#i can’t stop writing in the tags. i think it’s because i’m hesitating to post this lmao

[writingsoftarnishedsilver]

*insert Elmo in flames meme*

Ahhhh! I'd be happy to give you some Ominis fic ideas 😁🩷 of course, you could just scrap this altogether but I was thinking 🤔 could we have a 7th year Ominis being able to gain financial freedom from his family because MC gave her Hogsmeade shop to him? I know a lot of people want him to escape to America but Hogsmeade just feels so cozy and perfect for him being a shopkeeper.

And MC realizing her feelings for him during one instance when she had to return to him to replenish her supplies from her travels, and maybe decides it's time to be with him? 😣💕

It's okay if you don't like this plotline but I just finished the Haunted Hogsmeade quest, and I immediately thought of Ominis being its owner!

Thank you so much!!

Threads of Fate | Ominis Gaunt x Reader

Anon, I hope this is everything you hoped for! Thank you for the request and inspiration <3 it was my absolute pleasure writing this.

Words: ~6,700

Tags: Reader Insert, Female MC, No Y/N, Post Canon, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Romance, Fluff, Fluff AGAIN

“You’d think after all these years I’d be better at writing letters, but somehow, I still find myself pausing, trying to decide how to start. Then again, you always make it easier when you write first. Your last letter was… exactly what I needed. You have a knack for saying the right thing, even when you don’t realize it.”

“Anne stopped by the shop recently. She told me to stop ‘hovering like a nervous bird’ over your enchanted scarves and to start charging more for them. Apparently, she’s appointed herself my business manager, whether I wanted one or not. She also asked about you—how you’re doing, where you are, why you haven’t written her back, and, most importantly, when you’re finally coming home. I told her I didn’t know, but she was unimpressed by my answer. Honestly, I’m not impressed either.”

“Sebastian, meanwhile, has decided that I’ve become too boring for his liking. He keeps trying to convince me to pack up and visit you, as though I could just leave the shop to run itself. His words, not mine. It’s ridiculous, of course, but I wonder if there’s something to it. You’ve been gone so long now, it’s hard not to feel like there’s a part of this place missing.”

“Speaking of which—are you planning to come back anytime soon? You told me six months, and that was, what, six months ago? You’re not terrible at keeping promises, but you’re testing the limits here. I’ll forgive you if you write soon with some good news—or better yet, with the promise of coming home.”

“The shop is still standing, though I’ve made a few small changes here and there. I hope you won’t scold me when you see them. It’s funny, even when you’re not here, I find myself thinking, ‘What would she do?’ And sometimes, I swear I can hear your voice, usually chiding me for something I’ve misplaced or forgotten. I wonder—did you know, even then, how much this shop would mean to me? …Did you know how much you mean to me?”

“Take care of yourself, won’t you? Though I doubt I need to remind you. You’ve always been reckless, but you’ve never been careless. But I can’t help worrying about you—it’s impossible not to.”

“Write soon, or better yet, come home. I’d like to see you again. I’d like to… well, there’s plenty I’d like to say in person.”

Yours, always, Ominis

The letter, over a month old now, was worn at the edges, its parchment soft from being folded and unfolded too many times. Your fingers traced the familiar loops of Ominis’ handwriting, lingering over the slight smudge where his quill must have hesitated.

Even as the train carried you closer to Hogsmeade, you felt guilty. You hadn’t written back. But you hadn’t trusted yourself to put quill to parchment, not even to Anne or Sebastian, neither of whom could be trusted to keep your long awaited return a secret.

Six months. You’d promised him six months, and here you were, long past that mark. You’d wanted to return sooner—Merlin knew how much you’d wanted to—but there had always been one more ruin, one more curse to break, one more excuse to stay away.

It wasn’t just the work, though. The truth you hadn’t dared admit to yourself was that the thought of walking into Stitches and Draughts again, of seeing Ominis after all this time, terrified you. What if things had changed? What if the delicate balance of your friendship—of your stupid, traitorous feelings for him—had changed?

Merlin knew you had.

You caught your reflection in the train’s window, and for a moment, it felt like looking at a stranger. The girl you once were, the one with the boundless energy and effortless grace of youth, was nowhere to be found. Gone was the lithe figure and carefree ease that had come with an 18-year-old’s metabolism, replaced by a version of yourself you were still learning to accept. The life of a cursebreaker hadn’t been kind to your body—or your soul. Years of chasing dangerous leads, grueling physical labor, and long nights spent deciphering ancient scripts had taken their toll. Meals were often hurried, whatever you could grab between assignments, and the relentless travel left little room for rest. You were softer now, and your body bore the marks of your journey—an ache in your shoulders from carrying too much weight, faint scars from brushes with danger, and an exhaustion that felt carved into your very bones.

You turned away from the window, forcing your reflection out of sight. The sight of it only dredged up insecurities you had no business indulging—not now, not when you were so close. It was stupid to worry about it, you told yourself. What did it matter whether Ominis found you attractive? Seven years had passed. Seven years of separate lives, separate paths. You couldn’t expect him to still see you as he once might have—or to have waited for you at all.

Back then, you were just kids, after all. Even when your friendship had danced on the edge of something more, neither of you had ever been brave enough to take that final step. You thought of the moments that had felt like more—his hand brushing yours when you walked side by side, the way he’d linger in the shop late into the night, his head tilted toward you as though he could hear the shape of your smile. But those moments were fleeting, always followed by silence or a change of subject. Neither of you had ever said the words.

And now? Seven years was a long time to expect someone to wait for something that was never truly spoken aloud.

Still, the thought haunted you, gnawing at your resolve. Would he notice the changes in you? Would he care about the extra softness to your curves, the faint lines of exhaustion that hadn’t been there before? The idea that he might—that he’d look at you with anything less than the quiet warmth you remembered—made your stomach twist.

The train jolted, pulling you from your spiraling thoughts as it slowed to a screeching halt at Hogsmeade Station. The sound of the brakes, sharp and familiar, was like a spell breaking. You rose stiffly from your seat, clutching your bag as you tried to gather yourself.

The platform was just as you remembered it: bustling with witches and wizards, steam curling in the crisp air, and the faint smell of coal mingling with the fresh, wintry scent of snow. Twinkling fairy lights hung from the lampposts, casting a warm glow on the frosted cobblestones, while festive garlands of holly and enchanted mistletoe draped along the edges of the station roof. You adjusted the strap of your bag and stepped off the train, your boots crunching against the frost-dusted ground.

The walk into the village was surreal, like stepping back into a dream you hadn’t dared let yourself miss too much. The bustling streets, the cheerful glow of the shop windows, the distant chatter of students—every detail tugged at something deep inside you. It looked the same, as though no time had passed, and yet that was precisely what unsettled you.

Time had passed. Seven years, to be exact.

Seven years since you’d walked these streets as a Hogwarts student, clutching a bag of Honeydukes’ sweets or ducking into the Three Broomsticks with your friends to escape the cold. Seven years since you’d stood inside Stitches and Draughts as its owner, turning your ideas into enchanted creations, the room filled with the warmth of softly glowing candles and the sound of laughter. Seven years since you’d worked side by side with Ominis, his sharp wit cutting through Sebastian’s dramatic tales of Quidditch triumphs, all while the three of you shared late nights in the shop as though the world outside didn’t exist.

But even then, you’d known the shop wasn’t meant to be your forever.

The decision to give it to Ominis had come in the quiet months of your seventh year, after countless conversations where he’d confided in you about his family, his fears, and the cage he felt he could never escape. You’d listened as he spoke of the suffocating expectations of the Gaunt name, how every aspect of his life had been dictated by tradition and duty.

And money.

It wasn’t fair. Ominis deserved more than that. Far, far more.

Your Ominis deserved everything.

The idea had taken root during one of those late nights in the shop. He’d been helping you charm a batch of scarves to repel rain when you’d caught him standing at the counter, running his hands over the worn wood. There’d been a wistful look on his face, one that had stayed with you long after the candles were extinguished and the shop had gone dark.

By the time graduation loomed, the decision felt inevitable.

You still remembered the day you handed him the deed, the way his pale fingers trembled as he unrolled the parchment. His expression had been unreadable at first, his face carefully composed as he scanned the document.

“What is this?” he’d asked, his voice low and wary.

“It’s yours,” you’d replied, keeping your tone light even as your heart pounded. “The shop. Everything in it. Consider it a… graduation gift.”

The silence that followed had been deafening. Ominis had stared at you, his brow furrowing in confusion.

“You can’t be serious,” he’d said finally. “This is yours. Your work. You can’t just—”

“I can,” you’d interrupted, placing a hand over his. “And I am. You’re the only one I trust to take care of it. To make it more than I ever could.”

He’d tried to argue, of course. Ominis always argued. But you’d stood your ground, knowing in your heart it was the right choice.

“It’s not just about the shop,” you’d said softly, looking into his unseeing eyes. “It’s... about giving you a way out. A chance to build something that’s yours—not theirs.”

That had silenced him.

He’d accepted the deed reluctantly, his gratitude laced with disbelief. And though you hadn’t admitted it aloud, you’d known you were giving him more than just the shop. More than just securing his freedom. You were giving him a part of yourself, a way to stay connected even when you left.

And now, as Christmas loomed all these years later, your legs carried you through the village, back to that very same place. You were almost on autopilot, even as your heart pounded erratically in your chest with every step that brought you closer to the shop. Around you, the village bustled with holiday cheer, but all of it faded into the background, a distant hum drowned out by the sound of your own heartbeat.

And then you were there.

And Stitches and Draughts looked beautiful.

The building had been freshly painted, its trim gleaming with a soft, snowy white that contrasted perfectly with the deep emerald of the shop’s sign—still the same one you’d painted years ago, but lovingly restored. The doorframe was draped with enchanted holly garlands, the bright red berries twinkling like tiny stars. The windows sparkled in the glow of lights strung carefully along the eaves, and the front display was nothing short of magical.

Inside the glass, enchanted scarves floated gracefully in midair, their threads shimmering with subtle, festive embroidery—snowflakes that danced along the hems, holly leaves that twisted and turned like they were caught in a gentle breeze. Beside them, self-heating gloves sat arranged in neat little bundles, their tags tied with golden ribbons that seemed to hum faintly with charmwork.

It was perfect. Too perfect. And the sight of it, so familiar and yet so undeniably different, had your heart aching in your chest. This wasn’t just a shop anymore—it was his shop. Every detail spoke of Ominis’ care, his precision, his thoughtfulness. He’d taken what you’d built and turned it into something so much more.

Your grip tightened on the strap of your bag as your eyes flicked between the display and the freshly polished door handle. The urge to turn and flee surged through you, but your feet remained rooted to the spot. You’d faced cursed ruins, ancient traps, and magic designed to kill, but nothing—nothing—had ever felt as daunting as the prospect of walking through that door.

Would he even want to see you? Would he welcome you after all this time, after the months of silence and unfulfilled promises? Or had the years widened the distance between you too far to bridge?

The bell above the door jingled as someone exited the shop, their arms laden with carefully wrapped packages. They offered you a polite smile as they passed, but you barely noticed, your gaze fixed on the door that had swung closed behind them.

Your legs felt heavy as you took a hesitant step forward. Then another.

With a deep, unsteady exhale, you pushed the door open, the familiar chime of the bells above echoing like a memory brought to life.

The warmth of the shop enveloped you immediately, the scent of cedar and lavender mingling with something faintly sweet—probably from a batch of enchanted candles near the counter. Shelves lined the walls, filled with bolts of fabric, potion bottles, and racks of neatly displayed scarves and gloves. The hum of magic thrummed softly in the air, a comforting, familiar sound.

But none of it mattered, not really.

Your eyes were drawn to the figure standing behind the counter, his back to you, the blond of his hair catching the golden light.

"Be with you in a moment," he said, his voice smooth and warm, but it hit you like a jolt of lightning.

It had been so long—too long—since you’d last heard his voice, and even now, it was exactly as you remembered, richer with age but still undeniably Ominis. It overwhelmed you, the weight of it pressing down on the breath you tried to draw, stealing the words you’d thought you’d prepared.

And then he turned.

The sight of him was truly your undoing.

Ominis was taller than you remembered, his frame lean but strong, elegant but unyielding. He was wearing a soft sweater in a deep charcoal gray, the fabric snug across his broad shoulders and loose around his narrow waist, the sleeves pushed up just enough to reveal the sharp angles of his wrists and the pale skin of his forearms. His blond hair, a touch longer than it had been when you’d last seen him, was still combed back, though a strand at the front had fallen to rest against the curve of his face.

Time had only refined the sharpness of his cheekbones and the strong, angular line of his jaw. His features were striking in a way that felt almost unfair, the kind of beauty that drew the eye and held it captive.

And yet, there was something softer about him, too—something that hadn’t been there before. The rigid tension that had so often defined him in your Hogwarts years seemed less pronounced, replaced by a quiet ease as he worked. He looked… content.

It was too much.

You’d imagined this reunion a hundred different ways, but none of them had accounted for the way it would feel to see him again, to hear his voice, to stand so close and yet feel the weight of all the time and space that had separated you.

“My apologies for the delay. Welcome to Stitches and Draughts,” he said, his tone polite and practiced, yet warm in a way that made your chest ache. He tilted his head slightly, as though listening more intently. “What can I help you with today?”

The words hung in the air, impossibly ordinary for a moment that felt anything but.

You opened your mouth to respond, but nothing came out. All the carefully rehearsed greetings, the lighthearted explanations you’d planned for why it had taken so long to return, evaporated.

Your silence stretched just a second too long, and you saw the faint furrow of his brow, the slight tilt of his head as he picked up on your hesitation.

“Are you alright?” he asked, his voice softening, concern creeping into his tone.

That was what finally broke you.

“Ominis,” you managed, your voice trembling despite your best efforts to steady it.

His lips parted as though to say something, but no words came, and his sightless eyes, usually so calm and focused, seemed to search for you in the space between.

“Is it—” he began, his voice barely above a whisper, trembling at the edges. “Is… it really you?”

Tears pricked at your eyes, hot and relentless. You nodded before realizing he couldn’t see the gesture.

“It’s me,” you managed.

Ominis moved before you could register it, stepping out from behind the counter with a swiftness that made your breath catch. “You’re here,” he murmured, his voice filled with something close to wonder. “You’re actually here. But you… you didn’t write back. I thought—”

“I know,” you said quickly, guilt flooding your chest. “I’m sorry, Ominis. I—” Your voice faltered. How could you possibly explain everything? The silence, the distance, the fear?

Before you could try, Ominis closed the gap between you. His hands reached out, tentatively searching, as though he were afraid to reach out and find nothing there. When his fingers brushed against your sleeve, he inhaled sharply, and then his hands moved upward, settling on your shoulders.

You watched as his expression crumbled. The carefully constructed composure he’d always worn fell away, replaced by something raw and unguarded.

“You’re home,” he said, his voice trembling. “How long have you been planning this?”

The crack in his voice broke something inside you. “I… for months,” you whispered, your own voice shaking. “I'm so sorry, it took so long—”

Your words were cut off again as Ominis pulled you into him, strong arms wrapping around you with a desperate urgency, his hands firm against your back as if he were afraid to let go, afraid you might slip away again. The suddenness of it made you stiffen, your insecurities flaring instantly to life.

He’d know.

He’d feel the difference—the softness of your curves where you’d once been lithe, the weight you carried now, both physical and emotional. The image of what you’d been years ago, the version of you he might still hold in his mind, clashed violently with the reality of who you were now.

But then there was the feel of him.

Him, warm against you, the steady rise and fall of his chest, the faint scent of his characteristic cologne—it was all so achingly familiar, so Ominis, that you couldn’t bring yourself to care about the way you’d changed.

Tears spilled freely down your cheeks as you let yourself sink into his chest, your arms lifting to wrap around his waist. You clung to him, the years of distance and silence collapsing between you as if they’d never existed.

His hand moved gently, brushing over your hair in a soothing rhythm that made your heart ache. “I missed you hopelessly.” He murmured, his voice muffled by your hair

“I missed you more than anything,” you murmured, pulling back just enough to look up at him, tears still streaming freely down your cheeks. “I thought about you every day.”

Ominis pulled back slightly, his hands still resting lightly on your shoulders. His sightless eyes searched your face as though he could somehow see you, the corners of his mouth twitching into the faintest of smiles. You felt his thumb brush against your sleeve, as if he needed the tactile confirmation that you were truly there. One of his hands slid down to grasp yours, his fingers curling firmly around yours as if to anchor you both in this moment.

For a long, breathless second, neither of you spoke.

Then, without a word, Ominis turned toward the shop’s entrance, your hand still firmly in his. He moved quickly, his steps sure as he crossed the space to the door. Releasing your hand only briefly, he flipped the sign to Closed and twisted the lock with a decisive click.

“To hell with work,” he muttered under his breath, the faintest hint of a smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

The words caught you off guard, pulling a startled laugh from you—a sound you hadn’t realized you’d been holding back.

When he turned back to you, his expression softened further, though there was still an edge of something you couldn’t quite name in the set of his jaw. Relief, perhaps. Or the determination of someone who wasn’t about to let this moment slip away.

“Come upstairs,” he said, his voice low and steady. “The shop can wait.”

He didn’t give you a chance to argue—not that you would have—before leading you to the small staircase tucked behind the counter. His hand stayed in yours as he guided you, his grip firm but gentle, like he was still afraid to let go.

The stairs creaked faintly under your feet as you followed Ominis into the flat above the shop. The scent of cedar lingered here too, mixed with something faintly herbal—his cologne, no doubt.

“Forgive the state of things,” he said quickly, his tone uncharacteristically self-conscious as he gestured toward the room. “I wasn’t exactly expecting... well, anyone. Least of all you.”

But as your eyes roamed the space, you couldn’t find the “mess” he spoke of. The room was tidy, cozy, and so very him. A small bookshelf stood against one wall, lined with neatly arranged tomes you recognized from your Hogwarts years, alongside a few newer additions. A comfortable-looking armchair sat in one corner, its seat draped with a soft, worn throw blanket. A half empty mug of tea sat forgotten on the small table beside it, next to what appeared to be a half-finished crossword puzzle.

There were small signs of his life everywhere: a folded sweater resting on the back of the chair, a walking stick leaning against the wall by the door, a well-cared-for violin resting in its case near the bookshelf. The window was framed by simple curtains, their edges charmed to shimmer faintly in the light, a detail that felt unmistakably him.

“It’s perfect,” you said, turning to him with a soft smile.

He let out a huff of disbelief. “Hardly. It’s small, and I wasn’t expecting guests, so it’s a bit—”

“No, really,” you insisted, stepping further into the room. “It’s... you. I mean that in the best way.”

His lips parted slightly, as though he wanted to argue, but he seemed to think better of it. Instead, his free hand gestured vaguely at the space. “I haven’t had much reason to bring anyone up here,” he admitted, his tone quieter now. “I usually keep to myself unless Sebastian or Anne drag me out for something."

You turned back to him, catching the faint blush dusting his cheeks as he moved to straighten a few items on the table near the armchair. The sight made your heart ache in the best way, the years falling away as though you’d never been apart.

“It’s nice to see you’ve kept up the crossword habit,” you teased, gesturing toward the table.

