lines of defense, and as you turn back Soap is mirroring your elated grin. Checking your magazine, you shrug. “Okay.”

Neither of you bring it up again. When you're the last to make it back to the safe house, Ghost is the first to grill you and Soap on your recklessness, and for not responding to the comms after the fact. Price was at the ready, with Gaz at his side to lead a squadron to track you down. When Soap merely ducks his head and takes the scolding without argument, the team starts to question what really happened out on the field. Your sheepish grin doesn't help the matter as you depart to clean yourself up.

That night, draped together and still high with adrenaline, it comes up. “I was serious ya know,” He whispers against your neck, peppering the soft skin with his lips and hoping, praying, you were as serious as he was. He takes your fingers curling through his as a good sign.

You're so pretty, Soap thinks, bathed in the moonlight and wrapped against him. He wants to die this way. He could die a happy man even if this was his last memory.

“I was too.”

A beat of silence. Soap hoists himself onto an elbow, gazing down at you to be able to see your full face. To memorize the way your eyes glittered in the pale light, the smile that forced the dimples and lines into your cheeks. It was a little crooked, your smile, but he could swear he’d never seen any art as perfect.

“Say it again.”

“I'm serious, Johnny. I’ll marry you.” You kiss him, soft and quick and he can't help but pout as you pull away, falling back into the mattress.

“I love you.” He breathes. This was heaven, and he was the luckiest man on earth at this moment.

“You're dumb.” You laugh, pulling gently at his neck for another kiss. “I love you too, pretty boy.”

Price is the first to notice the pretty little gem on your finger and how his usually level headed medic can’t stop staring at it during that morning's debriefings. It had been a few weeks since the operation and the question, a long overdue moment of quiet for the entire Task Force. No one had really paid any mind to the way Soap kept his chest puffed when you were in the same room together.

“Is that what happened, Major?”

“Is what what happened?” You ask dumbly, attention pulled away from the little gem.

“That,” Price gestures with his cigar. “It's new.”

“I'm married.” You blurt out, a shy grin creeping across your features. You couldn't hide your excitement anymore. It hadn't been a secret, but neither you nor Soap had gone out of your way to spill the news either. Now with the ring around your finger, Soap had given it to you one early morning over coffee before training, you found your new reality hammering inside your chest, begging to be flaunted to someone, anyone who would listen.

“Come again?” Price was sure he had heard you correctly, but couldn't help but ask for you to repeat yourself. The task force was his family, and his heart swelled with pride that a piece of his family had found their happiness.

The grin on you only grows. “I'm married, Captain.”

“When…?”

“Johnny asked while we were clearing loose ends, before we made it back to the safe house. It was so fucking stupid. How could I say no?”

[fixated-cookies]

What Bleeds Is Mine

Pairing: Dark Cacao Cookie x Beta!Reader (Human-turned-Cookie) Word Count: ~2.1k Rating: SFW (no smut), Explicit Themes Warnings: A/B/O dynamics (Alpha x Beta), SOFT YANDERE, period pain and menstrual discussion, possessive behavior, protective yandere elements, emotional distress, non-canon worldbuilding (human-turned-cookie, potion magic, cookie court politics), hurt/comfort, emotional intimacy

I BELIEVE IN ALPHA X BETA SUPREMACY!!!

COMISSION

You had always known the witches would come for you. Not today. Not tomorrow. But eventually.

That’s why you ran—grimoire clutched tight to your chest like a stolen secret, like a weapon of mass destruction. It practically was, with the wrong ingredients. You hadn’t had time to memorize every rune or decode all the potions, but one of them had saved you in the most unexpected way: it made you a Cookie.

Not quite a real one. A perfect imitation, yes. The same dough, the same soft glow of life. But the moment you looked in the mirror and saw your reflection blink back—eyes too haunted, heartbeat too real—you knew what you were.

Something in-between.

You fled far and fast. Burned through the last page of teleportation ink just to cross the northern ridge of Earthbread. When your feet finally stopped, you stood beneath the towering spires of the Dark Cacao Kingdom—cold, disciplined, and merciless.

And yet... it was there you found safety. Maybe even something close to peace.

They called you a diplomat. A miracle. A clever little tactician with strange ideas and dangerous charm. You climbed the court ranks with grace and cunning. Within two seasons, you held the rank of Duchess. You wore regal robes now. You dined beside kings. You smiled without flinching.

And still, once a month, the reminder came. Your body. Your real body. Bleeding. Cramps twisting like vines of barbed wire through your belly. Exhaustion so bone-deep your limbs refused to move.

Thankfully, the grimoire had remedies for that too. A tea blend. A potion. A rhythm of herbs that numbed the pain and halted your cycle entirely.

Until last week—when the last of the leaves crumbled in your satchel, and the froststorm made it impossible to get more.

You lasted two days in denial. Now it was the third. You hadn’t left your chambers. You hadn’t answered your door. The guards had been instructed to keep visitors away. You’d curled beneath velvet sheets with your face buried in your hands and your thighs clenched tight from the dull, angry ache inside you.

The scent—faint metallic and sweet—lingered in the air. You hadn’t realized it was so strong. You hadn’t realized it would spread.

And you definitely hadn’t realized it would reach the throne room.

Meanwhile… Far below, beneath blackstone pillars carved with the tales of old kings, Dark Cacao Cookie stood like a statue mid-battle.

He had frozen mid-conversation.

Something was wrong.

It wasn't just the scent—although that alone was enough to make his instincts surge. It was faint, muddled beneath layers of suppressants, magic, and silks… but it was there. Sharp. Bitter. Wrong. Not a heat. Not an Alpha. Not an Omega. But Beta.

And bleeding.

His Beta.

Even muted by distance and cold stone, his body recognized it instantly. The scent of your blood laced with something unfamiliar, something pained and desperate, threading through the air like a dying note. It hooked under his skin like a blade. Made his every nerve bristle with ancient instinct.

And the guards—those foolish, slow guards—had just reported you missing from court for the third day.

His eyes narrowed. The clench of his jaw was silent.

His steps were not.

He left the war table without a word. A blur of red cape and spiked armor, heavy boots striking against the stone with wrathful precision. The doors groaned in his wake, protesting as they were flung open with brute force.

There was no question in his mind. No rational thought to soothe the blaze that rose in his chest.

The scent of his Beta’s blood—distressed, unmasked, unguarded—was enough to drive the ancient Alpha in him into a cold, calculated frenzy.

You were in pain. You were alone. You had been vulnerable.

And if anyone had laid a hand on you while he was not there to shield you?

Then the last thing they would ever see… would be the crimson rage in his eyes, and the judgment of a king whose Beta had cried out in silence.

The footsteps came long before the knock. Heavy. Purposeful. Like thunder rolling in from the cliffs.

Then—nothing.

You stirred under the covers, curled inward against the throb of your belly, breath shallow. The heat had long gone from your tea. Your grimoire lay useless across your lap, flipped open to a half-faded page on stasis spells. You hadn’t even had the strength to read it.

And then—

BOOM.

The doors slammed open. Not creaked. Not eased. Slammed.

The force shook the wooden beams above. Dust scattered like ash across the windowlight. Your heart nearly jumped out of your chest as you jerked upright—

And there he was.

Dark Cacao Cookie. Towering. Cloaked in cold and shadows. His broad shoulders nearly filled the doorway, armor still gleaming from the court chamber. His gaze locked to your form with a lethal kind of precision, eyes wild beneath the crown of storm-dark curls.

He looked ready to kill. And for a moment—he thought he might have to.

His gaze dragged over you. Your disheveled bed. Your pale face. Your trembling form clutching at your stomach like you were in pain.

And then his nose twitched.

Blood.

Faint. Metallic. Familiar. Not enough to mean death, but enough to enrage him.

His hands clenched into fists. “Who did this,” he growled. Not asked. Growled.

Your mouth opened. Closed.

“Your Grace—” you rasped, voice hoarse.

"Who"

He was already stalking forward. You scrambled to sit up straighter, holding out your hand with what little strength you had.

“No one—! No one did anything! I’m fine, I swear—”

But he wasn’t listening. His eyes had glazed over with the fury of a man who had nothing left to lose but you. He was already thinking of who had touched you. Who had hurt you. Why the guards hadn’t been punished for failing to protect you.

He dropped to one knee beside the bed, metal creaking. His gauntlet reached for your wrist—but hesitated at the last moment.

“Don’t be afraid,” he rumbled, gentler now. “You don’t have to speak. Just nod. Was it someone in the council? One of the knights?”

“Dark Cacao—”

“Tell me now.” His voice broke. Broke. “Please. Let me protect you. That’s all I ask. That’s all I’ve ever wanted to do.”

You stared at him. Truly stared.

This was the man they whispered about in the courts. Cold. Commanding. Ruthless in war. But this man—this man kneeling before you with trembling hands and shattered restraint—was not a king.

He was a man on the edge.

And you were his tipping point.

“…It’s my body,” you whispered at last.

He blinked.

You swallowed thickly. “It’s not an attack. Not a curse. It’s... it’s just something that happens. Monthly. My kind—my original kind—we call it a period.”

His eyes flickered. “Your kind?”

Oh. You realized your mistake too late.

The room felt colder, even as he knelt closer.

You flinched, trying to scramble for words. “I—I didn’t mean— I mean, I am a Cookie now, but… once, before this body—before the Kingdom—I was something else. Someone else.”

His stare sharpened. Not angry. Just... careful.

“Not a monster,” you added quickly. “I never hurt anyone. I only ran.”

