#with all humility and gentleness and patience

[delulustateofmind]

Hysteria

Sum: Divorced, betrayed, and end up in a mental hospital? Definitely not on your 2025 bingo card.

Yan!SatoSugu x Reader

WC: 9.7k (I sincerely apologize)

TW: Yandere Behaviors, SatoSugu smoochies, Medical AU, Masturbation, Noncon touching, Piss (nonsexual), Infantalization, Mental Hospital, False Medical Accusation, Medical malpractice, Electroshock therapy, Humilation, Reader is...really going through it. MDNI. ANGST. Dead dove do not eat

A/n: 💖 anon, thank you for giving the yummy idea. Dw there will be another medical au with the fears, but somehow satosugu and psych wards just...fueled me....

Grippy socks and a whole lot of rage.

You thundered through the cold hallways, those stupid grips on the bottom of your pale pink socks slapping against the soulless tile as you stormed toward the front desk—navigating the corridors with ease, with practice.

"Missus Geto!"

The nurse’s voice cut through the air, concern etched into every syllable. You barely heard her over the pounding in your ears, over the sound of your ragged breath. The two nurses in sterile white uniforms flanking you moved in closer.

"What the hell is the meaning of this?"

You tried to sound calm. Like you weren’t unhinged. Because you aren’t.

So why the hell are they treating you like you are?

Your fingers dug into the white desk, nails pressing so hard against the surface that it felt like your nails might leave a mark.

Your gaze flickered to the back wall, where pristine frames displayed crisp, professional lettering.

Geto Suguru.

Gojo Satoru.

The two main doctors.

One of them your ex-husband.

The other, someone you once considered a friend.

Let’s backtrack, shall we?

Suguru had always been gentle. Not in the way that people could be when they tried to be, not in the way that was practiced. No, he was gentle in the way that flowers turned toward the sun, effortlessly, instinctively.

His hands always ran warm, fingertips tracing absentminded circles against your skin whenever he held you. He kissed you like it was second nature like the act itself was woven into his being. Slow, lingering, like he had all the time in the world to savor you.

"You always rush," he would murmur against your lips, hands cupping your face, thumbs stroking the apples of your cheeks. "Take a breath, angel."

And you would.

Because in his arms, the world didn’t just slow—it stilled. It curled around the two of you, safe, untouched, like a sanctuary built for no one else. He memorized you with the precision of a surgeon and the devotion of a poet, every habit, every breath, every fleeting hesitation. Your friends envied it. Your parents bragged about it.

"A doctor in the family!" they’d say, pride swelling in their voices.

Suguru would only chuckle, his arm draped securely around your waist, grounding you, anchoring you. Then, in the quiet of an evening, when the world faded away, he’d murmur little truths about you, the ones only he had noticed.

"She chews her lip when she’s thinking too hard," he’d tease, pressing a slow, lingering kiss to the corner of your mouth. "She likes her tea sweet, but not too sweet. And she counts her steps when she’s anxious—"

"Suguru!" you’d huff, pushing at his chest, but the warmth in your cheeks betrayed you.

And he’d only smile, soft and knowing, brushing a strand of hair from your face. "What? I like knowing you."

He was perfect. Too perfect.

Every fight ended the same way—him, impossibly composed, those stormy violet eyes locked onto you with patience that never cracked.

"Angel, sit with me."

"Suguru, I don’t—"

"Please."

And you would.

Because he had a way of making the world go silent, of smothering your fire with the weight of his gentleness. He never yelled, never lashed out, never met your frustration with his own. Instead, he’d gather you in his arms, press his lips to your temple, and whisper—

"Tell me what’s wrong."

You hated that. Hated the way he never let the fight breathe, never let it burn. Hated that he never raised his voice, never let you see the cracks, never showed you anything but unwavering, unshakable devotion.

You wanted him to break. Just once.

Instead, he ran his fingers through your hair, pressed featherlight kisses against your hairline, held you until your breathing slowed, until your words lost their edges and softened into something he could soothe, something he could fix.

"See?" he’d murmur. "We can figure this out. Together."

And maybe that was love.

Or maybe it was something else entirely.

Maybe it was why, one morning before your shift at the ER, you left the divorce papers on his desk, your hands trembling as you placed the pen beside them.

Maybe it was why, as you stepped over the threshold of the home you built together, your heart felt like it was tearing itself apart.

Because love shouldn’t feel like suffocation.

Even if the arms around you were warm. Even if the kisses were soft.

Even if walking away made you wonder if, maybe—just maybe—you had just made the biggest mistake of your life.

“You don’t find a man like that in every lifetime, Y/N.”

Your mother’s voice crackled through the phone, sharp and impatient, as you yanked your scrubs over your head, the fabric stiff from too many late-night washes.

“Seriously, how many overnight shifts have you been working? You married a doctor! You should settle down, have some babies—not stay up all night playing nurse.”

You clenched your jaw.

Yes. You - a nurse married a doctor.

And somehow, everyone always forgot that nurses saved lives, too.

You huffed, shoving your hands into your pockets, double-checking for the essentials, pen light, trauma shears, and your stash of caffeine for the night.

"I’m not playing nurse, Mother," you muttered, stuffing your phone between your shoulder and ear.

"Then what is it, sweetheart?" she pried, and you could already hear the sigh she was holding back.

Something just feels… wrong.

But you didn’t say that.

Because it didn’t matter.

And just like you expected, she brushed your worries aside, swept them under the rug the way mothers always did. A moment later, your phone pinged, and there it was—her latest unsolicited solution, wrapped in a clickbait headline.

"How to Save Your Marriage!" straight from some old Cosmopolitan article.

You rolled your eyes.

At least it wasn’t like the one she sent last week.

"How to Spice Up the Bedroom."

Where she—repeatedly—asked if your sex life was still healthy.

You stopped replying after that.

Not because your sex life was bad.

It wasn’t.

Suguru was… well.

He was a man built for worship—his, yours, it didn’t matter.

Everything about him had been crafted to please, down to the way he touched you—deliberate, devout, like it was a privilege, like he had all the time in the world to learn what made you tremble, what made you fall apart beneath him.

He made you feel cherished.

Until you started pulling away.

At first, it was small. His arms encircled your waist as you washed dishes, his lips brushing the shell of your ear, the warm inhale before his teeth grazed your skin-

And then the series of kisses, slow and soft, trailing down the column of your neck, down, down, down—

Until you were stepping away.

Another meek smile.

Another I’m just tired.

Because you were.

Three back-to-back night shifts in the ER, too many patients flatlining on the table, your body running on caffeine fumes and pure adrenaline.

And Suguru?

He never got angry. Never snapped, never accused, never let frustration seep into his voice.

"Don’t worry, angel," he’d murmur instead, pressing a final kiss to your temple. "That’s okay."

So patient. So perfectly understanding.

And yet, it wasn’t like you stopped thinking about him.

You didn’t need porn, never did. Not when you had him burned into your mind.

Those pretty violet eyes, the way they darkened when he was between your thighs. The slow, reverent way he kissed up your inner thighs before spreading you open with those thick fingers, working you apart with precise precision.

Every orgasm coaxed from your body with intent, with devotion—like he had some kind of personal investment in unraveling you.

And now, alone in bed, aching, needing, your fingers weren’t enough.

They weren’t his.

They weren’t thick enough, long enough, couldn’t reach that soft, plushy spot deep inside, couldn’t curl just right.

And yet, even back then, you never went to him for it.

Never let yourself ask for what you needed.

And maybe that was the problem.

Maybe it wasn’t about sex at all.

But still—

You refused to tell your mother about the lack of intimacy.

That night, you ended up at Satoru’s place.

Because of course you did.

Satoru had always been a close friend—yours and Suguru’s. And it had never been weird.

Not really.

With Satoru, it was always the little things. The things that didn’t carry weight. The casual venting about insufferable patients, the late-night hospital gossip, the stolen moments of laughter between shifts when you needed them most. He was the kind of person who could pull you out of your own head without even trying, the kind who would let you curl up on his couch without asking questions, shove a glass of expensive sake into your hands when your fingers wouldn’t stop shaking.

He always listened.

He always let you in.

Always took care of you in that easy way only he could.

And it was never weird.

Well—

Except for that one time.

Too many margaritas.

Too much sun.

The three of you sprawled across warm sand in Mexico, waves licking the shore, salt clinging to your skin. Satoru, grinning around the rim of his cocktail, his cheeks tinged pink from the alcohol. "Dare you to kiss me," he’d said, nudging Suguru’s knee with his own, teasing.

And, to your utter shock.

Suguru did.

Suguru’s fingers twisted into Satoru’s shirt, yanking him closer. Satoru melted into it, like he had been waiting. Like they had done this before.

And not just a peck. It was firm. Rough.

Your stomach flipped.

Suguru had never kissed you like that.

Never held you like that.

And maybe it was the tequila, maybe it was the heat, maybe it was the way Satoru’s smug little smirk lingered a little too long after they finally pulled away, but you couldn’t stop thinking about it.

Couldn’t stop wanting it.

Later that night, back in your hotel room, the thoughts had gnawed at you, restless, relentless. You had stepped into the shower beside Suguru, letting the warm water cascade over both of you, watching the way his hands moved over your skin, slow, methodical, worshipful.

"Why don’t you ever kiss me like that?"

Suguru had blinked, his fingers pausing against your ribs. "Like what?"

"Rough." You had half-teased, half-tested.

Suguru’s hands resumed their path, gliding over your hips with the same gentle touch he always had.

"I can’t be like that with you," he murmured, pressing a featherlight kiss to your cheek, then another, then another. "I can’t hurt the love of my life."

Your cheeks burned under the steam, but still -

"What if I want you to?"

A slow inhale, his lips barely grazing your jawline.

"I have patients who need that," he whispered, that same soft patience laced into his voice. His fingertips traced slow, intricate designs into your skin, like he was carving the words into you.

"Those needs are built by people who haven’t been loved properly like you have," he continued, his lips barely touching your temple. "I would rather you remain pure and loved."

Pure.

Loved.

And that was the end of it.

Suguru never brought it up again.

And if you did, he would smooth it over, remind you of his devotion. That he loved you. That he was afraid of going too far. That he couldn’t be rough with you, not in the way he had been with Satoru, not in the way that made your breath hitch and your stomach twist with something you couldn’t name.

Because you were his angel.

His soft thing.

His exception.

And so, when Satoru had opened the door for you, when he pulled you inside with that easy grin, when he draped a blanket over your lap and shoved takeout into your hands.

It was almost enough to forget.

"It’s what Suguru would want," he had said with a wink.

No questions. No judgment.

The couch—his couch, the one he never actually used—was yours for the night.

The hospital had a reputation for running its doctors into the ground anyway. Neither of you were strangers to sleepless nights.

"But—"

"Stay as long as you’d like," Satoru hummed as he unwrapped his container, the scent of soy sauce and fried rice filling the space.

He dragged the word out, his smirk sharpening. "I am gonna have to tell Suguru you’re here. You do know that, right?"

Your shoulders tensed, but you only sighed, sinking deeper into the chair.

"I figured."

Satoru grinned. "We could invite -"

"Nope."

You cut him off before he could even finish, shoving a spoonful of rice into your mouth, eyes locked pointedly on the little red takeout box in your hands, letting the oil seep into the edges of the conversation.

Satoru pouted dramatically, flopping into the chair across from you.

And this—this was what you liked about him.

The moment you told him no, he backed off.

Maybe it was because he was terrible with emotions. Maybe it was because he turned everything into a joke.

But he never pushed.

Until he didn’t.

Satoru was a good friend. Someone who always had your back.

It happened later that night.

The bathroom was dim, the overhead light buzzing softly, casting a sterile glow over the sink. The quiet felt too heavy, pressing in around you, making your own breath sound too loud. Your fingers fumbled with the cap of a prescription bottle, muscles sluggish, exhaustion weighing on you like a physical thing. Just Tylenol. Nothing dangerous. Just something to dull the relentless pounding behind your eyes, to take the edge off, to help you sleep - not forever, just enough.

"Stupid child-proof caps," you muttered, twisting, shaking, trying to pry it open. Your grip slipped, frustration bubbling up as you tried again, more forceful this time.

Then the door swung open.

At the worst possible moment.

The cap finally popped free, and before you could stop it, small, white pills spilled into your palm just as Satoru stepped inside.

For a moment, neither of you moved. The air in the room shifted, thickening with suffocatuon. His usual lazy smirk was nowhere to be seen, replaced by something eerily still. His gaze dropped - to the bottle in your grip, to the pills in your hand, to the exhaustion carved into the planes of your face. You watched the realization flicker across his features, slow, deliberate, something you couldn’t quite place.

Then, before you could react, before you could explain, his hand was already in his pocket.

Your stomach dropped.

"Satoru - " Your voice cracked, uneven, clawing its way out of your throat. "No. No, this isn’t - this isn’t what it looks like."

You stepped forward, reaching for his wrist, but he stepped back. Just out of reach. Watching. Assessing. Already deciding.

"Yeah, it’s Gojo Satoru," he said smoothly, effortlessly - like he was ordering fucking takeout. "I need an emergency psych evaluation."

The words hit you like a physical blow, knocking the breath from your lungs.

Your fingers trembled, cold washing over you as you took another step toward him. "Satoru - stop! Listen to me!"

But that was the problem.

"I didn’t realize it was this bad," he sighed, almost soft, his lips curling into a pitying smile.

He was listening. Too closely. Watching the way your shoulders stiffened, the way your breath hitched, the way your hands curled into fists like you were trying to hold yourself together. You had seen that look before, in the ER, when he assessed patients when he made decisions for them. Decisions they never got to take back.

The walls felt like they were closing in. The room tilted.

Then came the hands on your arms—firm, practiced, final. Voices murmuring in the background. You tried to fight, but the moment was already slipping away.

You were escorted out of his apartment.

Stuffed into the back of a black-tinted vehicle. Flagged by two men in sterile white coats.

Driven past empty streets and dimly lit signs, past any chance of turning back.

Led through cold, sterile hallways, past locked doors and hushed voices.

Which led you here.

Standing at the front desk of a place you didn’t belong.

Wearing stupid pink grippy socks.

Your hands shook at your sides, your pulse hammering in your ears, a deep, aching numbness settling into your bones. You hadn’t expected Satoru to betray you. Hadn’t expected him to smile so softly as he handed you over, hadn’t expected the way his hand lingered on your back, firm, reassuring, as if he thought he was helping.

Surrounded by people who didn’t believe you.

And you sure as hell hadn’t expected to be locked away in the so-called presidential suite of the mental hospital - reserved for the rich and famous.

Or, in your case, the pitifully well-connected.

The walls were a soft pastel pink, littered with bunny and flower decals, the kind that practically screamed, "Everything is sunshine and rainbows!" 

Except it wasn’t.

It didn’t help that fresh flowers sat on your nightstand, always roses. Suguru’s favorite gesture. Romantic, thoughtful. Except he’d gone the extra step—meticulously removing every thorn. So you couldn’t even shove them down Satoru’s throat if you wanted to for dragging you to this place. 

Instead, you were stuck with a locked door. No bathroom. A sad excuse for a sippy cup of water. And a plush, inviting bed you were now restrained to after your roster status conveniently changed from stable to unstable.

You nearly jumped at the sound of the door unlocking.

In walked him.

Suguru. Your beloved ex-husband. 

He stepped inside with that same effortless grace, his lab coat crisp, sleeves pushed just slightly to his elbows, revealing the same steady hands that once traced every inch of your skin. The scent of clean linen and something faintly musky—his scent—lingered as he moved. His dark hair was neatly tied back, a few stray strands framing his face in a way that made your stomach lurch.

"Miss Geto," he greeted, voice smooth—velvety, like he was speaking to a lover rather than a patient.

Something inside you cracked. 

"Don't," you snapped, harsher than intended like the word had torn its way through your throat baring your teeth. "Let me go."

Then, without hesitation, he pulled up a chair and settled across from you, as if this was just another late-night conversation over tea at the kitchen table. The same easy grace, the same quiet patience. Clipboard in hand, pen scratching against the paper in slow, measured strokes, like he was making note of the way your chest rose and fell just a little too fast, the way your fingers twitched against the thin hospital blanket.

Like he still knew you better than anyone.

"You’re my patient," he mused, his voice dangerously calm. "Who attempted suicide."

"I did nothing of the sort," you spat, the words flowing out too fast, too sharp. 

Suguru barely lifted his gaze, still focused on his notes. Reading out loud what you had told the nursing staff when you were admitted. 

"The bottle spilled. An innocent mistake anyone can make. Even a professional like yourself."

That finally got him to look up. He smiled.

Suguru’s smile was infuriatingly soft like he was humoring a particularly stubborn child. He set the clipboard down, fingers interlacing as he leaned forward slightly, as if trying to make you feel heard, as if he actually believed this was some kind of productive conversation.

"An innocent mistake," he repeated, tilting his head. "Is that what you’d like to call it?"

You clenched your jaw. "It’s the truth."

Suguru exhaled through his nose, shaking his head slightly, a slow, measured disappointment. "Y/N, you know I can’t just take your word for it."

"Why not?" you snapped, your voice sharp, desperate, cracking at the edges despite your best efforts. "I am telling you what happened."

His gaze softened - not in pity, not in understanding, but in something far worse.

"Because I know you," he said simply, like that was supposed to mean something, like that was supposed to be enough. "I know how you get when something is wrong. And I know you wouldn’t be here if there wasn’t something wrong."

Your nails dug into the soft fabric of the restraints wrapped around your wrists.

"Something is wrong," you hissed, venom laced in every syllable. "My so-called best friend had me committed based on a bullshit assumption, and my ex-husband—who should be the last person with a say in my well-being—is now sitting here acting like he gets to play God with my life."

Suguru didn’t flinch.

Didn’t waver.

If anything, his patience deepened.

"Satoru was worried about you," he murmured, his voice smooth, steady, controlled. "We both are. How do you think I felt hearing that my wife attempted suicide?"

You barked out a laugh - sharp, bitter, ugly.

"Worried?" The word burned as it left your throat. "No. Satoru was being his usual overdramatic self, and you -"

Your breath hitched. The words sat on your tongue, heavy, rancid, tasting worse than bile.

"You’re just enjoying this, aren’t you?"

Suguru blinked. His expression didn’t shift, didn’t flicker.

Unreadable.

Untouchable.

Your pulse pounded in your ears, drowning out the sterile hum of the hospital.

"You get to keep me here." The rage trembled beneath your skin, a wildfire barely contained. "Control me. Make me talk to you. Because you hated that I left."

"Hated that I didn’t need you."

And then, you gestured - jerked against the restraints just enough for them to bite into your skin, to make a point, creating angry markings against your skin.

"And now, look! Here I am. All wrapped up and delivered straight to you."

A long silence stretched between you.

The weight of his gaze settled over you, suffocating, crushing.

Then—

Suguru reached for his clipboard, flipping through a few pages, slow, cautious.

"You think I want to control you?" he mused, barely glancing up, attempting to avoid your gaze. "Think I wasn’t worried when I got the call?"

There was something almost amused in the way he said it.

You bared your teeth, chest rising and falling too fast, anger crackling under your skin like a live fire.

"Don’t you?"

Suguru sighed, rubbing at his temple, slow and methodical, before finally looking at you.

You stared at him, waiting.

Waiting for the punchline.

Waiting for him to drop the act—for his mask of careful patience to crack and show something real, something human.

You inhaled sharply, exhaled in small, uneven breaths, the air in the room too thick, too sterile.

Suguru just watched you.

He let a few beats pass, like he was waiting for you to finish, like he was giving you time—as if this was just another tantrum that needed to run its course.

And then—

He smiled.

"I need a urine sample," he murmured, voice smooth, as if the past few minutes hadn’t happened, as if your rage, your desperation, was nothing more than an inconvenience.

You scoffed, shifting against the restraints. "Fine. Take me to the bathroom." You turned your head away, expecting the click of the buckles being undone any second now.

It never came.

"That’s not how things work here, angel," Suguru mused, his voice a slow, deliberate test—poking, prodding, waiting for your reaction.