Ominis smirked, his confidence returning just enough to quip, “It’s either that or let my mind wander, and we both know that can only lead to trouble.”

You laughed, the sound light and easy, "That's true."

He gestured toward the couch near the window, its cushions plump and inviting. “Sit,” he said, his tone soft but insistent. “I'm sure you’ve been traveling all day.”

You hesitated, still standing near the door, but Ominis stepped closer, his expression gentle. “Please,” he added, his voice quieter now.

With a nod, you set your bag down near the door and crossed to the couch, sinking into its cushions. It was as comfortable as it looked, and you let out a quiet sigh as the tension in your body began to ease.

He moved toward the kitchenette. “Tea?” he asked, his head tilted slightly in your direction.

“Yes, please,” you said quickly, your voice softer than you intended.

Ominis nodded, his movements fluid and purposeful as he filled the kettle and set it on the small stove.

“I’ve got chamomile, mint, and… some Earl Grey that Sebastian swore I’d love but tastes like someone soaked socks in bergamot,” he said, the corner of his mouth quirking into a smirk.

You laughed softly, leaning back into the couch. “Chamomile sounds perfect.”

He nodded, plucking the sachet from its place with an almost practiced precision, his hands moving with the same quiet grace you remembered so vividly. Despite the ease of his movements, you could see the faint tension in the set of his shoulders, the way he hesitated before reaching for the mugs.

"Did Sebastian and Anne know about you coming back?" Ominis asked, his voice calm but carrying a subtle edge of curiosity.

You hesitated, fingers tracing the edge of the couch cushion. "No," you admitted softly. "I didn’t tell anyone. I didn’t… want them to spill the secret. I thought it might be better this way."

He turned slightly, his sightless eyes tilted in your direction, one brow arching faintly. “Better for whom?”

You huffed a humorless laugh, biting your lip. "Me, I guess. I thought if I just showed up, it would be easier. Less... complicated."

Ominis tilted his head slightly, as though weighing your words, his fingers brushing the rim of the mug as he prepared your tea. "You thought sneaking back into Hogsmeade unannounced would be less complicated?"

A faint smile tugged at your lips despite the knot of nerves in your chest. "Okay, maybe not less complicated. But at least it meant I wouldn’t have to explain myself to Sebastian. You know how he gets."

He let out a soft laugh, the sound light and genuine, and it warmed something deep inside you. "Indeed. He is relentless," he said, placing the mug of chamomile tea in front of you on the low table. "Though, I can’t say I’d have been any better. If I’d known you were coming, I wouldn’t have been able to focus on anything else."

You looked up at him, startled by the quiet sincerity in his voice. He wasn’t smiling anymore, his expression open and unguarded as he sat down across from you, his own mug cradled in his hands.

“I didn’t mean to make you wait,” you said softly, your fingers curling around the warm ceramic. “I just—” You paused, your words catching in your throat. "I don't know. I suppose it doesn't matter. I'm here now."

Ominis’ lips pressed together for a moment, his brows furrowing slightly as though he wanted to press further. His hands tightened almost imperceptibly around his mug, the tension in his shoulders betraying his thoughts.

But then he exhaled softly, the lines of his face smoothing as he nodded. “You’re here now,” he repeated, his voice quiet but steady, though you could hear the unspoken for how long? lingering in the air.

You quickly took a sip of your tea, the warmth a welcome distraction as you scrambled for something that would steer the conversation elsewhere. “This tea is lovely,” you said, offering a smile that you hoped looked effortless. “Everything is. The flat, the shop... it’s all incredible. You must be so proud of what you’ve built.”

Ominis tilted his head slightly, his expression softening into something almost amused. “That’s kind of you to say, but I hardly think a well-stocked tea shelf qualifies as incredible.”

You laughed, grateful for the easy banter. “It’s not just the tea shelf, though it is very impressive. The shop looks amazing—I noticed the display when I walked in. And the enchanted holly on the door? It’s such a nice touch. It’s all so... you.”

He leaned back in his chair, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “I did have some help with the holly—Anne insisted. She thought it might ‘soften my cold, foreboding reputation.’”

You grinned, picturing Anne bustling around the shop, her infectious energy clashing against Ominis’ quieter demeanor. “I think it works. Though I can’t imagine anyone thinking you’re 'foreboding'.”

“Oh, you’d be surprised,” he said dryly, his smirk deepening. “Anne says I scare away the first years who stop in. Apparently, my ‘stern demeanor’ doesn’t pair well with curious children looking for enchanted scarves.”

You laughed, the image of wide-eyed first-years inching cautiously into the shop playing vividly in your mind. “I’m sure you’re not that bad,” you teased. “Maybe they just don’t appreciate your charm.”

Ominis quirked an eyebrow, his smirk softening. “Charm, is it? I’ll be sure to tell Anne you said that next time she accuses me of being the ‘shopkeeper equivalent of a Boggart.’”

That earned another laugh, lighter this time, and you shook your head. “If she really thought you were a Boggart, she wouldn’t have helped with the decorations.”

“She likes to keep me humble,” he replied, his tone full of wry affection.

But even as Ominis joined in your banter, you could see the way his fingers drummed absently against the side of his mug, his thoughts clearly turning over something unsaid. He was playing along with your attempts at small talk, but you knew he wasn’t fooled.

Still, for now, he let it go, his quiet smile lingering as he said, “So tell me, how does it feel to be back?”

The question caught you off guard, and your smile faltered slightly. “It feels... surreal,” you admitted, your voice softer now. “Like I’ve been gone forever, and yet somehow nothing’s changed.”

Ominis nodded, his expression thoughtful. “Hogsmeade does have a way of staying the same. But you..." He hesitated, and his words hung in the air, unfinished but heavy with meaning.

You’re different.

He had noticed. Of course he had. Ominis was nothing if not perceptive.

You lowered your mug to the table, your hands curling into your lap as if that could somehow steady you. The warmth that had spread through your chest moments ago was now replaced with a twisting unease, a voice in the back of your mind whispering, This is it. This is when he sees what’s changed and decides it isn’t enough. That you aren’t enough.

"I know I’m different," you murmured, your voice trembling under the strain of your nerves. It cracked as you spoke, barely louder than a whisper. "I… I’m not the same person I was when I left. I know I’m not exactly how you remember me, and I—" Your breath faltered, hitching as you shook your head, your thoughts spiraling. "I just didn’t want you to be disappointed."

“Disappointed?” Ominis’ voice broke through your spiraling thoughts like a sudden, sharp wind, and when you looked up, his sightless eyes were fixed on you, his expression taut with something between shock and frustration. "Is this... is this why you've taken so long to come home?"

The question hung in the air, sharp and unrelenting, like the edge of a blade poised to strike. You opened your mouth to answer, but no sound came. The truth was tangled in your chest, knotted with years of insecurity and fear, and the weight of it pressed down on your throat, stealing your voice.

Ominis’ expression softened as he straightened in his chair, his jaw tightening as though he were holding back his own frustration—not at you, but at the very idea that you could feel this way. He exhaled slowly, his fingers tightening around his mug before setting it aside with deliberate care.

“Is that really what you’ve been carrying all this time?” he asked, his voice quieter now, but no less intense. “You thought I’d be... disappointed? In you?”

The lump in your throat grew heavier. "I’ve been gone so long... and you’ve built this incredible life here, and I—” You hesitated, your breath catching as you fought to steady yourself. “I didn’t know if I’d still fit into it.”

“You think I could ever—” He stopped himself, exhaling slowly as he ran a hand through his hair. “Merlin’s beard, don't you have any idea how much of this life exists because of you?”

Ominis leaned forward further, resting his elbows on his knees, his hands clasped tightly together. His fingers curled and uncurled against one another, as though he were searching for the right words. When he finally spoke, his voice was softer, but no less firm.

“Do you know what I thought when you walked into that shop today?” he asked, his words deliberate.

You shook your head, though he couldn’t see it. “No,” you whispered.

“I thought I’d finally woken up from the longest, most frustrating dream of my life,” he said, his lips twitching into a faint, almost self-deprecating smile. "And now, you’re sitting here, telling me you’re afraid I’d notice you’ve changed. Of course you’ve changed. I’d be more worried if you hadn’t. Life does that to people. It changes them. But just because you're different doesn't mean..." he swallowed, his words catching for just a moment before he pressed on, his voice quieter but laced with conviction. “Just because you’ve changed doesn’t mean you’re any less.”

He paused, his fingers tightening where they rested, his knuckles pale with the effort. His expression softened as his words seemed to tumble out, as if he couldn’t hold them back any longer. “That couldn’t be further from the truth, actually.”

You blinked, caught off guard by the sudden shift in his tone, by the faint flush creeping up his neck.

Ominis sat back slightly, his hand running through his hair in a rare display of bashfulness. “It’s been seven years,” he continued, his voice quieter now, almost hesitant. “Seven years, and in the brief time I’ve had to—to touch you, to hear you, to smell that very same perfume you always wear, you’ve only… Merlin, I don’t even know how to say this without sounding foolish.”

You felt your breath hitch, your pulse quickening as his words sank in. He wasn’t looking at you, not exactly, but the intensity in his voice made it feel as though he could see every piece of you, laid bare and vulnerable.

He exhaled slowly, tilting his head slightly in your direction as he gathered his thoughts. “You’ve only improved,” he said finally, his voice low but unwavering. “Despite whatever ridiculous notions you’ve been carrying around, you haven’t diminished. You haven’t become ‘less.’ If anything, you’re... more.”

“You’ve been away, yes," he continued. "You’ve faced things I can only imagine. And yet here you are, sitting in front of me, as strong and resilient and...” He hesitated, his lips curving into a faint, almost shy smile. “As breathtaking as the day you left. You think I’d notice the changes and find fault with them? How could I, when every single one is just another piece of the person I’ve been missing for so long?”

Your hand flew to your mouth, your vision blurring with tears. "Are you... you sure? You really don't have to say this, I—"

He shook his head, raising a hand to stop you, though his touch hovered just shy of reaching across the small space between you. “Of course I'm sure,” he said, his voice soft but insistent. “I’ve never been more certain of anything."

He drew in a slow, measured breath, his shoulders rising and falling as though he were steadying himself for a duel.

“I’ve spent seven years wondering if I’d ever get the chance to say this,” he admitted. “To say all the things I was too much of a coward to admit before you left. And I won’t waste it by letting you believe for even a second that you’re anything less than extraordinary," his voice softened, trembling at the edges as he stood from his chair. For a moment, he simply stood there, his sightless eyes cast downward as though steadying himself for what he was about to do. Then, slowly, he moved forward, kneeling on the floor in front of you with a grace that made your breath catch.

His hands reached out, tentative but deliberate, brushing over yours where they rested in your lap before curling around them.

“You don’t have to say anything,” he said quietly, his voice raw with emotion. “But I need you to hear this. I need you to understand.”

You opened your mouth to respond, but he shook his head, cutting you off gently.

“I love you,” he said, his voice trembling slightly, his thumbs brushing over the backs of your hands. " I’ve loved you for so long that I don’t even remember what it feels like not to. And I know I should’ve said this before. I should’ve told you when we were still at Hogwarts, when you handed me the shop, when you left. But I was scared. Scared of what it would mean, scared I’d ruin what we had. And then you were gone, and I thought… I thought maybe I’d lost my chance.”

You couldn’t speak, couldn’t move, your heart pounding so hard it felt as though it might shatter through your ribs.

“But now you’re here,” he said, his words almost a whisper. “And I can’t let you leave again without knowing how much you mean to me. You are the most extraordinary person I’ve ever known, and I’ve spent seven years building a life that, no matter how complete it might seem from the outside, has always been missing you.”

You stared at him, your breath catching as the world seemed to slow around you. The face you’d waited seven years to see again—its every detail etched into your memory but now somehow more vivid, more real—was right before you. The faint furrow of his brow, the slight parting of his lips as though bracing himself for your response, the glisten of unshed tears in his sightless eyes.

It was all so achingly familiar, and yet time had made him even more beautiful in his quiet, unassuming way.

And you loved him.

You always had.

The years apart, the missed chances, the countless letters you’d written and rewritten but never sent—it all fell away, leaving only this moment. This man. The only person who had ever made you feel like you belonged.

“I’ve loved you too,” you whispered, the words spilling from your lips unbidden, your voice trembling but resolute.

Ominis stilled, his brows furrowing further as though he hadn’t quite heard you. “What?”

You reached out, your hands shaking as you cupped his face, your thumbs brushing over the faint stubble on his jaw. His breath hitched, his sightless eyes searching the space between you as though trying to see what your touch already told him.

“I love you, Ominis,” you said again, your voice steadying as you saw the hope flicker to life in his expression. “I always have."

His lips parted, his breath catching audibly as he tilted his head toward your hands, leaning into your touch as though it were the only thing grounding him.

“Say it again,” he whispered, his voice trembling.

You smiled through your tears, leaning closer until your forehead rested against his. “I love you,” you murmured, your voice soft but sure.

A shaky laugh escaped him, a sound filled with so much relief and joy it sent a fresh wave of tears streaming down your cheeks. His hands moved to cradle your face, his touch reverent and tender as his thumbs brushed away your tears.

“Merlin,” he breathed, his voice cracking with emotion. “I can’t believe... after all this time...”

“Believe it,” you said, your voice filled with quiet certainty.

His grip tightened slightly, his hands trembling as he pulled you closer. “Promise me,” he murmured, his breath ghosting over your lips. “Promise me you’ll stay—I’m begging you—don’t leave again. Merlin, I... I can’t go another seven years without you. Not knowing where you are, if you’re safe, if you’ll ever come back.”

You didn’t hesitate. “I promise.”

[cowboylikemac]

Please please please write part 2 for QUESTION…? in which Sirius and reader get back together after more angst 🥺

QUESTION…? PT.2 | S.B

sirius black x reader

Including : post-break up , angst

word count : 1k+

The night was quiet, save for the wind threading through the stone towers. The sky stretched endless and dark above you, the stars burning cold and far away.

Sirius stood at the edge of the Astronomy Tower, his back to you, hands braced against the stone railing. He must have heard you approach, but he didn’t turn.

Still, he knew it was you.

He always did.

You took a slow breath. “I didn’t come here to fight.”

A beat of silence. Then—

“Good.” His voice was quiet, rough at the edges. “I don’t think I could do that again.”

You stepped closer, your fingers ghosting over the cold stone. “Then why do we keep pretending this is easy?”

Sirius let out a slow exhale, still not looking at you. “Because if we don’t, we have to admit that it never really ended.”

Your chest tightened. Because that was the thing, wasn’t it? You had spent weeks trying to move forward, convincing yourself that what you had with him was in the past.

But then he looked at you like this—like the world hadn’t shifted at all—and suddenly, you weren’t sure if you had ever let him go.

“Sirius,” you said, softer now.

His fingers curled against the railing, like he was steadying himself.

“I need to know,” you murmured. “Did you walk away because you wanted to? Or because you thought you had to? Do you…wish you put up more of a fight?”

He swallowed, the movement sharp in the quiet. Then, finally—finally—he turned to face you.

His expression was unreadable, but his eyes—those storm-grey eyes—were tired. Worn from the weight of something unsaid.

“I left,” he said slowly, voice quieter now, “because I thought I was doing the right thing.”

You studied him. “And now?”

His throat bobbed.

“And now I think it was the worst decision I ever made.”

Your breath caught.

Sirius exhaled, raking a hand through his hair, like he didn’t know how to put it into words. “I was afraid,” he admitted. “Of how much I needed you. Of how easy it was to let you in. And I—I told myself that if I let it go, it would be better for both of us.”

Your stomach twisted. “And was it?”

His jaw clenched.

“No.” His voice was barely above a whisper. “It wasn’t.”

The wind carried the silence between you. The kind of silence that didn’t demand to be filled, only felt.

You searched his face. “Do you still love me?”

Sirius exhaled sharply. Like he had been holding his breath this whole time.

“Yes,” he said simply. “I never stopped.”

The truth of it hung between you, solid and undeniable.

Your fingers twitched at your sides. “Then stop looking at me like I’m something you’re afraid of losing.”

His gaze flickered, something raw passing over his features.

“I am afraid,” he admitted. “But if I’m going to lose you, I don’t want it to be because I was too much of a coward to stay.”

Your heart stumbled.

Sirius took a slow step forward, closing the last bit of space between you. His hands hovered at your waist, uncertain.

“I can’t promise I won’t mess up,” he said, voice low, steady. “But I can promise I won’t walk away again.”

You held his gaze, searching for any hesitation. You found none.

So you let yourself believe him.

Your hands slid up, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt, and Sirius exhaled shakily before finally, finally closing the space between you.

The kiss was nothing like the first one. It wasn’t rushed or desperate—it was certain. Like the answer to a question you had both been too afraid to ask.

His hands splayed against your back, pulling you closer, and you let him. Because maybe this time, holding on was enough.

Maybe this time, neither of you had to let go.

masterlist !

a/n: remember my inbox is always open for suggestions!

tags: @lydiascabinsix @lydiasfalling @laufeysvalentine

[grimst4rs]

marauders era unpopular opinions, once more

i really don’t like fanon regulus. i don’t like him being helpless and kind and a sirius variant. he’s morally grey, leaning towards morally dark, he’s selfish, he agreed to his parents’ and voldemort’s ideologies, having joined the death eaters most likely by his own will (unlike draco malfoy). but obviously, everyone is allowed to characterise characters the very way they want to

and while we’re on it, i don’t like evan and barty either, for the same reason. maybe i would, if they were realistically characterised (i LOVE reading morally grey or morally dark(er) characters), and once again, i believe that just because one likes a character, that doesn’t always mean that the character is a good person

and continuing on the same topic, the sunshine james potter, although being a topic that i like and delved deeper into myself, is nice, but i would also love to see more of arrogant, spoiled james potter, too

not liking severus snape and peter pettigrew but liking evan, barty and regulus is kind of hypocritical

i don’t like jegulus

i also don’t like the casanova, bad boy characterisation of remus, and the helpless, needy characterisation of sirius either. to me, they’re out of character, overly done and absolutely not enjoyable

and because i earlier mentioned severus snape, i think he’s an interesting character, actually. that doesn’t make him a good person (once again, i believe him to be morally grey, too) and i can’t call myself a lover of his, however i find his story and character very interesting and compelling

i don’t like a lot of the wolfstar dynamics in current fandom

“we need more content about the girls!” literally do it yourself. please. whenever i write content about the men, i get a wave of new followers, and whenever i post about the non-men, suddenly i have tebs of people unfollowing me. oh, and my posts about the men have twice or thrice the notes of the other ones

sirius > regulus

and speaking of which, sirius is such an interesting character, and he was reduced by many people to nothing, or whatever is relevant to the plot

james would pick sirius over regulus any time, with literally no hesitation

i don’t care about popular fics (read or don’t read, i generally don’t read popular fics to be honest), however i do care about the way creators, especially writers, are treated in this fandom. i made a few posts about this topic, feel free to ask me to link them to you, but the way some people feel entitled to fic and fandom content is horrible

“x is the female version of— !” please stop. i’m going to stop you right here.

stop tagging jegulus and wolfstar and other mlm ships with wlw and nmlnm tags, for god’s sake. you’re just clogging the tag, and if i came looking for a certain ship, that’s what i’m going to expect to find. besides, why would you tag jegulus with, say, pandalily, when jegulus is by far more popular?

jegulus < jily

[irisintheafterglow]

No Prey, No Pay (opla!zoro x you)

summary: after steering him to a successful bounty, zoro can't stop thinking about you. he decides to do something about it. (Part 2 to Parley)

wc: 1.67k

cw/tags: domestic zoro crumbs, idiots in love but they don't know how to express it, canon-typical violence, zoro is so himbo i love him

note: thank you for all the love on my first two zoro posts!!!! i'm so so so happy y'all liked them; this is one of the first times in a while i've actually been super giddy writing a character. i really hope he's not too ooc, i tried to keep his himbo-ness intact. hope you enjoy!!!

likes, comments, and reblogs are always appreciated <3

“Here to try killing me again?”