“Ran… from what?”

Your breath hitched. You glanced toward your grimoire still splayed across the bed. The faded ink, the tear-stained pages. All the power you’d hidden, all the truths you never dared speak aloud.

“From the Witches,” you said quietly. “I escaped them. I took something from one of them—something powerful. It’s how I made this body. I wasn’t trying to deceive anyone… I was trying to live.”

Silence.

He stood, slow and heavy, and for a terrifying moment you thought he might walk away. But instead—

He reached for the grimoire.

“You made yourself one of us,” he said softly, reading the strange symbols on the page. “With this.”

You nodded, fingers gripping your sheets. “It’s why I get sick like this. I’m still… not perfect. Not fully like you. Sometimes things slip through.”

He turned to face you again. His gaze was no longer wild. It was anchored.

“You chose to become one of us,” he murmured. “You endured pain. Risked death. All for the right to stay.”

You blinked, unsure of what to say.

And then—he knelt again, this time bowing low, resting his forehead just beside your aching belly.

“I will not fail you again.” His voice wasn’t booming, nor cold, nor laced with command like it so often was. It cracked. Quiet. Fractured in a way that felt wrong for a war hero—yet so right for a man.

He stayed like that for a moment. Breathing in the faintest, unmasked scent of your pain. As if punishing himself with it. As if grounding himself in the reminder that he had not noticed sooner. That he hadn’t known.

You felt his hand reach toward you—not to grab, not to restrain, but to hold. Cautiously. He waited to see if you’d flinch.

You didn’t.

His calloused palm settled gently over your abdomen, where the pain curled tight and hot inside you. His touch was warm. Heavy. But it didn’t weigh you down—it anchored you.

“…You’re still shaking,” he murmured, barely above a whisper. “Where is the pain worst?”

You opened your mouth, tried to speak, but your throat closed around the words. Instead, your fingers—smaller, weaker, trembling—reached for his. Guiding him lower. Pressing his knuckles into the cramp as you let out a soft breath.

“There,” you whispered.

And the moment he understood, Dark Cacao Cookie exhaled like he’d been holding his breath for a thousand years.

“Then I shall remain here.”

He shifted forward without another word. Without asking. He removed his gauntlets with quiet precision, setting them aside like sacred relics, and then slowly—so gently—wrapped his arms around you. One behind your back. One beneath your legs.

He lifted you into his lap with the care of someone cradling a wounded relic, not a person. You curled instinctively into the heat of his chest, against the thick red fabric and cold, carved armor, your forehead pressing into the hollow just below his collarbone.

And he just… held you.

Not for show. Not for power. Not for dominance.

But because he needed to.

“I know little of your kind,” he said softly, his voice rumbling low and steady in your ear. “But I will learn. If it means protecting you—I will learn it all.”

Your body trembled again, but this time not from pain.

You buried your face deeper into his shoulder. “I didn’t want you to worry,” you mumbled. “It’s just… how it is for humans. A normal cycle. I’m sorry.”

He stilled. Slowly, his hand came to rest over the back of your head. His voice dropped to a hush.

“Do not ever apologize for your nature.”

His fingers moved in slow, grounding strokes through your hair. “You are no less worthy for your pain. Nor less sacred.”

You clutched his chest tighter.

“I thought you’d be angry,” you whispered. “That I wasn’t like the others. That I’d… fooled you.”

He tilted his head, drawing back just enough to look at you. His brow furrowed—not in rage, but grief. The way ancient stone weeps silently with time.

“You could never deceive me,” he said. “Not you.”

You felt his heartbeat. Slow. Steady. Strong enough to make the walls feel safer.

“I should’ve come sooner,” he muttered. “I smelled the blood—I knew something was wrong. But I thought only of the worst. I should’ve trusted you to tell me.”

“…I was scared,” you admitted.

His arms tightened around you.

“You are not alone,” he said. “You never will be. Not while I breathe.”

A long silence passed. Then—

“Would… would a bath help?” he asked, hesitant, as if unsure he was allowed to offer such softness.

You nodded against his chest.

“I will draw one. With crushed herbs. Warmth. Anything you need.”

He stood with you still in his arms.

He didn’t let you go. Not once.

[phossiii]

｡𖦹°‧⭑ monsters: chapter six

synopsis: you and mahalat come to an impasse during battle. and phosphorus saves your ass.

cw: reader is a monster, mature themes, violence, profanity, innuendos, phosphorus is phosphorus, reader has a bit of a psychotic break, mahalat is horrible.

"Da?" Alexi raised a brow, keeping a hand on the wheel as he picked up the phone.

He paused a moment, expression darkening slightly as he glanced at the Bride, who was sitting in the passenger.

"Da."

He paused again, brows dropping sternly.

"Da."

With a quick snap, he hung up, plastering on his usual happy expression and turning to everyone, as if you didn't notice the huge change in atmosphere.

"He says there is unfortunate traffic on the way to the castle, so we should take alternative route."

With a small rev, he cut a corner, turning into a random side street with a completely straight face.

After arriving at the Pokolistan airport once again, you were greeted by Alexi, he, as well as the other guards, completely oblivious to the true objective of your mission.

Kill the princess.

You almost felt bad, seeing as these people had been nothing but nice to you.

But orders were orders, and the quicker you got this out of the way, the quicker you could go back home.

Discreetly, you glanced at Phosphorus, him doing the same, the two of you silently noting the odd behavior before going back to your usual shenanigans.

"Quit man-spreading. Your leg's takin' up most of my room," you ordered, lowly, using your knee to push his closer to the door.

"It's a cramped car, sweetheart, you barely had any room to begin with," he shrugged you off, widening his spread to fight back against your assault before patting his thigh. "But I got a space right here for you. Free parking. No handicap."

"And feel your disco stick stab me every time we drive over a pothole? No thanks," you scoffed, rolling your eyes.

"Sounds delightful to me."

"To you," you emphasized.

"Could use my arm as a seat belt."

"Don't think I can file a sexual harassment complaint against a seat belt."

"Sexual harassment? Where?" he asked, sarcastically, whipping his head around as if he was looking for something.

"Half the shit that falls out your mouth is sexual. And you haven't stopped harassing me since this whole thing started."

"Last I checked, Belle Reve didn't have HR."

"And last I checked, skeletons didn't have dicks. But here you are."

Glancing into the side mirror, the Bride raised a brow, noticing that the palace was behind them, and getting farther and farther

"What's up, Alexi?" she asked, turning to him. "This isn't—We're leaving the city. The castle is that way."

"Oh! It seems roundabout, but it's good shortcut," the captain assured, flashing the woman a smile before focusing his sights back on the road.

Out the corner of her eye, the Bride took a quick glance at the back seat, sharing a suspicious look with you and Phosphorus.

The two of you nodded, turning to look out the window, finally noticing that you all were in the abandoned part of town, dilapidated buildings and trash galore.

'Aw, fuck...'

You knew exactly what was happening here.

Suddenly, the car pulled to a stop, the Bride's patience running thin.

"What the hell?" she asked, sharply, turning to the captain.

"Engine was making funny noise. Did you hear that?" Alexi excused, suddenly sputtering like an engine. "Did you, huh?"

"No," your brows furrowed, arms crossing over your chest as you sized him up with a suspicious look.

"I am afraid I am screwing up. How do you say? The... The suedinitel? How do you—?"

"I think how we say it is Keep moving, Alexi!" Phosphorus exclaimed, leaning forward in his seat.

"You want me to permanently damage vehicle?"

"Yes!"

Just then, two other armored trucks pulled up in front of yours, the men inside hopping out instantly and drawing their very high-powered guns, training them on the car.

And on perfect cue, the cavalry arrived, a few flying knights and a helicopters swooping in to cut off any form of aerial escape.

'For fuck's sake...'

"Damn it!" the Bride exclaimed, brows cinching at the sight.

"My men have fought and died for the Princess. We are not going to let you kill her now," Alexi stated, firmly, eyes deadly serious.

Leaning over the skeleton next to you, you tried the door, quietly cursing to yourself when it wouldn't budge.

'Bastard locked us in.'

Suddenly, he drew his pistol, pressing it into the Bride's temple.

"Stand down, Bride. You—"

Without hesitation, Phosphorus sent his radiated fist flying through the head rest, punching a hole right through it as well as completely demolishing the top half of Alexi's head, splattering blood, brains, and teeth all over the dash.

"Jesus, fuck, Phos," you grimaced, watching the remains of the poor man's jaw, as well as the rest of his body, flop forward against the steering wheel.

"What a shame. I liked that guy," he sighed.

But before you all could even get a moment to breathe, the guards opened fire, littering the truck with bullets.

Quickly, you all ducked down, the Bride unlocking and opening all the doors, allowing everyone to roll out and duck for cover.

Instantly, you all scattered, forcing the men to break off into smaller groups and fight you off.

"I smell blood, o' pityful flesh..." Mahalat's voice boomed within your mind, teasingly, sending a cold shock down your spine as you ran down an alley, bullets whizzing past. "Have you more for me to feast upon?"

'Jesus Christ...'

The wave of dread that washed over you was uncanny, your legs wanting nothing more than to buckle and drop you to the ground.

"Leave me the fuck alone!" you exclaimed, fed up, as you jumped onto the wall, bounding off of the other and back-flipping in mid-air to tackle the flying knight in the sky. "I'm busy! I don't need a peanut gallery!"

As he attempted to buck you off, you wrapped your legs around his waist, holding him in place as your sharpened tail stabbed him right in the neck.