Your hands curled into fists. "Angel." That pet name he used to say with love. That pet name that now sounded like a leash tightening around your throat.

You inhaled sharply, forcing yourself to stay calm. "Suguru," you started, voice level, "hospital protocol states that urine samples are to be taken in the restroom. In private. At most, a guard may be present. You know this."

Suguru simply shook his head, looking almost gladden at your attempt to argue. "This isn’t your ER," he reminded you smoothly, tilting his head. "This is my hospital. And here, we take precautions. We have to ensure you don’t harm yourself… or tamper with the sample."

Your breath hitched, another furrow of the brows. "Tamper -"

"Don’t worry," Suguru cut you off, still unbearably calm, like this was just another mundane part of his day. "I’ll be completely professional."

You stared at him, anger burning so hot in your chest it felt suffocating.

Dick.

"You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?" you hissed.

Suguru didn’t react. Just leaned back in his chair, the cup still held between his fingers, watching you with that same unreadable patience.

"Come on, angel," he murmured, almost teasing now. "We can do this the easy way or the hard way." 

You hated him.

Not in the way you hated Satoru for his dramatics, or your mother for her unsolicited marriage advice.

No.

You hated Suguru in the kind of way that made your skin itch, that made your blood run cold with fury. The kind of hatred reserved for someone who knew you inside and out—who knew exactly what would break you, and took his sweet time doing it.

“I want Shoko present then,” you huffed, chin tilted up, clinging onto whatever scraps of control you had left. “A different doctor.”

Suguru barely reacted. Just tilted his head, twirling the specimen container lazily between his fingers. "She just finished her shift. She cannot legally return for 72 hours."

Bullshit.

"Mei Mei," you shot back immediately.

"Busy handling more special cases," Suguru countered smoothly, not missing a beat. "More aggressive ones."

Of course. Of course.

You knew exactly what he was doing. Boxing you in, narrowing your choices, giving you just enough illusion of control to make you feel like you weren’t completely powerless.

And then, he dropped the final option. The only option.

"If you want a different doctor," he sighed, so patronizing, so patient, "then you may request Satoru."

Your lips parted, rage curling on your tongue, ready to tell him exactly where to shove that offer—

But then something cold and spiteful took over.

"Fine," you bit out, keeping your glare locked onto his. "Call him."

You weren’t expecting much - maybe a slight twitch of his jaw, a roll of his eyes, anything that would prove you’d gotten to him, even just a little.

But no.

Suguru only smiled. Soft. Unbothered. Always one step ahead.

"Alright, angel," he murmured, standing with a slow, practiced ease. "I’ll go grab him. Whatever makes you feel more comfortable."

Like he was indulging you.

Like he was being the bigger person.

Like he was waiting for you to realize how ridiculous you were being and apologize.

You squeezed the specimen cup so tightly in your hands you thought it might crack. Your nails dug into the plastic, jaw clenched so hard your teeth ached. Satoru just stood there, completely at ease, watching you like he had all the time in the world.

His grin was unbearable. The casual way he leaned against the door, arms crossed, like this was fun for him. Like he wasn’t standing in front of someone who was actively fighting off the urge to snap.

"Need me to hold the cup?" he teased, tilting his head, voice all sugar and mockery.

You blinked at him, your mind blank for a moment—so full of rage that it looped back into emptiness. A white-hot static filled your ears. Your hands itched, ached to throw the cup at his face, to shatter the glass of the observation mirror behind him, to break something—anything—

But you just swallowed, holding your ground.

"You’re not going to turn around?" you asked, voice deceptively calm, but you could hear the crack in it.

Satoru shook his head, all easy amusement, that soft white hair swaying with the motion. "What if you’re using someone else’s—"

The pressure in your chest reached a peak, and before you could stop yourself, you snapped.

"How the hell would I get someone else’s urine, Satoru?"

It came out sharper than you intended, more raw, more exhausted. You saw the moment he caught onto it - saw the way his smirk deepened, how his fingers twitched at the thrill of getting under your skin.

You hated that.

You hated him.

You gripped the cup harder. Your heartbeat pounded in your ears, arms shook with the effort of keeping yourself together. The room was too small. The air was too thick. Everything felt wrong.

"So snappy," he murmured, like he was pleased. Like this was all some game or prank that you were just waiting for the camera crew to come in and tell you "get pranked!"

Except it wasn't. You were still hovering over a drain embedded in the pale blue floor trying to pee.

Throw it at him. The thought came unbidden, cold and quiet. Just throw it. Wipe that smirk off his face. Give him something real to laugh about.

Your fingers twitched.

No.

No, because that’s exactly what he wanted. That’s exactly what Suguru wanted. To watch you spiral. To document it. To mark it down in that damn file.

Satoru pushed off the wall, stretching, rolling his neck. "Relax, princess," he said, ever the smug bastard. "Just following protocol. Who knows? Maybe you planned this."

Your vision blurred at the edges.

You wanted to scream.

Maybe you planned this. Slow and mocking rang through your ears. 

You wanted to hit him.

You wanted to rip your way out of this room, out of this fucking hospital, out of your own skin -

But you didn’t.

You stood there, chest rising and falling too fast, your hands gripping the specimen cup like it was the only thing keeping you tethered to yourself. To your sanity. 

Because if you gave in—if you screamed, if you threw something, if you lost control—

So instead, you swallowed the fire in your throat, stuffed the rage down where it burned deep in your gut, and forced your lips into a sickly sweet smile.

Then they’d win.

"Then I guess you’ll just have to watch me pee," you whispered, voice deceptively soft.

You wanted to see his smirk falter, just for a second.

It didn’t.

Satoru crouched down to your level, resting his chin on his hand like this was the most interesting thing in the world. His bright blue eyes shimmered with amusement, waiting, watching.

"You know…" he started, tone light, teasing as if he weren’t watching you at your most humiliated. "I was really worried about you."

You refused to look at him, your grip on the cup tightening, your focus locked on the pristine blue of his scrubs.

"Yeah?" you muttered, voice flat.

"Mhmm." His hum vibrated with something smug. "The nurses - " he dragged the word out playfully like he was gossiping at brunch, " - think you planned this. That you missed Suguru so much, you just had to get yourself locked up in his hospital…"

Your hands trembled slightly, the sheer rage threatening to make the cup slip.

Satoru noticed. Of course he did.

Then you noticed it.

The tent in his pants.

Your stomach twisted, nausea curling in your throat, but before you could process it, his gloved fingers brushed your cheek, guiding your face toward him. His blue eyes dazzled- a trap disguised as something beautiful.

"Don’t worry," he went on, casual, sweet, like you were just two friends catching up over coffee. "It’ll only be a couple more days until you get to leave. Maybe…" he trailed off for dramatic effect, grinning as if he was pitching you something fun, "we can go home all together."

"But I know better," he murmured, his breath tickling your skin. "You’re a good girl, aren’t you?"

What the hell was he playing at? And before you could stop him, before your brain could even process it—

His lips pressed against your forehead. Soft. Chaste.

Mocking.

The cup slipped from your hands.

It hit the tile with a sharp clatter, the urine spilling onto the floor, and swirling down the small drain.

Satoru stayed close, close enough to feel his smile against your skin.

Then he pulled back, taking in the mess with a soft whistle.

"Oops," he cooed, lips twitching in amusement. "Butterfingers."

You stared at him, nails digging into your palm, pressing hard enough that you should have drawn blood—would have, if Suguru hadn’t meticulously trimmed and filed them down.

To the point where they couldn’t even leave a mark. Couldn’t harm anyone. Something about it being protocol. 

Satoru’s grin widened, his teeth practically sparkling. Bright blue eyes brightening. "Guess we’ll have to try again! The second time’s the charm, right?"

The sound of the slap cracked through the sterile air like a gunshot.

Your palm stung, the heat of the impact lingering on your skin, but it was nothing compared to the way Satoru’s head had barely turned with the force of it.

That grin.

It didn’t falter.

Didn’t waver.

His face remained tilted to the side for just a second, the red mark of your palm blooming on his cheek. But when he slowly turned back to you - his lips stretched into something wicked.

You could’ve sworn the red on his face wasn’t just from your slap.

But a blush.

"Ohhh," Satoru exhaled, his grin widening. His tongue swiped over the inside of his cheek like he was tasting the sting. "Now that’s the fire I missed. Though you didn’t wash your hands, princess."

Your stomach dropped.

The heat in his eyes wasn’t just amusement.

He liked that.

"That felt good, didn’t it?" he mused, tilting his head, gaze never leaving yours. "You wanna do it again?"

Your whole body locked up, muscles coiled so tightly they ached. The rational part of you screamed don’t react—don’t give him what he wants. But the rest of you—the part that was sick with rage, humiliation, helplessness—wanted to slap him again. Wanted to make him hurt.

Satoru saw it. Felt it.

And he loved it.

He leaned in ever so slightly, voice dropping lower, playful yet taunting. "Come on, sugar. Let it out."

You curled your fingers into fists, so close to giving in—

And then the door clicked open.

Suguru stepped in, clipboard in hand, dark eyes flicking between the two of you, taking in the charged atmosphere with a knowing hum.

Satoru, still grinning, straightened up, stuffing his hands into his pockets. "Well," he drawled, stretching lazily, "unfortunately, we still need that sample."

Suguru raised an eyebrow. "Trouble?"

"Nah." Satoru waved a hand dismissively, glancing down at you once more, his smirk never once faltering. "We were just bonding."

"I see," Suguru murmured, not even looking at you as he jotted something down on the clipboard. His eyes flicked to the urine spill on the floor, and then back to Satoru, as if this was nothing more than a mild inconvenience. "I’ll call someone to clean up your mess, angel. We can just wait until you have to go again, won’t we? Need you hydrated for your blood test anyway."

You weren’t sure what you were feeling.

Fury?

Dread?

Humiliation?

Some horrible concoction of all three, swirling in your chest, making it impossible to breathe.

Satoru let out a soft, amused hum beside you, still rubbing at his cheek as if savoring the sting.

Suguru’s pen paused. "Did she slap you, Satoru?"

The words were deceptively gentle. His gaze drifted to his best friend’s pale skin, now tinged pink, his expression unreadable.

Satoru, ever the little shit, grinned. "She sure did!" He shot you a wink. "She’s still got that fight in her, huh?"

Suguru exhaled slowly, tapping the clipboard with the end of his pen before leveling you with the most patronizing look you had ever seen. There was no cruelty in his expression, no outright malice. As if he had already decided what you were before, you even opened your mouth.

"Suppose we have to add aggression to your chart, then…"

Your stomach twisted again, you were about to speak out, defend yourself -

"Have to keep you away from the other patients and nurses," he continued, his voice calm, like he was making a note about the weather instead of your freedom. His pen moved smoothly over the page, unbothered, effortless. "Don’t want any more staff getting hurt."

Your pulse pounded against your ribs, the sharp pressure of your heartbeat making your vision blur for a moment. "I am not aggressive." The words came out too fast, too desperate, as if sheer force could make them true in his mind.

Suguru didn’t even glance up from his notes. "Of course not, angel." His voice carried the same devoted softness it always had, the same infuriating patience.

The sound of his pen moving against the clipboard might as well have been the click of a lock.

They were rewriting you right in front of your eyes, shaping you into something else—someone else. Piece by piece, erasing what didn’t fit, twisting reality into something they could control.

A violent patient.

An unstable patient.

A liability.

Your hands trembled against your lap, fingers curling into fists so tightly that your nails pressed into your skin. You could feel the warmth of Suguru’s gaze on you, watching, waiting. You wanted to fight back, to rip the clipboard from his hands, to make him listen. But you already knew how that would end. Another note in the file. Another checkmark on their list. Another reason for them to keep you here.

Days passed, though they bled together, time warping under the weight of routine. You spent most of it trapped in the common room, though there was nothing common about it. There were no other patients. No quiet conversations or hushed laughter in the corners. No sounds of therapy sessions or shuffling feet down the halls. Just you. Just him.

Satoru sat across from you, long legs stretched out beneath the too-small plastic table, posture relaxed as if this was just another lazy afternoon. His hand moved methodically over a coloring page, crayons scattered across the table in a mess of childish hues.

"Don’t you have other patients?" you asked, your voice tight, the question slipping out before you could stop it. Your fingers curled around a yellow crayon, grip stiff, too firm.

Satoru didn’t look up. Instead, he kept humming to himself, dragging slow strokes of purple wax over the page, his movements too steady, too deliberate. "I'm going to color my flowers purple." He flipped the page toward you with a smug little grin. "What color are you going to do yours?"

Satoru noticed. His grin grew, slow and satisfied, as if your irritation was more entertaining than the coloring itself. "Need me to help you out there, princess?" he teased, leaning forward slightly. "See, you have to—"

Your paper sat untouched. Blank. Couldn’t bring yourself to play along.

"Satoru."

The crayon in your hand snapped before you even realized you were gripping it too hard. A jagged, broken edge crumbled onto the table, wax flecks scattering across the surface.

The hum of casual amusement in the room vanished.

Satoru stilled. His lips parted slightly, and for the first time, his sharp, blue eyes locked onto you with something heavier than teasing amusement.

Satoru chuckled. It was quiet at first, low, controlled, but then it spilled out in full, bright and infuriating, his lips stretching into something too wide, too pleased.

"I asked you a question," you said, your voice shaking - not from fear, but from the sheer, unbearable restraint it took not to hurl the broken crayon at his smug, unbothered face.

"You really don’t like playing house with me, huh?" he mused, tapping the broken crayon piece with his finger as if it fascinated him. "Come on, princess, lighten up. You’re making it seem like you don’t enjoy my company. We used to be so close before all of this."

Your jaw tightened, frustration grinding in your chest. This was a game to him. A performance. You were the only one who hadn’t seen the script.

"Answer the damn question."

Satoru tilted his head as if weighing his answer, as if he was letting you believe you had any say in how this conversation would go. Then, with a lazy stretch, he sighed, tone dramatically put-upon, like he was humoring you.

"Not really," he admitted. "No one else here really needs me the way you do."

The words crawled under your skin like something sick and wrong, twisting deep in your gut before you could shove them away.

"The way you do."

Like you were needy.

Like you wanted this.

Like this was all for you.

The slow, creeping horror curled through your veins, tightening around your ribs, but you forced it down, pushed past it. You gritted your teeth, fingers digging into your palms. "I don’t need you."

Satoru’s smirk widened, stretching just a little too far, as if he could see the fraying edges of your composure and was thrilled by it. You were going to snap. You wanted to slap him again, wanted to claw at his stupid, smug, self-satisfied face, wanted to do something—anything—to wipe that look off of him.

But you didn’t.

Instead, you forced yourself to move slowly, deliberately, picking up the ridiculous sippy cup they had given you, the plastic cool and smooth against your trembling fingers. You took a sip, the artificial sweetness coating your tongue, the taste almost childish in its simplicity. The act of swallowing felt too thick, like your throat didn’t quite want to obey. Just as carefully, you set the cup back down on the tiny plastic table, making sure not to let it shake in your grip.

You had to be calm.

You weren’t insane.

You weren’t crazy.

You weren’t violent.

But the air was too thick, the walls pressing in, the stupid, unfinished coloring page in front of you mocking in its blankness. The pressure inside your chest swelled, wrapping around your ribs like a tightening coil. Your vision blurred at the edges, hot and unwelcome, and you clenched your fists in your lap, willing it away, forcing it down.

Satoru noticed. Of course, he noticed.

"Aww, princess," he murmured, his voice honey-sweet, mocking in its gentleness, and before you could react, before you could pull away, he was pulling you in. Strong arms wrapped around you, warm, suffocating. The scent of him—clean linen, faint cologne, something unmistakably Satoru—invaded your senses, pressing in on all sides.

"Hey, it’s okay to cry," he cooed, his lips ghosting over your forehead before pressing a kiss there, his voice a soothing lull—deceptively soft. "This is a safe space."

Safe.

Safe.

Safe.

The word reverberated in your skull, clashing violently with the truth. This wasn’t safe. This was a cage. A well-kept, carefully controlled cage, but a cage nonetheless. And yet—your body betrayed you.

Because wasn’t this what you were supposed to do? Accept comfort? Let yourself be held? Be good?

"See?" he murmured, fingers stroking through your hair with slow, measured precision. "That’s my good girl."

You nodded weakly against his chest, your body folding into his hold, and the tears finally spilled over - silent, hot, humiliating. His arms tightened around you in response, as if he had been waiting for this, as if he had known you would break.

It was just a matter of when.

The words sent a violent shudder through you, something deep and instinctive recoiling at the way he said it. Like you belonged to him.

Satoru pulled back slightly, just enough to brush a stray tear from your cheek with his thumb, still smiling, still so unshaken, so pleased.

"I’ll bring you some better clothes," he promised, as if he was doing you a favor, like he was some benevolent god. "Something warm, something comfortable."

You swallowed down the thick lump in your throat, nodding again. Maybe—maybe if you played along, maybe if you did what they wanted, they would let you go.

"I don’t think coloring is your strong suit," Satoru mused, his tone light, teasing, trying to smother the moment before had never happened. "We can make paper stars instead! I’ll keep them in my office. Maybe we can make some for Suguru too! Oh, he’d love that! Still has your wedding photo hung up."

Words that landed like a slap, sharp and visceral. Your wedding photo. Still up. Still there. Like nothing had changed. As if those papers you left had no meaning.

The weight of it all bore down on you, and you almost didn’t notice the way Satoru’s hand moved lower.

A slow, trailing touch.

Fingers ghosting beneath the hem of your hospital gown.

Warm against your bare skin.

Your body froze. Every muscle locked up in an instant, but your mind felt numb, sluggish, as if refusing to acknowledge what was happening.

"I just want to make sure you’re okay, princess," Satoru whispered, his lips brushing the shell of your ear, his breath warm against your skin. "Can you show me that you’re okay?"

His fingers pressed just a little firmer, a test, waiting for you to comply. A slight spread of your thighs as his fingers continued their quest.

You weren’t sure what scared you more. The way your body stopped resisting or the way this felt inevitable.

Was it fear?

Resignation?

Were you just enduring, waiting for the moment this would finally be over, so you could go home?

The door clicked open.

Suguru, thankfully, walked in, his dark eyes sweeping over the scene like he already knew what had transpired.

Satoru removed his hand, but the touch lingered, seared into your skin like a brand.

"Ready?" Suguru smiled, that soft, practiced kind, like this was just another routine check-in, like he wasn’t about to upend your entire world again. Wasn't going to drug you back into compliance, wasn't going to hush and calm you when he drew blood for testing.

"You’ve been doing so well the past couple of days—taking your meds, following the schedule—that after this one little test, the head of operations agreed we can move to home treatment…"

He let the words settle, let them sink in before delivering the final blow—

"Since it’s already convenient that we live together."

Your fingers clenched against the table, a cold weight dropping in your stomach.

"We’re divorced," you said slowly, carefully, as if daring him to acknowledge it.

Suguru’s warm, easy smile didn’t falter.

"Mmm, not what your file says," he hummed, stepping closer, his gaze flicking to Satoru’s drawing.

"You didn’t make me one, angel?" His voice was light, almost teasing, but the undercurrent of expectation was there.

"I would’ve hung it up."

Something snapped inside you.

You weren’t sure what.

But you had never wanted to flip a stupid kiddy table more in your entire life.

"Where the hell is Shoko?" The words tore from your throat, sharp and raw. "I want her as my doctor - that is my right."

Suguru blinked at you, his expression shifting—just slightly. Not quite hurt. Not quite anything.

Almost like he had expected this.

"Or the nurses?" you continued, voice rising, trembling with fury. "I want Nanami to be my watch instead of this blue-eyed freak."

You saw it.

The way Satoru flinched. The brief flicker of hurt that crossed his face - so quick, so momentary, but you caught it.

And your heart twisted and cracked.

Because you knew.

You’d always known what that word meant to him.

But you couldn’t stop.

Couldn’t let yourself care.

Because they weren’t listening.

Suguru turned to Satoru, his voice dipping into something colder.