“Oh,” is all he can sputter out, frozen on the doorstep of the Lady’s manor. The stout, shriveled old woman before him was not who he was looking for. To make matters worse, the flower he’d picked from the hillside on his way up the driveway suddenly seemed like a gargantuan beanstock in his fingers. His face was warming but, for the life of him, he could not figure out why. “You’re not–”

“Nope. They’re in the Farmers’ Market,” she deadpans without hesitation, eyeing him with all the amusement of a PhD candidate reading a children’s book. “The Farmers’ Market I created, by the way.” 

“Right,” he replies shortly, turning abruptly on his heel and letting his eyes widen in pure horror when she can’t see his face. He tosses the flower into a nearby planter, well aware that she can still see his every move. After several misguided attempts to navigate back to your isolated piece of land in the East Blue, he approached the ornately decorated door with a little more excitement than he expected. Having the Lady whom he’d tried to kill a few weeks prior be the one to open the door was another funny twist of irony that caused him an odd feeling of embarrassment, like he’d dropped you off after a date ten minutes past your curfew. “Thank you for your time.” 

“Tell me, pirate hunter,” she called to his back patronizingly. “Why grace us again with your oh-so-menacing presence?” 

“I’m wondering the exact same thing,” he mutters, irritated at his failed attempt to find you on the first try. 

“When you find them, tell them to pick up more sweet potatoes. I thought we had enough for dinner, but we could use a few more now that you’re here,” the Lady instructs him and her words take a few seconds to register in his mind. But, by the time he’s turned around to ask her what she meant, the door is already shut and he’s too proud to knock again. 

As if the mortification on your porch wasn’t enough, it’s nearly impossible to find you in the milling swarms of people in town. The people part naturally for him as he passes, sneaking anxious glances at the three swords on his hip. Whispers of his occupation and intentions float around his ears but he pays them no mind, determined to spot you. Again, he wasn’t sure what he was doing there in the first place; but, no matter what anyone else said, he did know one thing. By some unexpected turn of Fate, he missed you. 

“Shopping for produce while you hunt? I didn’t know you could multitask.” The teasing lilt of your voice appears behind him and he can’t help smirking. You’d found him before he found you, even though it was his job to find people. “Word to the wise: the vendors will upcharge you because they know you’re not from the island.” 

“What if you’re there with me?” When he finally turns to face you, his eyes flick to the canvas bag slung over your shoulder. It’s stuffed with fruits and vegetables, along with a jar of honey from the beekeeper just up the road from your house. 

“They’ll upcharge you more and insist you pay for my stuff,” you reply nonchalantly. “Now that I think of it, maybe we should walk around together.” You brush past him and re-enter the bustling square like he was the last thing on your mind, when really he was the only thing for the past week. You’re certain he’d follow behind you and your theory is confirmed when his voice comes from over your right shoulder. “It’s good to see you.”

“You’re wearing the bracelet,” he observes, easily slipping into place next to you as if it was natural to be by your side. With the sword-clad bounty hunter next to you, it was much easier to navigate the market without bumping every resident of the island. 

“Mhmm, I told you I liked it,” you say absentmindedly, stopping at a stand and picking up a vibrantly colored fruit from the stack. Observing it for bruises and finding none, you signal the seller that you’d like to buy the piece in your hand. His farm-worn hand stretches out to you and you fish around in your bag briefly for coins. But, before you can place the money in his hand, Zoro’s fingers are already dropping an unnecessarily large quantity into the shocked farmer’s palm. You gape at him and his unchangingly blank expression, shaking your head in disbelief when he glances at you, eyes shining arrogantly. “Where’d you get all that money and why did you do that?” 

“Bounties,” he answers plainly, “and ‘cause I wanted to. Next stand?” You’re still slightly frozen from pure surprise, but he shrugs carefreely and tilts his head toward the rest of the vendors.

“Feel like enlightening me on why you’re here again?” It’s the fourth or fifth stand he’s accompanied you to and, at this point, you were just window-shopping. Since he joined you on your errand, you hadn’t spent any more money; before you could pay any of the sellers, they were already thanking you profusely for your generosity with a pile of shining coins in their hands. Zoro proved to be a very patient companion, respectfully giving his opinions on which piece of produce looked bigger or more appetizing. With most of the required items on your shopping list successfully in your bag, you find yourself drifting over to the stalls of mundane things like pretty flowers and colorful crystals. 

“There’s a Marine defector turned intelligence smuggler hiding somewhere in the area. Thought I’d knock out two birds with one stone.” You turn over a piece of aventurine in your fingers, admiring it from different angles in the sunlight. Your breath hitches slightly when Zoro’s face dips down next to yours, watching the crystal from the same angle. 

“What’s the other bird?” You glance at him from the corner of your eye. 

“Visiting you,” he replies without hesitation, plucking the crystal from your fingers and tossing more coins at the vendor. You don’t stop the laugh that escapes your mouth and you swear his smirk gets more self-assured as he drops the rock into your bag. At a point when you aren’t looking, he swings your bag onto a broad shoulder as easily as if it was a piece of paper. “Also, we need sweet potatoes.” Your eyebrows raise in amusement at his slip. 

“We?” You have to fight down another giggle when his face becomes slightly pinker, imperceptible if you weren’t already staring at him. “Since when were we anything?”

“Your boss said she needed more sweet potatoes. Don’t shoot the messenger.” 

“I wasn’t aware that you went to go see her.”

“I wasn’t either, and then she opened the door instead of you,” he admits and you chuckle at his expression of distaste. “If it were up to me, I wouldn’t have–get behind me.” Before he can finish his thought, his arm shoots out in front of you, effectively halting you a split second before a knife darts across your vision, embedding itself into the wooden post next to you. The surrounding market-goers break into chaotic panic and you have no choice but to press your back against Zoro’s to prevent getting swept away. Emerging from the crowd, a lethal-looking group of fighters encircle you two and your hand finds the hilt of your saber. 

“Pirates?”

“No. Bounty hunters.”

“Friends of yours?” You eye the group warily as the marketplace empties, people running into the nearest building they could find to spectate the upcoming battle. 

“I’d call them ‘occupational competition’ on a good day.”

“Ah, great,” you huff sarcastically. “What’d you do to piss them off?”

“Exist,” he deadpans and you hum in assent. 

“Yeah, that’ll do it,” you mutter and you start to pull your blade from its sheath, anticipating the fight ahead of you.

“Don’t.” The single word halts your movements and your stomach drops in fear of what he’s sensing.

“What?”

“Let me handle this,” he says in a low tone that makes your skin break into goosebumps. “Can you hold the bag while I deal with them?”

“You sure?”

“Yep. This won’t take long,” he says irritatedly, scowling at the rival hunters that interrupted his day.

“Alright. I’m gonna go get sweet potatoes, then.”

“Third one down on the left. I’ll meet you over there,” he promises before moving faster than you can comprehend, whirling and downing the two attackers in front of you without even drawing his swords. They howl in pain when you stab your blade into their feet for good measure before leisurely making your way further down the street. As you walk, Zoro clears the path for you, mercilessly incapacitating every enemy with ease. By the time you find the sweet potato stall, there’s only one persistent fighter still giving the swordsman problems. You don’t feel any ounce of fear, however, as you pick through the salvageable gourds while the clashing of swords rings out behind you. Eventually, the street quiets and Zoro returns to your side as if nothing happened at all. “Good?”

“I’m fine,” you say truthfully, running your thumb over the bruise of an otherwise good potato. “You think this one’s still okay?” After peering at it and deeming it safe, he nods.  

“Yeah, it should be fine. If anything, you can just cut off the ugly spot.” There’s a splattering of red just under his eye when you meet his gaze. Your fingers unconsciously come up to wipe the speck of blood from his cheek and his skin feels just as electric as the first time you touched him. 

“Cool. I’m done shopping then, so we can go back home.”

“We?”

“You’re staying for dinner. It isn’t a request,” you command lightheartedly and smile when his steps fall into line next to yours. 

“Mmm, I can’t wait.”

if you enjoy my writing and would like to support me, you can buy me a coffee on my ko-fi! you can also check out my full masterlist here :)

[hivemuthur]

What was that? - Ch. 11.

viktorxfemale!OFC explicit!

friends to lovers, co-workers, sexual tension up to the wazoo, pinning and banter that got me frustrated when I was writing it, attempt at humour, some angst and a slow burn with a happy ending and a classic Viktor for once

Ch.1. | Ch.2. | Ch.3. | Ch.4. | Ch.5. | Ch.6. | Ch.7. | Ch.8. | Ch.9. | Ch.10. | Ch.12. | Ch.13. | Ch.14. | Ch.15.

word count: 5,8K

tag: #what was that

author’s note: @rennethen as beta reader

Cross-posted on AO3

—

“Do you think Jayce knows?” Renly asked as they strolled leisurely toward the lab.

It was still an odd sensation—walking hand-in-hand with Viktor. His grip was warm, steady, and confident, so matter-of-fact about it, as if this had been their routine for years rather than a startlingly new development. Meanwhile, Renly couldn’t help but feel a little silly. Every now and then, she glanced at him, half-expecting to catch some flicker of hesitation or second-guessing, but no. Viktor had made his choice, and once he decided something, well… it was decided.

“I certainly hope not yet,” Viktor replied dryly, his cane tapping lightly against the cobblestones. “As that would mean he spied on us yesterday, and that would be, how do you say it… disturbing.” The last word rolled off his tongue with a deliberate care that sent a shiver through her thoughts, and Renly silently filed it away.

“But” he continued, “I suppose he might suspect, given our shared absence.”

Renly’s lips curled into a mischievous grin. “Should we have some fun with him?”

Viktor turned his head to glance at her, his amber eyes sharp with amusement. “I am open to many… perversions, Renly,” he said with an exaggerated air of innocence, “but are you already bored with just me?”

Renly’s step faltered as her face flamed red. She gaped at him, scandalized. “Viktor!”

He didn’t even try to hide his smirk. “Ah, there it is,” he remarked with a soft chuckle, his gaze lingering on the blush creeping up her neck to her cheeks in record time.

She slapped his chest lightly, laughing despite herself. “I am very much entertained, thank you very much,” she said, recovering her composure. “But I’ll remember that comment in case you stop proving sufficient.” Her grin was merciless now.

Viktor chuckled nervously, running a hand through his hair. “I fear that one day, I will dig my own grave.” Then, with a sidelong glance, his eyes glinting with amusement, he added, “What does the cunning fox have in mind this time?”

Renly’s mouth opened, ready with a response, but she froze mid-thought, her brow furrowing. “Wait—hold on. That happened twice already! Are you implying that I’m some kind of chaos wrecker?”

“Implying?” Viktor tilted his head, his expression maddeningly composed. “I believe the evidence speaks for itself. What I am implying,” he continued smoothly, “is merely that your name suits you very well.”

Renly blinked, puzzled. “What do you mean, my name suits me? What’s that supposed to mean?”

Viktor smirked faintly; his steps measured as they continued down the path. “Ah, so you are unfamiliar with Reynard the Fox?”

“Reynard the what now?” she asked, amused by the sudden detour into what she was sure was one of Viktor’s infamous tangents.

“A trickster,” he began, the amusement in his tone carefully layered with affection. “From old tales. Reynard is a fox known for wit, cunning, and the ability to outsmart everyone around him. A trickster god, if you like. Quite fitting, no?”

Renly’s mouth fell open in exaggerated offense, though her eyes sparkled. “Are you calling me a god, Viktor? Because I’ll take that. But the trickster part? Absolutely not.”

Viktor chuckled softly, shaking his head. “I am only relaying facts, Renly. I cannot be blamed if the description happens to align so well with you.”

She laughed, shoving his shoulder lightly. “Oh, you’re awful. I can’t believe you know something about me that I didn’t even know.”

“Useless knowledge, perhaps,” he quipped, though his voice softened as he glanced down at her. “But it is knowledge nonetheless, and it suits you better than you may think.”

Renly tilted her head, her expression playful but thoughtful. “You know,” she said, her voice growing quieter, “maybe there’s something to that. The power of the names we’re given. After all…” Her gaze flicked to his hand, still wrapped around hers. “You are victorious at everything you do.”

Viktor faltered, her words clearly catching him off guard. His hand tightened gently around hers as he slowed his pace, the faintest smile curling his lips. “You are much too kind,” he murmured, though his tone carried a tinge of disbelief, as if he were still trying to convince himself of the truth in her words.

“I’m just being honest,” Renly said, her voice steady. “And if there’s one thing I know, it’s that I trust what I see with my own eyes. You take the world apart and put it back together in ways no one else can. That’s something only you can do, Viktor.”

He stopped then, turning to face her fully, his amber eyes softer than she’d ever seen. “Victorious, hmm?” he murmured. “Perhaps. But you give me too much credit, Renly. I do not always create—I destroy, too.”

She stepped closer, brushing a strand of hair from his forehead. “Then let me remind you that even gold has to be melted down and shaped before it becomes something beautiful. And you, Viktor,” she added, her voice warm, “are the most beautiful thing I’ve ever known.”

His gaze lingered on hers for a moment, searching, before he leaned down to press a tender kiss to her temple. “You are unfairly good at this,” he whispered against her skin.

“At what?” she teased.

“Making me believe.” They stood there for a few seconds, their closeness lingering in the quiet space between them. Renly could feel the steady beat of his heart, the warmth of his presence grounding her in a way that felt almost impossible to explain. Her breath softened as she looked up at him, finding something infinitely reassuring in the calm of his gaze.

“Renly,” Viktor murmured, his voice low, “as much as I enjoy this... we still have a task at hand.”

She raised an eyebrow, amused by the sudden shift. “And what might that be?”

Viktor’s smirk returned, his hand slipping gently from hers as he took a small step back. “How should we make Jayce’s day hard?”

Renly entered the lab first, moving briskly toward the kitchen area where Jayce had already brewed a fresh coffee pot. She poured herself a cup, trying to settle into the routine of the day, though her mind was still tangled with the tension of their little, evil plan. As she stirred the coffee, Jayce walked in, his expression warm but slightly hesitant.

“How are you doing today?” he asked, his voice light as he grabbed a cup of his own.

Renly gave him a quick smile, though her eyes stayed focused on the swirling liquid. “Fine,” she said, her tone neutral, avoiding eye contact. “Busy, as always. You know how it is.” She was distant, too distant for Jayce’s liking, but he didn’t press further.

Just then, Viktor entered, his footsteps steady but measured. He offered a polite nod toward Jayce and Renly but said nothing more. The coolness in the air shifted as he moved toward the counter, taking his place beside Renly.

“Morning,” Viktor greeted them both, his voice calm, but there was a subtle weight in the air that hinted at the unresolved tension between them.

Renly offered a polite but stiff, “Morning,” before she took a sip of her coffee, avoiding his gaze. Viktor didn’t miss the hesitation, but he didn’t comment. Instead, he reached for the coffee pot, filling his own mug.

Jayce, noticing the awkward atmosphere, tried to salvage the conversation. “So... any updates on those samples from last week?” he asked, leaning against the counter, his eyes flicking between them. “I was thinking you might need to tweak a few variables if we want to get accurate readings. I can help?”

Renly sighed, setting her mug down on the counter a little too forcefully. “Tweak? You mean redo them, right? Because the last set was, well... not perfect.” Her voice had a bite to it, though it was disguised as casual irritation.

Viktor’s head snapped up, his eyes narrowing ever so slightly. “You can’t expect perfection from the first try.” His voice was sharp, but measured, his irritation hidden beneath a layer of composure.

Renly scoffed, crossing her arms. “Why, of course, silly me. Trusting the years of my education and experience...” She rolled her eyes dramatically, her voice dripping with sarcasm.

Viktor’s brow furrowed, his posture stiffening. “If you had waited for the data to process properly instead of rushing ahead, maybe we’d have a clearer picture,” he snapped, the sharpness in his tone now unmistakable.

Renly raised an eyebrow. “Rushing? I was being efficient,” she countered, leaning slightly toward him. “Maybe someone should try not to overcomplicate things.”

The words hung in the air for a beat, tension crackling between them as Jayce stood awkwardly at the counter, watching them both. He cleared his throat, trying to cut through the palpable discomfort. “Hey, hey—guys, we’re all on the same team here, right?” He forced a smile, but it was weak and faltering as he glanced between them, feeling the rift grow wider.

Viktor and Renly both shot him looks, their expressions stiff as they stood on opposite sides of the kitchen island, their energy clashing.

“I’m just saying—” Renly started, but Viktor cut her off.

“You’re just saying a lot of things,” he shot back, his tone becoming sharper. “It’s a pattern, Renly. Sometimes, I wonder if you ever listen to anything I say to you.”

Renly’s breath hitched, and for a moment, there was a flicker of something softer in her expression. “You really think that? That’s rich coming from the guy who thinks he has all the answers of the universe.” Her voice was low, but there was a sting in it.

Viktor’s jaw clenched, but he didn’t respond. The silence in the kitchen felt heavy, suffocating.

Jayce could feel the tension between them thickening. He forced a smile, hoping to steer them back to neutral ground. “Alright, alright. We’re getting off track here,” he said, glancing at both of them. “We’re here to get work done, not argue.”

Renly let out a sharp breath, clearly frustrated, but she didn’t engage with Viktor any further. Instead, she stood up abruptly and headed toward the lab. However, as she reached the door, she paused, turning back with a mischievous smile.

“Ah, one more thing,” she said, her voice soft but full of purpose as she approached Viktor’s chair. Leaning over him, she grabbed his jaw firmly—just enough to make him stiffen, though he didn’t flinch.

She pressed a quick, almost teasing kiss to his lips before pulling away, her grin wide and unrepentant. “You’re cute, you know that?”

Jayce froze. His heart skipped a beat, and for a split second, everything seemed to stop. His mind raced, trying to piece together what had just happened, what he’d just witnessed. His eyes widened as the realization slammed into him—slow, undeniable, and crushing.

He opened his mouth to speak but found that the words wouldn’t come. The tension in the room seemed to stretch forever before he finally muttered, his voice thick with disbelief, “I... hate you both so much.”

Jayce’s eyes narrowed as he looked between them, still frozen in disbelief. “How could you do this to me?” he exclaimed, clutching his chest dramatically. “I almost had a heart attack!”