Twisting his arm, you used his gauntlet to shoot down the soldiers below, managing to take out three before you began to plummet toward the ground.

Loosening your hold and flipping yourself around, you used the poor man as a landing pad, crushing his ribs as you collided with the ground, fully upright.

But another armored truck was quick to swerve a few feet in front of you, soldiers jumping out an opening fire.

'Shit!'

Quickly, you dropped into a split, using your acrobatic prowess to flip and maneuver around them.

"On the contrary, it looks to me that you seem to be struggling against these peons."

"Shut up!" you spat, performing a front handspring into a handstand, propelling yourself into the air to scissor kick two men at once, before your tail wrapped around another's neck and swung you back for seconds. "I don't need your help! I'm doing just fine on my own."

"You know as well as I, (y/n), that our power could be so much greater, so much more potent... humans crawl over this rock like maggots, we alone could rule them all."

"Skip over this part! You've had the same pitch for years and my answer hasn't changed!" you groaned, landing on the shoulders of another soldier before snapping his neck. "Never! Gonna! Happen!

"Your humanity holds you back! You're weak! Pathetic!"

"Fuck you!"

"SUNUK ZETAM MA—" "NO!"

Quickly, you whipped your tail around, its pointed tip stabbing you in the thigh and forcing you to let out a howl of pain.

But it distracted you, preventing you from switching over.

"I am in charge!" you barked, scrambling to your feet and sprinting toward the alley wall, "This is my body! You listen to me!"

Without hesitation, you smashed your face into the bricks, breaking your nose on impact and splattering blood everywhere.

Disoriented, you fell backward, smacking your head on the ground with a sick thud.

Everything in your mind was coming to a head, bursting violently from every pore.

Your captivity.

Your self-loathing.

Your fear.

Being so desperate—and so off your anti-psychotics—you were grasping for anything to stop the torture, anything to stop her from winning.

Even if that meant maiming yourself.

Swiftly, your tail snatched up a large shard of broken glass, quickly moving and stabbing you in the stomach.

"I HATE YOU!" you screamed at the top of your lungs, tears welling in your eyes as you pulled the glass out, only to stab it right back in.

Repeatedly.

"I HATE YOU! I HATE YOU! I HATE YOU! I HATE YOU! I HATE YOU! I HATE YOU! I HATE YOU! I HATE YO—"

"SUNUK ZETAM MA'AK KULA BAA NAT SU DA MAHALAT!"

Instantly, your body stopped, your limbs and tail falling limply to your sides as your eyes rolled over white, and you slowly began to float into the air.

Unable to hold them back, your tears floated with you as well, disappearing into nothing as you burst into hellflame, destroying any evidence of your humanity.

Slowly, but surely, the demon employed her magic, using fire to arduously heal all of your wounds.

Blood returning.

Vessels sealing.

Muscles fusing.

Flesh mending.

Until, eventually, there was no trace of you ever hurting yourself at all, rendering your pain and your actions ultimately meaningless.

'Why... Why couldn't I have never been born...?'

When Mahalat emerged—wings, fangs, horns, and all—she let out a howling, maniacal laugh, zooming into the air in search of meat.

"Enough of this rebellion, (y/n)!" Mahalat laughed, her voice, once again, dubbed over yours. "You have lost! You lost the moment your wretched mother shoved you out of her revolting womb!"

Soaring through the air, she set her sights on a flying soldier, who opened fire after catching her in his periphery.

But she swiped her hand through the air, sending an effortless blade of fire to cut him in half.

Bisected, he let out a blood-curdling scream, quickly losing consciousness as Mahalat caught his top half, using his torso as a shield from the bullets below while she ripped off his helmet and took a huge bite out of his cheek.

"I am the one that is in charge! I am the one who dictates life or death! You belong to me!"

She relished the flavor, eyes nearly rolling to the back of her head as she savored the taste of human meat.

The maggots at Arkham fed her nothing but lettuce and cabbage, as if she were some plow-horse to docile and tame.

But this... there was no heaven like it.

"You are nothing but a satchel of blood and bones in a flesh-drawn sack! A pitiful husk of meat! With me, you will survive for eons! Countless lifetimes! And we will rule this grievous hunk of rock, and all the maggots that fester on its surface!"

Glancing down at the ground, a sadistic smirk stretched across her lips, more trucks pulling up to attack.

"Like lambs to the slaughter..."

Large flames burst from Mahalat's palms, her eyes glowing bright red as she charged, allowing herself to heat up hotter and hotter and hotter, until finally...

She burst.

A tidal wave of hellflame erupted from her every direction, completely incinerating everything within a ten block radius.

The men below didn't even have a chance to scream before they were turned to ash, along with the countless other surrounding buildings.

Right then and there, Mahalat could've cried with joy.

It had been so long since she'd seen a scene like this, the smell of singed rubble and burning flesh like a goddamn Yankee candle to her.

But, in her happiness, she let her guard down, allowing you to take control just long enough to recite the incantation.

"KUNUS MATEZ KA'AM ALUK BAA NAT SU DA (Y/N)!"

"NO!" the demon roared, furious.

In her last moment of control, she grabbed her own wrist, using her strength to quickly swirl herself around before throwing your body clear across the city.

When you landed, you would be in for a world of hurt.

Pupils dilating, you snapped out of it with an aggressive gasp, eyes shooting wide as you suddenly collided with the wall of a building

Turning away from the man melting under his foot, Phosphorus raised a brow, eyes quickly scanning over the area at the sudden noise.

'The hell was that?'

Looking closer, he slowly began to make it out, the dust settling to reveal a naked, red woman, who was lying unconscious on the sidewalk.

You.

"(y/n)," he muttered under his breath, quickly snatching up his lab coat and jogging toward you

From what he could see, you were banged up pretty bad, but the little fires burning on your skin seemed to be patching you up—snapping your bones back in place, sucking up your bruises.

'Whoa... didn't know she could do that...'

You were such a mystery; there was still so much he didn't know about you.

But, on the contrary, there was a hell of a lot more you didn't know about him—a fact he was hoping to maintain.

Whatever reason you had for being incarcerated, he could already tell it had nothing to do with you being evil or malevolent in any way.

You hid behind swears and sharp looks, but behind your prickly exterior was a genuinely kind, caring, and beautiful person—of course, with a great rack, nice ass, smoking hot bod, heart-stopping smile, and delicious pussy.

...

But all of those were just bonuses.

Guys like him didn't associate with women like you.

Guys like him shouldn't associate with women like you.

He knew that, thoroughly, yet for some reason...

He just couldn't seem to stay away.

Suddenly, the siren of a cop car echoed throughout the streets, snapping him out of his thoughts.

Looking out to the streets, he could see the swirling red and blue drawing neared, the sirens getting exponentially louder along with them.

'Shit.'

Not wasting a second, Phosphorus scooped his arm under your waist, sitting you up and haphazardly tugging his coat on your naked body before tossing you over his shoulder.

"C'mon, doll face," he sighed, ducking into the shadows as he started off in the direction of the castle.

Once again, it looked like you both would be in it for the long haul.

"We gotta lay low for a bit..."

[lieslab]

Just come home

꘎♡━━━━━♡꘎ ꘎♡━━━━━♡꘎

Pairing: Han X gn reader

Summary: Being overweight, you're constantly fighting an internal battle and this time, your boyfriend confronts you.

Genre: Comfort/hurt

Word Count: 2.1K

Eating disorder resources

Trigger warning: Mentions of weight, implied eating disorder, body insecurities, low self-esteem, brief mention of diets, not eating, and meanspo

A/N: I feel like this isn't enough requestee. I literally need to grab your face and physically comfort you. I need to tell you that things will be okay and just because you look a certain way, it doesn't mean people secretly dislike you. The people that really love you will be there no matter what.

Comparison will destroy you in this life if you let it. Love will find you and despite whatever you think, you still deserve to eat good food. That goes for all of you, you are worthy of food, no matter what you look like. Please take care of yourselves <3

_ _ _

In this life, a body is everything. Every shape, every size, and every way the clothes sit. Do they hang or are they tight? Should a body have curves or be thin enough to see the rib cage? To have a body is beautiful, but too many people tend to forget that. 

The comments and whispers from people. The poor self-perception that you drown in when you see the mirror. The way the fat in your body lays in the wrong spots. The stomach that juts out and the flab on the end of your arms that hangs. There is always something and lately, it just felt like you were a victim of your own body. 

Everyone deserves to feel comfortable in their body, but when was the last time that you truly felt valid when you looked in the mirror? When was the last time that you realized the shirt you were wearing was cute? When was the last time you liked the way your face looked when you smiled? The roundness was something to be embraced instead of hated. 

Has there ever been a swell of gentleness within you? Had you ever wrapped yourself in a hug and reminded yourself that you were worthy of things, even when your brain pushed those thoughts away because of the way you looked? If it were anyone else, you’d remind them that they were loved. 

It didn’t matter if there was extra fat upon their hip bones or if their stomach pushed out over their waistline. Nobody deserves to be hated for how they look. Change can always occur and while change happens, people don’t have to hate themselves. They can embrace their flaws and yet, when you looked in the mirror, your flaws were all you could see. 

The way the shirt curled around your stomach. The way your chest looked wrong. Every time you shifted an arm, so much fat shifted with it. Your neck was too big and your face was too round. Your collarbone was invisible and when was the last time you saw it?