"I think we need to up the dosage."

Then, back to you - his expression unreadable, his tone soft, patronizing.

"I didn’t know you had so much anger in you, angel."

He reached for your face, fingers moving to cup your cheek—

And you smacked his hand away.

The sharp sound echoed in the small room.

Suguru stilled.

He could file down your nails.

He could restrain your hands.

He could drug you into compliance.

For a moment, Suguru was still.

But he could not—would not—control your fire.

Processing.

His expression remained unreadable, but something flickered beneath the surface—something dark, something off. It was subtle, almost imperceptible, but you could feel it, like the quiet shifting of tectonic plates before a catastrophic quake.

Then, under his breath, barely more than a whisper, he uttered a single word.

"Tainted."

It landed like an irreversible diagnosis, a label seared into your skin, a fact that had always been true, whether you knew it or not.

"I have to fix it."

The words were hollow. Void of real emotion. Spoken like an afterthought. A duty.

If anyone here was crazy, it wasn’t you.

"Let’s go."

His voice was measured, slow, as if testing the words, as if feeling them out himself, ensuring they fit within whatever logic governed his mind.

"We can deal with this later."

And just like that, it was decided. He turned away, moving with the same unshakable certainty as before.

Instead, dread curled in your stomach like sickness, spreading through your limbs in slow, creeping waves. Your pulse stuttered as Satoru took your hand, his fingers lacing through yours. The warmth of his palm was comfortable in a sense.

You should have felt relief.

He didn’t look at you.

Didn’t flash that smug grin. Didn’t tease you. Didn’t say a damn thing.

Just walked.

Silent.

Head bowed, guiding you forward like a silent accomplice.

The hallway stretched before you, sterile and pale blue, the kind of color that was meant to be calming but only made your skin feel dirty, wrong. You knew these halls now—the group therapy rooms, the medication table, the office staff area, the standard rooms where the normal patients were kept.

But this wasn’t that.

This was deeper.

The air shifted. The temperature felt colder.

Your fingers tightened around Satoru’s. "What’s the last test?" you murmured, trying to keep your voice steady.

His skin was clammy.

Cold sweat.

A small smile tugged at the corners of his lips, something softer than usual. Something wrong. His thumb traced slow, deliberate circles against the back of your hand—soothing, intimate.

Like an apology.

Suguru didn’t look back.

Didn’t seem to care that Satoru was holding onto you, didn’t seem to mind that the hands he used to hold were now intertwined with someone else’s.

He just walked.

And then—

Unbothered.

The door.

Something different.

Suguru reached into his pocket, pulling out a key. Not one from his usual keychain.

Something meant only for this room.

A cold prickle ran down your spine as the small hairs on the back of your neck stood on end. The air felt heavier, charged, the silence pressing in. Something wasn't quite right.

Where were the nurses?

The ones who usually hovered, who handed out little paper cups of sedatives, who whispered among themselves when they thought you weren’t listening?

The ones Satoru always gossiped with?

Gone.

The hallway was silent.

The key turned in the lock.

A slow, deliberate click.

The door creaked open, revealing a room stark and clinical, stripped of anything human.

Centered in the middle, like an altar, stood a medical table.

Satoru squeezed your hand. Tighter. Like he was preparing you.

Your pulse thundered in your ears, the walls pressing in, your breath coming too fast, too shallow. The air felt thick, suffocating, as if the room itself was shrinking. And then—your gaze fell to the cart beside the table.

The electrodes. The wires. The leather restraints.

No—

The word stuck in your throat, thick and suffocating, choking you before you could even say it aloud. A wave of nausea rolled through you, cold and sharp. Your knees buckled, your body reacting before your mind could fully catch up. Every nerve screamed at you to run.

But Satoru didn’t let go.

"No," you gasped, collapsing to the floor, forcing yourself into dead weight. You pushed back, twisted, resisted—anything to keep from being dragged inside.

Satoru’s grip only tightened.

He was stronger.

"No - no, please!" The words broke from you, frantic, raw, barely holding shape. You kicked out, your body writhing in desperation, fighting against the inevitable. But Satoru just kept pulling, his hands steady, his strength sustained.

Your nails dug into his arm, clawing, desperate to hurt, to leave a mark, to stop this—

But there were no scratches.

Suguru had trimmed your nails.

"Protocol," he had said.

A sob wrenched itself from your throat, broken and shattered.

"Angel."

Suguru’s voice was soft. Warm. Loving. Like he was about to kiss you goodnight.

But he wasn’t.

Because this wasn’t a goodnight kiss.

This was electroshock therapy.

Something traditional.

Something brutal.

Something meant to fix you.

And the worst part? Satoru still wouldn’t let go.

Satoru flinched. Just for a second.

You screamed. Raw, guttural—desperate. It wasn’t just fear. It was betrayal.

The long fingers of his intertwined with yours twitched ever so slightly, like he wanted to let go, like he wanted to change his mind—

But he didn’t.

His grip remained firm, unyielding. A tether holding you down, delivering you to the inevitable.

"Shhh, princess," he murmured, his voice unbearably gentle, a cruel mockery of comfort. His free hand rose, brushing a damp strand of hair from your face with a touch too tender, too familiar.

Like he wasn’t dragging you to the table.

Like he wasn’t helping Suguru break you.

"Don’t make this harder on yourself," he whispered, his thumb stroking slow, deliberate circles against your temple, his expression unreadable.

But his eyes—

His eyes were glassy.

Like he was trying not to cry.

Your stomach turned violently. Your body twisted, fought, bucked wildly against their hold, legs kicking at the linoleum, heels scraping, fingers grasping at anything—

"Please—please, Satoru, I’ll take the meds, I’ll do whatever you want, just—just don’t let him—"

The words cracked, fractured, shattered in your throat, weak and pleading in a way that made you sick.

The weight of Suguru’s hands came next.

Steady. Unyielding. Final.

Like iron shackles pressing into your shoulders, pinning you in place.

"Angel," he sighed, exhaustion bleeding into his voice, like you were being difficult. Like this wasn’t the most terrifying moment of your life.

"You know this is for your own good."

Something inside you snapped.

"You don’t get to decide that!" you sobbed, thrashing so violently that, for just a second, you nearly knocked him off balance.

Nearly.

But Suguru had always been stronger.

They both had.

Your knees buckled, their hands dragging you across the floor, inching you closer—closer—

To the altar.

To your undoing.

Your screams felt smaller in the sterile, hollow air.

"NO—PLEASE!"

Suguru tilted his head, his violet eyes still so soft.

"Why do you always have to fight us, angel?"

His voice wavered—just barely.

Not an insult.

Not an accusation.

A plea.

Like he was asking why you wouldn’t just let him love you.

Why you wouldn’t just let him keep you safe.

A sob ripped through you as you felt it—the cool, sterile touch of metal against your back.

The restraints came next.

"No, no—Suguru, please—"

Your voice broke on his name.

For just a fraction of a second, his hands paused.

His expression flickered.

His fingers twitched.

Like he remembered something.

Something important.

Something about you.

The way you used to lay beside him on quiet Sunday mornings, tracing absentminded circles into his chest. The way you’d whisper I love you against his shoulder before rolling out of bed, before rushing to work, before leaving him behind.

The way you used to trust him.

And now—

Now you were afraid of him.

His lips parted, just barely.

For a second, you thought he might stop.

That maybe—just maybe—you had gotten through to him.

That maybe he would undo the straps. Take you home. Hold you the way he used to. Tell you he didn’t mean it.

That this wasn’t necessary.

That he loved you.

But then his jaw set.

And his hands kept going.

"This is necessary to keep you pure," he whispered, like he was reassuring himself, not you.

The restraints tightened around your wrists.

"Suguru, don’t do this," you whispered, voice pleading, voice breaking.

No response.

Just the final, deafening click of the straps locking into place.

Satoru let go of your hand.

The absence of his touch felt colder than the room itself.

"You’re scaring her," he muttered, voice tight, like this was hurting him, too.

Suguru didn’t respond.

His expression had smoothed into something distant.

His hand shook—just slightly—as he reached for the electrodes.

"NO—DON’T—PLEASE—"

Satoru sighed, rubbing at his temple, shaking his head like this was all just so exhausting.

Then he leaned down, brushing his fingers over your forehead in something almost affectionate.

"Shhh, princess," he whispered.

"It’s just a little reset." As he placed the clothed gag in your mouth.

Suguru’s hands were steady as he placed the electrodes against your temple, securing them into place with slow, deliberate precision.

His fingers lingered.

For just a second.

Like this was the last time he’d hold you.

Like he didn’t want to let go.

"You’ll feel so much better after this," he murmured, voice softer than before. Like he was convincing himself. Like he was telling himself this was right. That this was love.

Like he was hoping it was.

"This is mercy, angel."

"This is love."

Satoru pressed a lingering kiss to your forehead.

And Suguru flipped the switch.

Pain detonated behind your eyes, blinding, white-hot, like lightning through your skull, like static in your veins - erasing, ripping, rewiring.

Your body jerked, your spine arching off the table, muscles seizing, breath vanishing.

Through the haze of agony, you thought you heard something.

A voice. Maybe Suguru’s. Maybe Satoru’s.

Maybe both.

"Shhh, angel."

"It’s okay."

Everything went black.

"We love you."

Thank you for reading! <3

[hammerton365]

You’re in my head24/7

“Y/N,” His voice was stern, clearly fed up with your antics. “M’sorry! It’s just too much..” You groggily trailed off, body shivering at Erens forceful tone. For some back story, you and Eren had started dating 3 weeks ago.

You’d both known each other since college. You, a STEM major, and Eren, a Political Science major you’d happened to have a project together in a science class you both were required to take. You and Eren would hang out with each other between classes, just talking and sharing things that you two had in common. Up until recently you both had clearly been denying your feelings for each other that had lingered for years and decided it was best just to push them away, as Eren was clearly not one for commitment and you were deathly scared of having your heart broken, never being in a relationship or intimate before. Eren loved clubbing and you— being obsessed with him and always wanting to spend time with him, after a night of clubbing, grew tired of seeing him with a new woman every other day, going from girl to girl without any hesitancy. So after a lot of contemplation, you invited him over to confess. To your surprise, he immediately reciprocated your feelings.

And now a few weeks have flown by and you and Eren finally decided that you wanted to be intimate together. Only thing was, there was one teeeny tiny problem— You were a virgin, and never having orgasmed before, not to mention you were very sensitive down there— Something Eren wasn’t used to. At the moment you were laying on Erens silky bedding sheets soaked in sweat and arousal.

Now, you would think that you were sweating because of the marathon sex that you and Eren had indulged in, but no. Truth be told, Eren hadn’t even put his dick inside of you at this point. “C’mon, I don’t have all day, baby.” Erens patience hadn’t always been his best feature, even with you. “M’sorry..” Erens frustrated sigh comes out more of a shaky moan, preparing himself to take you. “Stop apologizing, bend your ass down and stop running from this shit.” His raspy voice sends shivers down your spine straight to your clit, making your inside pulse around nothing. Not wanting Eren to get any more impatient, and may save your chances of having some shred of pussy and sanity left after he is done with you.

You assume your position, his favorite— backshots, as you had been told by him previously. Attempting to give Eren the best arch possible. You looked back at him hoping that he would get the memo that you were ready, “You ready?” He asked, licking his lips seemingly with a fire lit behind his eyes, ready to ravage you. You nodded your head hoping that would be a good enough answer for him— clearly thinking wrong. SLAP “Answer me with words.” It was like his voice went 12 octaves deeper, his jaw clenched. “Y-Yes ‘Ren I’m ready to take you!” You moaned out. Your arousal getting the best of you. He gave your ass a few soft taps “Good job mama,”

Eren wasted absolutely no time slipping into your sweet tight heaven, only to be met with a tight ring of resistance. He lavished in the way that it squeezed around his cock head, making him hiss in pleasure. “F-Fuck haven’t broken one of these in a while…” you little soft Whimper at the stretching sting of his intruding tip, on instinct, your body jerks forward, sliding him out completely.

Before you could go very far, his arm landed on your shoulder, “Darlin’ I’m never gonna get to break you in if you don’t straighten up.” He gave your ass a stinging SLAP. He yanked your arms from in front of you where they were planted onto the bed to keep your balance, leaving you to fall flat on your face. Grabbing both wrists into one hand, and using his other to line himself back up again.

“Ur not gonna have the chance to run away this time, so you better buckle up.” Eren still had some type of humility in him so he continued to go gentle just for the first couple of minutes, sliding in and out of your hole so you could adjust before he finally decided to fully thrust in.

He threw his bed, head back, shamelessly and let out a loud growl, “Aw now that’s what I’m talking about!” he bit his lip as he was at peace to become forceful.

“This is some good fuckin’ pussy!” Your back arched into a C, as the pain slowly feed it out into a more pleasurable feeling your mouth became like a sink, spilling out noises that filled the room. The faster Eren went the more the bed creaked, you almost thought that it would break. “E-Eren fuuucckkk!”

Eren was entranced by the way that your ass met his pelvis, clapping back on him like a standing ovation. You thought it couldn’t get any better until you felt it— Eren had found your g-spot. “AH-shit-shit-shiiitt!” Your toes were curled almost painfully, Eren letting out a loud laugh

“Oh~? Seems I found that little button that makes your brain short circuit.” You somehow managed to free one of your hands from Eren’s tight grip, using it to push back on his hard abs— It’s laughable really, thinking Eren would take mercy on you virgin or not. When he was in the zone he was focused on making his partner cum, no matter what.

“Hands.” His voice was stern almost if you got in trouble for being caught doing something you weren’t supposed to.

“Feels weird Erennnn!” You were going crazy at this point, feeling every vein slide in and out of your soaked walls, but by the time he was done with you you’d be no more than a pile of puddy.

“Somethings coming out— F-Feels l-ike I gotta peee~!” Your legs began shaking, Eren knew you were close, hell you’d never even had an orgasam before and even you could tell.

“Mhm, it’s okay baby, ur going to squirt— just let it all out on papa.” His thrust became sharper, more aimed. With the way you were clenching Eren felt like he could cum right on the spot. Filling your pussy up with his seed and making you his. At this point he had let go of your hands and grabbed onto your hips for leverage, slamming himself into you. When you heard your friends talking about how they wish they could get some dick they could feel in their stomach, this must be what they meant because you could swear that that’s exactly where his dick was reaching and you couldn’t be told otherwise.

Tears begin to bloom in your eyes, further wetting the sheets under you. You were reaching for anything that you could grab to possibly get away from his harsh thrust. “Stop runnin’ from it and take this shit, be a good girl for me.” he leaned down growling in your ear, then taking your earlobe into his mouth to bite.

“I’m gonna cum! Oh god, I’m gonna cum!” You yelled out, screams ricocheting off his apartment walls. Erens cock had been forming a ring around his dick of cream and your wetness, he truly wanted to pick up the creamy mess with his finger and lick his digits clean.

His arms closed around your neck walking you in a chokehold he took it upon himself to begin sucking, hickeys into your shoulder in the side of your neck. His balls were slapping your clit making your eyes cross. His hand going to your chin and making you look into his eyes, enveloping you in a steamy kiss.

Pulling away he continued to look into your eyes, “You. Love. This. dick. Don’t you?” He held a firm look in his eyes, expecting no other answer than yes.

“Fuckkk yeahhh! FUCK!” You knew you were tipping over the edge when your vision was blurred white, it’s almost like the world around you disappeared, and all you could feel was the simmering heat of your orgasm. The feeling shot through like a strike of lightning, making your body lock up in your back arch almost painfully. you screamed out bloody murder, neighbors would almost think someone was plummeting a knife in your back if it weren’t for the sound on the headboard slamming against the wall. You juices slipping past your tight hold wetting up Erens pelvis.

“Ren-! Please slow down, can't take it s’ too much!” You were panting and wontonly moaning, “Take some out!” In response Eren grabs the headboard plowing into you like there’s no tomorrow, ravaging your pussy. “You creamin’ on my shit like the good girl you are?” Eren felt his orgasm approaching, quickly pulling out not wanting to cum just yet— at the night was still you and all you two had was time.

With heavy breaths, both you and Eren panting pushing himself off the bed, he grabbed your foot and pulled you to the edge pressing your knees right under your breast. “I don’t know what you think ur doin’ trying to catch a break but We’re not even close to done sweetheart.” You knew it was going to be a long night…

[justana0kguy]

2024 MAY 09 Solemnity of the Ascension of the Lord Thursday

"I urge you to live in a manner worthy of the call you have received, with all humility and gentleness, with patience, bearing with one another through love, striving to preserve the unity of the spirit through the bond of peace."

~ Ephesians 4:1-2

[wiirocku]

Ephesians 4:2-3 (ESV) - with all humility and gentleness, with patience, bearing with one another in love, eager to maintain the unity of the Spirit in the bond of peace.

[helpfromheaven]

Wear Your Best to Represent the Lord: A Devotional

Art in the Rijksmuseum in Amsterdam, May 30, 2023 Colossians 3: 11-14 Here there is no Gentile or Jew, circumcised or uncircumcised, barbarian, Scythian, slave or free, but Christ is all, and is in all. Therefore, as God’s chosen people, holy and dearly loved, clothe yourselves with compassion, kindness, humility, gentleness and patience. Bear with each other and forgive one another if any of…

[i-hate-peas]

The Old Guard Fic Recs

So I've been a long time lurker within the fandom without ever getting particularly involved, but I wanted to show some appreciation for some of the super talented people who go here, because I have read a lot of incredible TOG fic.

Most (probably all) of these authors have loads of other amazing fics, but I've tried to just chose one from each, to keep the list a vaguely reasonable length. Although then I cheated and did some honourable mentions.

** just a note to say I started this list year (s) ago and forgot about it until literally today when I saw fic recs going round. Any of these fics I haven’t put a description for it’s because I didn’t do it at the time, and if I go back to reread them all this would never be posted, not through any lack of affection or enjoyment **

If any writers want tagging/ untagging etc please let me know! (i knew/ could find some blogs more easily than others lol)

Within Canon

Old Olives by aeli_kindara

Garden of Gethsemane mention = instant tears

Death in Her Hands by superblackmarket

Nile's growing relationship with Joe and Nicky. All of their fics are so beautifully written, but I especially love Nile's relationship with the boys and her facing her own immortality.

Honourable mention: Station to Station

Between the Hour and the Age by hauntedjaeger (@hauntedfalcon)

Andy! Nile!

Ouroboros by CypressSunn (@cypresssunns)

Set after the film, literally just read it.

compassion, kindness, humility, gentleness and patience by Jack_R

A pair of early days Joe Nicky fics that reminds me of 'my wife is a bitch and i love her so much'

let's give them something to talk about by lacecat

When The Cherries White With Blossoms, Be Ready & Be Brave by chapstickaddict

Unearthed by merle_p

I think this is one of the most kudosed fics in the AO3 tag, but it deserves the hype!

Kidnapping for Dummies by Amiril

Similar to above, already very popular, but great and very funny!

The Last Man on Earth by Survivah (@optimismology)

I will admit I don't normally go for Booker/Nile, but this fic sold it to me. Looking at them and their developing relationship as the newer immortals.

Canon Divergent

Retrograde by Pinkninja

I mean this fic is the Big Bitch of the fandom for me, if you haven't already read this, where have you been? But also if you haven't already read this I am so jealous, read it and take your time with it and bawl your eyes out over it and appreciate the joy of reading it for the first time. The level of detail and planning in this fic is indescribable. It follows Nicky trapped in a Time Travellers Wife style life where he jumps back and forth throughout his own timeline, whilst Joe lives his life in chronological order. Exquisitely written.

If Never Again, If Every Day by gallifreyburning and takiki16 (@gallifreyburning, @takiki16)

Another absolute Titan of the genre. I know you’ve already been recommended this 500 times, what more can I say.

though I'm dying to (fall in love with you) by yusufsmoon (@babygirlyusuf)

Travellers from an Antique Land by kaydeefalls (@kaydeefalls)

Andy, not Quỳnh, trapped under the sea. I love all their fics.