Renly, now sitting back down with her coffee, couldn’t help but smirk. She let her fingers brush against Viktor’s hand in a casual but deliberate motion, feeling a small spark at the contact. It wasn’t obvious, but Viktor’s gaze softened for a split second before he masked it with a smirk of his own.

Viktor leaned back in his chair, looking at Jayce with a raised eyebrow. “I don’t think I could’ve been much of a threat, Jayce. But don’t worry, you’ll survive.”

Jayce looked back at them, a mix of exasperation and begrudging affection flickering in his eyes. “Yeah, yeah, laugh it up,” he muttered. “I’m just happy for you two, really. I mean, it’s nice to see you finally getting your act together.” He paused, adding with mock trepidation, “But I’m now genuinely afraid of your combined power. It’s... terrifying.”

Renly chuckled, swirling her coffee absentmindedly. “Oh, it’s not so bad, Jayce. It’s actually a good balance. You should try it sometime.”

Jayce rolled his eyes, shaking his head. “I’ll pass on the emotional chaos.” He paused, then smirked. “Still, I’ll give you this—at least you’re not running off with Viktor’s lab notes anymore. That was a genuine concern.”

Viktor’s lips twitched at Jayce’s jab, but he couldn’t resist a smirk. “It wasn’t my idea, Jayce. The mastermind behind this entire setup,” he gestured between himself and Renly, “is all Renly’s doing.”

Jayce raised an eyebrow, crossing his arms over his chest with a playful, mocking frown. “I don’t see this excuse working with the enforcers, Viktor,” he said, his voice laced with exaggerated suspicion. “They’ll still throw you in the holding cells if they catch wind of this.”

Renly gasped dramatically, her hand flying to her chest in mock horror. “What is this? So quick to sell me out?” she exclaimed, shaking her head with playful outrage. “I thought we were partners in crime, Viktor!”

Viktor looked at her deadpan, a glint of mischief in his eyes. “I only reveal the truth when it benefits me, my dear. And as much as I appreciate your... ingenuity, I would rather not be implicated in your schemes.”

Renly narrowed her eyes, pretending to be insulted. “So, what’s the plan, then? You’re going to throw me under the bus and leave me to face the consequences alone?”

Viktor leaned back slightly, clearly enjoying the banter. “If the bus fits…”

Renly shot him an amused look. “Oh, you’re so charming, Viktor.”

Jayce chuckled, unable to hold back. “Alright, alright, I’ve heard enough. I officially claim the title of architect of this monstrosity,” he said, waving his hand between the two of them. “The terrifying, unstoppable power couple. It’s all my doing, my creation.”

Viktor raised an eyebrow, not entirely convinced. “You may have played a part, but I assure you, Jayce, the true danger lies in Renly’s influence.”

Renly gave him an exaggerated wink. “Don’t worry, Jayce. The true architect might be you, but the real power? All Viktor’s doing.”

Jayce groaned, rubbing his forehead with mock exhaustion. “Just please, for the love of all things sacred, don’t do this again. And, for the love of Hextech, don’t be gross at work. As I’ve helped put the two of you together, I can undo it. That’s a promise.”

Renly grinned and tapped her finger against Viktor’s shoulder, feigning seriousness. “Don’t worry about this one,” she said, pointing at Viktor, who was still leaning casually over his cup, giving Jayce a smug look. “You know Viktor’s favourite lecture—the ‘appropriate behaviour in the workplace’ speech. He’ll make sure we follow the rules. It’s practically a safety lecture on repeat.” She mimicked Viktor’s tone in a deadpan voice. “No inappropriate behaviour around hextech equipment, no distractions—save that for after hours.”

Viktor shot her a look, smirking. “I do try to maintain some semblance of order around here, Renly. It's important to keep professionalism, even in… less conventional environments.”

Jayce put his hands up in mock surrender. “Right, right. I’m sure the entire lab is scared stiff whenever you give one of those speeches, Viktor.”

Renly laughed, adding with a wink, “You’d be surprised how effective they are. You don’t want to risk Viktor’s safety lectures, trust me.”

Viktor gave a light shrug. “It’s a necessary evil.”

Jayce shook his head, trying not to smile. “Alright, I’ll let you two have your little moment but remember—keep it at a 9-to-5 level. No surprises after hours. I don’t need any more ‘schemes’ to manage.”

Renly leaned back, sipping her coffee with a smirk. “Don’t worry, Jayce. We’ll try to keep things professional... but no promises.”

***

For about two weeks, things had been kept ‘professional’—mostly. Jayce was still wincing at the subtle signals of affection between Viktor and Renly and felt utterly betrayed that the sugar secret was still being kept from him. They spent most of their time together at Viktor’s flat, as Renly, too preoccupied with, well, everything, still hadn’t cleared the hazardous debris from her own.

Lately, however, with finals approaching at the academy, leaving Renly with little time for her own work, and Viktor and Jayce stumbling upon the Hexcore discovery, most of their shared time had shifted to the lab. And so, things had stopped being quite so ‘professional.’

They worked on their separate workloads in silence, but for the soft, intermittent hum of Renly’s voice as she fiddled at her bench. It wasn’t quite a song—more a series of lilting, disjointed melodies she pieced together as she fiddled with her tools. Viktor, perched on the stool at his own workbench across the room, caught himself smiling.

The quiet hum broke into an off-key flourish, and Viktor chuckled, soft and warm.

Renly turned toward him; eyebrow quirked. “What’s funny?”

“You,” Viktor replied without looking up from his work, though the corner of his mouth twitched upward. “You hum when you’re focused. I’d forgotten.”

Renly planted her hands on her hips, feigning indignation. “Forgotten? I do not!”

“You do,” he insisted, shooting her a teasing glance. “But don’t stop. It’s… endearing.”

She blinked at him, her mock-offense softening into something more thoughtful. After a moment, she shook her head with a small laugh. “This is weird, you know.”

“What is?”

“This,” she gestured vaguely between them, “being this close to you and not… not feeling like I have to keep my hands to myself.” Her voice grew quieter as she spoke, her eyes fixed thoughtfully on the space in front of her. “For so long, I thought if I ever touched you, you’d flinch.”

Viktor looked up at her then, his gaze steady but playful. “If you don’t believe it, you should verify. For science.”

Renly laughed. “Is that your way of saying you’re the test subject?”

He spread his hands in a mock-solemn gesture. “If it will satisfy your hypothesis.”

“But what about the work environment safety, Viktor? Are you leading me astray just to rub it into my face one day?” She eyed him suspiciously.

“As I said, it would be for science, therefore part of our work,” Viktor smirked, though even he couldn’t quite believe his own words. At work? Never. Yet now, it was the only thing on his mind. “When it comes to rubbing things in your face… well, no promises,” he added innocently, causing Renly to clasp her hand to her face, though she couldn’t hold back a chuckle.

“Fine,” she said with exaggerated determination, crossing the room toward him. “But I’m a very thorough researcher.”

Stopping in front of his stool, she leaned down and poked a finger to his forehead, her expression one of mock-serious examination. “Hmm, no reaction. Subject appears… suspiciously non-hostile.”

Viktor chuckled, tipping his head back slightly to look up at her. “So far.”

Her finger moved to prod at his cheek, then his shoulder, her expression growing more dramatic with each exaggerated poke. “Subject’s outer shell is remarkably non-defensive. No sharp edges or biting. Fascinating.”

“Renly…” Viktor’s voice held a warning tone now, though his smile betrayed him.

But she was undeterred. She crouched a little, eyeing his torso, her finger hovering near his ribs. “And here, we test the reflexes—”

“Don’t you dare,” Viktor said sharply, though he was laughing now.

Renly smirked but straightened up, her expression softening as she brushed her hand lightly across his jaw. This time, she didn’t poke—she let her fingers trail gently, tracing the line of his cheekbone. Her voice was quieter when she spoke again. “Subject seems to be… content at the contact.”

Viktor’s laughter faded, replaced with something softer in his gaze. He reached up and caught her wrist gently, tugging her a little closer. “Perhaps the subject is more than content.”

Before she could reply, he pulled her fully toward him, and she let herself be guided, sliding into his lap with ease. Viktor’s hands steadied her at her hips, and her arms found their way around his neck as their lips met in a kiss—tentative at first, then deepening.

Renly straddled his lap, leaning into him, her fingers tangling in his hair. The kiss grew hungrier, the soft hum of her earlier tune replaced by soft breaths and the faint scrape of his chair against the floor as they shifted closer. Viktor’s grip on her waist tightened, he tried to pull her in just a little bit more, the friction between their bodies making him swell up. He didn’t know what came over him in that moment. The words weren’t planned, nor had he ever imagined saying them like this. But before he could stop himself, they slipped out, muffled against her lips in a breathless whisper.

“I love you.” It was quiet but landed like a thunderclap.

Renly froze, her hands stilling against his chest. Her breath caught in her throat, and she pulled back slightly, just enough to look at him.

Viktor’s face was flushed, his breathing uneven. He didn’t flinch under her gaze but watched her carefully, as though bracing for her response. “I—” he started, seeing that no such thing was coming. “I am aware this is quick,” his voice now measured, though still quiet. “But I think I’ve had this in me for a while now. I was just looking for the right words, as ‘love’ doesn’t describe how you make me feel.”

Bravery slowly fled his body, and his gaze dropped down to her collarbones. He felt his chest tightening, slight pain lingering within it.

“It doesn’t?”

“No…” Viktor placed his hands on her shoulders, his thumbs gently rubbing the skin of her neck and collarbone. “I admire you. I respect you. I adore you,” he said softly, pressing a gentle kiss to her jaw. “I think… you’ve nestled in my heart a long time ago. I just—”

“Viktor, I—”

“Wait.” He stopped her, his voice calm but earnest. “You don’t have to say anything. I wanted you to know this, and I wanted to find the courage to be the first one to say it, since you did the heavy lifting.” A soft, almost shy smile tugged at his lips. “You don’t have to say anything. I am… happy.”

Renly exhaled softly, her fingers brushing against his collar as she leaned her forehead against his. She closed her eyes, letting the weight of his words sink in.

“I don’t think I can compete with that, you know,” she murmured, her voice wavering slightly with a nervous laugh. “I may not have the words yet,” she whispered, her voice steady now, “but I think you’ve nestled in my heart too, whether you wanted it or not.”

“Oh, it took me some time, but I definitely wanted to,” his tone now lighter, as he began to kiss her slowly, his hands pushing her toward him. “And now, I would gladly nestle myself somewhere else, by your approval,” Viktor whispered in a sultry tone, biting her lower lip.

Renly laughed into his mouth, completely disarmed. “Viktor, I don’t care if I win this one. I want you so much right now that if you don’t do something soon, I might—”

“Implode?” Viktor offered, his lips twitching into a smirk as he licked her earlobe and left a tiny bite on it. She let out a muffled whimper, managing to throw out, “Yes, and there will be no one to—ah!” Her words dissolved into a gasp as Viktor pressed his groin between her legs. “Put the blame on me when the enforcers come,” Renly managed to finish her sentence with a breathy strain, her body already melting into Viktor’s arms, her resolve as pliable as the warmth radiating between them.

“Hmm, that would be just awful,” he teased mercilessly, his voice rich with amusement. “I don’t think I could allow it—my favourite thing taken away from me so quickly,” Viktor whispered into her ear, his words laced with a low growl. “Let’s get you fucked in no time.”

Renly giggled, though her ears went completely crimson red at the sultry register of Viktor’s voice. He deftly fumbled with her buttons while leaving a slick trace of kisses on her neck, but her own fingers trembled when she was peeling layers of clothing open. Each brush of his fingertips on her skin made a prickle of goosebumps rise and fall, as if his touch was bringing her back to life.

Once she was left with nothing but a bra, she slid off his lap and got rid of her underwear, leaving ,the skirt on. She scrambled back up onto him, his own shirt and vest left hanging loosely around his frame, buttons undone.

Viktor adjusted the backrest of his chair, so he could lean back comfortably and slide Renly’s hips on top of his, as he pulled her breasts out of the bra and gave each a gentle squeeze. He brushed his thumb over a faint fingertip shaped bruise on the side of one of them—a reminder of their last night’s activities. “You wear my marks with such grace,” he whispered, ghosting his lips over it.

Renly shuddered at the warmth of his mouth, her head falling back, her pelvis digging deeper into Viktor’s groin, making him release a low groan. “Do I have to hold you down in place, my love?” He smirked against her breast and bit on it carefully, while digging his fingers into her hips to still her movement. She gasped and shot him a look of playful disapproval.

“Undo my belt,” he commanded, placing his hands on the sides of her neck, keeping their eyes locked. Her hands slid down his torso to unbuckle him, but she had to steal a glance to make her work of his fly buttons. “Ah! And look at me,” he pulled her face back up to his.

She pressed her forehead to his and let out a long exhale, as if bracing herself. Having her focus recollected, she slowly undid his fly, button after button, his cock already pressing itself out. Her hand palmed his length through the soft fabric of his underwear, and Viktor let out a long hum of approval at the warmth of her touch.

Renly slid her hand under the material shyly, observing his reaction. A smile bloomed on his lips and a quiet praise fell from his mouth, “Just like that.” She sprung him free and let his cock rest idly against her slit, as she moved her hips slowly back and forth, grinding on his length, covering him with her slick.

Viktor’s lips collided with hers, as he kissed her with a deep hunger that crawled itself up his body, digging its claws into his lungs, his ribcage, his heart. “Do you want me to—“, he breathed into her mouth, his words failing him, melting into another kiss.

“No, I want you now,” Renly felt her insides squeezing tight, Viktor’s proximity driving her into a lustful haze she didn’t know she had in her. Time was of the essence, and although she deeply believed in Jayce’s decency—that he would back out quietly if he caught them—she didn’t want to risk even the slightest possibility that they might have to stop.

“Tell me if anything feels wrong.” Viktor’s own voice was straining, as he teased her entrance with his head. He slid in carefully, his cock twitching at how warm and wet she was. Once he was fully buried inside her, he let out a breath he hadn’t realised he was holding.

“It feels… the opposite of wrong,” Renly whispered against his lips, her mouth dry and her brain slowly giving up on formulating proper thoughts. Viktor slid his hands down her sides, one travelled where their bodies met, as his fingers parted her, the other tilted her hips forth, so she could grind her clit on his pubic bone while riding him.

“You drive,” he smiled playfully, seeing the spark in her eyes as soon as she felt his skin rubbing against her. She gave her hips an experimental roll and Viktor groaned loudly, making her chuckle. His hand shot to cradle the back of her neck, as she steadied herself on his shoulders and searched for her rhythm.

Soon the sensation of being full of his cock, her core grinding on his, built itself up and Renly felt the pressure bubbling in her lower belly as she quickened the pace, her movement falling out of grace.

“Viktor, I’m so close,” she breathed against his lips, and he took the cue, moving to suck on her neck, his hands kneading her breasts. It was all it took for her to fall over the edge, as she came undone pressing his face to the crook of her neck, her hands gripping his shoulders tightly, her walls clenching desperately around him.

As her rhythm stuttered, Viktor kept rolling his hips underneath her, a playful smirk ghosting on his lips when he whispered, “I didn’t tell you to stop.” He grabbed her chin in one of his hands and placed a loud kiss on her lips. “Are you alright?” His gentle whisper enveloped her as she nodded, her expression serious.

Even though he was close, Viktor’s pace was steady, almost lazy, as he thrusted into her with a quiet force. He was savouring the buildup, cherishing the feeling of her walls closing on him, enveloping him with warmth. “Fuck, I love you,” he rasped into her mouth, spilling himself inside her, before he kissed her.

Outside of gentle twitches and shuddering breaths, neither of them moved for a while. Renly rested her head in the crook of his neck, while Viktor leaned back, cradling her close to his chest, his fingers tracing the lines of the tattoo on her back.

“How are you?” Viktor asked softly, cupping her cheek and pressing a kiss to her forehead.

“I’m so in love with you, I don’t know what to do with it,” Renly whispered, squeezing her eyes shut as a rush of tears swelled beneath her eyelids.

“I think I might know the feeling.” Viktor wrapped his arms tightly around her and nuzzled his face into her hair. “Take as long as you need,” he murmured, exhaling slowly as if trying to ground her in the moment.

Renly tilted her head slightly, resting her chin on his shoulder as she whispered, “And you? How are you feeling?” Her fingers lightly grazed the back of his neck, a comforting, grounding gesture.

Viktor closed his eyes for a moment, letting out a soft hum of contentment. “Tired,” he admitted, his voice low but tinged with a warmth that made the word feel almost reverent. “But blissfully so.”

Renly smiled against his skin, her arms tightening around him. “Good,” she murmured, shifting slightly to press her cheek to his. “I want you to feel safe with me, Viktor. Like I feel with you. That’s all I want.”

His breath hitched at her words, a flicker of vulnerability passing through his expression before he softened again. “You make me feel more than safe,” he replied, his voice barely above a whisper. “You make me feel… whole. As though the pieces I thought lost were never truly gone.” He felt her arms tighten around him in response.

When they finally untangled from each other, Renly’s knees almost gave out. They helped each other get dressed, though not doing a very good job of it, snorting and giggling as they went. Viktor insisted on getting at least a little bit of work done, but her resolve was completely gone, and she decided to head home at a humane hour for once.

Renly stood by the door, her coat slung over her arm as she cast Viktor a lingering look, her cheeks still red from what had just transpired. We sure did keep it professional.

“You sure you don’t want to head out too?” she asked softly, a small smile tugging at her lips.

Viktor shook his head, still seated at his workstation. “I’ll finish a few things here. Just… make it home safely, hmm?”

Renly stepped closer, her hand brushing his shoulder. “You work too hard,” she murmured, leaning down to press a kiss to his temple. “Goodnight, Viktor.”

“Goodnight, Renly.” His voice was warm, but his eyes remained fixed on the table in front of him as she finally slipped out of the lab, leaving him alone with his thoughts.

The silence felt heavier now. Viktor leaned back in his chair, his gaze drifting toward the Hexcore, where it pulsed faintly in its casing, its glow casting shadows across the room. His fingers tapped idly against the desk, the work in front of him forgotten as his mind wandered.

He exhaled slowly, his chest tightening in a way that had nothing to do with the tension of the day. A sudden light-headedness crept over him, and he braced himself against the edge of the table, his other hand clutching at his chest.

The cough came suddenly, a sharp bark that echoed in the quiet of the lab. It wasn’t as violent as the fits he’d suffered before, but it was enough to make him pause, a deep unease settling in his stomach. He fumbled for the handkerchief in his pocket, bringing it to his lips as another cough wracked his body. A few drops spattered onto the table.

When the fit subsided, Viktor sank back into his chair, his breathing uneven. His fingers tightened around the handkerchief as he glanced at the Hexcore again, its faint hum seeming louder now in the stillness.

“Why now?” he muttered under his breath, his voice hoarse. The words hung in the air, unanswered.

The Hexcore pulsed faintly in the dim light, almost as if it were mocking him. Viktor frowned, his mind tugged between the promise of his work and the unsettling fragility of his own body. He shook his head, trying to clear the wooziness that clung to him. With one last glance at the Hexcore, he forced himself to focus back on the scattered notes on his desk, determined to shake off the unease creeping at the edges of his thoughts. He would tell her. Just… later.