Taking photographs and going out, it seemed impossible like this. Insecurities clouded your head and they were all you could think about. You were a painting gone wrong. Your body was flawed and nobody could save you from your internal combustion. 

The numbers on the scale were all you thought about and you were toying with a deadly game. What was the quickest way to lose weight? The easiest? How long could you go without eating? How fast could the scale drop the numbers? You just wanted to shrink. 

Clothes shopping was a nightmare. When you went out and finally found your size, you expected it to fit, but the dressing rooms were always full of tears. Shirts didn’t cover the bottom of your stomach. The fabric was too tight around the top of your arms. 

Pants only went up so far and wouldn’t tug up over your thighs. Maybe you could get them on and just when you thought you had the perfect pair, the button wouldn’t button. The zipper wouldn’t go up any higher and you were left defeated. 

Your body was a tomb and you were a soul waiting on the next one. Maybe the next body would be smaller. Maybe you’d be able to see your collarbone and your wrists would be dainty. You would be able to wear the necklace without the necklace extender. 

In the next life, if you were lucky, your insecurities wouldn’t force you into long sleeves in the uncomfortable heat. You wouldn’t have to hide in baggy pants and oversized t-shirts. Your shape would be something to show off and not something that felt like you had to hide.

They say embrace insecurities, but at this weight, it was impossible. Shame filled your body and your bones. The whispers of doctors warning about higher risks of diseases laced your ears at night. The embarrassment at the doctor’s office when they weighed you steered you away from routine checkups. 

Lately, you couldn’t be bothered to go outside. You pulled away from your friends and the things you tried to enjoy, you couldn’t do it anymore. You were silent about your struggles, but you were crumbling inside. Everything was being torn apart and there was nothing that you could do. 

And lately, your boyfriend was starting to notice it. The first time he noticed you pulling away from a kiss, he thought he did something wrong. A frown sat on Han’s face and he watched you disappear with confusion in his eyes. 

Did he say something wrong? Were you realizing he was flawed? Did he do something that made you feel like you weren’t good enough? 

And then you pulled away from him when the two of you were in bed spooning. You rolled away, mumbling that it was too hot and you didn’t want to cuddle, but the two of you always cuddled. Hurt filled his heart and he mumbled an agreement as he turned his back to you, still wondering what he did wrong. 

The third time, you pulled away from him, the two of you were outside. You were holding hands and heading to a nearby cafe. Occasionally, the two of you would indulge in a sweet treat and an evening walk. That night turned into one of those nights, but you let go of his hand. 

Instead of walking beside him on the sidewalk, you let go of his hand and moved behind him. He reached back for your hand, but you pulled away and mumbled something about how the sidewalk felt too big for the both of you, but he didn’t understand. The two of you always walked side-by-side on the sidewalk, so what was wrong? 

And that’s when he began pulling away from you. He didn’t have the courage to try to ask you what was wrong. He knew it deep down, you probably found someone better. Maybe he was too much and you couldn’t take it anymore. 

Every day that passed, it seemed like the two of you were playing some sort of game. Time was ticking and he was waiting for you to pull the plug. He waited for the call at work and he checked for a break up text, but it never came. 

“Hyung, are you sure they’re not struggling with something?” 

It was Felix that caused him to snap out of his daze at work. He was feeling down and Felix noticed it first. When Han began describing your behavior, Felix began to worry, not about Han, but about you. Han’s behavior had been perfectly normal, but yours was so unlike you. 

Felix’s words haunted his head all day and when he got home, he couldn’t stand it. You were scrolling through your phone when he got home. Desperation hit its peak with you and it took your mentality to the darkest corners of the internet. 

Pinterest boards with skinny bodies and dainty fingers. Faceless photos of people that you wanted to look like. All the outfits you wanted to recreate when you finally reached your goal weight. The hairstyles you’d try and all the trips and adventures you’d indulge in once you were finally camera ready. 

Hundreds and hundreds of meanspo quotes. Every time you thought about cheating on your diet, they appeared in your brain. You were training yourself to deny food, even when your body needed it to survive; a soldier turning the gun on themselves in the front line of a war. 

“We need to talk.” 

Han’s words sent fear vibrating through your body. As you turned off your phone and looked up, your heart sank. He’d finally seen you like you saw yourself, you just knew it. Tonight would be the night he’d pack up his items and leave. 

You sat on the plush couch paralyzed by that fear. You couldn’t speak, so you were forced to listen as he spoke. You held your breath and waited and waited and waited, but it never came. 

“Um, listen.” Han began to pace upon the beige carpet, unable to meet your eyes. “I just want to ask if you’re okay. I-I’m starting to think that maybe I did something wrong and maybe I hurt your feelings somehow.” 

“And if I did, I’m really sorry. It feels like you’re pulling away from me and I-I don’t like that. I love you,” he nervously glanced up and then looked back down. “I love you a lot and if there’s something I can do to fix that, I-” 

“What?” Your voice came out hoarse and your eyes clouded with tears. 

“I don’t know. You just… you just seem like you don’t love me anymore. Over these past two weeks, you seem different and I need to know if it’s me.” He walked over towards you and slumped to his knees. His hands found yours and he gently squeezed them. 

“If it’s me, please tell me what I did. I don’t like the way you’re acting lately. I don’t want to see you so detached and so quiet. I miss you so much.” 

You couldn’t see him as tears fell from your cheeks. You sucked in a deep breath and wiped away your tears. “It’s not you. It’s not that I don’t love you, I swear.” 

“Then what is it?” 

“I don’t love me.” 

“What?” 

“Look at me, Han. Truly and seriously look at me! I look like a whale!” A lump formed in your throat, but you kept going. “How are you not embarrassed to be around me? To be photographed with me? To be seen around me? I’m almost double your size and-” 

His head shook frantically and he squeezed your hands again. “Baby, no. Don’t say that about yourself. Is that how you see yourself? Sweetheart, no.” 

“Shut up!” You snapped angrily. You ripped your hands away and stood up. He jerked backwards and stared at you with wide eyes. 

“Look at me! How can you even love me when I look like this? You should be ashamed of me! I don’t look right! Look at this body!” 

It killed him. Something inside of him broke. Through the ways of the twisted world and through your self-hatred, you couldn’t see how he viewed you. You couldn’t see how much he loved you and it cut his heart straight in two. 

He scrambled to his feet and reached out. Gently, he cupped your cheeks in his hands. “I never want to hear yourself talk about that way ever again. Not a peep. You are one of the most beautiful people that I have ever laid my eyes upon and I will do whatever it takes to make you understand that.” 

“If I didn’t love you, if I didn’t like the way you looked, I’d never be with you.” Your face scrunched up as he went on. “But I’ll always love you. If you choose to lose weight or even if you gain more, I will continue to love you.” 

“We’re in a relationship and your struggles are also my struggles. How many times have you told me that?” His eyes searched yours desperately. He leaned forward and pressed the warmth of his forehead against yours. 

“So why-” His voice cracked. “If you’re struggling with this so much, why didn’t you bring it up? Why did you suffer in silence for so long?” 

“Because I’m so afraid that if you really see me for how I look, you’ll leave,” you finally whispered. 

“Never. I see you every day. I try to hold you every day, but I really haven’t been able to do that for the past two weeks. Do you want the truth? The truth is that I miss you. I miss you so much.” 

“I miss holding your hand and being near you. I miss grabbing your cheeks and gently squishing them as I kiss you. I miss falling asleep to the scent of your shampoo and I miss holding you.” 

“I’m sorry.” 

He pulled away, shook his head, and gently wiped away your tears. “Don’t be sorry, just please let me love you. Let me hold you and if you want to cry about this in my arms, go ahead. If you need to scream, do it. Just please, stop shutting me out. I don’t want to lose you.” 

“I don’t deserve you,” you whispered. 

“You’ll always deserve me and so much more. I’ll always want you. I’ll always want your body. Do you know what you are for me? You might be a person, but to me, you’re not just that. Baby, you’re my home.” 

Entirely defeated from the emotional weight of the conversation, you didn’t fight as he tugged you to the couch. He sat down and pulled you on top of him. His arms wrapped around your body and you buried your face into the side of his neck. 

Back where you belonged, he internally reminded himself to text Felix and thank him later. 

| ♡.﹀﹀﹀﹀.♡ | ♡.﹀﹀﹀﹀.♡ | ♡.﹀﹀﹀﹀.♡ |

Taglist: @lina-linny @straykidsstanforeverandever @seungnishi @stellasays45

Masterlist

Taglist and inbox rules

Ko-fi

[aspergerasparagus]

Patch Job (White RabbitxGN!Reader)

Request: Oh dear, it appears after getting a little trigger happy with trying to lure Dante towards him, he damaged his mask in the process, perhaps you, the Reader, Y/N, whatever you call yourself could have some quality time together while you fix that mask of his and making a few improvements..?

(You can tell I don't write reader fics very often but I did try. Also it wasn't supposed to be this long but again woops.)

Honestly he should have known better. Maybe he was getting cocky? Maybe having Dante almost in his grasp made him slip up? Regardless it didn’t matter, what had been done had been done and now he was paying the price for his stupidity. Sighing the rabbit looked at himself in the bathroom mirror of some random slum he’d taken refuge in from his last battle, the glass was cracked and it was a miracle that this place even still had electricity as the naked blub above him flickered, threatening to go out at any second. But it would be enough, he’d been in worse after all. Looking over his mask he cursed himself under his breath as he surveyed the damage the son of Sparta had done. Admittedly he’d gotten off scot free, not a scratch on him, his “face” on the other hand was a different story.