AUs

Makes Me Want You More by Sixthlight (@sixth-light)

Perhaps not the typical favourite choice from Sixthlight, one of my absolute favourite TOG authors, but one that is funny and lovely and sweet that I keep coming back to. Shorter than many of theirs but perfectly formed.

pumpkin gnocci verse (series) by Liadan14 (@bewires)

I mean it's got estranged family, suspenseful chronological structure, cooking, spies, intimate and honest sex scenes, hilarious misunderstandings involving keeping halal, lovely found family moments, and the actual recipes used. What more do you want.

The Reality of Everything by Marbletopempire

One of the fics I desperately waited for each instalment for. Very funny, lots of sexual tension, plenty of Cate Blanchette spotting opportunities.

sine qua non by mellyflori (@werebearbearbar)

One of the first of their fics I read, with a very sweet build up of misunderstanding to friends to lovers, involving growing up, discovering sexuality, trying to be nice about your best friend's bad boyfriend, and a long suffering sofa.

The Brooklyn Verse (series) by GayLittleEarring, yusufsmoon, nicelytousled (@marwankenzarisgaylittleearring @babygirlyusuf @nicelytousled)

I saw the creation of this on Tumblr before it was a fic, and it lived up to every expectation. Very sweet and sincere, with lots of great discussions about art, whilst also very funny (Lamp the free loader, Joe sending thirst traps out of irritation) and hot. ItalianAmericanNickyfromBrooklyn and Joe my beloveds.

a good (eighth) impression by deaniker

I love a good hook-up to 'oh shit I have feelings' fic, and this is even more entertaining because Nicky is Lykon's ex, and Joe has very much seen him at his worst.

You do not have to be good by emjee (MerryHeart) (@emjee)

At one point a tumblr post about Joe the Professor and Nicky the Priest got very popular, and I'm not sure if this fic was inspired by that, but is one of the great fics with similar concepts. Such a lovely, gentle fic about love and also identity, featuring also Nile and a very sweet snail.

it's such an almighty sound (series) by raedear (@raedear)

A secret service AU that goes full enemies to lovers, with lots of tension, plotting, betrayal, frustration, and tenderness.

Honourable mention: take my hand (you got me rockin' and rollin')

fight 'til the day that i die 'verse by incurableromancer

Suspenseful, noir, super hero AU that has such a great writing style and is very atmospheric.

if you do take a thief by knoepfchen (@knoepfchen)

Cluedo style AU with lots of fun twists and slow building of backstories, with the whole gang.

Honourable mention: life is not the things that we do (it's who we're doing them with)

[lovethyopps]

clothe yourselves with compassion, kindness, humility, gentleness and patience.

And over all these virtues put on love, which binds them all together in perfect unity.

[novaursa]

The Second Daughter (her grace)

- Summary: You were born as a second daughter under the watchful eye of a full moon. And just like the moon you were beautiful—and cursed to exist only in the dark.

- Pairing: targ!reader/Jason Lannister

- Rating: Mature 16+

- Previous part: what we were

- Next part: the promise

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @oxymakestheworldgoround @l3thal-l0lita @ninihrtss @barnes70stark

In the warmth of Lady Leonella’s private chambers, the flickering light of a dozen candles danced against the gilded edges of the furnishings. A soft breeze drifted in from the narrow window, carrying with it the faint scent of salt from the sea below. Tyland sat opposite his mother, a goblet of wine cradled in his hand, his sharp features softened by curiosity and the faintest hint of amusement.

Jason had excused himself earlier, ostensibly to oversee some final arrangements for the royal guests, leaving his younger twin alone with their mother. Leonella reclined in her chair, her hands folded neatly in her lap as she studied Tyland with an expression that was both knowing and indulgent.

“It’s remarkable,” Tyland began, swirling the wine in his goblet lazily. “I’ve never seen Jason like this. Patient, deliberate… almost cautious. It’s as though he’s become someone else entirely.”

Leonella smiled faintly, her gaze shifting to the golden lion embossed on the rug beneath their feet. “He’s the same Jason you’ve always known,” she said softly. “But the Princess Y/N… she brings out something in him. Something I feared had long since been buried under his pride.”

Tyland arched a brow, leaning back in his chair. “And what is that, Mother?”

Leonella’s eyes twinkled as she looked up at him. “Humility,” she said simply. “Your brother has always been a man of confidence, of certainty. But with her, he treads carefully. He’s thoughtful. Considerate. She challenges him in ways he doesn’t even realize.”

Tyland chuckled, taking a sip of his wine. “It’s certainly a change of pace. I expected him to charge in like a lion on the hunt, roaring and snapping his jaws until he got what he wanted.”

Leonella shook her head, her expression softening. “That would never work with the Princess. She’s not like the women Jason has courted before. She requires patience, understanding. She sees the world differently, quite literally, and Jason knows that.”

Tyland tilted his head, his smile fading slightly as he considered her words. “It’s strange,” he admitted. “Jason has never been one for quiet pursuits. And yet here he is, walking on eggshells and waiting for her to decide.”

Leonella’s gaze sharpened, though her tone remained gentle. “Your brother may seem impatient to you, but he understands that this is not a game to be won. The Princess is worth the effort, and Jason knows it.”

Tyland sighed, setting his goblet down on the table between them. “I’ll give him credit for persistence,” he said, his tone light but tinged with genuine admiration. “But I still can’t believe he stayed in the capital as long as he did, waiting for her answer. And now, hosting the royal family here, catering to every whim…”

Leonella smiled knowingly. “He doesn’t see it as a burden, Tyland. He sees it as a privilege. And if you had spent more time observing him around her, you’d understand why.”

Tyland raised a brow, his curiosity piqued. “Enlighten me, then. What is it about her that’s turned my brother into this… patient suitor?”

Leonella’s expression softened, her voice lowering slightly. “She has a way of making him feel seen, Tyland. Truly seen. Not for his titles or his ambitions, but for who he is beneath it all. It’s rare for Jason to let his guard down, but with her, it seems almost effortless.”

Tyland leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees as he regarded his mother thoughtfully. “You’re surprisingly fond of her already,” he said, a note of teasing in his voice.

Leonella smiled, though her gaze remained steady. “She reminds me of Queen Aemma,” she said quietly. “Not just in her grace, but in her strength. There’s a quiet resilience to her, a depth that draws people in without them even realizing it.”

Tyland’s expression turned contemplative as he processed her words. “If Jason truly cares for her,” he said slowly, “then I hope he knows what he’s getting into. A Targaryen princess is no small prize—or burden.”

Leonella inclined her head, her expression unreadable. “He knows,” she said simply. “And for once, I believe he’s willing to bear the weight.”

The room fell into a comfortable silence, the soft crackle of the hearth filling the space as Tyland leaned back in his chair, his thoughts still lingering on his brother’s transformation. Whatever the future held, it was clear that Jason’s pursuit of the Princess was unlike anything Tyland had ever seen—and perhaps, just perhaps, it was exactly what his twin needed.

Jason stood in the open courtyard of Casterly Rock, his green eyes scanning the array of servants and supplies he had assembled with a mix of determination and trepidation. A table was being prepared near the fountain, laden with fresh fruits, breads, cheeses, and a selection of sweet treats he had personally requested from the kitchens.

“This has to be perfect,” Jason muttered under his breath, running a hand through his hair. “It’s not every day you get to impress a Targaryen princess.”

“You’ve already done plenty of impressing,” a voice chimed in behind him. Jason turned to see his younger cousin, Ser Alester Lannister, strolling toward him with a crooked grin. Alester, known more for his charm than his competence, was carrying a basket of roses that he had picked himself—albeit haphazardly, with thorns still clinging to the stems.

Jason arched a brow. “And what exactly are you doing here, Alester?”

Alester shrugged, setting the basket down with a flourish. “Helping, of course. I couldn’t let my dear cousin take all the credit. Besides, the court is already whispering about how enamored you are. You might as well let me add a touch of Lannister flair to this little outing.”

Jason sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “This isn’t about flair, Alester. It’s about making the Princess feel comfortable. She’s not the sort to be wooed by grand gestures or ostentation.”

“Ah,” Alester said with a dramatic nod, “the quiet, understated type. Still, there’s no harm in a little charm.”

Before Jason could protest further, Alester had taken it upon himself to direct the servants. He began rearranging the table, moving the centerpiece—a modest arrangement of white and yellow flowers—so that it teetered dangerously close to the edge. He then plucked a goblet of wine from one of the trays and handed it to Jason with an exaggerated bow.

“Here, practice looking suave,” Alester quipped, his grin widening.

Jason groaned, setting the goblet back down with a sharp clink. “Alester, if you’re going to help, at least try not to ruin everything.”

“Ruin?” Alester placed a hand over his heart in mock offense. “I’m enhancing, cousin. There’s a difference.”

Their bickering was interrupted by a loud crash as one of the servants, attempting to move a tray of lemon cakes, stumbled over Alester’s discarded basket of roses. The tray went flying, sending the delicate pastries scattering across the cobblestones. A chorus of gasps followed, and Jason’s jaw tightened as he turned to glare at his cousin.

“Enhancing?” Jason repeated dryly, his tone laced with irritation. “Is that what you call this?”

Alester winced, holding up his hands defensively. “A minor setback. Nothing we can’t fix.”

Jason exhaled sharply, running a hand down his face as he surveyed the mess. The once-pristine setup was now in disarray, with toppled platters and scattered rose petals littering the ground. The servants scrambled to recover what they could, their faces pale with worry.

“Just… stop,” Jason said finally, his voice heavy with exasperation. “I’ll handle it.”

Alester hesitated, his grin faltering slightly. “Jason, I—”

“Leave,” Jason cut him off, his green eyes flashing with frustration. “Go find something else to do, preferably far away from here.”

Alester opened his mouth to protest but thought better of it. With a sheepish shrug, he retreated, leaving Jason to pick up the pieces of his plan—quite literally.

As the servants worked to restore order, Jason knelt to retrieve one of the fallen lemon cakes, brushing off a speck of dirt before placing it back on the tray. His expression softened slightly as he thought of you, your quiet grace and the way your laughter had lingered in his mind. Despite the chaos, he was determined to make the moment special.

“Perfect,” he murmured to himself, his resolve hardening. “It still has to be perfect.”

The mishap, though frustrating, only fueled his determination. This was for you, and Jason Lannister was not a man to back down from a challenge—even one of his own making.

The soft sound of boots against cobblestones announced your arrival before Ser Lorent’s steady voice called out, “Lord Jason, the Princess has arrived.”

Jason, standing amidst what could only be described as the remnants of a valiant effort, turned toward the sound. His eyes widened slightly, betraying the panic that awoke just beneath his usually composed demeanor. Behind him, a servant hurriedly repositioned a platter of bread while another tried to salvage a spilled goblet of red wine.

“Your Grace,” Jason said, stepping forward quickly, his tone attempting calm but faltering under the weight of his obvious distress. “I—uh, it’s not… quite what I intended.”

You smiled faintly, your head tilting slightly as you caught the lingering scent of roses mingled with the faint sweetness of lemon cakes. The soft rustle of activity around you told the story Jason hadn’t yet put into words. “It smells wonderful,” you said lightly, your tone warm. “And very lively.”

Jason exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair as he approached. “Lively isn’t quite the word I’d use, Princess. Chaotic, perhaps. Disastrous, more accurately.”

Your smile widened slightly, and you turned your face toward him, your voice gentle. “Not at all, Lord Jason. It’s lovely.”

Jason paused, his panic momentarily quelled by your unexpected words. “Lovely?” he repeated, almost incredulously. “Your Grace, half the lemon cakes ended up on the ground, the centerpiece is crooked, and I’m fairly certain my cousin tripped one of the servants on purpose. How is any of this lovely?”

Your fingers brushed lightly against the edge of the chair Ser Lorent guided you to, and you took a seat with graceful ease. “Because you went to so much effort for me,” you replied simply. “And that means more than perfection.”

Jason stared at you for a moment, his expression softening as your words settled over him. Despite the scattered rose petals and the slightly disheveled appearance of the setup, your calm acceptance seemed to strip away the weight of his earlier panic.

“Thank you,” he said softly, his voice carrying a rare vulnerability. “I just… I wanted this to be special.”

You smiled faintly, tilting your head slightly in his direction. “It is special,” you said. “Not because it’s perfect, but because it’s sincere.”

Jason chuckled under his breath, his tension easing as he took a seat beside you. “You’re kinder than I deserve, Your Grace.”

“Perhaps,” you said teasingly, a hint of playfulness in your tone. “But I wouldn’t say so.”

Jason’s gaze lingered on you, his eyes warming as he studied your serene expression. “I suppose,” he said after a moment, his voice quieter, “that this turned out better than I thought.”

You turned your face slightly toward him, your smile widening. “I’d say it turned out exactly as it should.”

Jason leaned back slightly in his chair, the stiffnes in his shoulders easing as he allowed himself to relax in your presence. The soft rustle of the breeze through the courtyard and the rhythmic crash of waves against the cliffs created a peaceful backdrop, making it easier for him to gather his thoughts. He studied your serene expression for a moment, your calmness grounding him in a way he hadn’t expected.

“Your Grace,” he began softly, his tone carrying a rare vulnerability. “There’s something I feel I should say, while we have this moment.”

You tilted your head slightly toward him, your expression curious but patient. “What is it, Lord Jason?”

Jason hesitated, running a hand over the armrest of his chair as he collected his words. “I’ve been told,” he said carefully, “that the court loves its whispers. Its rumors. And I’ve no doubt that some of those whispers will find their way to you, if they haven’t already.”

You smiled faintly, your voice calm as you replied, “Whispers are always louder than they seem, Jason. But go on.”

Jason’s green eyes flicked briefly to the rose petals scattered on the cobblestones before returning to you. “I’ve lived a life that many would call privileged,” he admitted. “And they’re not wrong. But that privilege came with its own expectations—expectations I’ve sometimes met and sometimes… ignored.”

Your expression didn’t change, though there was a quiet attentiveness in your posture that encouraged him to continue.

“I’ve been accused of arrogance,” Jason said with a self-deprecating chuckle. “Of thinking myself untouchable because of my name and my station. And perhaps, at times, there was truth in that. I’ve made mistakes. I’ve been reckless. And I’ve been accused of putting my ambitions above everything else.”

He paused, his gaze steady but his tone softening. “I want you to hear that from me, not from someone seeking to use those truths to cast me in a worse light. You deserve honesty, Your Grace, and I’d rather offer it myself than let you wonder.”

You were quiet for a moment, your fingers brushing lightly over the edge of the table as you considered his words. “You speak as though you’re the only man at court who has made mistakes,” you said finally, your voice carrying a note of quiet amusement. “Or the only one who has ambition.”

Jason blinked, caught off guard by your response. “I—well, I suppose I’m not,” he admitted, his tone slightly sheepish.

You smiled faintly, tilting your head slightly toward him. “I appreciate your honesty, Jason,” you said. “But I’ve never judged a person solely by the whispers around them. Actions speak louder than rumors, and your actions—your kindness—speak well of you.”

Jason exhaled softly, the tension in his shoulders easing further as a small smile curved his lips. “You give me more credit than I deserve, Princess,” he said quietly.

“Maybe,” you replied with a faint smile of your own. “But I prefer to see people for who they are, not for who others claim them to be.”

Jason leaned forward slightly, his green eyes searching your face for a moment before he spoke again. “Then I hope, in time, you’ll see that I mean what I say—that my intentions are genuine.”

“I already do,” you said simply, your voice steady.

Jason’s smile widened, though it was tinged with a rare vulnerability. “You’ve a way of making even the most guarded man feel seen, Your Grace,” he said softly. “It’s… humbling.”

You turned your face slightly toward him, your smile faint but warm. “Then I’m glad,” you replied. “Because you’ve shown me a great deal today, Lord Jason—about yourself and about what truly matters.”

For a moment, neither of you spoke, the quiet understanding between you deepening as the breeze carried the scent of roses and salt. Jason, so often confident and composed, found himself feeling lighter, freer, in your presence—a rare and welcome change.

The sun was high over the expanse of Casterly Rock, while the royal family and their retinue were being entertained in the gardens. Gentle music drifted from a corner of the garden where a small group of musicians played, their melodies blending with the soft hum of conversation among lords, ladies, and bannermen eager to curry favor with the crown.

Jason stood at the edge of the gardens, his eyes following you as Ser Lorent escorted you away to join your family. The faintest smile lingered on his lips, his gaze lingering as you disappeared into the throng of guests. Before you left, he had kissed your hand, holding it a fraction longer than decorum dictated, a gesture that had not gone unnoticed.

“Jason,” a familiar voice broke through his thoughts. He turned to find his mother, Lady Leonella, approaching with the regal stride of a lioness on the hunt. Her crimson gown flowed behind her, and her gaze was fixed on him with an intensity that made Jason’s stomach tighten.

“Mother,” Jason greeted, his tone carefully neutral. “Is something wrong?”

Lady Leonella stopped in front of him, folding her arms elegantly as she studied him. “I want grandchildren,” she said bluntly, her voice low but firm.

Jason froze, his expression shifting from polite composure to startled disbelief. “Mother,” he hissed, his green eyes darting around to ensure no one else could hear. “Keep your voice down!”

Leonella arched a brow, utterly unperturbed by his reaction. “Why should I? It’s the truth, Jason. Your aunt already has five, and here you are, still playing the bachelor at your age.”

Jason ran a hand through his hair, his irritation evident. “I’m hardly an old man, Mother,” he said through gritted teeth. “And this isn’t exactly the time or place for this conversation.”

Leonella’s lips twitched with amusement, but her gaze remained steady. “Oh, isn’t it? You’re courting a princess, Jason. A Targaryen, no less. Do you think I haven’t noticed the way you look at her? Or the way you’ve bent over backward to ensure her every comfort while she’s here?”

Jason sighed, glancing around again before lowering his voice. “I’m well aware of my position, Mother. But this—this conversation—is entirely inappropriate right now.”

“Inappropriate?” Leonella echoed, her tone carrying a note of mock disbelief. “You’re the head of House Lannister, Jason. Your duty is to secure our family’s future, and that includes producing heirs. Or have you forgotten?”

Jason flushed, his irritation mounting. “I haven’t forgotten,” he snapped, then softened his tone. “But can we please not discuss this in the middle of the gardens?”

Leonella tilted her head slightly, her expression softening. “Jason,” she said quietly, placing a hand on his arm. “You’ve done well for our house. I’m proud of you. But time doesn’t wait, even for Lannisters. If you’re serious about the Princess, you need to act decisively.”

Jason exhaled sharply, running a hand over his face. “I know,” he admitted, his voice quieter. “I know what’s at stake. But this isn’t just about duty, Mother. It’s… more than that.”

Leonella’s gaze softened further, a rare warmth in her sharp features. “Then I trust you’ll handle it,” she said, her tone gentler now. “But don’t let this slip away, Jason. She’s remarkable, and you know it.”

Jason nodded, his expression thoughtful as he glanced toward the gardens where you now sat with your family. “I won’t,” he said firmly. “But, Mother, please—no more talk of grandchildren. Not yet.”

Leonella chuckled softly, patting his arm before stepping back. “Very well,” she said lightly. “For now.”

As she turned and walked away, Jason let out a quiet sigh, his mind racing. His mother’s words, blunt as they were, carried a weight he couldn’t ignore. And as his gaze found you once more, he resolved to prove that his intentions—his feelings—were genuine, both to you and to himself.

You were guided carefully by Ser Lorent to the far side of the garden, where Rhaenyra and her ladies-in-waiting sat beneath the shade of a sprawling goldenleaf tree. The laughter and chatter of the larger gathering echoed faintly in the distance, where King Viserys, Queen Alicent, and their children were surrounded by lords and ladies eager to impress. The hum of conversation and the soft music from the musicians created a lively backdrop, but the corner where the two Targaryen princesses sat was notably quieter.

You lowered yourself gracefully onto the cushioned bench beside Rhaenyra, your fingers lightly brushing the edge of the seat for balance. Her ladies-in-waiting, engaged in subdued gossip, paused briefly to acknowledge your arrival before returning to their whispers and giggles. Rhaenyra turned to you, her expression softening slightly, though there was a flicker of concern in her eyes.