[stars-and-inkpots]

Greetings, I'm hoping you're having a great day and or night😊 I love your writing, you're talented! If your requests are still open, can I request Tav (female please) being insecure that she doesn't live up to Gales standards because he was with Mystra? Tav just tells him "I'm in love with you, but I'm nothing. I'm no Goddess" I love my romance with some angst🥲❤️

I finally have a little time this week to write!! I loved this request, thank you so much. I actually had two versions of this planned out, one where you aren't yet together (this one), and another set in post game when the two of you are together in Waterdeep (I might finish this version and post it at some point too) ANYWAY, I hope you enjoy!

With You | Gale x Reader

You were nothing when compared to a god, and Gale certainly wasn’t blind to that. 

So you keep yourself at a distance. You convince yourself that this is for the best. 

Of course, Gale notices.

Pairing: Gale/Reader

Tags: Love confessions, hurt/comfort, fluff and angst, first kiss, comfort, self-esteem issues, low self-worth issues

Ao3 Link: Baldur's Gate 3 Requests

Word Count: 1,037

Realising you had developed feelings for Gale was a complicated discovery on its own. Knowing that Gale’s previous partner had been none other than a literal goddess complicated it even further. 

The two of you had grown close, and both of you would be fools to not admit that there was something between the two of you. But you hesitated everytime the opportunity to take things any further than friendship arose. Not because you didn’t want to, no; Gods, you wanted to so badly. But it was exactly because of Mystra that you hesitated. 

Gale had been with a goddess before. A goddess. And you were just… well, you were just you. You were mortal, and you could never hope to possibly compare to the divine. And what if he was just settling for you? Was he simply lowering his standards? What if Mystra, for whatever reason, decided to return to her affections for Gale? Would he, despite everything that She had done, go back to Her? You were nothing when compared to a god, and Gale certainly wasn’t blind to that. 

So you keep yourself at a distance. You convince yourself that this is for the best. 

Of course, Gale notices. 

Not immediately at first, but after a few days of you barely speaking to him, he can’t help but worry he’s done something wrong. There are no more late night talks by the fire; no walking just a little too close to be simply friendly during the day; no stolen glances. Nothing. Where there was once undeniably something, there is nothing. He curses himself for not saying anything sooner, for hesitating. 

At first, he wants to assume it’s because you suddenly realised that he’s dangerous, that he’s volatile. Then he worries that you’ve realised he’s just not as impressive as you thought he was. Maybe his skill no longer impresses you, and if he doesn’t have that then what else is there? The thought that you look at him and see only what he thinks he is, a pathetic shadow of a man who once was. 

Maybe it’s desperate on his end, but he’s not willing to just let this go. As much as he’s ready to wallow in self-pity, he needs to know. He can change, if that’s what you want. 

---

“I want to talk to you, if you have a moment,” Gale says before you can duck into your tent for the night. 

“Alright,” you relent. “Let’s go for a walk then.” You lead the two of you out of camp, and Gale follows beside you. You can’t shake the anxious feeling that only grows with the silence between you two. Once you’re far enough away, Gale speaks up. 

“I’m going to be perfectly transparent here; and if I’ve misread anything, do stop me before I embarrass myself too much.” Gale takes a breath, as if he’s already waiting for you to object. When you remain silent, he continues. “You mean a great deal to me, and I care about you a lot. In all honesty, I have feelings for you, very strong feelings. Now, a few days ago I had thought that you returned and shared my affections. But you’ve been quite different with me as of late. I know I am not owed an explanation or an answer, but I will still ask for one all the same.” 

You freeze. Even though you knew this conversation would come eventually, you don’t know what to say. He’s here. He’s here and he just admitted that he felt the same way as you did, and yet you can’t bring yourself to answer. 

“I just want to know if it was something I did. Did something change? As I said, you don’t have to answer, of course, I just… what happened to make you change your mind?” You can hear the nervous self-consciousness in his words, but it confuses you. How could he ever think it was something that he did when he had been with a goddess? How could he want you? 

“No, nothing changed. It was nothing that you did. I promise.” You sit down, and Gale follows, sitting beside you. 

“Then why have you been so cold with me? It isn’t fair to tell me I did nothing wrong when you go from spending so much time with me to barely even looking at me, let alone speaking to me.” He sounds frustrated, and you don’t exactly blame him. It was cruel of you to treat him so differently without an explanation. 

“I’m sorry.” You finally bring yourself to look over at him. Even through his slight annoyance with your behaviour, there is hurt. “You deserve better than me,” you say finally. You watch his expression change to one of confusion. “You shouldn’t lower your standards for me.” 

“What?” For once, you seem to have rendered him nearly speechless. 

“Gale, I’m in love with you, but I’m nothing. I’m no goddess.” 

A sudden understanding crosses his face. 

“Yes, you are. You most certainly are.” He takes your hand in his. “And you are more than I deserve, I assure you. If you truly wish to remain no more than friends, then so be it; but if those worries were all that were holding you back, I assure you you need not entertain them any further.” Every word sounds so completely genuine. 

“Are you sure?” You ask, despite yourself. 

“Completely.” He lifts your hand and presses a kiss to your knuckles. The act and the way he looks at you is enough to push your worries aside for now. You can tell he means everything he says. 

“Can I kiss you?” You ask, in a rush of newfound confidence. 

“I would like nothing more.” 

The hand not holding yours rests against your face, thumb brushing along your cheek. You brush your fingers through his hair, and you feel him shiver. It’s a soft kiss, the beginning of things. When you part he rests his forehead against yours and both of you are smiling. 

The walk back to camp is quiet, but comfortable. Gale doesn’t let go of your hand until you kiss once more and retire for the night to your tents.

[clockwork-ashes]

All You Have Is Your Fire - Part III

Find Part I here :)

Summary: 'I can hear your heart beating through the stone.' For the briefest of moments, Lucien wondered if his mate would know exactly when his heart’s steady rhythm came to a sudden stop.

Note: A huge, huge thank you to the lovely @bettdraws who literally deserves all the credit and whose post inspired me to start writing this. I could not stop thinking about this head canon, and it was so kind of you to let me try and make a story from it :)

Tag List: @anishake

Part IV >>

The smell of copper, bitter and sharp, lingered in the air. 

It took Elain a moment to realise that it was blood, and it took her even longer to realise that it was her own. She released a shaky breath, loosening her clenched fists. Her nails had cut into the skin of her palms, perfect crescent moons, already healing.

The suite was poorly lit, as the whole of the Hewn City seemed to be, but in the dim faelight, Elain could just barely see her blood. Her brown eyes tracked the scarlet drops as they left small trails along the inside of her hands. 

Elain frowned as she watched the skin on her palms knit back together, her pain muted, unnatural when compared to her human aches and injuries. Elain was still in the Night Court, and already she was feeling incapable, useless. 

Eris had been very clear in his assertion that no other member from the Night Court would be allowed to join her, certainly neither one of the Archeron sisters. It had been enough for Elain to reconsider leaving with the Autumn prince, but she had not voiced her doubts out loud. 

“You can just as easily change your mind,” Azriel said gently. “No one would think any less of you for it.” His wings were tucked close to his body, making him smaller, less threatening. Concern was evident in the pull of his brows and in the tension of his shoulders. 

Azriel’s words were meant to be a comfort, Elain was sure, but the suggestion was enough to annoy her. She flashed him a friendly smile, her response simple. “I know.” Elain could tell that it was what he wanted to hear, that Azriel wouldn’t push her to further explain. 

“Why are you pacing?” Nesta asked from the Illyrian’s side. The tone of her voice was somewhat reproving, like she was catching her younger sister in a lie.  

Elain froze, pausing her movements. She hadn’t even realised she’d been walking in a constant back-and-forth. She straightened the fabric of her gown, settled her nerves. “I’m not pacing,” she argued. 

“I don’t understand why all of this can’t just be resolved with a letter,” Nesta snapped, her arms crossed, not convinced by Elain’s reassurances. She was in her fighting leathers, Ataraxia at her back. Elain knew Nesta wouldn’t hesitate to use the sword on Eris if he provoked her. Nesta had been the one to help Elain pack for the trip, and then she had insisted on waiting with Elain in the Hewn City until Rhysand and Eris arranged her departure. 

Elain turned to face her eldest sister,  “Probably because it’s all very complicated.”

“I think it’s very simple,” Nesta’s words were sharp as a knife’s blade. “Lucien is our emissary, Autumn has no claim to him.” 

“Blood means nothing to you, Nesta?” Azriel asked. Elain could hear the ghost of amusement in his voice. 

Nesta responded, but Elain missed it, her whirling thoughts a storm within her mind. Elain knew she owed Lucien nothing, that no one expected her to uproot her life in Velaris and run to his side, but she had become tired of all the bloodshed. The war had drained her, she told herself, she couldn’t bear another death, another loss. 

What did it matter that Lucien was her mate, Elain had declared as she and Nesta packed away her most beautiful dresses, she would do the same for anyone. She was worried, of course, but only in the sense that Lucien was Feyre’s friend. Feyre had hugged her tightly back home, close to tears. Elain knew her sister was grateful, but she wished Feyre would have come to the Hewn City to see her off.

Elain breathed a sigh, her shoulders raising in a shrug. She was about to respond to Nesta, to once again try and persuade her sister that she knew what she was doing, to have Azriel understand that she was confident in the choices she was making. Elain was growing tired of the constant coddling, how everyone in her family just assumed they knew what was best for her. 

A spark of anger, resentful, came to life inside her, and Elain was glad the doors to the suite opened and Rhysand entered. He had been the only one who hadn’t questioned her decision, who had understood Elain’s resolve from the start. It had come as a surprise to Elain, but she was grateful for whatever support her sister’s mate offered.   

Rhysand, though, had not come alone. Walking a few careful paces behind him was a woman, dressed in Night Court black. Elain took in her simple and modest attire, and she raised a brow in question. 

The woman didn’t respond, her dark eyes flashed to Nesta and Azriel before she clenched her jaw and stared straight ahead. 

Elain would have spoken to her if Rhys hadn’t captured her attention instead. “You’re ready?” 

As soon as the sun’s last rays disappear behind the horizon, I’ll return for you. 

Eris’s last words to Elain rang clear in her head. She glanced to the window, to the quickly setting sun as the sky turned a deep violet, a pink hue still visible behind the mountain range cutting across the territory. 

Elain placed her hands in front of her, fingers laced so that no one could spot the nervous tremors. She nodded once in understanding, “I am.” Her voice was firm, convincingly unafraid. 

Elain wondered if Rhysand was looking into her mind, searching for answers that she would never freely give. She snapped out of her thoughts when Rhysand spoke to her once more. “Allow me, Elain, to introduce you to your lady’s maid,” he gestured to her with his hand, “Cora will be with you for as long as you’re in Autumn.” 

The woman, Cora, didn’t even bother looking at her. Elain questioned if it was because she had not wanted to join her, or if it was because that was to be expected of the woman’s position as a lady’s maid. Elain knew very little, still, about Prythian and its people, but she could have sworn that the woman was Illyrian. If not for her lack of wings and sharp ears, Elain would have bet on it. Her beauty was shocking, enough to give Elain pause so that she could admire the other woman. 

Her focus once more entirely on the High Lord of Night, Elain could feel as her back tensed, unsettled by the obvious disregard for her opinion on the matter. “I thought maybe one of the twins—”

Azriel interrupted Elain in the middle of her sentence, his words suggesting the decision was final. “Nuala and Cerridwen are needed here.”

Elain hadn’t even gotten the chance to say goodbye, and while she was irritated, she chose to respond in a pleasant voice. “Then tell them both that when I’m back in the city, I’ll be expecting them to pay a visit to the River House.” 

Azriel offered her a small, genuine smile in return. His expression was quick to turn serious, though, as his shadows whirled from their hiding spots to his shoulders. 

It was then that Elain glanced at the arched windows on the room’s opposite end. The sun had finally set and stars now seemed to wink at her in the distance. Elain faced the doors, expecting them to open, but she gasped in surprise as Eris neglected to use them. 

The heir to the Autumn Court stepped into the room as though he were entering into the small space from a rip in the fabric of the universe. The flames in the fireplace flared at his presence, whether he had done so on purpose was unclear to Elain, but he definitely seemed like the type.  

“Not a moment past the agreed time,” Rhysand drawled 

“I’m nothing if not punctual,” Eris barely looked at the High Lord in front of him, choosing to bow slightly at the waist in Nesta’s direction. “Lady Death,” he greeted. 

Nesta merely glowered, her eyes flashing silver. 

Eris did not seem afraid, but rather impressed at the swirling flames in Nesta’s gaze. He was quick to turn his attention to Elain. “Last chance to change your mind.” A dare, like he was expecting her to be inconstant, unreliable.  

Elain could see why Azriel disliked Eris so much. She looked straight at him, “My mind won’t be changing.” 

Eris flashed her a grin, “Good.” 

“You can winnow more than one with you to Autumn?” Rhysand asked, and Elain nearly sighed in relief when embers came to life in Eris’s observant eyes and he paid her no mind. 

“Why?” Eris questioned, so much distaste in that one, simple word. 

“Elain will be needing a lady’s maid,” Azriel bit out. 

Eris hummed in response, facing Elain once more. “You’re bringing a friend?” 

“Will that be a problem?” Elain lifted her chin, ready to argue on Cora’s behalf. The woman took a few small steps closer, her black skirts brushing Elain’s light blue ones, as though she too was ready to make her case. 

Eris frowned, “My father won’t like it.” 

“You can’t expect me to go alone,” Elain snapped, not bothering with upholding pretences any longer. 

Eris raised his auburn brows, amused. He took a moment to inspect Cora, seeming to examine every inch of her. His eyes trailed assessingly from the fabric of Cora’s dress pooled along the marble floor to the elegant braid of her dark hair twisted in a crown. “At least she’s nice to look at,” Eris finally commented, a dismissal. 

Elain knew it was an understatement, that Cora was lovely, but now that Elain had gotten what she wanted, she kept her mouth shut.   

Cora scowled, but she did not utter a word either. Elain gave her a look that she hoped suggested that they were now in this together. 

Elain watched as Eris raised his hand, beckoning the two of them closer. Elain’s eyes flicked to his palm as she raised her own hand tentatively. 

Eris’s nostrils flared with his next breath, flames flaring in his eyes. Elain wondered if he could smell the dried blood on her palms, whether he would remark on it, but he remained silent. 

Elain’s hand shook as she placed it in Eris’s much larger one, and quick like the harsh strike of lightning, her world went dark.

[amethystfairy1]

I rewrote my novel. Admittedly I deleted it because it felt like it was me ranting and you wouldn’t enjoy it, but it made me feel good that you wanted to read a random person’s analysis.

To get out of the way first is the potential wild card invisible stalker. I saw some people speculating it was Mumbo because that seems like a rogue ability, but there’s no reason for him to have been stalking this group he barely knows instead of be with his own. I think it’s a new character, which you didn’t tag either for spoilers or because they don’t truly appear in this story. The latter is my guess, and their purpose is to be another thing hanging over Gem’s group as they go into the fight. As to who they are, because of that recent post on spoilers and the ninja thing, I’m going to guess Etho. The “why” for whoever it is is “to be revealed” information.

Next, the bird reunion. Based on that summary, they have to fight and it’ll definitely be intense. My guess is either during the pre-fight banter between the others or when they first come in contact and a failed sneak attack, the twins will recognize each other, hesitate, but go into the fight anyway because that’s what their friends/masters want. Major cognitive dissonance. I predicted one would get the upper hand and almost, but not quite, finish the other, but more specifically I think Grian will beat Pearl because she’s still injured. If I was writing it, he’d notice the injury, target it because that’s what a good killer does, and simultaneously hate himself for it. And then more delicious angst because a good avian would finish her off, but he can’t do it.

Meanwhile, I think Gem would be fighting the other two. She says in the first chapter that she’s low on magic, but she’s scary enough without the spirits. If I had to guess, I’d say she could normally solo everyone in the other group (not without difficulty, but would win in the end), but it would be the combination that could get her. Scar is also running low on magic, but we don’t know how the two compare. I don’t think we’ve seen Scar fight without magic either, so he could quickly empty his reserves. Mumbo is a very scary opponent and has the element of surprise, but I’m not sure how he’d stack up in a brawl. Judging by that summary of him nearly dying, I’m not optimistic. Scar has previously detected enemies with the spirits, but it’d be interesting to see if another nature elf can go undetected with their own magic. Then it’d be up to Grian to notice them when they’re pretty close, if he’s in a state of mind to do so effectively.

Speaking of state of mind, that was just them physically. Mentally no one is doing well. Mumbo and Scar are worried about Grian and are probably mulling over the target they painted on their backs. Gem is stressed out about the stalker, always worried about Pearl, and her guilt and frustration are turning to rage. That could all cloud her fighting abilities, but so could that empathy she’s trying to shut down. Recognizing Mumbo could give her pause, as could seeing Pearl in Grian and herself in the other boys. A vision just came to me of Grian using his wings to protect one of them from Gem and that causing her to stop. I could also see her stopping if she thought Pearl was about to die again. Both sides would stop if one of the avians admitted they’re siblings, but I can’t see them forcing that information out in the middle of a fight. I think the fight will end with one side recognizing themselves in the other and choosing not to continue. Then we can get a more wholesome birb reconnecting.

The thing I’m less sure about is Impulse and Skizz. I don’t quite know if they’d even participate in the fight or how that would go. I can easily see Impulse deciding not to participate because it’s not his job and he wants to protect Skizz, or him going with the group and being worried about Pearl with this job. If they do participate, that weighs things more in the favor of the Soup Group. From what we’ve seen, Impulse is strong and can tear through normal adventurers. Of course the boys are much stronger, but I’d expect him to hold his own. Skizz is a little more tricky. If he fully fights, I’d expect he’d be a beast. He was nearly retained, so he had serious skills, the only concern would be how much fighting he’s done since being sold. Granted, that didn’t seem to hold Grian back. I doubt Skizz’s heart would be in this fight though, and he’d be looking more to see if Impulse will die or if he can kill him. That won’t happen of course. In fact, I wouldn’t be surprised if a moment comes and Skizz either saves Impulse or doesn’t take the kill, and later has to ask himself why.

So, yeah. That’s my thoughts on what I think is being set up for this story. You don’t have to respond to this. Now I know that even if you don’t, you still enjoyed it. I look forward to seeing if I’m right or be proven wrong. Doubt I’ll be disappointed either way.

I

LOVED

THIS

SO MUCH

RAHHHHHHH

This is so so so so sooooo cool!?

Obviously I'm not gonna super in-depth respond to any of your predictions because I don't wanna give any tells because spoilers but I need you to know that I LOVED THIS.

I WAS BEAMING THE ENTIRE TIME I READ IT

It just makes me SO happy that my stories have the moving parts that make someone able to think it through and come up with theories about what's gonna happen, and that you enjoy the story enough to do so just makes me so very glad! Thank you so much for retyping your novel because I ADORED IT and I will be saving it and I love it very very very much!!!

I'm so glad you're looking forward to this fic, I have so much planned and lots is gonna happen, I'm just SO excited to share it all and it's so wonderful to see everyone is trying to figure out what's gonna go down!