Grumbling he picked at the broken stitching, his “real” face visible from beneath it now. He’d need to repair it quickly but given that he didn’t exactly have any supplies here and it wasn’t like he could go out like this. It would ruin everything. Growling he smashed his hand into the mirror, destroying what was left of it with his fist. Stupid, stupid, stupid! Collecting himself he took a deep breath before straightening up. He’d have to quickly try to locate some supplies to fix this, at least under the cover of night he’d been harder to spot but he couldn’t help but grimace at the idea of trying to waltz into some haberdashery and purchase some fresh thread and needles. Tutting he resigned himself to just breaking into somewhere like some common thug before turning on his heel, as if this night could get any worse…

Surprisingly the rabbit managed to locate a craft shop after not too long of searching. It was a small little place, tucked out of the way, far from prying eyes. Perfect. Slinking his way out from the alleyway he’d been tucked away in he swiftly made his way over until there was movement within the darkened windows. Someone was still inside? At this time? Gritting his teeth he faltered for a moment before shrugging, at least he wouldn’t have to break in now. Holding back he waited until the employee finally emerged from the shop, they were carrying a bag and turned their back to him as they began to fish about for the keys to lock up. He didn’t give them a chance to scream as he clamped a hand over their mouth, the keys tumbling from their hands as their fingers as their eyes snapped wide, fear gripping them. 

“One word, one movement, and I’ll snap your neck like a toothpick. Is that understood? Now open the shop up and walk back inside. I’ve already had a terrible day so one wrong move and I’ll make sure I’ll leave you as a surprise for your boss to clean up in the morning. Now get back inside.”

Of course he was a bit more forceful than he would typically be, but he was irritated and taking out on the human was at least making him feel a little better. The sooner he could get his mask fixed the sooner he could get back to his mission. The human trembled in his grip, they were considerably shorter than himself so he towered over them, plunging them into his shadow as they frantically tried to open the door.

“P-Please don’t hurt me-”

“What did I just say about talking?” 

He cut them off as their timid voice cut through the ambient hum of the night. He felt them nervously swallow before they managed to pry the key into the lock. Pushing them both through the door, he quickly slammed the door, locking it again. No disturbances. Especially while he would be so vulnerable…

Rounding back onto the human, their eyes were still locked forwards, too terrified to look up or to try to make a break for it. They surely must have heard about all the demon attacks going on. At least that would keep them compliant. 

“Now, where do you keep your needles and thread?” 

His voice cut through the tension as the human in his grip jumped slightly, startled by his voice, or maybe it was the request itself.

“Needles and thread? You’re not here to rob me?”

Sighing, the rabbit just tutted and shook his head.

“Do I look like someone who needs money? Now where are the needles and thread, I warn you I don’t like having to repeat myself.”

A small squeak escaped the human before they pointed in quickly to a display to the side. A range of needles and thread littered the wall. Perfect!

“Thank you, and my apologies for all this. I’m not typically so thuggish but I’m a little desperate at the moment.” 

Finally releasing them the rabbit made his way over to the display, quickly grabbing what he could. 

“What are you trying to repair?”

His ears twitched as the human’s suddenly piped up, glancing out of the corner of his eyes, he regarded them before turning back.

“I broke into your establishment, threatened you and am now stealing thread. And that’s what you’re asking me?”

“Well, those threads are only meant for simple embroidery, if you need something more durable I might be able to suggest something…” 

He heard them trail off, as they began to fiddle with their hands, eyes glancing around the room as if they were mulling over their options, as if they were just helping any other customer who just happened to waltz into the store looking for help with a project. Unbelievable. But not unwelcome. 

“I… I need to repair something that was damaged during a fight. I need something that’s strong enough to hold up, at least until I can repair it properly myself.”

“Oh, is it your suit? A torn panel maybe?” 

Amused, the rabbit just turned and pointed at their torn face, chuckling as the human went pale and flinched back slightly, obviously shocked by the fact he needed to perform what most people would call a surgery rather than a simple patch job.

“It’s a bit more complicated than a mere tear in some fabric. But nothing that I can’t fix with the right equipment. Any suggestions?”

He’d admit he was tickled by the little human and it made a nice change, considering most humans he’d met so far had been cruel, abusive or just straight up tried to shoot him. Admittedly the last one was to be expected but regardless it was a nice change of pace.

“Well human, I’d love to hear your feedback.”

Snapping back he watched as they began to stumble over their words before biting their tongue and trying to calm themselves.

“Nylon thread is one of the strongest thread types, typically used for leatherwork and the such but um, maybe something stronger for… your needs will be needed. Hold on.” 

Before he could object he watched as they scampered off towards the back of the shop, disappearing between the labyrinth of craft supplies and fabric samples. The rabbit could just stare in disbelief before groaning and readying the sword on his back, ready to chase them down and cut them down. He really was getting sloppy. But just as he was about to level the building they reappeared again, scampering up to him with a needle and a spool of some black thread.

“This is um kevlar thread, it’s typically only used for very high stress applications like high stress clothing and machinery but it could work for you. It’s very durable and probably the strongest stuff on the market! We only stock a small quantity of it but um…”

The rabbit just regarded them before he burst out into a bout of loud laughter, causing the little human to panic and jump out of their skin. Oh now this human was amusing! Slipping the sword back onto his back, he took the supplies from them, eyeing them over quickly.

“Yes I think that would do very nicely. Thank you my dear. Now to find a mirror…”

“W-we don’t have one in store I’m sorry.”

“Doesn’t matter, you know your way around a needle I’m sure. You can do it. Probably do a better job than I would.”

“W-what!? I-I can’t sew your face up! I’m not a surgeon. B-besides won’t it hurt like hell?!” The rabbit just scoffed and grabbed them by the scruff of their shirt, rolling his eyes as he dragged them to one of the tables at the back.

“Doesn’t matter, I'm sure you’ll do a fantastic job. Besides, I've endured worse. A couple of minutes of being stabbed by a needle will be nothing more than an insect bite.” The human tried to protest again, wriggling in his grip but soon resigned themselves as he felt them slouch and mutter to themselves they knew they shouldn’t have swapped shifts.

Plopping them down, the rabbit flipped a lamp on before sitting down himself, laying out the supplies.

“Now, make sure the stitching can hold, I don’t want it breaking again. It would be inconvenient for both of us if I have to come back again because of your poor sewing skills.”

The human suddenly looked annoyed as they huffed, pouting slightly at the fact someone was questioning their skills.

“I’ll have you know that I am pretty skilled with a needle, so I won’t take any criticism before you’ve seen my work. How rude.”

The rabbit was taken aback and couldn’t help as he let out a roar of laughter, the human jumping in front of him.

“Oh how cute! Now that’s unexpected, a human with a backbone, how charming.” 

Slipping an arm over his chest, he bowed his head slightly, flashing the human a smirk.

“My apologies, I didn’t mean to doubt your skill, my dear. I’ll let your work talk for you then.” 

Seeing a flashing of a blush on their cheeks, he could only chuckle as they tried to play it off, huffing before they motioned him to lean down so they could assess the damage.

You looked over the tear, it was luckily across what seemed some sort of the seam that ran along the demons’ face. It should be easy to repair, but sewing together skin and fur was nothing like trying to sew together fabrics! Of course you were stressed but at least the rabbit, well the demon, in front of you didn’t seem to want to rip you apart, for now. Sighing, you gently folded the seams together as the rabbit watched you, their eyes fixed on your face, observing every action and twitch in your face. Looking for anything they didn’t like, or simply studying you. It was hard to say, but it was certainly getting to you. You could feel your cheeks going pink as they huffed softly, leaning in gently to your touch as you pet the soft white fur on their head. This really shouldn’t be as distracting as it was but it was getting harder and harder to focus now! Stupid bunny demon!

Trying your best to focus you quickly started, the needle and thread easily piercing through the soft flesh and quickly beginning to pull the skin back into place. You tried hard to try and not focus on it, just thinking about what you were doing, who or what you were doing it to, was making your palms sweat and a trembling hand would never get this done. There was also the small fact you hoped you weren’t hurting the bunny. But he didn’t seem to take much notice of the needle stabbing into him, instead his attention was focused squarely on you. You really wished he would stop looking up at you with those eyes of his!

“Your hands are shaking my dear. Don’t worry, I don’t bite.”

You jumped as he spoke, that deep, low voice of his catching you off guard as you were trying to pay attention to the task at hand.

“W-well it’s not like I stitch demons together very often. I have every right to be nervous! I don’t know what you’ll do…”

The rabbit hummed, amused by your answer more than anything.

“That’s true, but not all demons are your enemy. Some of us can be rather charming if given a chance.”

He flashed you a quick wink making your face erupt with heart as the obvious blush crept across your cheeks. The cheek on this bunny rabbit! Pouting you stabbed the needle into his flesh for the last time, maybe a little rougher than you needed to as you saw him flinch slightly. But it seemed he agreed that he might have deserved that.

Pouting you quickly trimmed the excess thread before gently holding the demon’s cheeks as you examined the stitching. Not your finest work, but it would certainly hold you. Hopefully.

“There you’re all done, it shouldn’t come undone again. In theory anyway. You wanna take the thread in case? It’s not like I can sell it now anyway…”

As you spoke you watched as the rabbit straightened back up, feeling over the stitching himself, his fingers trailing over the once torn face, accessing the workmanship. Then after a moment or so he smiled at you, his eyes squinting slightly as he seemed genuinely impressed and pleased with your work.