“You’ve been scarce, sister,” Rhaenyra said, her tone light but probing. “I was beginning to think Lord Jason had whisked you away entirely.”

You smiled faintly, turning your face toward her. “I’ve simply been enjoying the hospitality of the Rock,” you replied softly. “It is… different here. Quiet, in its own way.”

Rhaenyra arched a brow, her lips twitching into a faint smirk. “Quiet? I imagine Jason has been anything but.”

Your smile widened slightly, a note of amusement in your tone as you replied, “He’s been kind.”

Rhaenyra’s expression shifted, the smirk fading into something more thoughtful. She leaned closer, lowering her voice. “And what do you think of him now?”

You hesitated, your fingers brushing over the fabric of your gown as you considered her question. “He is… earnest,” you said at last. “And attentive. But beyond that, I do not know. This is all quite new to me.”

Rhaenyra studied you for a moment, her gaze searching. “Be careful,” she said softly, her voice carrying a note of caution. “Jason Lannister is not a man to be underestimated. He’s charming, yes, but charm is a weapon he wields well.”

You tilted your head slightly, your expression calm. “So you keep saying and I don’t doubt that,” you replied gently. “But I see more in him than just charm.”

Rhaenyra’s lips pressed into a thin line, though she said nothing further. One of her ladies-in-waiting, sensing the anxiety, leaned in with a bright smile. “The gardens here are lively, aren’t they, Your Grace?” she said, her tone light and cheerful.

“They are,” you replied with a small smile. “I can feel the sun’s warmth even in the shade, and the air carries a freshness I’ve not known in the capital.”

The lady nodded eagerly, her voice bright as she added, “And the sea breeze—it’s so invigorating. I could spend hours here.”

Another lady leaned in, her voice lower as she whispered, “Have you heard the rumors about Lord Reyne? He’s been hovering near the Queen’s table all morning, trying to make himself noticed.”

The first lady giggled softly. “And failing miserably, I’d wager.”

Rhaenyra rolled her eyes, though a small smile tugged at her lips. “The lords of the West are nothing if not persistent,” she said dryly.

You chuckled softly, your tone gentle as you replied, “Persistence is not always a flaw, Rhaenyra.”

Her gaze flicked to you, her lips twitching into a faint smile. “Perhaps not. But I would caution you against mistaking persistence for sincerity.”

You inclined your head slightly, your smile faint but steady. “I will keep that in mind.”

The conversation shifted after that, returning to lighter topics as the ladies-in-waiting resumed their chatter. Despite the quiet of your corner of the garden, you could still feel the hum of the larger gathering, the subtle undercurrents of ambition and intrigue weaving through the air. Though you sat apart from the center of attention, you were acutely aware that the eyes of the court were never far from you or your sister.

The hum of conversation in the garden ebbed and flowed, but the cluster of lords and ladies surrounding King Viserys and Queen Alicent was abuzz with carefully chosen words and half-veiled intentions. Lord Allard Reyne, dressed in deep crimson and silver, stood beside his sister, Lady Margella, who was animatedly conversing with the Queen. His eyes flicked occasionally to where you sat with Rhaenyra, a small, thoughtful smile tugging at his lips as if formulating his next move.

Viserys, seated comfortably in the center of the gathering, was in high spirits, a goblet of wine in his hand as he laughed at a jest from one of the Westerlands lords. Allard seized the moment, stepping slightly forward and bowing with exaggerated politeness.

“Your Grace,” Allard began smoothly, his voice loud enough to draw the King’s attention but not so much as to seem inappropriate. “Might I say what an honor it is to host your family here in the West. Casterly Rock shines all the brighter with your presence.”

Viserys chuckled, waving a hand dismissively. “You flatter me, Lord Allard,” he said, though his tone carried a note of indulgent amusement. “The hospitality of the West has been nothing short of magnificent.”

Allard smiled, his gaze flicking briefly toward you before returning to the King. “I’m pleased to hear it, Your Grace. Though I can’t help but notice how radiant the Princess Y/N looks today,” he added, his tone light but pointed. “A presence as serene as hers adds grace to any gathering.”

Viserys’s smile softened, his eyes briefly glancing toward you, seated beside Rhaenyra in the shade. “Y/N has always had a gift for bringing peace wherever she goes,” he replied fondly.

Encouraged by the King’s response, Allard pressed on, his smile widening. “Indeed, Your Grace. A jewel of the crown. One can only hope such grace and beauty find their match in a suitor worthy of her.”

At that, Tyland Lannister, standing nearby and conversing with a bannerman, turned toward the subtle mention of his brother. His frown deepened as Allard continued, his voice taking on a subtly insinuating tone.

“Of course,” Allard said with an air of feigned nonchalance, “one must consider not just a man’s station, but his reputation. A noble name carries great weight, Your Grace, but so too does how one carries it. It would be a shame for such a treasure as the Princess to be linked to one who… falls short of his responsibilities.”

Viserys’s brows furrowed slightly, the light in his eyes dimming as the insinuation registered. “And what do you mean by that, Lord Allard?” he asked, his tone deceptively mild.

Allard raised his hands in a gesture of innocence, his smile tight. “I mean no offense, Your Grace, only that some lords—despite their noble birth—may have reputations that precede them. One must ensure that a match reflects the Princess’s dignity and honor.”

Tyland, who had been quietly listening, stepped forward then, his voice cool and measured as he addressed Allard. “A curious observation, Lord Allard. Are we now judging a man’s worth solely by rumors whispered in dark corners? If so, I’d be interested to know what rumors circulate about you.”

The subtle jab landed, and Allard’s smile faltered briefly before he recovered. “Of course not, Lord Tyland. I merely speak of the importance of a match befitting the crown’s honor.”

“And you believe yourself such a match, do you?” Tyland asked, his tone polite but bitting. His green eyes, so much like Jason’s, fixed on Allard with an intensity that made the latter shift uncomfortably.

Viserys, sensing the tension, raised a hand. “Enough,” he said firmly, his tone brooking no argument. “I will not have my daughter’s name used to settle petty rivalries.”

Allard bowed quickly, his face coloring slightly. “Of course, Your Grace. Forgive my overzealousness.”

Tyland’s gaze lingered on Allard for a moment longer before he stepped back, resuming his conversation with the nearby lord. Allard, meanwhile, retreated slightly, though his expression was tight with frustration. Viserys, his mood slightly soured, sipped from his goblet, his gaze drifting back toward you with a thoughtful expression.

The subtle currents of ambition and rivalry rippled through the gathering, but the King’s decision loomed like a storm cloud—unspoken but ever-present.

The sun hung high in the sky as Jason Lannister entered the main gathering, his confident stride immediately drawing the attention of several lords and ladies nearby. Clad in rich crimson and gold, with the lion of House Lannister emblazoned on his doublet, Jason carried himself with the ease of a man accustomed to commanding attention. Yet, as he approached the King and Queen, his eyes drifted toward the far corner of the gardens where you sat with your sister, Rhaenyra, and her ladies-in-waiting.

You were seated beneath the shade of a large tree, your serene demeanor a stark contrast to the lively chatter around you. Rhaenyra leaned in close, her tone animated as she shared some whispered remark, earning soft laughter from the ladies at her side. Jason’s gaze lingered on you, drawn to the quiet grace in your every movement, the way your head tilted slightly as if listening to the rustling leaves above.

“Lord Jason,” King Viserys’s jovial voice pulled him back to the present. Jason turned quickly, schooling his expression into one of polite attentiveness as he offered the King a deep bow.

“Your Grace,” Jason said smoothly, his tone warm. “It is an honor to join you.”

Viserys beamed, his earlier irritation with Lord Allard seemingly forgotten. “Come, Jason,” he said, gesturing for the Lannister lord to step closer. “You’ve done a fine job hosting this visit. The Rock has lived up to its reputation.”

Jason inclined his head. “Thank you, Your Grace. It is my privilege to welcome you and your family.”

Beside Viserys, Queen Alicent offered a demure smile, her hands resting lightly on her lap. “The gardens are especially beautiful,” she remarked. “It’s clear great care has been taken.”

Jason nodded, his gaze briefly flicking back toward you before returning to the Queen. “The beauty of the Rock pales in comparison to the honor of hosting the crown,” he replied. “We’ve done all we can to ensure your comfort.”

Viserys chuckled, raising his goblet in a gesture of approval. “And you’ve succeeded admirably, Jason. The feast, the hospitality—everything has been exceptional.”

Jason smiled, though his attention was once again drawn to you as you tilted your head slightly toward Rhaenyra, your expression calm as you responded to something she had said. The sight stirred something in him, a quiet longing that was at odds with the lively chatter surrounding the King and Queen.

Noticing his distraction, Alicent followed his gaze, her sharp eyes narrowing slightly as they landed on you. “You seem… preoccupied, Lord Jason,” she said lightly, though there was a note of curiosity in her tone.

Jason straightened slightly, his smile unwavering. “Not at all, Your Grace,” he replied smoothly. “I was simply admiring the harmony of the gathering. It’s rare to see so many distinguished figures together in one place.”

Alicent arched a brow, her expression thoughtful. “Indeed,” she said quietly, though her gaze lingered on you for a moment longer.

Viserys, oblivious to the exchange, clapped Jason on the shoulder. “Come, join us, Jason,” he said warmly. “There are many here who would benefit from your insight.”

Jason hesitated briefly, his gaze flicking once more to you before he nodded. “Of course, Your Grace.”

Jason had just finished exchanging pleasantries with a bannerman when a familiar, grating voice pierced the air behind him. Turning reluctantly, he found himself face-to-face with Lord Allard Reyne, who was sauntering toward him with the smug confidence of a man who enjoyed pushing boundaries.

“Lord Jason,” Allard said smoothly, inclining his head in a show of exaggerated politeness. “What a pleasure it is to find you here among such esteemed company.”

Jason’s jaw tightened, though his expression remained composed. “Lord Allard,” he replied evenly. “I wasn’t aware you were looking for me.”

Allard’s lips curved into a faint smile. “Oh, I wasn’t, not specifically. But one can’t help but notice when the Lord of Casterly Rock is so… preoccupied.”

Jason’s eyes narrowed slightly, though his tone remained calm. “If you have something to say, Allard, say it.”

Allard chuckled, the sound low and patronizing. “Nothing at all, my lord. Only that it seems you’ve been rather… attentive to our royal guest. The Princess Y/N is truly captivating, isn’t she? A rare beauty, though one wonders if her affections are as easily won as yours appear to be.”

Jason’s grip on his goblet tightened, though he kept his voice steady. “The Princess’s affections are none of your concern, Allard. Perhaps you should focus on matters within your grasp.”

Allard tilted his head, his smile widening as if savoring Jason’s irritation. “Ah, but matters within my grasp are far less intriguing, wouldn’t you agree? Speaking of intrigue, I thought you might be interested to know that Lady Illynara Lydden arrived this morning with her family.”

Jason’s brow furrowed slightly, though he remained silent, waiting for Allard to continue.

“She seems quite eager to speak with you,” Allard added, his tone casual but loaded with implication. “A charming young lady, by all accounts, and one who would make a most suitable match for the Lord of Casterly Rock. Don’t you agree?”

Jason exhaled sharply, his patience wearing thin. “If Lady Illynara wishes to speak with me, she is welcome to do so. But I don’t see why that would be of any interest to you.”

“Oh, no particular reason,” Allard said with a shrug. “Merely that I’ve heard she is well-regarded among the Westerlands and thought it prudent to remind you of your responsibilities.”

Jason’s green eyes flashed, though he kept his tone measured. “My responsibilities are mine to manage, Allard, not yours. Perhaps you should focus on improving your own standing rather than meddling in mine.”

Allard’s smile faltered briefly before he recovered, his tone turning colder. “A fair point, my lord. Though one wonders how long you can afford to ignore such opportunities before they slip away.”

Jason stepped closer, his voice lowering to a dangerous edge. “You’ve said enough, Allard. If you think you can use idle gossip to unsettle me, you’ll find I’m not so easily moved.”

Allard raised his hands in mock surrender, his expression a mask of false contrition. “Of course, my lord. I meant no offense. Only a friendly observation.”

“Friendly,” Jason repeated dryly, his green eyes narrowing. “That would be a first.”

Allard inclined his head, his smirk returning. “Enjoy the rest of the gathering, Lord Jason. And do give my regards to the Princess.”

With that, he turned and walked away, leaving Jason standing alone, his irritation simmering beneath the surface. His gaze flicked back toward you, seated beside Rhaenyra, your serene demeanor a stark contrast to the undercurrents of tension that rippled through the gathering.

Jason sighed, muttering under his breath, “The nerve of that man.”

From across the garden, Tyland caught Jason’s eye, raising a brow as if to ask if everything was all right. Jason gave a brief shake of his head, silently signaling that now wasn’t the time. Instead, he turned his attention back to you, determined to push Allard’s provocations from his mind.

After all, there were far more important matters at hand.

[thatgentlewife]

How to Be a Home and Resting Place for Your Husband

In today’s world, men often carry the weight of providing, protecting, and leading. This calling is a beautiful one, but it can also be overwhelming at times. As a wife, one of the greatest gifts you can offer your husband is the comfort of a home—not just a physical space, but you as a place of rest, encouragement, and peace. Being a firm foundation for your husband allows him to thrive, inspires him to lead with strength, and motivates him to honor you with love and chivalry.

Why It’s Important to Be a Resting Place for Your Husband

• Men Need a Refuge: The world can be harsh and demanding, and your husband needs a safe place to recharge. When you create a peaceful environment, both emotionally and spiritually, he will feel supported and ready to face challenges.

• It Builds Trust: When your husband knows he can come home to a wife who listens without judgment, encourages without criticizing, and loves without conditions, it deepens his trust and love for you.

• It Encourages Leadership: Men are inspired to lead when they feel secure. A wife who supports and respects her husband gives him the confidence to step boldly into his God-given role as the leader of the home.

• It Inspires Chivalry: When a man feels cared for and valued, he naturally wants to reciprocate. Your gentleness and support can inspire him to treat you with tenderness, respect, and honor.

How to Be a Resting Place for Your Husband

1. Cultivate Peace in Your Spirit

A peaceful home starts with a peaceful heart. Spend time with the Lord daily, seeking His presence and wisdom. Ask Him to help you respond with grace, even in difficult moments. When your spirit is rooted in Christ, you become a source of calm and stability for your husband.

2. Create a Warm Atmosphere

Small touches can make a big difference. Light a candle, prepare his favorite meal, or play calming music when he comes home. These gestures show intentionality and create an environment that feels welcoming and safe.

3. Practice Encouragement

Speak life over your husband. Compliment his efforts, acknowledge his hard work, and thank him for the ways he serves you. Your words have the power to lift his spirit and remind him of his worth.

4. Be a Listener

When your husband needs to talk, listen with patience and understanding. Let him share his thoughts without interrupting or offering unsolicited advice. Sometimes, just being heard is all he needs. (Just like us!)

5. Respect Him

Respect is foundational for men. Show respect by trusting his decisions, supporting his leadership, and speaking kindly about him to others. Even when you disagree, approach conversations with humility and grace.

6. Pray for Him

Cover your husband in prayer daily. Ask God to give him wisdom, strength, and guidance. Pray for his work, his health, and his spiritual walk. There is nothing more powerful than a praying wife.

7. Be His Cheerleader, Not His Critic

Build him up instead of tearing him down. If there are areas where he needs to grow, approach them gently and with love. Focus on his strengths and encourage him to become the man God has called him to be.

8. Be Gentle and Tender

Men need tenderness just as much as women do. Offer affection, kind words, and thoughtful gestures. Let him feel cherished and valued through your actions.

How This Inspires Chivalry

When a man feels supported, respected, and cared for, he is inspired to give his best to his wife. A husband who experiences love and peace at home is more likely to honor his wife with acts of chivalry—whether it’s holding the door open, helping with household tasks, or pursuing her heart with intentionality. Your willingness to be his resting place motivates him to reciprocate with love, protection, and care.

Being a home and resting place for your husband isn’t about being perfect; it’s about showing Christlike love. When you offer him peace, respect, and encouragement, you become the foundation he can rely on. And as he feels supported and uplifted, he will rise to become the man God has created him to be—a man who leads, protects, and cherishes you with all his heart.

[mournings-stars]

nothing changes

final and part 3 of the prelude to my orpheus and eurydice angst fic "doubt comes in" parts two and three (if you would like to read chronologically these come first) part five/finale (a semi-alt ending)

includes: heaven lucifer ofc, a little lore, some blending of greek mythology, still a little, if not more ambiguous than before, luci is still a hopeless romantic but a little unreliable in the narration aspect, the fluff is basically over I gave yall a warning on the last part but here's my formal apology... especially since lucifer calls you humility

tags: @lxkeee @viannasthings @majonla @sapphirecaelis

Suddenly, Lucifer was holding the world in his arms. 

A Virtue, asleep in his bed, held to his chest. The very same Virtue he’d admired for so long, sleeping soundly in his embrace as if it were the greatest comfort. 

The night of the Celebration, you left after a single dance, going to his home for dinner, where he had the bouquet you gave him on display in his dining room. It was a fight to leave, Lucifer suggesting you stay as he reluctantly walked you toward the door, eventually relenting and letting you kiss him goodbye when you said you’d see him the next day. 

And the next, and the next, and so on and so forth, nearly every day being spent together now that you both knew how you felt. You never ran out of things to talk about, and getting to see him was the highlight of your day. Especially when he came to Earth to help you work. 

The more time he spent with you, the more he wanted to move with haste and plan an immortal future together; marriage, children, living together, but he had to stop himself, remind himself that you had all the time in the world to move as slowly as you wanted, and a single kiss wasn’t grounds to take off from. For all he knew, you kissed him because you were drunk and only cared for him as a friend. 

Which was enough. He’d take whatever care you were willing to give — and this, a night together, was more than enough. 

But his loud thoughts woke you up, feeling that he was awake and mumbling, “sleep, Luci.” 

He smiled at the way you sleepily said his name, forgetting half of it. He leaned down and kissed the top of your head, your wings stretching before wrapping around him and gently draping over him as you pressed a gentle kiss to his chest, right above his heart. 

How soon was too soon in deciding you’d fallen in love?

He’d asked Sera, who’d lifted his ban from the seasons changing the moment he came to the meeting room to announce that he would tell you depending on her answer… one day. “I’ll wait a hundred years.” To beings like you, that was nothing but a blink of an eye, making her laugh. 

“You may want to tread carefully,” Sera warned. “You know how Virtues are; sometimes, they abandon you.” Everyone knew the stories of Chastity, Kindness, Charity, or Patience, leaving someone broken-hearted. “They can’t love one thing more than another — and they’ll never love a soul more than they love the Earth. It’s what they were made for.”

“I don’t think that’s true,” he said, shaking his head. “We have free will. Virtues, even if they're born for a purpose, have it, too.”

“Yes, but that free will will never come before their duty,” she said simply. “I’m not telling you that you shouldn’t love Humility — Do it. Love and be loved.” He nodded, warm mood returning to him with Sera’s heartfelt blessing. “But don’t put all of yourself into that love, Lu. You could end up with nothing, while Humility takes it and moves on.” At his silence, she continued, “Have you ever seen the way nature itself fights for a Virtue’s attention?” He thought back, the way animals came to you despite a predator or prey being near. Plants blossomed brighter as you walked by. Winds sang, and the sun beamed while rivers rushed and dived to a fall, a pool of water at your feet. “You have it now, but Humility loves it all equally. You will be loved just the same. Not more or less, but equal; equal to that flower you wear, to a hare she finds needing her help, to the grass and dirt that hare walks across… You can’t expect more.”

“I don’t,” he said quickly, easily. 

“And you can never hurt Humility — I’m warning you to respect a Virtue’s duty, to not expect what one can’t give you—“ Lucifer could argue with that, but he held his tongue. “—and I’m also giving my blessing.”

He smiled. “Thank you.”