Thank you thank you thank you for sharing!!! 💖💖💖

[theraggedygirl11]

Baš ja, koji nisam verovao da za nekim biću lud

Bojan's POV

Kris' POV: AO3 - Tumblr

SUMMARY: In a world where Heaven and Hell exist, angels and demons are constantly fighting and killing one another. What if a demon easily dominated by his emotions falls in love with a stoic and cold angel trained to kill demons?

PAIRING: Bojan Cvjetićanin/Kris Guštin

WARNINGS: swearing, blood, implied violence, hurt/comfort, implied suicide, emotional rollercoaster, enemies to lovers, hint of jance in the background

WORDS COUNT: 5.094

LINK: AO3

NOTES: Hello! Welcome to my first ever BoKris fic. It all started from this post by @arctixout and that damn tag (for reference: #stoic angel!kris and demon!bojan who's slave to his emotions and then they somehow fall in love wait who said that). And what could I do? It was too juicy to not write something out of it! So here we are.

Besides, as you can see from the title, I used Bluza (Youtube video and lyrics+translation) as my inspiration (and background music while writing), and this songs plays a role in the plot too 👀 yeah, I know we all think this is a BoJere song, but in this fic it's a BoKris fic, you'll understand why

Also, thanks to my beta @anxious-witch!

Last but not the least, I did this aestethic/moodboard trying to match @arctixout gifs

“You should talk to him.”

“Why? He's a demon. He's impure, a damned soul.”

“And you love him.”

“Angels can't love. He started corrupting me.”

“Angels can love and they must love. It's not corruption.”

“How can you tell it's not his corruption, Jan?!”

“Because I fell in love with a demon too. And I accepted it. Go to him, speak to him. He’s singing for you.”

When humans think about demons, the mental image they have is that of a terrifying creature, maybe with huge bat wings, a tail with an arrowhead at the end, claws, horns, red skin, maybe even hooves instead of feet.

Well, we do have a tail, and wings, and claws, but nothing alike of what you see in those pictures, and not every demon has them. We own a human form, just like everyone on this planet, that we use to roam among mortals. We have feelings, desires, hobbies, friends and families. Our only drawback is being born a demon from demon parents. We are guardians in Hell, we just watch over the damned souls who doomed themselves to suffering.

Heaven knows this, angels too, but they deliberately chose to not see this, to hate us, and they kill us with no hesitation when they find us on Earth. They think we are impure beings that don’t deserve to live.

And this is what led me, a demon, to meet the most beautiful creature ever seen on every plane of existence. I fell in love with an angel, I don’t even know his name, but I will discover it.

He almost killed me, I was terrified for my life, but he stopped when our eyes met, the sharp point of his dagger barely touched my throat. Something exploded in my chest, my heart was beating so fast. I've never felt something similar to what I felt at that moment.

And since that night I find myself staring at the sky so often, during both daytime and nighttime. Am I a hopeless romantic that waits for his angel to come and get him? Oh yeah, you can bet on it. And I'll wait for him to appear for eternity, if necessary.

* * *

“Bojan, come on!” Shouts Nace, one of my dearest demon friends. “We are late!”

I turn my eyes in his direction. I was staring at the sky, again. As always, no signs of my angel. He will appear, I’m sure of it, but this is not that day. I sigh, then reach Nace and Jure.

“Still looking for that feathered ass?” Jure asks.

“I…yes. I’d like to meet him again.”

“It’s better if you forget him, he will try to kill you again the next time he sees you,” says Jure while looking me in the eyes.

“He’s different. I’m sure of it. He didn’t kill me.”

“No, but he was about to,” replies Nace. “You know better than us that those winged assholes can’t be reasoned with.”

I lower my eyes, aware of the truth behind Nace’s words. We lost so many of our demon friends because of angels. But maybe…maybe he’s not like the other angels. I saw something in his eyes, something different, this sparkle.

With this thought in mind, I followed Nace and Jure to our destination: there’s a concert of a human band we all like, so we decided to go. We enjoy music so much, we also joke about forming a band together and tour together on Earth, among mortals, but that would put too much attention on us. It’s too dangerous. But at least we can enjoy concerts and gigs!

I’m dancing, taken away by the rhythm of the songs, when my gaze meets familiar eyes in the crowd, two amazing blue-green seas. I completely stop, and so does he. The music and every other sound disappears along with the people around me.

We stare at each other for moments that seem to last decades, blue into brown, light into darkness, Heaven into Hell, a perfect but forbidden combination, something that should never exist.

This magic spell breaks when I feel a hand on my shoulder and immediately after a tight grip. I turn and see Nace on my side, who is harshly staring at my angel. Jure appears on my other side.

I turn again towards my angel and I see two other people near him, one of them with dark and long messy hair and a beard, the other one with shorter hair but well combed and a trimmed beard. They are definitely angels. And they know we are demons.

The guy with messy hair steps in our direction, but my angel stops him, raising his hand and using it as a barrier. The dark-haired angel steps back and quickly glances at his friend. No one says a word.

“Bojči, let’s go,” Jure whispers into my ear, then grabs my arm and pulls me away.

I keep looking at my angel until I can no longer see him in the crowd.

In the next weeks Nace and Jure forbid me to go to the surface, but I sneak out. Every other demon could tell that my self-preservation instinct got fried because I want to talk to that angel, at all costs.

I keep looking at the sky, searching for him. Waiting for him to show up. And every single time nothing happens. But I’m stubborn, I won’t give up.

Tonight the sky is clear, stars are shining bright, and there's a small crescent moon. I'm lying on a patch of grass in the middle of nowhere, around me only trees and mountains. 

Suddenly a shadow partially covers the sky above me.

“What are you doing here all alone?”

I startle and stand up immediately, recoiling scared. When I recognise the person in front of me, I wide my eyes and open my mouth in surprise.

“Angel,” I whisper.

It’s dark, but I can sense his piercing blue eyes on me. He’s tall, taller than Jure and Nace too. His cheekbones are prominent, I can for sure cut myself while stroking them. Maybe I’m a masochist, but I want to touch them and feel them under my hands and bleed for him. He’s standing straight, rigid like a soldier, or maybe a general, I can’t tell his celestial rank.

“I repeat, since you seem to not understand my words, what are you doing here all alone?”

Shivers run down my whole body, his voice is…ok, this might sound cheeky, but yes, his voice sounds angelic, a slow caress of a lover on my back down to my waist. 

“I was looking for you.”

“For me?” He’s surprised.

“Yes, for you. I wanted to talk to you, angel.”

Now he’s confused. Well, not every day a demon comes looking for an angel. I go closer to him, moving slowly.

“I’m not armed,” I show him my hands. “You can check on me. This is not a trap.”

His eyes follow every single movement I do, even more carefully when I’m in front of him. I stare at his face, stunned by his beauty. I lift a hand to touch it, but I stop mid-air. No, I can’t touch him, my dirty hands can only ruin his perfection.

“Why do you want to talk to me, exactly?”

“I…I want to know you, angel.”

“I beg your pardon, you want to know…me?”

“Yes,” I nod. “You are amazingly beautiful, angel,” I let slip this comment, without realising. 

I notice a weird red-ish colour on his face. Did I just make him blush? I chuckle, he replies with a shy smile. Oh, he’s so wonderful! That smile almost made me melt on the spot. 

“Would you like to…I don’t know, come grab a coffee or anything else to drink?”

Who said that angels and demons can’t get along well? They must have never met an angel, then.

My angel, whose name is Kris, is a pleasant company. Well, he’s still a little bit rigid, but since that night when we had a couple of drinks together in a bar he became much more open and relaxed and he smiles so much now! Oh, I adore his smile. And his laugh too! 

We started going out together here and there, but every time it happens, my heart almost explodes out of joy. I can’t wait to see him again and again and again. Jure and Nace are worried for me, but I feel safe around Kris. He’s not like the other angels.

Our “dates” are pretty diverse. Sometimes we just hang out in some park or in the middle of wild places; once we sat on a cliff for hours, we talked and we observed the environment, at least Kris, I was too busy looking at him with heart eyes. Some other time we choose a city and we explore it, we can just appear anywhere in the world, a perk of being supernatural creatures!

This night though is special. Tonight I will confess my feelings to Kris. By now we have been seeing each other for some months and I’m completely sure about my love for him. Yes, I, a demon, fell in love with an angel, I’m not afraid of saying it, I want to shout it from the top of a building.

I’m putting on some makeup. I’m in front of the mirror in the bathroom of a small apartment I rented for when I’m roaming around on Earth. Jure and Nace are with me in the room, they are still worried for me.

“Are you sure of what you are about to do?” Nace asks.

“Yes, never been so sure in my long demonic life,” I reply.

“But he’s an angel, Bojči,” Jure whispers. “He’s dangerous. What if he’s playing with you?”

“He’s not, Jurček. I see how he looks at me, he…I think he’s in love with me too,” I glance at him through the mirror. 

“Angels are sly creatures, you can’t trust them,” Jure adds.

“They say the same stuff about us, you know?” 

I smile at my reflection. That black eyeshadow with glitter is perfect for me, my eyes are shining. “I love him, I’m going to tell him this. Tonight will be a special night, nothing can change this.”

We hear the sound of wings in the living room. He’s here.

I almost run in the room, a huge smile appears on my lips when I see him. He’s wearing beige trousers, a shirt with light colours and floral designs and a silver jacket. He’s from Heaven, no one can be mistaken. And his clothes collide with mine: I’m wearing black trousers and a black t-shirt, when we’ll go out I planned to wear a bright red leather jacket. He’s the good boy, I’m the bully, the bad boy.

“You are stunning, ljubavi .”

“You…too, Bojan.”

I notice his eyes passing over me. I turn and I see Jure and Nace.

“Oh, yeah, these are my dearest friends. This is Jure,” and I point to the blonde demon. “And this is Nace,” I move my hand towards the tattooed demon. “They are safe, they won’t hurt you. I ask you to do the same.”

“...fine,” he grants. His eyes turn back to me. I notice hesitation in him.“You put on makeup.” 

“Yes, just for you. Do you like it?”

“You…look good.”

I grab his hand. “I have a surprise for you. Close your eyes and follow me.”

I practically pull Kris to the bathroom, where I make him sit on the edge of the bathtub.

“What are you trying to do, little demon?”

“I told you, it’s a surprise,” I reply while I take the palette I bought the other day. I start putting makeup on his face, I chose a wonderful golden eyeshadow for him. I admire my work.

“You are otherworldly, ljubavi . Open your eyes.”

Kris opens his eyes and looks in the mirror. I observe his reaction: I can read astonishment in his face.

“Gold is your colour. It suits you perfectly.”

“I-It does,” he whispers.

I smile and kiss him on the cheek. “We can go, then. I have other surprises for you, my angel.”

Our first stop is at a wonderful restaurant where we had already eaten so many times because it’s Kris’ favourite. I let him order whatever he wants and then pay for the whole dinner. We talk about many topics, but Kris is weirdly more silent than usual.

“Is everything ok, ljubavi ?” 

“Yeah, sure, don't worry. I…had a rough day in Heaven, that's all.”

I smile fondly at him, then gently grab his hand and slowly stroke its back.

“Now it's time for you to relax, then. Enjoy this night out.”

Our eyes lock. I see him relaxing a bit, the shadow of whatever happened retreating.

Once dinner is finished, we take a long walk into the city centre. It's almost summer, the temperatures are pleasant, so many other humans are around. We blend in, looking like a proper couple, even because we are holding hands.

When we arrive at our final destination of the night, I bring Kris to the top of a building, so we can be alone and closer to the sky, his home.

“Why did you bring me here?” Kris asks.

I shake one hand in the air, around us many candles appear and some slow music starts spreading, embracing us. I turn towards my angel and offer him my hand.

“Would you like to dance with me, Kris?”

He looks at me, confused, but then takes it. I lay my other hand on his waist and smile at him. We start dancing, slowly. My angel is a bit embarrassed, but he tries to follow my lead.

“Just let the music flow over you. Hear it inside of you and allow it to take control over your body,” I whisper to him with a tender voice.

A few seconds later Kris is more relaxed and we are dancing more fluidly, following the rhythm and the melody. I can’t stop smiling while I look at my angel. He’s so beautiful, so ethereal, so perfect. I can see stars reflecting into his eyes, an entire galaxy in which I could lose myself, bewitched by its beauty.

We keep dancing along with the music, but the more we dance, the more I see a shadow coming back in Kris’ eyes, until he leaves my hands and takes two steps back.

“We can’t go on doing this, Bojan.”

“Why not? I don’t understand.”

“Because we can’t! You are a demon, and I’m an angel. We are not supposed to…mingle.”

“We are not mingling, ljubavi . This is a romantic date between two creatures who have feelings for each other.”

I grab the angel's hands and look him in the eyes.

“Kris, I'm not the monster Heaven teaches you to despise. You saw me, you got to know me.”

“You are still a demon, Bojan, no matter how you behave or what you do.”

“And so? What does it change between us?”

“I'm a freaking angel! We are supposed to fight each other, not…doing this, dancing alone like two teenagers in love!”

“Only because we are not human teenagers? Because we come from two different places? Because others tell us that we should hate each other?” I clutch his hands between mine. “You know me,” I repeat. It’s the truth, we have been seeing each other for some months now. I bring one of his hands on my chest, right over my heart. “This heart is yours, ljubavi , and no one else’s.”

“Bojan, this is wrong .”

“Kris, I love you. What's wrong with that?” I feel my heart sink into my chest. “You…don't love me?”

“No, Bojan. I don’t love you. Let’s stop pretending.”

My heart stops beating in that exact moment and I feel my head spin. The ground under my feet is crumbling. I’m falling even if I’m right in front of Kris, my angel. I struggle breathing.

“I-I’m not pretending.”

“Don’t lie, Bojan. You are a demon, all demons do is lie. You know who and what I am, you saw weakness in me because I didn’t kill you that day. You are corrupting me because you want me to lose my wings!”

“I know you are an angel and nothing else! I-I don't want you to lose your wings!” There’s panic in my voice, and maybe it’s showing on my face too. “I’m not lying!”

“You want to bring me to the path of perdition! You want me to fall, just like Lucifer.”

I let Kris' hands go and recoil, stuttering. My heart is clenched, it can’t beat.

“I-I’m not, Kris. I-I don’t want to-”

“Stop lying!” He shouts and his eyes begin shining out of celestial power. “You are a filthy demon. You don’t change, you just want to destroy us.”

I recoil again, scared, I even fall on the ground. I stand up then turn and run away as fast as I can. Tears sting my eyes violently, they want to come out and a few seconds later they manage to do so. My makeup is for sure ruined and dripping down my face. 

I feel like an idiot. I hoped that Kris would be different, but what was I thinking? He's an angel, those creatures are heartless killers when it comes to demons like me. Their hatred for us is blind, almost innate. I just got another proof.

Nace and Jure were right. Angels and demons are not meant to be together. Then why did I, a demon, fall in love with an angel? If we are supposed to be mortal enemies, then why was I destined to lose my reason for a celestial creature that would slaughter me just because I am what I am? Just why? Will I ever get an answer? 

I’ve been locked in my room in a building in Hell for…who knows how much time. I don’t want to see anyone, neither Nace nor Jure. I keep crying, stopping the tears coming out of my eyes is difficult, or dare I say even impossible. My heart is shattered.

Why are demons born with such intense feelings? Why can’t we control them like angels do? Or are we cursed to be dominated by our emotions exactly because angels don’t have them?They teach us that the universe needs balance, so if angels can’t feel, someone else must feel double the time. 

I wrap my body with my arms, trying to look smaller. My tail is out, wrapped around my leg. It’s a pathetic endeavour to not feel so alone and abandoned. 

I wince when I feel a hand on my shoulder. I open my eyes and see Nace sitting by my side. He’s visibly worried.

“Bojči, what happened?”

I sob. “Y-you were right about him. He-he’s a heartless angel, just like anyone else of them,” I stutter, my voice is trembling.

Nace lays on my bed, facing me, then pulls me over to hug me. I plant my face against his chest. I feel his hand running up and down my back.

“Not every angel is heartless.”

“He is, Nace!” I shout, utter despair in my voice. “He is! I showed him my love and he accused me of trying to corrupt him! I-I gave him my whole heart and he laughed at me, he stabbed it with his ice dagger and killed me-” I stop. I can still hear his words in my mind. “H-He called me a filthy demon, Nace. After all I did for him and showed him, I-I’m still a filthy demon to him.”

My friend says nothing, he just stays there and cuddles me, attempting to make me feel a little bit better. 

And since that day I kind of started feeling better. Well, it’s more of a euphemism. Let’s say that I was barely surviving. I came back to my chores as a demon, but now I don’t smile anymore, or very little. I’m quiet. I prefer to stay alone than in the middle of a crowd. With me I have a small notebook in which I write my thoughts, ideas, feelings, and also lyrics. I can’t be a singer in the human world, but no one can stop me from writing what I feel, what I experience. 

This is how I wrote a song about my angel and how I fell in love with him. It has a stupid name too. I can write good songs, but I’m not able to name them. I will find a better one, one day. Hopefully.

“What are you writing in that notebook?” Asks Jure while sitting next to me.

We are in the human world, more precisely in a park. We needed some fresh air and some sunlight. 

“It’s nothing…” I answer.

Jure leans forward to read. “Is this about him?”

I nod. There’s no one else in my mind. I don’t like his presence, he’s haunting me, my mind is working against me. 

“It’s really intense,” Jure whispers. “Do you really love him?”

I nod again. “I know I’m a stupid demon. I should move on, forget him, but I can’t. He doesn’t love me back, he said it,” I sigh. “I’m just hoping to forget him as soon as possible. Maybe writing this stuff will help me process this stupid feeling.”

“Love isn’t stupid!”

“My love is absolutely stupid. An angel, Jurček! I’m a freaking demon and I fell in love with an angel.”

“You are not the first one.”

“Yeah, and how many of them survived? Are they here to tell their love story? No, Jurček, because angels killed them. I’m lucky I’m still alive.”

Jure pushes me with his shoulder. “Don’t lose hope, Bojči. There’s always time to change.”

I look at him. I don’t believe his words. Months have passed since my last moment with my angel, his shiny eyes are still impressed in my mind. He was about to kill me that night. 

No, he won’t change. Kris is an angel, full stop. He’s born to despise demons like me. I just need to accept that, but it will take time.

Is this despair that is guiding my actions? Possibly. Will I regret my decisions? Almost certainly. But if I can’t be with my angel, then I’d rather be dead, maybe slaughtered by him directly. That would be pretty ironic, wouldn’t it? A demon executed by the angel he’s fallen in love with. There’s poetry behind all of this. Maybe demons will use me as an example to the younglings to warn them to not fall in love with angels if they want to live.

I tried to forget him, move on, but every time I close my eyes, I see him. He's haunting me. And with him also the lyrics of the song I wrote for him. 

I’m in the middle of an abandoned industrial area. I prepared an amplifier with a microphone and a computer. I recorded some music for my song and I will perform it for the first (and last) time here, hoping that my angel is listening to me and will come to…I don’t know, to do anything. I’m ready for whatever he will decide to do to me. Included death.