“I must commend your work, you really didn’t sell yourself short my dear. And yes I think it might be for the best.”

Reaching out he took the supplies from your hand, but before you could pull your hand away, he quickly grasped your hand in his own. You couldn’t pull away, even if you had wanted to, he was far too strong. Obviously this must be it you thought, as your mind raced but instead of yanking you forward to tear you to shreds, the rabbit instead brought you hand up to his lips, placing a gentle kiss against it.

“However, maybe you should keep it. You never know when I might need another repair job and you have done such a fantastic job with my repairs.”

Unable to take it any more, you huffed and pulled your hand free, yelling at the demon to get out of your store as the creature only just let out another loud laugh, the enjoyment from teasing you only tickling him even more. Demons really were the worst!

[magical-regical]

King of My Heart

A Leona Kingscholar x gn!Yuu fic

Word count: 2021 words

Today I'm thinking of Leona with a Yuu who he takes home to the Sunset Savannah for the Cloudcalling Festival. He didn't want to, but his sister-in-law really wanted to meet them and he won't say anything against that. Besides, he knows his s/o has also been curious about the rest of his family and the Sunset Savannah ever since their last Cloudcalling Festival so at least it's a win-win for some people.

They emerged from the mirror and were received by Falena and his son.

"Ojii-tan!" Cheka ran and tackled his uncle, almost knocking him over.

"Doesn't a king have more important things to do?" Leona grumbled as he tried to peel his nephew off of him.

"Now, now, I'm sure the kingdom won't collapse if their king breaks away for a minute to welcome his brother. Especially when he's bringing his special someone with him." Falena turned to Yuu, giving them a warm smile, "A pleasure to meet you, Yuu. I am Falena Kingscholar. Leona's older brother, and the crown prince of the Sunset Savannah."

Leona let out a growl, wrapping his arms around their shoulders, "They know who you are. Now let's go, I bet you left Nee-san to handle the affairs while you're out messing around."

As soon as they stepped into the throne room, Falena was met with a lecture from Kifaji about shirking his royal duties. As the crown prince hemmed and hawed, a laugh could be heard from the other side of the room.

Yuu's eyes couldn't help but follow the queen as she descended from her throne, her every movement commanded your full attention and respect. Cheka ran to his mother, who lifted him into her arms.

"It's alright Kifaji. It was a quick matter, just as he promised." She said, giving her husband a kiss on the cheek.

"Welcome home, Leona." she said.

Leona let out a small 'hm' while bowing. Yuu followed his lead.

"Nee-san, this is my partner." he said.

"Ah yes, Yuu, I believe? We've heard a lot about you from Leona's letters. All good things, rest assured. Thank you for taking care of my dear brother-in-law."

"It was no trouble at all. Leona's been a perfect gentleman." Yuu said, their hand wandering to hold his.

Leona's grip on their hand tightened, an action that didn't escape the queen's keen eye.

She smiled, "I'm glad to hear that. I hope you enjoy your stay here. If there's anything else you need please don't hesitate to let me know."

Over the next few days the palace was a whirlwind of activity. Yuu only had about a day or two to enjoy the festivities of the Cloudcalling Festival with their boyfriend before Leona had to go tend to his duties as the leader of the Sunset Warriors.

Falena had decided to make this year's 'guardian lessons' a more hands-on experience by incorporating combat drills and mock battles. A decision Leona was definitely not happy with.

"Fine. I'll put them through training that will really show if they're warriors or just mewling kittens who'd only learned how to use their claws." That's what he'd said before walking away.

Yuu sent silent condolences to all the sunset warriors. Left to their own devices they wandered through the halls of the royal palace, gazing at portraits and miscellaneous memorabilia of past royals until reaching the doors of the royal kitchen.

Dinner service was over yet the chefs were still as busy as ever. The head chef noticed them lingering, "Ah you must be Yuu-sama. Please come in, come in. What can we do for you?"

"I'd like to help everyone do prep work for tomorrow's meals. Would that be alright?"

They paused to gauge everyone else's reaction before continuing,

"All the food I've eaten here has been absolutely delicious and I'd like to learn more about how each dish is made. I have experience working in a professional kitchen (Mostro Lounge) so I promise I won't get in the way. You can kick me out if I do."

The head chef smiled, "No need to be nervous. His highness has told us to give Yuu-sama full access to the kitchen so of course you're allowed to help. I have to warn you though, I can be quite strict."

"Yes chef! Looking forward to working with you, chef!" They said while putting on the apron the head chef had tossed them.

The prep work included chopping vegetables, pre-seasoning some meat, tossing a different kind of meat in a marinade, and, most surprisingly, making dessert. On the dessert menu for lunch tomorrow was baobab ice cream.

Baobab juice was extracted by boiling the fruit and straining the seeds. The juice was then combined with powdered milk and condensed milk and poured into molds before being put in the freezer to chill overnight. The leftover seeds were coated in a sticky syrup made of sugar and a blend of spices that turned it a striking red color, turning them into candies that were enjoyed by people from all walks of life.

A portion of the candy was set aside for the royal family while the rest were packed into small plastic bags and distributed to every chef and servant in attendance.

"Thanks for helping out today, Yuu-sama. If you want to help out again sometimes or have any special requests, feel free to stop by. The doors are as open to you as they are to the royal family."

Yuu thanked the head chef before wishing everyone a good night. They were halfway down the next hallway when they remembered the had planned to ask for some fruit as a small snack for when Leona gets back.

They immediately turned back to the kitchen only to hear a passing conversation amidst the sound of sweeping.

"Yuu-sama is so nice aren't they?"

"They really are! Honestly, I didn't know what to expect when I heard Leona-sama was bringing their partner."

" I know right? I mean, Leona-sama tends to be quite moody. I heard he had another fight with the crown prince a few days ago and now he's taking it out on this year's sunset warriors."

"Oh man seriously? My brother's a sunset warrior. I hope he's doing okay... I'm worried now. I mean, with Leona-sama's unique magic and all..."

"Hey come on. He wouldn't do that... Would he? I mean a guy like that wouldn't be with someone as nice as Yuu-sama unless..."

The sound of sweeping was replaced by the sound of approaching footsteps. The two servants almost crashed into each other when they saw who was standing behind the door.

"Hello!" Yuu's tone was cheerful but their smile didn't quite reach their eyes.

"Yuu-sama! How long have you— I mean, uh, what, what brings you back to the kitchen?" One of the servants said.

"I wanted to see if there was any fruit I could have as a snack."

"O-of course, Yuu-sama. We can help you with that right away. What kind of fruit would you like?"

"Mm... I'm not sure... Do you two know what kind of fruit Leona likes?"

The two servants flinched at the mention of the second prince. They rambled some gibberish until someone placed a hand on each of their shoulders.

"My, my, is that any way for royal chefs to act? You two must be exhausted. Why don't you return to your quarters for tonight? I'll handle things here." The head chef said.

Relief flooded the two servants' faces as they scurried away like a pack of rats.

"My apologies Yuu-sama. I'll be sure to put them through the proper disciplinary actions tomorrow."

Yuu nodded, "Thank you. Now, could I have some apples please?"

The head chef watched silently as they grabbed a knife and started cutting up the fruit.

"Were you angry at them?"

"What makes you say that?"

The head chef chuckled, "Well, I've never seen anyone make bunny apples with such intensity in their eyes."

They sighed, "Fine, I'm a little angry. I mean okay, Leona can be lazy sometimes... most of the time, but he's no slouch! He runs rings around almost everyone at Night Raven. He reads people like books and he can gauge a situation in a second even with his eyes closed. He's a great leader too! Everyone in Savanaclaw would follow him to the ends of the earth and the spelldrive club members trust him with their lives whenever they play a match."

The head chef nodded along as they continued their rant,

"Also, what's with everyone being scared of his unique magic? Do they seriously think he's the kind of guy to use it on a whim? Just because he isn't as cheerful as his brother, it doesn't mean he's a psychopath. No matter how annoyed he gets he never raises a hand against anyone unless they cross a line and even then he'd never turn them to sand."

They let out a frustrated groan, eating a few candies to calm down.

"It seems Leona-sama is very loved." The head chef said.

Yuu felt heat rise up to their cheeks but they didn't look away. "Damn right he is. He's a great prince and the best boyfriend I could ever ask for. There's nowhere in this world that makes me feel as safe as when I'm in his arms."

"That so herbivore?"

A pair of arms wrapped around their shoulders. They look up to find Leona staring back at them, still in his lion garb.

"I was wondering who was chatting it up in the kitchen at this hour. Who would've thought I'd find my partner and the head chef rubbing shoulders?"

His gaze fell on the head chef who was suddenly very interested in the floor tiles.

"You're excused for the night. Get out of here."

"Yes your highness! Thank you!"

"Finally..." he rested his head on Yuu's shoulder, settling into the crook of their neck.

Yuu reached up to stroke his hair, "Long day?"

"Oh you wouldn't believe it. Those idiots were practically foaming at the mouth waiting to punch something after sitting through etiquette class. Fucking amateurs."

"You poor thing." They said, semi-sarcastically, "Here, I cut you some apples."

"Apples? What am I a monkey? And what's with the cutesy shape huh? I'm not a kid."

Despite his grumbling he still opened his mouth when Yuu held a slice to his lips and of course, he finished the entire plate.

"You want some candy too?" They asked once all the apple slices were gone.

"Mmm."

They pretended like they were going to feed him before pulling away at the last second and popping the candy into their own mouth, "Too bad. These are mine."