Perhaps, he never should’ve headed her warning. 

He swore to himself that he wouldn’t, but a warning like that could only do one thing; doubt comes in, planting a small seed in his mind that he couldn’t shake, thinking of Sera’s warning every time he was with you and wondering how you truly felt about him. It was to the point that even you noticed. 

You’d asked him to come down to Earth with you, taking him to a large pond at the base of a waterfall where a pair of ducks circled. He had been happy to see them, realizing you’d taken notice of a golden duck he had on display despite him never showing you. 

“Is everything alright, Luci?” You’d made it a habit of calling him that, first doing it as a joke after he teased you about it, but the joke seemed to stick. 

He smiled, huffing a laugh. “You're perceptive.” You shrugged. “Can I ask you something?” You nodded, waiting for him to continue, but there was a beat of silence. You placed a gentle hand on his, but he took it away. Then he quickly took your hand again, making you chuckle. 

“You don’t have to hold my hand if you don’t want to.”

“I know.” He gave a reassuring smile, then sighed. “Is it true? Virtues love every living thing equally?”

“Ah,” you laughed, “you spoke to Sera.” He nodded. “The other Virtues didn’t leave the angels they loved because we love everything equally — it’s because they expected something they couldn’t give.” You pursed your lips, unsure of whether this would soothe him or push him away. “Yes, it’s in our nature to love all living things equally, but we don’t love them the same. I could never love a soul the same way I love a river,” you said like it was ridiculous to think so. “Or an animal the way I love another angel. It may, theoretically, be equal, but is an angel equal to the wind?” He shook his head, threading his fingers through yours. “So, I may be sinful in saying this,” you joked, “but that would mean I love you more.”

He took it as an explanation rather than a confession of your feelings, a relieved smile coming to his face before he brought the back of your hand to his lips to kiss gently. 

When it came time to transition spring into summer, you let Lucifer help, singing the melody together and flying over Earth as you watched it change. Flowers blossomed and gave you ripe fruits to taste, greenery grew bigger and fuller, and animals basked in the sun as you sang. 

All of Heaven could hear your harmony, reveling in how beautiful it was, and how as you sang it, they could feel your warmth — your love. 

A love so bright and warm it could burn for eons. A song, so beautiful, that when you sang it the world came into tune. 

The song of love.

That was what they began calling it. Hundreds of summers, hundreds of winters. Autumns and springs. For hundreds of years, the two of you sang the song in harmony and Sera’s warning began to mean less and less to Lucifer. 

But doubt comes in. 

Hundreds of years, and your relationship stayed the same. Hundreds of years, and you never told him you loved him. Hundreds of years, and at the back of his mind he knew why. 

Hundreds, and hundreds, and hundreds of years, and humans were brought to the Earth. 

The Earth began to change. Your song was hardly needed, and you frequented less and less. Your animals were hunted and your plants were cut down. You could feel every death, every life leaving the Earth. Your power weakened, and your will to do anything about it weakened with it. 

“It’s how the world must be,” Sera told you when your grief caused rain on Earth at times where it should’ve been calm. “It’s a part of life, Humility.”

“I understand that, just…” You couldn’t articulate your feelings, giving her the perfect opportunity to tell you,

“As a Virtue, you should love and feel for these humans as much as you do for the life you create and care for.”

“You’re right…” All the other Virtues understand, so why couldn’t you? 

Lucifer said it was because Earth was more than just your job. You cared for the mortal world like no other angel did, and that was what he loved about you. It’s why you were so good at what you did. 

And as he told you this, he took you to a garden in Heaven. Plants you’d created and cared for lived endlessly, and most importantly, the animals you felt leave the mortal world were immortalized there. They recognized you, coming to you like they had on Earth and making you happier than he’d seen you since things began changing. 

Lucifer watched the sullen mood you’d been in wash away, and slowly, you began to spend all of your time in this garden.

And doubt comes in. 

To him, you didn’t seem to care whether or not he was with you in the garden, so he left you alone. Day and night, you spent it alone in the garden and he spent it alone in your shared home, falling asleep and waking up without you. 

He busied himself with unnatural creations, spending time in his office, working the days away like he used to. You’d come throughout the day, hoping to see him. You’d make lunch and call out to him, but he never seemed to notice. You spent the days alone, opting to go to the garden he showed you and wishing he were there with you. 

He started to think, to doubt; It wasn’t that the other Virtues couldn’t give the angels they loved enough, it was that they had all the time in the world to do so, to have them wait while they provided and cared for the Earth. They may have loved them more, but that love could be stretched endlessly.  

Before, time was endless on Earth. It was why the seasons needed you, why you never feared the loss of your creations, and why you could say you would love him more. Now, there was a cycle, an order of things, and a hierarchy. All living things you cared for would one day manifest with you in Heaven, where time was once again endless — His immortal life was endless, and he’d always be there for you. You could stretch your love for him as long as he’d let you, while you tended to the garden he showed you. 

So no, he wasn’t equal to the wind, but now he was equal to, if not less to you than, a manifested soul. 

You could never love him more. How could he expect you to?

And Lucifer went down to Earth, in hopes to feel what you felt, to understand how you could feel plants and animals dying. To see how much it changed. 

But he came across someone — a woman. Sera told him she was named Lilith after the beautiful flowers you made bloom, in hopes to lift your resentment of what she and the other elders created. 

He left before she could see him, taking a lily with him. 

He made his way to the garden, finding you there and tending to the plants. 

He cleared his throat to get your attention, making you turn. The smile you gave him made his heart race and wings flutter, you looked so undeniably happy that he was there. He should’ve just come to you like he usually did, he thought regretfully. He had no reason to doubt you when you looked at him that way.

“I brought you something.” He held the flower out to you, watching you take it with so much care. “I went down to Earth today… It hasn’t changed as much as you thought.”

“Really?” You asked hopefully. 

“New life comes every spring,” he told you. “It feels more alive than ever… Though it could use your touch.” He watched your smile grow as you looked down at the flower, twirling it in your fingers. 

“Maybe we can go down together next time.”

“I’d like that.”

How could he have convinced himself to doubt you so heavily? Why would he, so easily, trust the doubt in his mind more than you?

“I was hoping you’d come here,” you told him after a moment. “I — well — I was hoping I’d get to thank you for showing it to me. I know you’ve been busy with work, but I wanted to tell you: this place helped me feel connected to nature again.” There was a moment of pause before you joked, “I can’t say I’m not glad you didn’t see how weak I was, though…” He’d never heard you speak so quiet and unconfidently, masking it with a flat joke as you refused to look him in the eye, but he heard every word, feeling even worse for what his mind began to tell him. “I understand why you left after you showed me this place… If you want to be alone after the way I reacted—“

He cut you off, quickly bringing you into his embrace. His wings wrapped around you and his head tucked into your shoulder. “I’ve missed you so much.” You sighed, hugging him back and dropping the flower to the ground. “I thought you wanted to be alone.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “I’d rather be alone with you.” 

You spent the night together in your home, preparing dinner and enjoying the night like you used to, and the next morning he went with you to the garden. Only to find that an animal had eaten part of the lily you dropped on the garden floor. It looked weak, too sick to even move. 

“They’re poisonous?” You asked him, in shock that you didn’t know the changes that happened to your own flowers. You went to the animal to try to use your abilities to heal it, hoping those hadn’t changed, too. 

“I didn’t know…” He tried to say, but you didn’t respond. “I can help—“ he reached for the animal and you turned away, wings flaring to put distance between you. He took a shocked step back, scrambling to explain himself, “I didn’t mean to bring… poison into your garden, Humility—”

“I know,” you said weakly, doubting. 

“It’ll be okay,” he told you. It was already dead, he couldn’t remind you.

Again, “I know.” You knew, and that was why it was so upsetting. Not even in death could a soul escape suffering. How was that fair?

“Let me help. Please.” But he was met with silence, not even a response of you shaking your head. 

Instead, a gentle breeze began to blow, a song flowing through the garden. The same song you’d sung for hundreds of years. As it continued, the winds got stronger, flowers bloomed brighter, plants got taller, and the little animal in front of you perked up and scurried away. 

There it was again. 

He wondered if Sera was right, if he truly did distract you. If you’d done nothing but tend to the garden and your power had recovered more than he ever could’ve helped you to do, there was no doubt. 

“Why are they changing everything I create?” But he didn’t hear your frustrated question. “Can everything I care for now be hurt?” He didn’t hear your voice break as you begged for an answer, hoping that he, as a Seraph, would know and tell you if he did. 

But he didn’t hear anything over his own doubtful thoughts. All he saw was you get up and walk away from him, wings wrapped around yourself to bring yourself comfort as if he’d purposely brought poison into your garden. 

He took what was left of the flower and left the garden, once again going to earth. He’d find you something else, he decided. He’d make sure you knew he didn’t bring you a poisonous flower on purpose. He’d make sure you didn’t resent him, like you resented the humans and the way the Earth changed. 

He’d make sure he knew every change that was made and make sure it couldn’t upset you. He’d make sure you never pushed him away like that again—

“What a beautiful flower.” He paused, looking ahead of him to see that same woman once again. “It’s poisonous, you know?” Lucifer looked down at it. He knew now. “It can be hard to tell, but I can show you the ones that aren’t — though, I thought angels would know.”

“A lot has changed,” he muttered, surprised she was speaking to him. 

And perhaps that was where it started, where he began to learn about this new Earth through her, under the guise of relaying the information to you.

But he never did. 

Instead, he kept coming back. He didn’t retrieve anything for you, but he spoke to her every time. He listened to her cry and comforted her if he could. 

He found a friend in this woman; in Lilith… And then he found something more. 

He showed her his creations, something he’d never shown you, and he beamed at the way she appreciated them, eyes full of wonder. He spent the night with her in The Garden and showed her the warmth of the moss covered cave, where they sat and talked just as you’d done. Only she lied next to him where you sat so far away. 

And then she told him she loved him. 

Something you never said. 

But you didn’t have to. You showed it;

in the way you stayed up and waited, waited to apologize for pushing him away, for walking away and getting so upset. In the way you fell asleep in an armchair in the living room and woke up when he came home in the morning, not even noticing you and going up to his study. In the way you greeted him warmly when he came down, though he didn’t give you time to apologize. In the way you held him like he was what you treasured most, like he was something you didn’t want to lose. In the way you asked to see what he was working on. In the way you let him leave. 

In the way you let him tell you he was in love with someone else. 

“I didn’t realize it until now — all I wanted was to get more knowledge of the Earth, to bring to you; to show you I cared,” he gave explanation after explanation as you stood in the garden he showed you, and you thought you should’ve questioned why you were spending the evening together. 

But he suddenly stopped, shutting his mouth and pausing to look over you. 

He’d never seen you cry. Not once. He’d seen you upset, he’d seen you overjoyed, he’d seen you devastated just months ago, but he’d never seen you cry — and to think, the first time he did, it was because he was making you cry. Because he hurt you. 

He tried to reach out, and this time you didn’t push him away. It was worse. Your arms hugged your shoulders and your wings wrapped around yourself as you stared at the ground, taking a cowering step away from him. He wished you’d turn your back on him, spare him from seeing what he’d done, but you didn’t. 

There was a long silence as you urged yourself to calm down, breathing slowly. 

Finally, you said, “I don’t fault you for falling in love.” His throat tightened as you finally turned away from him. He was wrong. That wasn’t what he wanted at all. Not like this. “I want you to be happy. If this is what makes you happy then… Then, I’m happy for you.” 

“But I did give you a chance to leave,” you wanted to remind him, but he spoke before you could, “Don’t lie to me,” he said, begging and sounding completely defeated. You’d never lied to him before, but he knew you were now. “I know you—”

Instead you reminded him, “Then you know that I love you. I always have… I should’ve said it more than I did, I know, but I never thought you’d doubt me.”

And he could hear it over and over; your reassurance, and your confession. You told him long before he ever told you. 

“But,” you mocked his silence, resentment he knew you would eventually feel for him seeping into your voice as you said, “you know how Virtues are.”

Sometimes, they abandon you.

[mintartem]

hey, hey! Me again. The one who cursed you for blessing me with two new ships lol

Anywho, since you mentioned it, art of Adam x the other angels? Raphael, Gabriel, Azriel, Sariel, all of 'em!

Would love to see art/ designs, but I can settle for hcs lol

I was going to make this into art but I’ve been busy. I hope you don’t mind headcanons and my portrayal of them instead. (I will draw them and ship them with Adam eventually)

I can’t write ALL of the angels (there’s like 50+ of them and that’s not including the fallen) I’m going to focus on the 7 heavenly virtues first (excluding Michael so 6 of the 7).

Please note all of these are for the Hazbin Hotel fandom and not an actual Bible lore or theology. Although some info here are based on theology.

Gabriel (Seraph) - Diligence

He is an energetic, loud, bubbly, and trustworthy angel who is loved and respected by all. But he is scary when he is angry or pissed off

It’s not easy to piss him off but if you did, it means you’ve done something absolutely horrendous in his eyes

He enjoys watching souls get their deserved justice or punishment

Since his heavenly virtue is diligence, he is the fastest angel to finish his work. But at the same time, he also has a lot on his plate. He values breaks in-between working.

Flirts with Adam and loves to get in his personal space (Adam doesn’t mind and lets him)

He trusts Michael the most

The only beings he follows/listens to are Michael and God

He wonders why he was chosen to be God’s right hand when the position should be Michael’s (in his eyes)

He enjoys his job of delivering messages

Has the best stamina and endurance among the angels

He has a sweet tooth

Like all other angels, he is proficient in playing multiple instruments. But his most favorite instrument to play is the trumpet.

The third brother

He [will be] against Charlie’s plan of redemption

Raphael (Seraph) - Humility

He is a calm, collected, and gentle angel who wants the best for everyone and heal them as much as he can.

He wouldn’t hesitate to scare off souls with medical threats if it means it’ll help them heal

He is a pacifist

As the heavenly virtue of humility, despite his high position and rank, he doesn’t see himself better than others and chose to ground himself (which is confusing for other angels)

As the angel of healing, he heals not just physical pain, but also emotional, mental, spiritual, etc. health.

When it comes for mental health, he does need a winner’s help since he is an angel and can’t understand human thought process that well

Surprisingly, he prefers spicy food

Like all other angels, he is proficient in playing multiple instruments. His most favorite instrument is the lyre.

He [will not be] against Charlie’s plan for redemption, but wouldn’t support it either.

The youngest among the four brothers

The tallest among the brothers

He and Gabriel tease Michael because of his crush on Adam

Also in love with Adam and loves watching Adam tend to his garden

He loves herbs, poisons, and other medical things (that includes snakes)

He is fascinated by human biology and anatomy. Adam is the usual target of this fascination

Has a doctor’s (terrible) handwriting

He is the most mature out of all the brothers

Has a sadistic side

Leader of the virtues

Azrael (Archangel) - Patience

When Adam met him in Eden, the impression he got from him was that he is a shy and quiet angel.

Azrael is a flirty and playful, but kind angel that enjoys the company of his fellow archangels

He loves the nature noises (such as chirping birds, cricket noises, swaying leaves)

He is mostly remembered for his wings. Angels and winners alike describe his wings as “so black that it’s like darkness itself created a solid form to serve as his wings”

He is respected even by the Seraphim for his duty

Originally, Samael was the angel of death. The title was given to Michael, who then gave it to Azrael

He is most known for taking the souls of “The Death of the First Born” plague in Egypt. He does not like being known for it though.

He created the Grim Reapers to help him with his duties.

He once offered Abel to be his first Grim Reaper. Abel declined.

Platonically flirts with Abel. Cain does not like it (he thinks its romantic)

Romantically flirts with Adam. Cain also does not like it

Cain does not like him in general. Azrael think its because Abel sees him as an older brother. (He’s right)

Despite being younger than Michael, Lucifer, and Gabriel, they see him as an older brother figure

The only angel who is allowed to enter Hell and Heaven without permission, paperworks, etc. (This is because some depictions portray him as the one who leads souls to heaven or hell)

Doesn’t care about Charlie’s plan for redemption.

The elders are wary of him

He kept Abel’s soul until Adam died and went to heaven.

He is the one Adam first saw when he died so, like Abel, Adam has an attachment to him

Uriel (Seraph) - Chastity

He is a quiet, serious, scholarly angel with an aloof and unreadable expression.

Contrary to his serious appearance, Uriel enjoys teaching angels and winners.

He is loved by his students. Outlookers would wonder why, but his students know what type of angel he really is

He loves dark chocolates. His students are the only ones who know. He receives a lot of dark chocolate every Teacher’s Day

He tends to question anything and everything for knowledge’s sake

[will] support Charlie if she can defend her redemption project (like a research/thesis defence)

He witness Adam’s creation and grew attached to him

He guarded Eden’s gate with a flaming sword. Currently, he hid away his flaming sword only to be used if Lucifer or anything evil decides to attack Heaven

He was Adam’s teacher when he got to Heaven. Uriel taught him about Heaven, heavenly duties etc.

He doesn’t hate Lucifer per say, but he is extremely disappointed.

He enjoyed watching humanity (especially Adam) discover things. Currently, his focus are now the winners, angels, and heaven borns

He enjoys reading about human philosophers and their philosophies (both east and west)

Loves playing chess against Adam

He is the one who provides strategies to Michael and is the one who helps plan training activities

“My house is not a mess. It’s an organised chaos”

He has his moments where angels cannot tell if he is being smart or lazy.

He is great at multi-tasking

On purposely uses scientific terms to annoy Gabriel and Lucifer. He does know how to “dumb it down a notch” according to Lucifer.

Cannot be wavered once he is focus on something/s

Cassiel (Archangel) - Temperance

He is an empathic, sensitive angel who wants to enjoy Heavenly life with his fellow angels, heaven-born, and winners

When Eden was created, he wanted to visit but he was forbidden to do so. Unlike Lucifer, he controlled himself and decided not to do so

He is the fastest angel

He helps Raphael in healing Adam’s emotional health

He has a pet dragon. The dragon likes Adam

He [would be] conflicted in Charlie’s redemption plan

Like all other angels, he is proficient in playing multiple instruments. His favorite instrument is the harp

Remiel/Jeremiel (Archangel) - Kindness

He is a kind, caring, and understanding angel who wishes the best for everyone

As the archangel of hope, Remiel tends to see the best in everyone. But that doesn’t mean he doesn’t see the bad things either

He is an optimist

He is that one angel everyone goes to for comfort

He is usually the voice of reason

Like Cassiel, he also helps Adam in healing his emotional pain

Like all other angels, he is proficient in playing multiple instruments. His favorite instrument is the grand piano

[will] support Charlie’s redemption plan

“Please don’t mistake me as the fallen Ramiel. We’re different”

(I struggled with coming up hc for Remiel and Cassiel)

Bonus - Angels I want to create a character for:

Ariel (Archangel) - self proclaimed “Michael’s girl best friend!” Totally supports Michael and Adam’s relationship. Angry at Lucifer

Jophiel (Archangel) - sees Adam as the most beautiful creation. She hangs with Metatron often. Adam has deep respect for her.

Metatron (Archangel) - Human name: Enoch.

Chazaqiel (Watcher - Fallen) - Sahaquiel’s younger sister

Raguel (Archangel)

Selaphiel/Selathiel (Archangel)

Well this is long so I’ll end it here. I enjoy reading about Theology so this was really fun!

[sea-owl]

I have an idea. I'm borrowing ideas from these posts started by @thekatebridgerton from here and here

It was the Bridgertons favorite part of the year. As the eight royal siblings of Hell and the hosts to the deadly sins, it was their duty to meet with their counter parts once a year for about a week, maybe two if things are slow, to make sure the balance between Heaven and Hell remained. The work itself they couldn't care less about; their coworkers however held all the appeal for them.

How they love riling the heavenly virtues up. Now if only they could get their names.

"The meeting started five minutes ago," Diligence reminded the Hell Royalty as they all sat down. Her dark eyes looked ready to twitch. Patience and Kindness each gave her a gentle squeeze on the arm.