I test the volume and the music. Everything sounds good, so I play the music and I start singing, looking directly at the sky.

“ Stolicu primakni, ruku mi dotakni, noćas ti si moja muza, ja u ritmu tvoga bluza ću da plešem bez prestanka .”

Nothing. The sky is blue, there’s not a single cloud, not a single sign of feathered wings. I continue singing.

“ Soba nam je mala. Ja ko pijana budala, a ni čaše nisam popio. Ja mislim da sam se zaljubio u tebe. Baš ja, koji nisam verovao da za nekim biću lud. Za tebe, kao u pesmama i filmovima ljubavnim, staviću zvuk .”

Still nothing. But I won’t lose hope, I will keep singing for him. He will show up, eventually. I just need a sign, Kris, please, I’m begging you.

“ Samo se okreni, baci pogled prema meni. Preći će tišina sama kilometre među nama dok jednom srce otkuca .”

Now it’s again time for the refrain. Some tears started running down my face, but I continue singing, I must, even if he won’t appear. I need to take these feelings out of my heart or it will explode. Maybe it will be my heart to kill me and not my angel.

“ Soba nam je mala. Ja ko pijana budala, a ni čaše nisam popio. Ja mislim da sam se zaljubio u tebe. Baš ja, koji nisam verovao da za nekim biću lud. Za tebe, kao u pesmama i filmovima ljubavnim, staviću zvuk .”

I see something in the sky, then the clear sound of wings hits me. I lower my eyes and I find Kris right in front of me. I see his three pairs of wings. A seraph, I should have guessed. Of course, I fell in love with one of the most powerful angels in the sky. When I do something, it’s always something big or I’m not happy with the result.

I kneel in front of him. Now I’ll sing the last part of my song.

“ Ne palite još svetla, još samo jedan tren da se nagledam lepote te. Ne palite još svetla. Ne prizivajte dan. Spasite me, smislite neki plan. Ako svane sunce, ostaću sam .”

The music stops. I’m looking at my angel, finally here for me. I’m breathing deeply, my heart is racing in my chest. My hand that’s holding the microphone is shaking. I’m afraid of what might happen, but at the same time I’m relieved. 

“You came,” I whisper.

“You called.”

Silence falls again between us. Kris slowly approaches, his facial expression is cold, hiding every emotion. I have pure angelic power in front of me, a deadly machine trained to kill my kind, and I’m looking at him in adoration.

“You know I should kill you right now because you are on Earth and not in Hell, right?”

“Then do it. I won’t fight, I won’t run away. If I can’t be with you, I’d rather be dead.”

Kris averts his eyes and presses his lips together, then talks. 

“You are an idiot, Bojan.”

“Yeah, I know, ljubavi . Love made me lose my mind in a way I didn’t think possible.”

“You said that in the song.”

I chuckle. “Maybe it’s just one of the many flaws that make us demons so imperfect in front of you angels. I was so unlucky to fall in love with you, but I don’t consider myself unlucky. I had the best moments of my life with you, I don’t want to change this for anything else in this world, not even a place in Heaven, if this means that I will lose my ability to love so strongly.”

I let the microphone fall on the ground and grab Kris’ sword, he has it in his hand, then I lay his sharp point right on my heart.

“You are here for this, no? Killing another impure soul that doesn’t follow the rules.”

Kris looks at me, finally. I smile, those eyes are so cold and so beautiful at the same time.

“Don’t make me do this, Bojan.”

“It’s ok, ljubavi . It’s ok. It’s…it’s your nature, you have been trained to do this your whole life.”

My voice trembles with emotions. Tears keep running down my face. No, I realise I’m not ready to die. I want to live, to be with him, but I know I can’t. It’s not allowed.

I feel the point of his sword pressed against my chest. In a few seconds it will reach my heart, and it will stop beating. I close my eyes.

But nothing happens. I’m still here, alive, breathing. I hear a metal sound against the ground, then two hands cup my face and I feel warm and soft lips pressed on mine.I open wide my eyes. Kris is kneeling on the ground in front of me and he’s kissing me.

I close my eyes again. I kiss him back, desperate to feel him, to make him feel my love through that act. I gently grab his wrists. 

When we interrupt the kiss, I touch Kris’ forehead with mine. I keep my eyes closed, trying to process what just happened.  

“Please, let it be real,” I whisper, without even realising it. “Please, please, let it be real.”

Kris chuckles. “It’s real, Bojan.”

I open my eyes and part a bit from him, just to look him in the eyes. “Real-real kind of way or…real-I’m-in-some-sort-of-Heaven-for-demons-because-I’m-dead kind of way?” I ask.

My angel gently strokes my cheeks, then leans forward to kiss me again. 

“This kind of way, my little demon,” he whispers against my lips. I shiver thanks to that lovely nickname. I hate being called little because it reminds me of my lack of height, but I’d let Kris call me whatever he wants, just to hear his voice again and again.

“I’m your little demon, then?”

Kris nods while looking me in the eyes. He caresses my lower lip with his thumb. His touch is so gentle, shivers run down my spine again.

“What made you change your mind?”

“Your song. I had feelings for you, they developed pretty early, but I…wasn’t acknowledging their existence because I never had the chance to fall in love with someone.”

I jump on Kris to hug him, sending us both falling to the ground, so I end up on top of him. I burst out laughing.

“Well, now you have someone right here.”

My tail appears behind me and shakes in the air, showing my happiness. I kiss him on the cheek, then giggle when I see him blushing. A couple of tears run down my face, but this time they are out of pure and simple joy.

* * *

I've been a demon my whole life. I grew up fearing angels, but nothing could have prepared me for what fate had planned for me. I fell in love with Kris, an angel, a seraph. Our relationship began with the worst scenario possible, with him trying to kill me. And yeah, I might be dumb, because I fell in love with him in that moment, but now we are happy together. And I wouldn’t change a thing about us.

Heaven and Hell finally united thanks to the love between an angel and a demon.

[mairitess]

ebbs and flows pt. 2 // jaya

a/n: i wrote this bc i got back into ninjago and i needed to write something for them bc i'm not caught up enough to be able to read the current fics + also on ao3 in caps

words: 1.5k, part one here

tags: angst, fluff, post-skybound, post s10 ninjago: masters of spinjitzu, jaya, no beta we die like kings, they r so traumatized after nadakhan, minor violence mentions from skybound, kiss kiss rated t just in case

preview:

she might’ve missed it, if she weren’t so keyed up already. “you’re my yang, nya.”

the ninjas returned to the temple absolutely beaten. they’d defeated the latest ninjago city menace, but it took more effort than usual. their entire way home, jay was tapping his foot incessantly.

“can you stop that?” cole said, irritated. “you sound like a walking time bomb.”

jay started to apologize. “i’m sorry! i can’t help it. i’m…”

“nervous? anxious? stressed?” the suggestions came in a popcorn chorus from zane, pixal, and kai.

jay put his head in his hands. “yes,” he sighed, defeated.

cole put his hand on his best friend’s shoulder. “what happened…?” to you and nya?

“i have no idea.”

everyone was quiet until they got to the temple. they knew jay was doing his best, and they knew how stubborn and guarded nya could be, too — much like her brother. when they landed, jay filed out last, worry troubling his stomach.

“you got it, jay,” lloyd said, clapping jay on the shoulder. “it’ll be okay.” he turned from jay to look at cole, also unsure. they’d known nya had been different recently, as much as she tried to hide it. but they didn’t know what they could do, especially if jay wasn’t able to fix it.

with heavy heart and steps, jay made his way to nya’s room in the early morning hours. misako and wu were standing just outside her door, making jay even more nervous. he rushed over.

“what happened? is she okay? where is she?” he couldn’t keep his voice down, his lightning energy rushing into his veins again.

“she’s fine,” misako said, placing her hands on his shoulders. “she’s okay. but…” she trailed off, as nya’s door started to open.

it was the first time she’d really looked at him in weeks, and jay’s heart dropped as he saw her bloodshot eyes and dark circles. as much as he was exhausted from their fight in the city, she had been draining for far longer.

“hi, jay.”

—

he followed her into her room, gently closing the door behind them. when she sat on the edge of her bed, he sat a foot away, careful to keep some distance. he didn’t want to make things worse.

“i missed you,” he said, unable to keep it in. “i miss you. i love you. i…” jay suddenly felt too loud, too brash, and worried he’d scare her away again.

“i love you too,” nya replied, tears brimming again. “and i think i’m ready to tell you what happened — or, what’s been happening, and i’ve been so worried to tell you before because i’m scared you’ll hate me and want to leave me but i love you and if that’s how i make you feel then i just want you to be happy and safe and secure and i’m scared when i tell you this you’ll —“ nya cut herself off, too scared to speak into reality one of her biggest fears. “you make me feel more special and confident and myself than anyone i’ve ever known,” she whispered. “and i’m scared you’ll throw me away when i tell you.”

sometimes, even when jay wasn’t talking, nya could still hear the lightning coursing through him. this time, she couldn’t. she was scared to break the silence. she needed to know if he even wanted to hear what she had to say.

and she might’ve missed it, if she weren’t so keyed up already. the quietest he’s ever been, the most hesitant yet gentle and kind.

“you’re my yang, nya. nothing you could say could ever change that.”

jay knew nya well enough to know she was struggling with not feeling like she was doing their relationship “right”. a perfectionist through and through, as soon as things started to dissolve, so did she. but jay needed her the way the moon needs the tides, the skies reaching for the waters beneath. she knew ebbs and flows, but so did he, because he yearned for her throughout.

nya told him of her nightmares, and how she thought she was dying that day. she drew in a deep breath, before she told him that his hold felt the same way. she thought she was angry he wasn’t upset like she was. she wasn’t angry anymore.

he was quiet, processing, until he asked, “do you really think i’m not upset like you?” nya stilled.

“all our friends died. i had just seen you in a wedding dress, and you were about to marry someone else, even if not by choice. and then you started to die in my arms, by a tactical choice i made. it would’ve been all my fault, if you…” he paused. “you’re the love of my life, nya. and i held you as i cried because i don’t know what life there is without you.

“i made my last wish holding you. and everything was good again when we went back and you took my hand. i know that right now my touch feels like… death, but i need you to know that to me, touching you gave us a new chance at life.”

nya was stunned; all she could do was sit there, his words ringing over and over again in her head.

“i love you, nya. i just… need some time to think about it, too. okay?” jay said, standing up. he smiled, but it was small and somber. nya couldn’t help feeling like she’d hurt him, that she’d thought so little of his actions. she nodded, and it wasn’t until her door closed again that she was able to mumble, “i love you.”

—

nya didn’t leave her room all day. she was feeling better, but she didn’t want to step out. kai brought her dinner and they sat side by side as she ate.

“how’s jay?” she asked, and kai shrugged. “he’s been in his room ever since we got back. so i don’t know. but it was a pretty bad fight, so maybe he’s just resting. though normally he’d rest by playing some video games,” kai joked, nudging nya lightly with his shoulder. she quieted again, looking down at her food.

“i think i messed up,” nya said, swirling her spoon in her congee.

“i don’t think you could with jay, sis. he loves you.”

“i know. but that doesn’t mean… that doesn’t mean things will always be okay.”

“sure. but it also doesn’t mean you two can’t be okay, either.” kai paused. “uh, let me say that again. you guys will get through it. that’s what love is. love is about getting through things together, not keeping things perfect all the time.”

nya smiled, genuinely, for the first time in awhile. “when did you get to be wu number two?”

kai laughed. “probably when i realized how much you and jay love each other.”

nya understood it was time to stop fighting the flow. it took the master of water long enough.

—

it was just after 10, and nya needed to see jay. but as soon as she opened her door, there he was, hand poised to knock. he jumped back. “gosh, nya! you’re quiet.”

they stood in her doorway, just looking at each other, not quite sure what to do next. they started speaking over each other in a flurry.

“nya—“

“jay, i—“

nya laughed, and jay could feel everything start to lighten. “come in.”

they lay down on nya’s bed next to each other, closer than they’d been in weeks past.

“i’m sorry, jay,” nya mumbled, drawing circles with her finger into her pillowcase.

“no, i’m sorry, nya. i shouldn’t have left the way i did earlier.”

“it’s okay.” jay raised an eyebrow and nya nodded. “i promise. i’ve… been thinking about it longer than you have. it’s only fair.”

he smiled, and nya kept looking between the freckles across his face and his brilliant blue eyes. how could she have ever been so afraid of what he would say?

“so…” she started. “what now?”

“i don’t want to rush you into anything,” jay said. “i love holding you, and you know how much that means to me, but we don’t have to touch or anything until you’re ready. but i do think it could help,” he offered.

nya shook her head as he talked. “you could never rush me. and i want to fix things. so maybe… we start here?”

she gently grabbed his hand, and placed it on the side of her face, holding him there. nya nudged closer to jay until they were a breath apart. she tilted her head up and gazed at him, waiting.

“i missed you,” nya said, and jay met her halfway, their lips melding into each other where they belonged. softly, first, then as nya grew more incessant, jay matched her, and it was like breathing and drowning in confessions of love all at once.

jay was careful not to move his hand from her cheek, but as they kissed, she moved his hand down to her back, and he pulled her ever closer. nya broke their kiss first to breathe.

“i missed you too,” jay said, one arm behind her back, the other under her neck, cradling the back of her head. they laid there for hours, and just as nya was starting to doze off, jay asked, “nya… what do want me to do if you have another nightmare again?”

she thought about it before, but wasn’t sure what would work until they tried. “just don’t let go,” she mumbled into his chest, and he held her tighter.

[endofradio]

FRAGMENTS OF FEAR — PROLOGUE

WARNINGS: not really any except for alcohol consumption

NOTES: sooo i’ve decided to rewrite the ao3 fic (fragments of fear) i was working on because i felt like the current draft i was writing could’ve been better and i’m a perfectionist sooo i am trying something different here! let’s see how writing this on tumblr goes. i’ll make a custom hashtag for this work on here that way the chapters are more easily accessible. in the future i’ll make a new work on ao3 and post the rewritten chapters there too. i’ll have to think about it.

while obviously this version is going to be a rewritten version therefore tweaked and all that, i’m still going with the idea of having everything set in the 80s. i already plan on writing a sequel to this shit and i’ll try to make the whole 80s au thing more obvious there. for now, i’ll try to make it work 💀 i just think an 80s abigail au would be interesting, at least for this fic.

SUMMARY: it’s been five years since frank’s last seen sylvie, yet somehow he can’t bring himself to stop thinking about her. how can some random woman he arrested affect him this much?

turns out, he’ll be crossing paths with her again.

WORD COUNT: 1,497 (i have a headache okay)

TAGS: @shawsfinalgirl @reclaimedbythesea @creelmalfoylaufeyson69 @atcarpenter @blackwolfstabs @witchy-weve-monbebe @simpingforclaudette

Tonight was just another night — another night of bad decisions for Adam. There were plenty of seedy dive bars to get wasted in, and of course, he had planned to take full advantage of that. Anything to drown out his thoughts, right?

Unfortunately for him, even the strongest liquors couldn’t keep his brain quiet. With every shot of whiskey he did, he was still thinking about her — that damn fucking brunette. Adam could still picture her big, brown eyes that always stared at him with that look of defiance that was simultaneously infuriating, yet… encouraging. He had loved visiting her jail cell just to tease her and get her all riled up. She never hesitated to snap back at him with that feisty, snarky attitude of hers. It pissed Adam off, dealing with someone with such a stubborn attitude who refused to back down to him. He was a man who thrived on power. He craved having a sense of control over somebody, and that girl refused to give it to him, that sense of control.

As much as it bothered Adam, it also… intrigued him. Plus, he thought she was even more attractive than she already was when she was pissed off. Right from the minute he met her, he knew he was going to be giving her a hard time.

A few months later, she was able to go home, and… strangely enough, Adam felt a tinge of disappointment. The fun was over.

Five years later, he wasn’t a detective anymore, now a criminal. Five years later, he was a deadbeat father who had abandoned his now ex-wife and his son, sitting all alone in his pathetic apartment and drinking. Five years later, he was driving himself insane over some woman he’d most likely never see again.

What was her name again, anyway? Sylvia? Yeah, Sylvia… or, as he liked to call her, “Sylvie.”

After a period of time, Adam managed to return to his apartment, but with an excruciating headache from clearly drinking too much. He felt lightheaded and had a tinge of nausea. It didn’t help that he hadn’t really eaten anything at all today. Alcohol and an empty stomach — a very poor combination, Adam.

He stumbled into his apartment drunkenly grumbling and swearing, and eventually managed to take a seat on the couch. His surroundings were blurry, even despite wearing his glasses.

Adam’s apartment was quiet and lonely. Once upon a time, he had a family. He had a wife, he had a son. Now, he was alone again, and he had brought it upon himself. He had decided that being a family man wasn’t the life he wanted. Another bad decision, Adam.

He could only hear the sound of the clock on the wall ticking, and it only served as another bitter reminder of the fact he was alone, leaving him to struggle with his thoughts by himself. Sylvie ended up in his mind again, and it was only making him increasingly agitated.

“Fuckin’ damn it…” Adam grumbled, massaging his temples in an attempt to try and relieve his headache. He didn’t even really give a fuck about Sylvie, so why was she stuck in his mind? He couldn’t recall the last time somebody had gotten under his skin like this, really under his skin.

There was a knock on the door, causing Adam to flinch. He was tempted to get up and answer it, see what the fuck it was about, but he couldn’t do it in the drunken state he was in. He simply just remained seated until the knocking ceased, and that was when he decided to get up and investigate. Maybe it was mail. That was usually the only reason why he’d get somebody knocking on his door.

Sighing, Adam forced himself to stand and staggered over to the door, desperately trying to keep his balance as he reached for the doorknob, his unsteady hand trembling just a little. Then, he turned it, carefully opening the door.

Sure enough, there was a plain white envelope waiting for him in his mailbox. “The fuck…?” He murmured, snatching the envelope. Quickly, he closed the door and headed back inside, placing the envelope on the kitchen counter. Sure enough, it was addressed to an “Adam Barrett” — him. When he saw the address information of the sender, his eyes slightly widened. Lambert?

Adam tore open the envelope, revealing a piece of paper inside. There was no “dear, [NAME]” or any other formalities, just a simple, to-the-point message. He tried to focus his gaze on the letters, trying his best to decipher what had been written.

“Adam — I’ve included a list of five addresses. I need you to deliver a message to each of these addresses by mail. Tell them that they’ve got a bit of a job offer for them — kidnap the daughter of an incredibly wealthy man, and they’ll all be rightfully rewarded. If they accept, I’ll call them individually. — Lambert.”

Adam narrowed his eyes. God, he hated being told what to do, but he knew damn well that Lambert wasn’t a man who was meant to be crossed. He also knew Lambert well enough to know that if he needed something, it was urgent.

“I’ll do this shit tomorrow…” He muttered, and he tossed the piece of paper aside. Right now, he didn’t feel like fucking doing anything. However, as frustrated as he was right now, he’d undeniably do anything with the incentive of money.

“Why didn’t anyone say we were kidnapping a kid?” A dark-haired woman muttered as the group headed inside the mansion in front of them. A taller, more muscular man was carrying the kid in question over his shoulder.