Leona growled, "You're forgetting something herbivore."

He tilted their chin up and kissed them, prying their mouth open with his tongue. When he pulled away he had successfully stolen the candy.

"You're mine. So what's yours is also mine." He whispered into their ear as he lifted them on to the counter, leaning in for another kiss. "Just like what's mine is yours."

It was the kind of kiss that left them breathless and coming back for more. The kind that leaves one utterly defenseless against the predator hovering in front of them.

The pout on their face when he pulled away was so cute he couldn't resist giving a playful bite to one of their delightfully red cheeks, "Don't give me that look. You knew what you were getting into."

Yuu broke into a giggle, "I do... And I don't regret it."

Now it was their turn to kiss him. They kissed his cheek, his nose, and all over his face, whispering sweet nothings in between each one.

"I love you.

I really, really love you.

My strong, smart, protective boyfriend.

You're really amazing you know?

The king of my heart."

Leona closed his eyes and let out a content sigh as they continued to shower him with affection. His arms settling around their waist and his tail wrapping around their leg. The world seemed to come to a halt. The silence only broken by their voice, and their heartbeat, beating in sync with his. In the midst of the peace fatigue crept up on him, making him let out a yawn.

"Let's go back to our room. Then you can conk out whenever you like." Yuu paused for a second before adding, "After you shower."

"Anything for you, princess." He said, nuzzling their forehead before scooping them up and carrying them out of the kitchen.

Omake

"Wanna get in the shower with me?"

"Only if you promise to behave. It's late and I'm also kind of sleepy."

"Oh you will be after I'm done with you."

"Leona!"

-END-

Divider by: @/cafekitsune

[to-the-stars8]

The Waynes' Nanny

Batfamily and Reader/ Bruce Wayne x Reader Chapters Ao3 Originally, I was going to make this a half-chapter because I wrote this on my phone while at work, but I decided I'm a bitch who doesn't do half-chapters. Anyway, here's this one. Sorry for any mistakes, it was slightly rushed because I wanted to get something out there since I've been away from the keyboard for a good moment!

Nanny in The Attic

Alfred had asked you to get some spring decorations from the attic, and you were happy to oblige. You loved decorating; it brought a sense of wonderment to your life that was otherwise filled with the endless tasks of being a caretaker. So, you took to the attic like a moth to a flame. There were boxes upon boxes, old coats strewn about, a creepy-looking rocking horse in one corner, and copious amounts of dust. 

“The box is labeled but I couldn’t tell you where the damned thing is,” Alfred said as he flipped on the light. “If you like, you could wait until I return. It might be easier.” 

You waved him off as you ventured further into the room. “No, no. You’re a busy man, Alfred. Plus, the kids are at school, and this will give me something to do today.”

“Very well, then, have at it,” The old man said, heading towards the attic stairs. “Master Bruce is working from home today, and there’s an intercom on the wall over there if you want to call for help should you need it. I’m sure he wouldn’t mind lending a hand.”

An intercom. Of course, there was. You wandered over, pressing one of the buttons just for fun. At one point, Bruce's voice came through, crackling. Squeaking, you said a quick "never mind" and pressed another random button.

“This place,” you said, glancing at the panel, “is either really old-fashioned… or ridiculously fancy.”

“Sometimes it’s both,” Alfred said dryly as he descended the stairs.

"Thanks, Alf. I’ll see you later," You called after him.

With a wave, he left.

You began to pull apart the attic in search of the alleged spring decor, and it seemed almost hopeless. There were just too many boxes. There was Christmas (which you couldn’t wait to see), Halloween, and just about every holiday decor that had ever existed. Some boxes were full of pictures and jewelry. One box had photo albums from the last thirty years, and curiosity won as you momentarily battled with yourself.

Flipping through them, you found a small version of Bruce—bright-eyed, unsure, and almost soft. Damian looked just like him. And Bruce? He was practically a mirror of his father. Eerily so. That had to do something to his psyche.

His mother was a beauty, too. You found her headshot sitting right under one of the photo albums. She had curly copper hair and deep blue eyes that reminded you of Bruce’s. Mr. and Mrs. Wayne were a handsome couple with the world at their feet, but that was cut short the day they died. 

You remembered the tragedy in fragments. You were young, but you could still recall a relative bursting into the kitchen to announce that the Waynes had been murdered. You hadn’t understood then that the boy left behind would grow up to be this Bruce Wayne.

“Poor Bruce,” you said to yourself before putting the albums back. “Now, where in the hell is that box?” 

You looked around the room, eyes scanning, when you saw it. The box was high up on a shelf labeled ‘spring’ in black Sharpie. You made a clearing, set up a step ladder, and started climbing. It was going to be so easy and perfect, you thought. 

The box was just out of reach.

You supposed that the shelf could support some of your weight, so you lifted your leg to step onto it. What you didn’t see was a broken vase tucked between some boxes. It sliced into your leg before you even felt it. Then came the pain, sudden and sharp. With a cry, you fell back hard onto the floor. 

“Ow, ow,” you hissed, pressing a hand over the wound. Blood was already pooling beneath your fingers. Alfred was going to kill you. Limping over to the intercom, you mashed buttons blindly.

“Mr. Wayne,” you would say when it sounded like you got through to a room. “Mr. Wayne, are you there?”

Finally, after about ten minutes, you got a voice coming through the other end, “Everything alright?”

“Aha! Mr. Wayne, I cut my leg pretty badly and think I need a first aid kit. Could I trouble you to bring me one?” 

“I’ll be right there,” he said. Before you could say anything back, the line went dead. 

Grumbling to yourself, you made your way to the attic stairs to sit and wait for your rescue. Blood was pooling between your fingers, and you could feel it slowly getting closer to your sock. 

“I’m here,” Bruce called as he bounded up the stairs with the med kit. “Alright, let me see.”

You moved your hand to the side, but couldn’t bring yourself to see just how bad it was. Bruce knelt in front of you, his hand steady on your knee—large, warm, grounding.

“Luckily, you don’t need stitches, just a clean-up and some bandages.” 

“What should I do?” You asked, hands already going for the kit. 

Bruce didn’t let you get close enough to grab it. He didn’t say anything as he picked out the hydrogen peroxide, some ointment, and bandages. Pouring a little of the hydrogen peroxide onto a cotton ball, he slowly started to wipe at your leg. You yelped from the sudden sting and pushed his hand away. 

“Stop it, that hurts,” you said meekly. “Ow! Bruce, please.”

He paused, looked up at you, and his thumb brushed soft circles against your knee. “Sorry, just hold still. It won’t take much longer.” 

He began to dab the cotton ball back on the wound again, and this time, you were prepared for the sting. You stared at him as he worked on you. Mr. Wayne wasn’t just a handsome man; he was pretty, too. He had the type of look that befitted a character in a fantasy novel rather than a traumatized rich boy. His eyes, though, were such an intense blue that they were hard not to look at.

You thought out loud, “You have your mother’s eyes.” 

His hand froze. Slowly, he looked up at you. “What?” 

You tried not to let the embarrassment show through. It was a fact that just so happened to slip from your mouth. “You have your mother’s eyes. I saw a picture of her earlier.” 

Bruce looked down, resuming the cleaning, but more gently now. “Oh.” 

“Do you remember your parents?” You asked. 

“Yes,” He said after a minute. “Everyone said I looked like my father, but he saw more of my mother.” 

You giggled and took his hand when he offered to help you up. “She must have loved that.” 

“Oh, she did.” For the first time, you saw Bruce smile genuinely. A smile for himself instead of the kids or you. “That’s why she wanted a girl after me, but they never got around to it.” 

“Can’t picture you as an older brother,” you said as you wandered over to the shelf. 

Bruce didn’t say anything to that and changed the subject. He offered to get the box down for you, saying that you didn’t need to be reaching up or doing anything else on your leg. You weren’t going to complain and let him get the box. 

“Good thing you called me,” He said with a grunt. “It’s heavy. Now, where do you want it?” 

“The living room would be a good place to start,” you said before you checked the time. You still had a couple of hours before the kids got home, but you thought that perhaps you could wait. “Maybe I should wait for the kids. They may want to help.” 

“Alfred would rather burn the manor down.” 

You could imagine it. Mr. Wayne brought the kids up in a way that they were very creative, and you could only imagine how that would transfer over in the decor. Alfred was too neat a person for that. 

Mr. Wayne set the box down on the living room coffee table, making a cloud of dust come up from the box, before turning to you. You smiled kindly and thanked him. He turned to leave but paused halfway.

“Make sure you clean your wound, you wouldn’t want it to get infected.” 

“Thank you, Mr. Wayne.” 

He nodded before finally leaving you. You looked back down at the decoration in your hands and huffed. It’d be a lot of work, but you'd be damned if you didn't get it done.

Later that day, when Alfred returned with the kids, he nearly dropped the groceries at the sight of the house. Spring had exploded. Florals, pastels, garlands, and twinkling lights filled the manor. You only told him you had magic hands before you went to tend to the children. They were happy to see you, all of them clamoring about, and noted the bandage on your leg. 

“I got in a fight with a bear today,” you said proudly. 

Dick rolled his eyes. “You’re such a liar.” 

Bruce suddenly popped into the kitchen where all of you were. “It’s true. I was there. I helped fight off the bear.” 

“Are there even bears in New Jersey?” Jason asked curiously. 

Duke, on the other hand, looked horrified. “Why are there bears in the backyard, Dad?” 