"There's nothing wrong with being fashionably late," Anthony, the sin of Vanity said as he sat across from Diligence.

He eyed Diligence's slightly unkempt appearance, probably rushed here from another project of her's. "You could think about doing the same. I don't mind giving you time to freshen up-"

"We have work to do," Diligence cut him off.

Benedict, the sin of Sloth, slumped down into his seat. Kindness pushed a cup of coffee towards him. He moaned into the drink. "Kindness you're too good to me. Keep treating me like this and I just might have your children."

"Sloth that's impossible," Kindness reminded him.

Colin, the sin of Wrath, grinned as he sat across from Patience. That grin quickly fell into a pout when she continued to work on whatever was on that boring piece of paper.

Colin reached for the paper. Patience moved it out of the way. Colin reached for it again, and again Patience moved it. The game continued until Patience finished writing whatever sentence she was working on and looked up at Colin. "Yes Wrath?"

Colin grabbed her dominate hand, Patience moved the pen to the other hand and began writing with that one.

Daphne, the sin of Greed, wrote out her wants for the upcoming year. Fast and efficient, it will give her more time with her virtue anyway which is what she really wants. She hands the plan over to Humility to look over.

"A little too much Greed," Humility said. "Remember as the elders said we have to strike a balance. How about I take some of these instead?"

Daphne pouted. "I rather have them and you."

Eloise, the sin of Pride, sat across from Temperance. She doesn't understand why she has to be here. Her plan worked wonderful last year.

Temperance pulled out some notes on last year's plan. "Perhaps we can make some of these changes, hold back a little this year. Pride was a little high last year among the humans."

Eloise's jaw dropped.

Francesca, the sin of Lust, smiled at Chasity, leaning in closer. "Hello Chasity."

"Lust," Chasity greeted politely. His eyes never straying from her own. "Are you ready to get to work?"

Francesca sighed. She'll get him to look lower one day.

Gregory the sin of Envy stared longingly at the biscuit Chairity had in her hands. It was his favorite one too!

Chairity didn't even look up when she split the biscuit in half and gave one half to Envy.

"Chairity marry me!"

"No Envy," Chairity replied.

Hyacinth the sin of Gluttony, looked over Modesty's clothes. No, they won't do. Her virtue wore too little gold and needs richer colors, they would have to fix that. "Hey Modesty, how about-"

"Gluttony I am happy with my clothing," Modesty said. He almost smiled.

Hyacinth huffed. One day she's getting him out of that clothing.

The first day of the meeting went on, and when it was time to leave the Bridgertons opened their mouths only to have eight rays of holy light cover them.

"No true names," all the virtues said.

[echologname]

What's from God and what's not

From God

Holy - set apart from the world (which is cursed with sin) and anything that comes directly from God Himself

Love

Joy

Peace

Patience

Kindness

Goodness

Faithfullness

Gentleness

Self-control

Mercy, forgiveness and grace

Truth

And now, dear brothers and sisters, one final thing. Fix your thoughts on what is true, and honorable, and right, and pure, and lovely, and admirable. Think about things that are excellent and worthy of praise. https://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=Phil.4.8&version=NLT

Everything humans do in the Bible is not of their own power but God's which they receive the blessing to experience through FAITH. So, God is saying to keep our minds focused on Him because many beliefs or doubts start as thought and can work their way to the heart and spirit for better or worse.

What's not

Demonic - absence or lack of God's light and presence (think of how the sun provides warmth, light and life and as you get further away, space becomes cold, dark and inhospitable)

Anger/bitterness (holding a grudge)

Hatred

Sadness

Lonliness

Distress (fear)

Lies

Murder

Theft

Pride

Greed

Lust

Gluttony

For jealousy and selfishness are not God’s kind of wisdom. Such things are earthly, unspiritual, and demonic. https://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=Jas.3.15&version=NLT

Demons are angels who've chosen to separate themselves from God, and the Bible is very strict about committing sin in your mind and heart like 1 John 3:15, "If you hate each other, you are murderers, and we know murderers do not have eternal life."

This is to warn others about merely doing something in your mind and heart with good or bad intentions. You can do anything for the goodness of God if you're acting in genuine honesty, humility, selflessness and empathy. But anything can be sinful if you're doing it in selfishness, callousness, or in the desire for malice, deceit and disorder (chaos).

The point is, ALWAYS check your thoughts and feelings.

And we destroy every proud thing that raises itself against the knowledge of God. We capture every thought and make it give up and obey Christ. https://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=2Cor.10.5&version=ICB

This to help you be aware if you're being deceived or influenced by evil spirits and to make a strong, conscious effort to DENY them, and do what God says instead:

Give Him your fears and worries

Be joyful

Be loving

Find peace in Him

Let go of anger

Pray and praise constantly

It can be REALLY hard to do these things, but God promises to give you endurance if you trust in Him (Isiah 40:31) and strength if you ask for it.

I can do all things through Christ because he gives me strength. https://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=Phil.4.13&version=ICB

[pinestripe37]

🍁Comfy-vember Day 7~8🍁

(Prompts: Eye of the Storm | Thunder Shower | Found | Fresh Fruit)

(A poem about Me and Jesus; how my Savior has comforted me through the storms of the past few days.)

~~~

Thunder shower Raging outside the window of my Fortress Its threatening roar my Savior's calming Peace does quench.

God's Presence is the Eye of the Storm The safe Place where I'm seen and at peace While circumstances swirl. All around… My Rock and Shelter doesn't change with shifting turmoil. His Hand stronger than any wind that whips or thrashes my weak form. When the world's covered in frost, His Love's still warm.

Through the thick gray fog He sees me clearly. My prayers heard Above the thunder's roar. He finds me, Lifts me through the downpour While questions whirl, I'm understood. On days like these I may feel lost But with my God I'm always safe and found. My pieces picked up from the muddy ground… Kind Hands hold me perfectly. His still Voice stills me, I'm safely loved.

A tree needs rain to grow fresh fruit. I may be cold and soaked, But in the Lord's Embrace I'm clothed with kindness, humility, gentleness, patience… God's Mighty Righteous Hand gives me The strength to stand.

Thunder shower, its song against the wood roof. The Potter sits on the porch. Light rain soaks the clay, Yet I'm not washed away; I am shaped In my Maker's Embrace. God softens my heart Lovingly Like warm clay In His Gentle Hands. And each drizzle with Him is worth it, each stroke and each change worth the storm. For how blessed it is To be a vessel, A bowl holding beautiful fruit. Fresh on the rain-stained sill Prepared to shine as rays of sun shine through.

I will stay in the Shelter of the Most High Sustained by the Lord's Grace, Living on the Fruit of the Spirit.

Safe in the Peace in the Eye of the Storm, Rest in His Mercy and His Light so warm… Be still and know that God is the Lord; Who sees and holds Through every storm, when downpours swarm; The Lord's my Shelter He knows me perfectly, And He healingly embraces me.

I'm invited warmly to draw near to Him to abide and bear fresh fruit. In the safe Eye of the thunder shower, Here in God's Peace, There's a pure, light, gentler rain. In Living Water I am purified, The Holy Spirit counseling my weary soul I can lean on Him and rest and heal Rely and abide…

Lean on Jesus in the rain And grow fresh fruit.

[builtbybrokenbells]

CAPITAL VICES | CAPITAL VIRTUES

The seven capital virtues, also known as contrary or remedial virtues, are those opposite the seven deadly sins. They are often enumerated as chastity, temperance, charity, diligence, patience, kindness, and humility.

Masterlist

Listen while reading: bed of roses - bon jovi

Pairing: Jake Kiszka x f!reader

Word Count: 7k

Warnings: mentions of sex, mentions of drinking, grief/loss of a parent, mentions of bad past relationships, fear/anxiety, mentions of sickness/illness, swearing, but mostly just fluff! sorry if i miss any!!

i couldn’t end this without a little sweetness to carry over until the next time. thank you all for every bit of love this story has received; you have made capital vices what it is, and i would not be here without you. sorry for any heartbreak I’ve caused, but I hope this suffices! this is finally the end, and although it is a chapter, it also serves as the epilogue. I love you all so very much, and as always, enjoy, be kind, and don’t mind any grammar mistakes!

The morning came as it always does, bright and unsuspecting, sneaky and sometimes even hostile. When you opened your eyes for the first time on that sunny Sunday morning, dangerously bordering the afternoon hours, you were in a better mood than you had ever been. Not even the disruptive rays of light washing over your face could irritate you, nor the cluster of birds chirping in your backyard. Your chest was light, free from the weight of sadness and finally relaxing after relentless tension. You could inhale and fill your lungs without a stabbing reminder of what you missed so dearly, and the scent of Jake lingered in your pillows and sheets, even clinging on to the fibers of the shirt you were wearing.

The morning can not be bad when you wake up to such an abundance of love and all things that come along with it.

You turned, half expecting to see Jake sleeping soundly next to you, hoping to catch sight of his peaceful expression as the sun illuminated his beautiful features. When you looked next to you, you were not met by soft snores and a mess of long, brown hair. The bed was empty, only a divot in the mattress to remind you of him and his company. Your stomach sank, wondering if he’d gone back home already. You tried to ignore the nagging disappointment that came along with the thought of him leaving without a goodbye. You rubbed sleep from your eyes, begging your body to wake up the same as your mind had. With an outstretch of your limbs and a long, exaggerated yawn, you managed to throw the blankets from your legs and face the cold air.

As you stepped out of bed, you noticed more signs of another human life housed inside your home. The disappointment fled your body, replaced with an urgent sense of excitement. Quiet clanging of pots and pans could be heard from the kitchen, as well as light footsteps and the soft sound of music. The closer you got to your bedroom door, the more you could hear it. You grabbed a pair of shorts to slip on as you walked towards the exit from your room, advancing slowly so you could soak up the sight and sear it into your memory. A smile blossomed on your cheeks as you slowed to a stop. Leaning against the doorframe, you gazed out into the kitchen, watching Jake, shirtless and unsuspecting, tend to a pan on the stove. The coffee maker was lit up with blue lights, signaling its own anticipation to be used. From his phone played a slow melody, and his movements were so gentle and calculated, almost as if he was trying his best to remain undetected.

You wanted to run to him, wrap your arms around him and kiss your way through the morning. You craved his hand on your hip and your arms slung around his neck, clumsily dancing to the soft music. You wanted to hear him speak your name, to let the low tone settle deep in your bones and make home there, just so the memory could remain indefinitely. Instead, you stood and stared. You wanted it so badly, but your body would not allow it. He was a person meant to be admired, and that’s exactly what you intended to do.

He did not notice you, nor did he even think to look over his shoulder and check. You had no idea how he was so oblivious to your eyes burning holes into him, but you were grateful for his ignorance. It allowed you to watch him, unashamed and uninterrupted as you familiarized yourself with all of the small details. The way his hair swooped down and settled on the bare, tanned skin of his back. The way the defined outline of his muscles showcased every flex and tense that happened with every small movement and sudden motion. The pair of sweatpants, settled low on his hips and leaving little to the imagination. You listened as he hummed the lyrics to himself, every so often growing increasingly more passionate about the song. His inability to multitask allowed for the toast to pop from the toaster and make him jump in surprise, then drew his attention so much that the pan became long forgotten.

He was perfection, and you were just the lucky one who was able to appreciate it in such a way. You did not deserve such an angel, gracing your kitchen in the late morning while you dozed away in another room. It was staggering, the difference between Jake Kiszka during the day and in the late hours of the night. In the darkness, his skin was as red as blood, a pitchfork in hand as he tried to hide the devil horns settled on his skull. In the light of morning? He omitted an aura of white light, appearing blessed by god himself as the shiny, golden halo sat perfectly atop his head. He was the most confusing entity you had ever encountered, and for some strange reason, it only made you fall for him harder.

As you watched him, you began to second guess every notion you had previously concluded about him. The glass seemed to unfog, quickly becoming crystal clear as you viewed him in a whole new way. The man in your kitchen did not seem unholy, or like he held any wicked power or desires. He was a man, unfathomably perfect in everything he did. His beauty was blinding, and his heart was full of love waiting to be given to you. There was no possible way the man in your home was anything less than angelic, and your earlier fear of the unholy seemed to deconstruct itself the longer you watched.

The constant unease that was so often felt in your stomach was gone, as was the fear that normally accompanied it. For the first time since you met him—no, for the first time in years, life seemed perfect.

The feeling you felt before succumbing to sleep was gone, replaced only with love and happiness. Jake was not an evil entity, and with your new found strength, it now seemed completely possible to repent for the mistakes you had made.

With him by your side, you knew you could do anything.

You could not resist the urge to touch him any longer, stepping out into the brightly lit kitchen and approaching him with caution. When you were close enough, you extended your arm and placed your hand on his back, just over his shoulder blade. He jumped only slightly, realizing immediately that it was you from the calming effect of your touch. You placed your other hand on his bicep, stepping even closer and cornering him into the counter. You pressed your chest against his back, turning your head downwards placing a small kiss on his shoulder.

“Good morning, beautiful.” He said, his voice still laced with sleepiness. He let you stay in your position only for a moment before turning to face you. You gazed up at his face, stars dancing in your eyes as you gave him a soft smile. “How did you sleep?”

“Good,” you hummed, neglecting to tell him that it was only because he was with you “and you?”

“Fantastically, ‘cause it was with you.” He did not seem to have any shame about the fact. Your cheeks dusted red at the sweetness of his words. He leaned down, placing a soft kiss to your forehead. He lingered there for a second, but eventually had to move on to tend to the food cooking on the stove. You couldn’t help but frown, wishing that the moment could have lasted for a little while longer.

“Breakfast?” You asked, moving to the coffeemaker to hit the brew button. You placed a cup underneath before turning to face him again. He looked back over his shoulder, a sheepish look on his face.

“Is that okay?” You thought about it for a moment, pretending to ponder the question.

“Of course it is, Jake.” You assured him, giving him a nod.

With that, the first heavenly virtue began to fill the room. Pride was non-existent, now replaced with a newfound sense of humility. Before, you were so stuck in your own ways that the simple idea of breakfast made you sick to your stomach. You could not digest the idea of showing or sharing emotional intimacy with him, but now, it was easier than falling asleep. In truth, humility had began to take over long before that moment. The night prior, when you bit your tongue and allowed him to speak his mind despite your belief that you were doing the right thing, your prideful behaviour was long forgotten. As he poured his heart out to you over a dozen roses and countless tears, you were no longer the most important, nor the one with the right answers. You swallowed your pride and allowed yourself to view things from his perspective, thus allowing the two of you to communicate effectively.

But, humility was not the first; in fact, the first virtue had appeared the night before, blooming alongside the begging of humility, when you were still convinced that evil coursed through his veins and bled into your own. When he showed up at your doorstep with nothing but love in his heart, you responded with patience instead of the wrath the two of you so often found yourselves in. You held the capacity to accept and delay your own suffering in an attempt to listen to his. You could have slammed the door, or argued until you were blue in the face without ever acknowledging that you might not be right or know best. It was something you so often did, but you loved him enough to hear his words without allowing your own emotions to get in the way. You loved Jake enough to be patient, which was something you had never done before in your entire life.

“Unless you had something else in mind?” He asked, switching off the element of the stove and pushing the pan to the side. He made sure that there was no fire hazards before returning to you. His hand settled on your hip and his index finger moved to your chin, guiding your head upwards. He was so close that it made your head spin and your heart thud against your chest dramatically.

“Like?” You questioned, raising an eyebrow at him. His nose was brushing against your own, his lips just barely parted from you.

“Continuing what we were doing last night?” He offered. You let out a small chuckle, leaning forward and pressing your lips to his. The kiss was short, sweet but effective in its simplicity.

“As tempting as that is, no.” You shook your head, your lips still lingering over his. “I want to have breakfast with you, Jake.” At the sound of your words, he nearly fell to his knees. “I want to be with you, just like this.”

“We can do that, angel.” He breathed, smiling down at you. “Go sit, I’ll be right over.” He motioned towards the kitchen table.

“Okay.” You agreed, giddy at the thought of domesticity with him. As you sat down, you felt an oddly warm feeling wash over you. It felt like freedom, and it felt so good. Not once had you approached Jake and shown him such vulnerability without hopes of something sexual in return. Actually, you weren’t sure if you had ever approached him with vulnerability first; he always seemed to be the one to pry the emotion from you. It was a beautiful thing to be able to love someone with no hesitation, and loving him made it all the more special.

Just like that, lust was destroyed by chastity. You had overcome the biggest obstacle that was in the way of opening your hearts to each other. You could rely on one another without the need for sex, and you could show him and express that you cared for him without taking your clothes off. Lust was the very thing that created your relationship, yet if you continued on the same path of prioritizing sexual pleasure over emotional connection, you would meet a tragic end. In that one fraction of a second, you had shown him that he was more than sex, and what he offered did not solely exist within the bedroom. You even believed that you could live a long and happy life without ever having sex with him again, because sitting down and sharing a meal was just as fulfilling as anything else.

You loved Jake for all he was, but the urge to sleep with him was still pressing despite your desire to do something as simple as share breakfast. Instead of acting on it, you surpressed your desire for him and gave him a warm smile as he placed a plate in front of you. It would be too easy, too predictable to throw everything else aside for something as superficial as sex. In the last five years of your life, sex had grown into something completely meaningless to you. What you were doing, sitting down, sipping coffee and sharing laughs, was the most meaningful thing you’d ever done. It was coated with meaning, almost so much so that you struggled to wrap your head around it.

You were done with superficialities; you wanted him to know you wholly and completely, without any defence or fear. You were tired of just sharing enough to keep him around, but never enough for him to know you. As you watched him eat the meal he had prepared for you both, you knew that Jake was the person you wanted to share your soul with. He was the only person who you trusted with it, and he was the only person who would protect it as if his life depended on it. The last three months had shown you enough of him for you to fall in love, but now you were the one who needed more. You needed every secret, to know where his body held scars from his childhood, and what his favorite subject in school was. You needed to hear about his parents, and all of the funny stories about his siblings from their youth. You needed it desperately, and you needed it now.

“Were you always close with your siblings? Or did that come with age?” You asked, looking at him over the top of your mug as you took a sip. He gave you a questioning look as he pondered your words.

“We’ve always been close.” He deducted, nodding his head as he answered. “I mean, we fought, but we’ve always been best friends.”

“Hmm,” you smiled, looking down at your plate. “I think the idea of you and Josh fighting is hilarious.”

“Well, there’s been lots of fights, and I’m sure there will be more to come.” He laughed quietly at the memories flooded his mind.

“What was your favourite subject in school?” You asked, catching his gaze again.

“Nothing.” He chuckled.

“Oh, come on.” You rolled your eyes. “There had to be one class you liked.”

“Music class in the ninth grade.” He said, smirking at your annoyed expression. “And I liked gym class.”

“Typical teenage boy.” You smiled.

“School wasn’t really my thing, but I made it through. Turns out you don’t need calculus to play a guitar, so it didn’t matter much in the end, anyway.”

“Guess so.” You agreed. “Did you break the rules a lot? You seem like the type.”

“Every now and again.” He shrugged, giving a sheepish smile. “What about you?”

“Never.” You laughed, finding the thought blasphemous. “My parents would have killed me. I liked school, and I was good at it. Did lots of extracurriculars and stuff, and always went to bed at ten.”

“Goody-two shoes?” He teased, making your cheeks burn red. “I’m just joking, sweetheart.” He said, reaching across the table and giving your hand a small squeeze.

“I was,” you sighed. “My sister was, too, so I guess my parents did great at their jobs.” You reminisced on your younger years as you spoke. “My favorite class was calculus, though, so watch what you say about it.”

“Calculus was your favorite?” He held back a laugh at the idea. “I didn’t think anyone’s favorite class was calculus.”

“What can I say,” you shrugged “I like math. It makes sense to me.”

“Okay,” he agreed, feeling no need to challenge it any further. “What about you and your sister? Were you always close?”

“Yes and no.” You pondered back on your relationship with her. “When we were very young, we fought all of the time. For a little while, we could barely even be in the same room. When we hit double digits, I think we finally realized we were stuck with each other, then we tried to be friends. By high school, we were inseparable, save for a few fights. Now I couldn’t imagine what life would be like without her.” You explained, leaning back in your chair and smiling at your own shenanigans. “My dad used to say we got along like a house on fire. When we were small, he called us little devils.”

“Hard to believe you would fight with anyone,” he smirked, sarcasm dripping from his tone. You gave him a small chuckle, unable to find an argument. You loved to argue, and you loved being right. Unfortunately, he had seen that side of you more than he’d seen anything else. He was quiet for a moment, then he took in a long breath, as if he was debating whether to speak again. Then, he found the courage and opened his mouth again. “Tell me about your dad.” You looked up at him, stunned at the bluntness of his words. “If you want to, of course.”

“Y-yeah,” you stuttered. You were shocked at his desire to know, because you had envisioned a life for yourself in which you would never be asked that question, and by doing so, you thought that you would never have to answer it. You dreaded talking about it because it was the hardest thing you had ever gone through, but now that you were faced with it, the prospect of telling him seemed enticing. Your dad was your whole world, and sharing his memory with Jake only made sense to you; he was the only person you felt would honor him the same way you did.

“He was the best man you could ever meet, and I don’t think I’m saying that because I’m biased.” You treaded carefully, trying to find the best way to phrase your thoughts. “He was loved by everyone, and the only people that didn’t like him were the ones who did wrong first. He was funny, he was caring, and he was so smart. I don’t think I ever remember him raising his voice, and even until the very end, he was as happy as ever.” Jake nodded along as you spoke, showing you that he was listening to every word. “He loved sports, and music, and he got up hours early to make us all breakfast on Saturday mornings without fail.” You smiled at the memory, wondering if you would ever taste another pancake that was as good as your father’s recipe.

“He was there for every school event and parent teacher meeting, and he was always so excited to help us with homework. He watched football religiously and he drank margaritas because he thought beer was disgusting. He used to play us guitar when he put us to bed, and he read us stories with the books upside down so we couldn’t read ahead of him.” Jake laughed at the thought, a real one that came straight from his chest. You caught his eye, the glisten of tears quickly turning into adoration for him. Suddenly, you wondered why you ever wanted to hide your life from him at all. You wanted him to know everything, and you wanted him to share the laughs and the tears and most of all, the love.

“He was my best friend, and to this day, I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone who understands me like he did. He taught me everything I know, and I am who I am because of his love. He knew the words to every Van Halen song and he dedicated all his spare time trying to play one song as good as Stevie Ray Vaughan.” You closed your eyes, remembering the relentless riffs that floated through the morning air in your childhood home. “He never could, but we always told him he did.”

“Not many can,” Jake corrected, defending his talent. You nodded in agreement, knowing he was right.

“He taught me how to love art and music and most of all, photography. He used to take pictures of us all on those disposable cameras all hours of the day. I’m sure he went through ten a week.” You nearly rolled your eyes at the thought of how many ridiculous pictures existed of you. “When he started getting sick, it didn’t seem like anything changed until… all of it did.” You let out a shaky breath, the strength of the emotion so strong that it made your stomach churn. “He got sick when I was in the tenth grade, and it took a while for him to realize that he was sick. He came home from the doctor and he didn’t change a thing. He did homework with us, he played guitar, he drank his margaritas while he watched football, and I think that all of us had a hard time processing that something was wrong because he never acted like it.” He hummed, giving your hand another gentle squeeze to encourage you to keep going.

“When he went to the hospital for the first time, I was in the eleventh grade. I think that was when I finally understood that something was wrong. He only stayed for a couple of days, but when he came home, we could finally see the difference in him.” You paused, looking down at the table to gather your thoughts. “He stopped playing guitar, and he stopped drinking margaritas. Football still played on the T.V., but I don’t think he was really watching it anymore. He took pictures, but not as often, and breakfast on Saturdays was very much on the back burner compared to everything else going on.”

“He was there, but he wasn’t.” He tried to put your ramblings into the proper words. It was like living with a ghost, and that was the only way you knew how to explain it.

“Yeah, exactly.” You breathed. “We had him for longer than we deserved, but I can’t help but feel selfish when I wish that we could have had him forever.”

“I don’t think you’re selfish at all, beautiful.” He shook his head. “It sounds like he was fantastic, and I wish I could have met him.”

“He would have adored you.” You chuckled, smiling softly at the idea. “He always told me to find someone who encourages me to stand up after I fall, rather than someone who picks me up off the ground. He wanted me to find someone who made me laugh, who listened, and most of all, who loved me like he loved my mom. If I knew my dad, he would have known that you were that person the minute he laid eyes on you.”

“I don’t know how your dad loved your mom, but by the sounds of it, it was with all of his heart.” Jake said, waiting for you to look up at him. When you caught his eye, he continued on. “And with you, that’s all I plan to do.” He gave you a smile, one that spoke louder than any of his previous words.

“I, uh,” you paused, clearing your throat to rid yourself of the tears rising in it. “I don’t talk about my dad a lot, not because I don’t want to, but because I’ve always felt like nobody was worth it. To know, or to know about him is a privilege, and I don’t think a lot of people deserve it. I know that you do, and I’d love to tell you all about him.”

“Whenever you want to tell me, I’ll be more than happy to listen.”

Temperance crushed any gluttony that remained within the two of you. How easy it would have been to forgo breakfast and take him to bed, and how badly you wanted it was incomprehensible. The two of you had solidified the notion that sex was most important many times, but now it no longer seemed to be so pressing. Knowing him, and him knowing you was the only thing that mattered. You were able to put your gluttonous habits to the side and show enough self-restraint to look beyond the surface. There was more to Jake than a pretty face and a devastatingly intoxicating charm. There were thoughts, values and beliefs that you did not know a thing about, yet craved to hear. But, temperance was only getting started, and there was so much more you wanted to discover.

“Can you play guitar for me?” You asked, almost out of nowhere. You’d been desperate to hear his hands work magic on the fretboard after using his music as lullabies all week.

“Oh, y-yeah.” He said, excited but caught off guard. There was so much you needed and wanted from him, and you felt like you had already wasted too much time. You weren’t willing to miss out on another moment of knowing him.

You reached your hand out to him, blinking away any sadness still remaining in your eyes as you both rose to your feet. You abandoned whatever was left on your plates and took off down the hallway in a mess of hushed giggles and smiled. You opened the door to the room that held so many memories, the last one not so pleasant in your mind. Instead of focusing on the hurt, you made a promise to yourself to replace all of the bad with the good. You took a seat on your piano bench as he grabbed the guitar from the stand, stopping for a moment to admire the frames hung on the wall.

“You take stunning pictures, y/n.” He said, taking a long look over a few photographs you had hung from a photoshoot you’d done with your sister and her dogs. “I’ve never seen such a good picture of a dog before.” He laughed, leaning it to get a closer look at the portrait of her Golden Retriever.

“Thank you.” You smiled, allowing him to take as much time as he wanted. Before, you were afraid of him knowing you so well. Your work was your most precious treasure, and him knowing all about it broke down a barrier you had worked so hard at building. Now, watching his wondrous expression and a charming smile, you wanted to share every photograph you had ever taken. He made you feel a pride in your work that surpassed anything you’d ever felt before. As he walked around the room, studying the frames, you hit a couple notes on the piano. Eventually, it sparked a desire in you to play more.

You began a slow descent into song often heard over the car radio when your father drove you to school. You drew it out, having fun with it after going so many days without playing. You did not notice, too caught up in the echoing sound of the piano bouncing off of the walls, but Jake's head turned away from the frames and was now pointed in your direction. His eyes were fixated on your face, drinking in the small expressions you made as your hands glided across the keys. A smile was on his lips as he settled the guitar strap around his neck, listening intently as he adjusted the tuning pegs. As you continued to play, he began plucking the strings in time with your hands.

“Sitting here wasted and wounded

At this old piano

Trying hard to capture

The moment this morning I don't know

'Cause a bottle of Vodka's still lodged in my head

And some blonde gave me nightmares

Think that she's still in my bed

As I dream about movies

They won't make of me when I'm dead.” You sang, looking over the top of the piano to catch Jake’s eye. He was already looking, sending you a smile as if to say ‘keep going’.

“With an ironclad fist

I wake up and french kiss the morning

While some marching band keeps its own beat in my head

While we're talking

About all of the things that I long to believe

About love, the truth, what you mean to me

And the truth is

Baby you're all that I need.” The subliminal message in the lyrics was astounding, and he felt it just as strongly as you did. You played a small run, watching him as he took a step closer to you. As you opened your mouth to keep singing, he joined in, too.

“I want to lay you down in a bed of roses

For tonight I'll sleep on a bed of nails

Oh I want to be just as close as the Holy Ghost is

And lay you down on a bed of roses.” The two of you finished together, stars dancing in your eyes and hearts hanging in the air. You were so in love with each other that it was hard to think of anything else.

“Well I'm so far away

Each step that I take is on my way home

A king's ransom in dimes, I'd give each night

To see through this payphone

Still I run out of time

Or it's hard to get through

Till the bird on the wire flies me back to you

I'll just close my eyes and whisper

"Baby, blind love is true".” You let him sing the next verse alone, completely enthralled by his voice. He was such a beautiful singer that it made you wonder why he did not do it more often. You could listen to him sing songs of nothing but tragedy and still shed tears over the beauty.

“I want to lay you down in a bed of roses

For tonight I'll sleep on a bed of nails

Oh I want to be just as close as the Holy Ghost is

And lay you down on a bed of roses.” You began to trail off early, both of you done singing and ready to lay the song to rest. You wanted to kiss him more than you wanted to finish the song, and when it came to Jake, you knew he would always be the most important. He played a tiny riff on the guitar to finish it off, smiling to himself as he looked back up at you.

“Bon Jovi?” He asked, cocking his head to the side.

“My dad loved him.” You shrugged. “You should sing more often.”

“So should you.” He retorted without missing a beat. You both failed to bring up the fact that you had just shared so many intimate details with each other without even trying. “So, you think you’ll finally give my music a shot?” He asked, coming over to sit next to you.

“Don’t have to ‘give it a shot’,” you laughed, air quoting your words, “that solo in ‘The Weight Of Dreams’ could make anyone fall in love with you. I fell in love with it the minute I heard it.” The look of surprise on his face was apparent, and he could not seem to hide it. He certainly wasn’t expecting to hear you say that you had already listened, but especially not to hear you say the name of one of his songs.

“Y-you… you, uh…” he blinked a couple times, trying to process the new information. “You listened to it?”

“Yeah,” you nodded, speaking softly. “Every night after… yeah.” You cut yourself off. “It helped me sleep.”

“Oh,” he breathed, looking over your sheepish expression. He felt sad that he was not there to share the experience with you, but he was touched to hear such sentiments. “Well, you don’t have to use Spotify anymore, sweetheart. I’ll play you guitar until my fingers fall off.” He chuckled, reaching over and tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “Whatever you want to hear, whenever you want to hear it.”

Slowly and quietly, generosity began to emerge and greed began to fade. Before, you had been so greedy that you wanted all of him without having to give anything back. Now, you wanted all of him, and you were willing to give him all of you in exchange for it. You no longer had a guard on your heart, wanting to bear it to him in the most intimate displays. As much as you wanted to know him, you wanted him to have all of you just the same.

“I’m sorry that I was so difficult, Jake.” You said, leaning into the soft touch of his hand. “I wish we could have done this a long time ago.”

“I’m sorry, too.” He said, running his thumb across your cheek. “That girl at the bar… I was so stupid, angel. You are the only thing I have ever wanted, and I can’t even begin to tell you how sorry I am for hurting you.”

“Scott wasn’t anything, either.” You confessed. “I just wanted to make you feel the same way I felt. It was gross, and I don’t want to do that again. I want to love you, Jake. I want to put all of the bad stuff aside and start over. I want us to be happy and I want this to be healthy, and I’m willing to do whatever I can to make it work.”

“I am too, sweetheart.” He leaned over, careful not to disturb the guitar in his lap. He pressed a kiss to your lips, lingering for a moment to enjoy the sweetness.

Charity replaced envy, allowing the two of you to show kindness and tolerance while judging each other. In the moment, emotion was so powerful that it was difficult to see the truth behind the situation. Now, you could both clearly understand that the hurtful words and actions stemmed directly from your own broken hearts. You did not want to hurt each other, nor did you want to make things worse. You were doing what you thought was best at the time to heal your own heartbreak. The pain had settled and allowed the two of you to see each other exactly as you were. You were so in love with each other that it made your head spin and your stomach twist with butterflies, and you were so regretful for how you treated each other. Moving on was what you intended to do, and leaving everything in the past was the only way to do it.

“I love you, y/n.” He whispered, his lips still lingering over your own.

“I love you, Jake.” You replied, smiling at the thought. “Thank you for taking a chance on me.”

“The only person that deserves to be thanked is you.” He corrected. “I want to love you better than anyone ever has. You deserve the world, and I want to be the person who can give it to you.”

“You already do.” You assured him. “More than you’ll ever know.”

“Be mine, angel?” He asked, pulling back with a hopeful expression. The three simple words took your breath away. The prospect of being his was more comforting than anything you’d ever felt before. You didn’t know how to love, or even what it meant to be in a relationship anymore, but you knew you wanted to try with him. For him, you would do anything.

“Of course, Jake.” You nodded, leaning in and pressing another kiss to his lips. In that moment, all of the sin seemed to wash away. The evil you had done was replaced with your virtuous love. The devil was not before you, nor was he within you. You were two people who loved each other endlessly and equally, trying to atone for the mistakes you had made while navigating such a profound journey. “I would love nothing more.” With one last smile, he pulled you into one last kiss, showcasing just how happy he was to know that he was yours and you were his.

You were not people of god, nor were you the devil's disciples; you were yourself, and Jake was Jake. You were two regular human beings who could make each other happy, but also had the luxury of making mistakes. There was no evil in the room, nor was there a white light and halos above your heads. You had sinned, and you had practiced virtues, but most of all, you learned to love each other efficiently and properly. You could communicate clearly, and you could open up without fear of rejection or disappointment. He was a charming man with an intoxicating personality, and you were a witty hot-head who stole his heart. Your skin was not red, nor were there devil horns atop your head. Your fear of him had little to do with any wicked powers, but everything to do with your inability to understand the effect he had on you.

Jake made it easier to fall in love than anyone ever had, and falling in love had never been your forte. You were terrified of love, but loving him was too euphoric to deny. With time, you knew that you could grow comfortable with all the things you once feared, and it was because he was the one holding your hand and helping you through it. Jake would not solve your problems, but that was okay. You can be your own worst enemy, or you can be your biggest inspiration; this time, instead of letting your fears paralyze you, you decide to lead yourself into an era of love and light. You guided yourself through the darkest times, and you would continue to do so until the end of time, but he would always be there to support you through it.

In him, you found a best friend and a confidant. You found something you did not believe existed, and something you thought was only true in fiction. You found a safe place to rest and somewhere to call home, a hug on the coldest of days and a rush of fresh air when it was difficult to breathe. You wanted to love him until you collapsed under the weight of your own adoration, and until you were long forgotten and had become one with the earth. In every lifetime, you would search for him, and in every universe, you would love him just the same.

Your sin had caught up to you, but you were strong enough to repent from the wrath of the devil. You were equally as virtuous as you were wicked, and it was the whole point of being alive; making mistakes and struggling is to be expected, but to go forth despite the failure is the only way to survive. You were human beings with apparent flaws, yet you loved each other enough to see past the mistakes and move forward despite them. Past the darkness, you found something you worried you would never experience, and now he was the only thing that mattered. You would go through every struggle and all of the pain all over again if it meant you would end up in his arms. He was worth it, and you had no doubt in your mind about it.

Your last virtue took over as you rested in his arms. Sloth had caused neglect in the grand aspect of your lives. You avoided telling each other about your feelings, and you avoided the yearning felt in your hearts. Now, diligence was in the air, and it was much more powerful that any of the sins you had committed. You were committed to happiness, and you were both able and willing to put careful and persistent work into making the relationship as happy and as healthy as possible. You would work until your body collapsed from exhaustion, and you would not complain about a single thing, because you were the lucky, and the only one to be able to fall in love with Jake Kiszka.

The End

TAGLIST: @sacredjake @profitofthedune @thewritingbeforesunrise @sacredthethreadgvf @klarxtr @ohgodthefeeling-gvf @freefallthoughts @jaketlove @clairesjointshurt @ageofbajabule @dannys-dream @earthgrlsreasy @starshine-gvf @brujamagik @gvfmarge @ignite-my-fire @twistedmelodies @gretavangroupie @alwaysonthemend @edgingthedarkness @gvfpal @sinarainbows @writingcold @starcatcher-jake @literal-dead-leaf @takenbythemadness @gretasfallingsky @hsfallingsky @freyjalw @itsafullmoon @lyndz2names @blacksoul-27 @i-love-gvf @vikingsisthenewsexy @mp0801 @mindastreamofcolours @indigogvf @sparrowofthedawnsworld @jordie-gvf @cassy-face @highway-tuna @creadliz98 @dancingcarbon @do-it-jakey-baby @lallisonl

[nickeverdeen]

Father figure Joel with an underage mute fem!reader who speaks sign language and has a really Hufflepuff stereotype personality

Note: I acidentally lost the request, so I’m sorry, but I do know it was this. Again I’m really sorry, but here it is…

Joel is incredibly patient when communicating with you

He takes the time to learn sign language to better understand you and ensure effective communication

Joel becomes fiercely protective of you, always ensuring your safety and well-being

He’s like a father bear, ready to defend you from any harm

His calm and reassuring demeanor might help you feel safe and secure, especially in times of distress

Joel provides gentle guidance and support to you, helping you navigate through life’s challenges with patience and understanding

Joel cherishes the moments spent with you, whether it’s teaching you new skills, going on adventures, or simply enjoying each other’s company at home

While Joel is always there to offer support, he also encourages you to embrace your independence and pursue your interests with confidence

Joel loves you unconditionally, accepting you for who you are and celebrating your unique qualities

You and Joel develop creative ways to communicate beyond sign language, using gestures or facial expressions

Joel loves telling stories to you, immersing you in adventures before you go to bed

Joel’s hugs are like a warm embrace, offering comfort and reassurance to you whenever you needs it most

You and Joel embark on adventures together, exploring new places and creating cherished memories along the way

He works hard to earn your trust, demonstrating his reliability and consistency through his actions

You both learn from each other, exchanging knowledge as yoj navigate through life’s ups and downs together

Joel provides unwavering emotional support to you, offering a shoulder to lean on and a listening ear whenever you need to talk (not literally obviously)

He creates a safe and nurturing environment for you, where you feel loved, valued, and accepted for who you are

Joel teaches you practical life skills, like cooking, cleaning, and basic self-defense, empowering you to become more independent and self-sufficient

When faced with challenges, you and Joel and work together to find creative solutions, brainstorming ideas and supporting each other every step of the way

He helps build your confidence and self-esteem, praising you accomplishments and reminding you of your worth

Joel creates a sense of belonging for you, making you feel like an important part of his family and community

Joel shares his wisdom and life experience with you, offering valuable insights and advice to help you navigate the complexities of growing up and finding your place in the world

Joel helps you create healthy boundaries in your relationships, teaching you to assert yourself and advocate for your needs with confidence

Joel deeply admires your kindness and genuine compassion

He often finds himself suprised by your selfless acts of kindness and strives to emulate your caring nature in his own interactions with others

Your unwavering loyalty to Joel doesn’t go unnoticed

He’s incredibly grateful for you steadfast presence in his life, knowing that he can always rely on your support and friendship no matter what challenges you face together

Despite your many positive qualities, you remain remarkably humble, and Joel respects you for it

He appreciates your down-to-earth demeanor and genuine humility, finding your modesty refreshing in a world full of egos

In moments of darkness and uncertainty, Joel finds comfort in your unwavering optimism and positivity

Your patience and understanding are qualities Joel deeply appreciates, especially during times of stress or frustration

Above all, Joel is very supportive, protective and caring