You were quick to tell him that the two of you were only kidding, that the cut really just came from an accident. Duke seemed relieved, while the other kids were a bit disappointed. As they ran off, Bruce stopped you with a hand on your arm.

“Next time you decide to decorate, let me know in advance.” 

“You don’t like it?”

“On the contrary, actually. What I don’t like is you getting hurt. Or anyone else, for that matter.”

You nodded, trying to reason with yourself as to why you had butterflies in your stomach. 

[aeth-eris]

★ the physical essence of venus ★

★  aries  venus  ★ the  scarred  helmet  hanging  on  the  back  of  your  door  that  you  won’t  replace,  even  though  it’s  scratched  beyond  repair,  because  it’s  been  with  you  through  every  wild  decision  you’ve  made.  the  sneakers  at  your  front  door,  caked  with  mud  from  an  impulsive  hike  you  dragged  your  friends  on  last  spring—still  laced  tightly,  ready  to  go  at  a  moment’s  notice.  your  jacket  pockets  always  seem  to  hold  something  random—keys,  an  old  receipt,  or  a  coin  you  found  that  felt  like  it  could  bring  good  luck,  though  you’d  never  admit  it.  even  your  wallet  looks  battle-worn,  stuffed  with  notes  you’ll  never  throw  out  because  they’re  pieces  of  a  past  that  make  you  feel  alive  when  you  touch  them.

 ★  taurus  venus  ★ the  candle  on  your  bedside  table,  burned  just  enough  to  release  the  scent  of  wildflowers  but  still  pristine,  because  you’re  saving  it  for  “when  it  feels  right.”  the  blanket  on  your  couch  is  perfectly  folded,  even  though  you  use  it  every  day,  its  edges  slightly  frayed  because  it’s  older  than  you’d  care  to  admit.  your  collection  of  tea  blends  isn’t  about  drinking  them—it’s  about  the  ritual  of  opening  the  tin,  inhaling  the  scent,  and  deciding  what  fits  your  mood  that  day.  even  the  wooden  cutting  board  in  your  kitchen  feels  sacred,  smoothed  from  years  of  careful  use,  holding  the  quiet  memories  of  meals  shared  with  people  who  make  your  world  feel  steady.

 ★  gemini  venus  ★ the  pen  you  always  lose  but  somehow  manage  to  find  at  the  exact  moment  you  need  it,  its  cap  chewed  and  its  ink  running  dry  because  you  use  it  for  everything—doodles,  random  notes,  grocery  lists,  and  the  occasional  half-baked  love  letter.  your  phone  case  has  a  faint  crack  from  being  tossed  on  a  table  during  an  animated  conversation,  and  there’s  a  tiny  keychain  charm  dangling  from  it  that  you  picked  up  during  a  trip  you  can  barely  remember.  your  desk  is  a  mess  of  brightly  colored  sticky  notes,  most  of  which  have  cryptic  one-liners  that  no  longer  make  sense,  but  you  refuse  to  throw  them  away  because  they  “might  mean  something  someday.”

 ★  cancer  venus  ★ the  slightly  faded  Polaroid  stuck  to  your  fridge  of  a  moment  you’ll  never  stop  replaying  in  your  mind,  its  corners  curling  just  enough  to  show  its  age.  the  quilt  on  your  bed,  soft  with  time,  smells  faintly  of  lavender  and  home,  even  when  you’ve  been  away  for  too  long.  your  jewelry  box  holds  treasures  you  don’t  wear  but  can’t  let  go  of—a  broken  bracelet,  a  ring  from  someone  you  loved,  or  a  single  earring  that’s  lost  its  match  but  not  its  meaning.  there’s  a  jar  of  seashells  on  your  windowsill,  each  one  tied  to  a  memory  you  can’t  explain  but  would  defend  if  anyone  tried  to  move  it.

 ★  leo  venus  ★ the  golden  compact  mirror  in  your  bag  that  you  flip  open  with  a  dramatic  flourish,  even  when  you  don’t  need  to  use  it.  your  favorite  jacket,  velvet  or  sequined,  hangs  at  the  front  of  your  closet,  waiting  for  its  next  moment  in  the  spotlight,  no  matter  how  rare.  you  keep  a  framed  photo  of  yourself  from  that  one  perfect  night,  sitting  prominently  where  you  can  see  it  and  be  reminded  of  your  glow.  even  your  perfume  bottle  looks  like  art—half-full  because  you  save  it  for  moments  when  you  want  the  world  to  remember  you  by  its  scent.

 ★  virgo  venus  ★ the  planner  on  your  desk  is  immaculate,  with  color-coded  tabs  and  neat  handwriting  that  looks  like  it  belongs  in  a  design  catalog.  your  favorite  pen  is  a  gel  pen  with  just  the  right  flow—you  buy  them  in  bulk  because  losing  one  feels  like  losing  a  limb.  your  kitchen  has  a  perfectly  organized  spice  rack,  alphabetized  not  out  of  compulsion  but  because  it  just  makes  sense.  even  your  plants  thrive  in  an  oddly  perfect  way;  they’re  pruned  regularly,  sitting  in  matching  pots,  as  if  they’ve  agreed  to  reflect  your  careful  attention  to  detail.

 ★  libra  venus  ★ the  antique  hand  mirror  on  your  vanity,  slightly  tarnished  but  impossibly  elegant,  next  to  a  bottle  of  rose-scented  perfume  that’s  more  art  than  utility.  your  coffee  table  has  a  stack  of  perfectly  arranged  art  books  that  you  flip  through  during  lazy  afternoons,  marveling  at  the  balance  of  beauty  and  creativity.  your  wardrobe  holds  a  silk  scarf  or  pair  of  perfectly  pointed  flats  that  you  wear  when  you  want  to  feel  effortlessly  polished.  even  your  favorite  mug  has  an  air  of  charm—delicate,  with  a  tiny  chip  that  only  makes  it  more  perfect  in  your  eyes.

 ★  scorpio  venus  ★ the  leather-bound  journal  hidden  in  a  drawer,  its  pages  filled  with  raw,  unfiltered  emotions  you  wouldn’t  dare  share  aloud.  the  black  candle  on  your  nightstand,  burned  down  just  enough  to  release  its  smoky,  mysterious  scent,  but  not  finished,  as  if  waiting  for  the  right  moment.  your  ring  drawer  holds  a  piece  you  never  wear  anymore,  but  every  time  you  pick  it  up,  the  memories  it  holds  flood  back  so  vividly  it  takes  your  breath  away.  even  your  favorite  book  has  underlined  passages  that  feel  like  secrets  only  you  could  understand,  the  kind  you  re-read  when  you  need  to  feel  seen.

 ★  sagittarius  venus  ★ the  worn  leather  backpack  leaning  by  your  door,  its  zippers  jingling  faintly  every  time  you  grab  it  to  head  out.  your  passport  is  scuffed,  its  pages  stamped  with  memories  that  still  bring  a  grin  to  your  face  when  you  flip  through  them.  you  keep  a  jar  of  foreign  coins  from  places  you’ve  been,  not  for  their  value  but  because  they  remind  you  of  café  conversations,  train  rides,  and  sunsets  you  swore  you’d  never  forget.  even  your  favorite  shoes  are  battered  from  countless  adventures,  soles  worn  thin  but  still  too  full  of  life  to  be  replaced.

 ★  capricorn  venus  ★ your  desk  holds  a  fountain  pen,  heavy  in  your  hand,  its  ink  flowing  with  precision  as  you  jot  down  plans  that  matter.  the  watch  on  your  wrist  is  timeless—its  leather  strap  softened  with  wear,  a  quiet  symbol  of  discipline  and  style.  your  planner  is  sleek,  every  page  carefully  filled  with  tasks  and  goals,  because  each  moment  of  time  feels  like  an  investment.  even  your  scarf  is  understated  and  elegant,  folded  neatly  by  the  door,  ready  to  shield  you  from  the  chill  as  you  head  out  into  the  world  you’re  steadily  building.

 ★  aquarius  venus  ★ the  slightly  offbeat  earrings  you  wear  almost  daily,  their  mismatched  charm  drawing  compliments  wherever  you  go.  your  favorite  gadget—a  smart  device,  a  quirky  invention,  or  something  DIY—sits  proudly  on  your  desk,  a  blend  of  utility  and  rebellion  against  the  ordinary.  your  coffee  table  holds  an  art  book  or  zine  from  an  obscure  creator  you  discovered  before  anyone  else  did.  even  your  favorite  lamp  is  asymmetrical  or  futuristic,  casting  light  in  ways  that  feel  just  unconventional  enough  to  reflect  your  unique  vision  of  the  world.

 ★  pisces  venus  ★ the  candle  on  your  desk  smells  like  sea  salt  and  mystery,  burned  down  to  a  waxy  puddle  but  kept  because  it  reminds  you  of  a  fleeting,  perfect  moment.  your  dream  journal  sits  beside  your  bed,  pages  filled  with  poetry  and  fragmented  thoughts  you’ve  scrawled  in  the  dark,  barely  legible  but  emotionally  potent.  you  keep  a  jar  of  glitter  on  your  shelf—not  for  any  practical  purpose,  but  because  it  catches  the  light  like  magic.  even  your  blanket,  impossibly  soft  and  slightly  worn  at  the  edges,  feels  like  a  portal  to  the  dreamscape  you  create  every  time  you  wrap  yourself  in  it.

★ book a reading ★ ★ masterlist 1 ★ ★ masterlist 2 ★