Adam turned around to shoot the woman a sharp, cold glare. “It doesn’t fuckin’ matter. It’s a kid. Fuckin’ deal with it.” He snapped, before turning back around. “Alright, get the fuck inside.”

Once everyone was inside and the doors were closed, they all looked around, gawking at the place. The guy who had been in charge of driving the group to this place seemed especially impressed, a smug smile tugging at his lips. “Damn!”

“Like it, huh?”

Everybody turned around, and sure enough… Lambert was standing there, a smirk on his face.

“Find a room and get the girl situated. Set up a lookout position. Meet back here in five. For those of you who don’t know, I go by Lambert. You all came highly recommended, and so far, those recommendations are paying off.”

Lambert’s eyes surveyed the group, and as they started to disperse, he narrowed his eyes. Something wasn’t… right. He could’ve sworn there was supposed to be another person amongst the group. If he had forgotten to mention her, he remembered now. He’d wait until the group had returned.

Once they did, Lambert continued to speak. He gave the group members new names: Joey, Sammy, Peter, Dean, and Rickles. As for Adam, he was now “Frank.”

“The only one to be allowed in the room with the girl is her,” Lambert gestured to Joey, “so the rest of you… make yourselves comfortable. Any questions?”

“Who’s the girl?” Joey questioned.

“You don’t need to know her name,” Lambert responded.

“I don’t care about her name. Whose kid is she?”

Frank rolled his eyes. “The fuck’s that matter to you?”

“A very wealthy man who’s about to be $50 million poorer,” Lambert answered matter-of-factly. His eyes then darted between Frank and Dean. “Frank, Dean. Come over here.”

Frank rolled his eyes as he followed Dean over to Lambert. “The fuck is it now?” He asked, his eyes narrowing in annoyance.

“We’re missing somebody.”

“What the hell do you mean by that?” Frank questioned, his tone one of confusion. “You gave me five addresses. I brought five people.”

“There’s one address I forgot to write down. 7871 Lantern Drive. You know where that is?”

At the mention of that address, Frank felt as though the wind had been knocked out of his chest. Wait a second… it couldn’t be the same person, right?

“Yes, I do.” He responded, attempting to keep his voice steady.

“Good. Track her down and bring her here. Don’t hesitate to use the tranquilizer if you have to. She’ll be referred to by ‘Ava’ while she’s here.”

Before Frank and Dean could say anything, Lambert turned around and began to head for the doors. He gave the group a final look before speaking one last time.

“There’s clean bedding and lit fires in the rooms. Kitchen’s fully stocked, so is the bar. See you in 24 hours, my lovely pack of rats.”

And just like that, Lambert was gone. Frank exchanged an annoyed glance with Dean.

“Jesus Christ…” He muttered, before leading Dean out the entrance.

“Where are you both going?” Sammy called out.

“Don’t fuckin’ worry about it.” Frank curtly responded. “We should be back in a few. All of you, behave.”

[thegreatobsesso]

wooooooo working on something exciting!!! ;D

The fellow who walks into the room is even more delicious than his profile picture, but Octavius recognizes the gentle eyes, chubby cheeks and perfect blonde curls that initially stopped him browsing. If there’s a single word that could sum up his appearance, it’d be, simply, sweet.

Octavius likes sweet things. Fancy little cakes, two hundred year old port from the Douro valley, and darlings like this who shuffle on their feet, unsure of themselves in the presence of a superior.

He’s got no choice, really, but to toy with him. 

“Well,” he says experimentally, looking him up and down. “Jules must’ve been having an off day, sending you up.”

It works a little too well - the boy can’t even hide the way his face falls, and Octavius can’t bear to see him suffer so, sap that he is. He takes his guest’s chin in his hand.

“Surely he knows better than to send me someone under the age of eighteen.”

Milo McKenzie huffs a little relieved laugh and blushes impossibly, vibrant as a cartoon character. “You’re a decade in the clear there,” he says shyly, which of course, Octavius already knows. “And a bit on top of that.”

“Good,” he says, tugging the man closer by his shirt. “That’s very good, because I like what I see.”

He’s thirty-two, a baby, really. A mental health professional, has an office space in Notting Hill and a modest flat of his own in Ealing. Caucasian, five-foot-five, blood type O positive, no major chronic health problems, single, and an Eighth Sin regular able to provide reliable references.

He relies heavily on these references; he wouldn't be caught dead in his own club. 

“Open your mouth.”

The boy complies without hesitation - and yes, Octavius will call him a boy in his own mind, and perhaps later out loud. But he’s got a solid four inches on him at least, so it’s the simplest thing to tip his head back and descend upon him.

Milo’s got to break for breath and that’s just fine - there’s more of him to kiss. Octavius turns his head to the side and sets upon his porcelain little neck, eliciting a beautiful whimper.

“Are you quite alright?” hums against soft skin.

“Yeah,” the boy gasps. “God. You’re. I wasn’t expecting, uh, this.”

“Mmm. Did Jules make me out to be some kind of untouchable ice sculpture?”

“I. I don’t. Oh.”

How adorable; the path of Octavius’s hands under his jumper has already disabled his ability to complete sentences. 

“So responsive. What do I call you, love?” He twists the boy’s nipples while looking straight into his eyes, delighted by the way he squirms under two different kinds of calculated attention.

“Milo,” he manages. “Milo’s good. That’s my name, so.”

He repeats the name out loud to see how it tastes. “That’s a very nice name,” he concludes. “I’m going to take you apart, Milo. Find all the secret little mechanisms that hold you together and snap them off one by one. How does that sound?”

He doesn’t think much in these moments, just lets the words tumble out like he’s communicating with a dear little animal who can’t really understand him anyway, but the boy exhales with a heady sort of pleasure that lets Octavius know it’s working.

“Fucking fantastic.”

“I’m sorry, what was that now?”

The corner of Milo’s mouth quirks up. “Fucking fantastic, sir.”

He withdraws his hands from under the jumper and ruffles his blonde curls, enjoying the tousled effect it provides. “Well done,” he praises. “Now, go lay on the bed.”

“Oh. You mean...?” The boy glances down at himself.

“Yes, in your clothes.”

He’s already sized up the fabric and knows it will stretch up and over the back of the boy’s head once his wrists are tied to the headboard. He’s in that sort of mood to ratchet up the tension very, very slowly - keep this one around for awhile.

--

✨ WIP intro

🔖 tag list: @winterandwords // @foxboyclit //@revenantlore

@space-writes // @indecentpause // @words-after-midnight

comment to be added or removed!

📝 all posts from WIP: gay crime bdsm story

[imagionationstation]

Hi! I read your TMNT 2012 separated au that you made with ellestrade and it really gave me brainworms so I wrote a small one-shot for it! The characters kinda ended up writing themselves haha.

anyways, wanted to share it with you and also make sure that you're okay with it. Not sure how you feel about other people taking inspiration from you ideas, so if you would like me to take it down, just let me know!

Thanks for sharing such fun ideas. Here's the post (I've also tagged you in it but sometimes tags are weird and don't always show. Also its on my fandom specific sideblog, but I am the same person haha)

Gotta love those brain worms! (Ironic statement from a 2012 viewpoint, actually-) HOLY CHALUPA, BRAIN WORMS IN THIS AU UNIVERSE, WAIT WAIT ACTUALLY WAIT-

*background rambles and spazzing*

Okay, I’m back.

I’m always a-okay with whatever fan things anyone wants to create with inspiration from something I made or helped make. As long as it isn’t containing some stamp that says “this I deem canon” when neither me (nor my partner) deemed it canon, no one ever has to worry with me getting upset over some story/comic/art.

I’m going to give some thoughts and I want to disclaimer.

When I discuss my thoughts on your POV of events in the AU, I will never, in any way, intend to diss or attack the story. I think the flow was excellent and Raph’s analysis of the events occurring was intriguing. I loved it! And nothing I say will be a statement otherwise.

But, since I have a distinct inability to keep my mouth shut when it comes to turtles and you asked, I have thoughts 🧐

My brain is now turning and ya’ll have to deal.

Characterization:

Donnie: Much distrust. Much sass. A strong sense of duty to defend his brethren turtles who don’t deserve it but he’s doing it anyway.

Very on point. Much approval 👌

Mikey: Could not be more perfect. I love him. Sweet soul ✨

Leo: He’s a bit less… Forceful. Cold and calculating. Than I envision.

I’d imagine that he had to learn to shut feelings down in order to survive. Fidgeting/smiling/visibly hesitating is out of the question. Staying in Shredder’s graces meant learning to play the game. His silence is what earns Raph the ability to be loud. The only times that he’s himself is when him and Raph are alone, outside of the sight of cameras, or when someone in is danger and fear/fury overwhelms all else. He seems bland to outsiders and it takes the Hamato brothers a while to see that that he’s just a scared little boi at heart that’s just trying his best in a cruel world.

He’s also set in his beliefs, so he’s going to assume that they’re being tormented mentally, if not physically. There’s no place in his mind that wonders if they were actually safer elsewhere.

I do like your POV, though. Plenty for me to play with.

Raph:

He’s ABSOLUTELY the first to question the differences between how Shredder treats them and how Splinter treats their brothers. He doesn’t jump the gun, but as devoted as he is, he’s never really liked Shredder. I love the implications that he’s been filing away concerns subconsciously and his brain keeps poking him like “HELLO?!”

He’s very deep. I can’t decide how I feel about that 🤔

Shredder would have wanted to fan that temper into something unforgiving and vile. Or course, that doesn’t mean he stops being a sensitive soul. It could… Have something to do with Shredder manipulating him into being angry when he wills it (basically all the time) and solemn and still when he doesn’t (such as during lectures, punishments, etc).

His brain registers this situation as one where he’s not meant to be loud and angry, and so he’s kinda… Shut down. Sassy, but mellow. Processing. Adapting. Letting what happens happen because he’s not meant to stop it.

It’s a reason that Leo gets so defensive when punishments come into play. It forces Raph to feel small. It make him vulnerable.

HOLY MOTHER OF MUTATIONS- I AM IN LOVE WITH THIS NEW TAKE ON THE AU @ellestrade TELL ME IF I’M ONTO SOMETHING

Anyway, commentary:

“in one of Takeō's strategy books he couldn't care less about”

It’s like Space Heroes. He claims so and YET he read, recalls, AND clearly has DEBATED the passage so I call sus vibes.

I get giddy when I think of Takeō discovering Space Heroes-

“Junkō and Kōta— or Donnie and Mikey, whatever false name they’d been given—”

My brain made connections. I don’t know if it was intended, but I always believe that they knew them by Shredder’s names through the beginning of season one, end of season one/beginning of season two they were associating them as both, and then by the time that the City is under attack, they’ve adapted to using their real names. (But the Saki brothers still keep their Foot names.)

So, now I assume this is somewhere in that middle plot.

Fun little Easter egg~

“Takeō and Akihitō were the offense, and Donnie and Mikey were the defense” “They held their own. In fact, they dominated.”

I’m in love with Raph’s simple acknowledgment of their roles in battle. It’s a very practical outline of exactly how their dynamic on the field plays out and he's so certain of his place.

On the other hand, I’m a bit uncertain about whether they’d dominate. I do believe that they are trained and can hold their own, but I don’t know about them being as impressive as Raph&Leo, simply because Splinter trained them to defend and Shredder trained them to kill. The Hamato brothers haven’t had much time to practice in the offensive, especially since that’s Leo&Raph’s job. (In non-AU canon, they are all offensive/defensive.)

I think Mikey might learn that kinda strength at the farmhouse after being taught by Leo&Raph, and Donnie will step back from that, finally finding his place not as a fighter/leader, but as a scientist.

Definitely an interesting take, tho 🤔

“Only now does he think that, perhaps, there was a reason their master made their primary weapons blunts and not blades.”

I am chewing on this line so hard. It’s so powerful.

I can’t even tell you why. It just is.

“Akihitō knows that Takeō isn’t lying. He’d already tried to take tonight's blame all on his own shoulders, spare Akihitō of the punishment. But Akihitō knows all his tricks and he won’t let his brother suffer alone. Again.”

100% behind Raph learning to butt in when Leo tries to take the fall as they get older and punishments get worse.

“Seeing the situation, the evidence glaring at him, Akihitō cannot deny that this wasn’t exactly a great sell. Takeō and him are tied to the ground, trying to convince these two strangers that they would be safe with them. That their clan would not hurt them while that same clan was just about ready to beat them to a pulp.”

I was thinking the same thing 🤣

Leo, dude, seriously. Look around. Think for a second. You are not selling your point. You are doing the opposite.

In the end, it doesn’t even matter. Sensei will always find them no matter where they run. It was better to follow than be chased.

SOMEONE NEEDS TO TEACH THESE KIDS THAT THIS IS A TOXIC RELATIONSHIP. YOU SHOULD NOT FEEL MOTIVATED TO STAY WITH DAD BECAUSE HE WILL FORCED YOU TO REMAIN OTHERWISE. BRUH. RED FLAG.

These were Foot Ninja binds made specifically to hold them. Mutant strength and all.

It makes sense that Shredder would make these. But.

But man. He made those. For them.

Takeō tries to take control of the situation again, the bossy oldest sibling coming out in him.

HA. Got him. Leo is Leo in any universe.

“His name is Mikey.” Donnie glares. “The rat is lying and he has—” “Donnie, its fine.”

Absolutely how they view things. Mikey doesn’t care what they think or do as long as no one he cares about is paying the price. Donnie feels it is a manner of principle that they accept logic and truth.

Leo talking over both of them is valid. This kid, I swear.

“Then tell your older brother to shut up about—”

LEO IS IT OFFICIAL YOU HAVE BEEN DISOWNED

“Sounds like a you-problem.” Donnie stands. “Mikey, we saved them. It's time to go.”

Donnie would die for them <3

A hand lands on his shoulder, and he recognizes it. Takeō always knows when to give support. He’s a good brother. He hopes Donnie and Mikey will know that one day too.

OH. OKAY. WELL. 🥺

THOSE FEELS CAME OUT OF NOWHERE-

He loved his big bro sm hjkhkjhkjhjkkjhkjhkjhku

If Akihitō didn’t know any better, he’d say it was longing.

Oh, don’t worry, he is dying to have other people in his life who genuinely care for him, but as long as you guys are with the enemy, you’re a threat to his baby brother and daddy and not to be trusted

And, just maybe, it could be their world too. 

Oh, so that’s what pain feels like. Glad to be reminded.

[sichore]

Also 23 for the otp prompts!

tagging @nightklok because they asked for this prompt too! it got away from me a bit... like 2K words a bit.

23. Write about your ship supporting each other through a hard time.

MagJam | mention of MagCharles | 2271 words | post s2. ep. 19 Black Fire Upon Us | non-explicit sex

Mordhaus is attacked and the first thing Magnus feels is worry, sick and gnawing in his gut as he tries to go about the shop as usual. Are they okay? Did they make it out? And the anchorman goes on to say no, they did not. 

All the money and fame in the world didn’t stop them from being infiltrated, invaded like the micronation of shit that they are, and now Charles is dead.

Charles is dead.

Time passes in a haze, swirled and blurred images of life moving on regardless. Nairi notices and asks what’s wrong and he can’t bring himself to tell his daughter the truth. “Nothing. I’m fine. How was class?” And Nairi’s furrowed brow is a mirror of his own, but eventually she stops asking, her hands no longer hesitating as she tells him about her day.

Charles is dead and the hate and resentment that’s built up over the past decade is numbed by a wave of grief so deep that Magnus finds himself visiting the liquor store more and more because he can’t bring himself to touch the bottle of arak in his cabinet. He’s far from sober, but he usually doesn’t let beer bottles collect in his recycling bin this fast. They gather like his regrets and dreams, empty and dusty and sometimes broken before he tosses them out, and then the pile grows all over again.

Two weeks go by. Maybe a month. And then Jimi comes back.

“Oh, hey!” She greets him in a scene like an echo of a time past and it takes his breath away. Jimi, standing in his kitchen with Nairi as they put away groceries, smiling as brightly as she did the first time they did this so many years ago when Nairi was much smaller.

“We were gonna make dinner, but we got a bit carried away at the store,” Jimi apologizes, shrugging, and holds up a takeout container. “How’s Italian sound?”

“Good.” Magnus swallows down the lump in his throat and hopes that eases in the hoarseness in his voice. “I didn’t know you were back.”

“Some stuff came up at work, so…” Jimi shrugs, doesn’t exactly meet his eye. “Here I am!”

Dinner comes from a local Italian spot that Magnus and Jimi had gone to once, together, the evening they decided that no, this probably shouldn’t be a thing. The bread is still soft, the pasta exquisite, and the sun-dried tomatoes far, far sweeter than Magnus remembers.

“There were some changes,” Jimi says, once Nairi retreated to her room for the evening to leave the two of them to polish off the bottle of white wine Jimi had picked up ‘for fun’. Her gaze stays focused on her stemless glass, swirling around her drink. “So I’m finally back here for the time being.”

“For how long?” Magnus ventures, trying not to think about how much his world has shrunk since Jimi started spending more time away at this mystery job than her apartment. Since he was left behind, three times now.

“Mmh, not sure.” And Jimi sets her glass down on the coffee table, curls a leg up onto the couch so she can face Magnus. “How ‘bout you? How have you been?”

Terrible. “Fine.” Spiraling. “Same as usual.”

“You look tired, Magnus.”

He doesn’t have an answer for her.

Jimi is home a lot now. His home, which could have been hers, too. Magnus doesn’t realize how much he’s been slacking on groceries until he starts coming home to the fridge constantly being stocked with more than takeout, leftovers, and beer. Nairi is bright and cheery the following weeks after Jimi takes her on a shopping spree, and frequently sports a colorful jacket from one of her shows.

One evening, Magnus comes home after closing shop to find Jimi asleep on his couch, having been in the middle of folding laundry. She’s not even that good about putting away her own clothes from what he recalls.

He reaches down to brush an errant curl, stops himself, and instead moves her glasses to the side table. It’s enough to wake up the artist.

“Oh, shit, sorry,” she says hastily, rubbing her eyes and sitting up. “I was just –”

“Jimi, what are you doing?”

The way she pauses and her eyes widen in embarrassment makes Magnus kick himself for his lack of tact, but he can’t bring himself to stop. “I mean, you’ve been –”

“Weird, ah, I know. It’s weird. Sorry. I’ll just go–”

“No. Shit, I’m sorry, don’t –” Don’t go, please. She starts to rise and he places his hand on her shoulder and the way Jimi looks up at Magnus makes him jolt. A dormant urge sparks to life and he’s not so quick to snuff it out. “I’m sorry. I appreciate everything you’ve done, really. I know I’m not great at showing it.”

And he pauses, the words sending him down a completely different train of thought. He redirects. “And Nairi’s been really happy to see you again.”

Ignoring the protest in his knees, Magnus kneels down to be more at Jimi’s level, and he sees the way she sucks in a breath, hands clasped in her lap. He tosses his hair over his shoulder with a jerk of his head. “You’ve just got me worried, is all.”

The way Jimi presses her lips together and her eyes harden, he expects her to challenge him right back, because he knows the bags under his eyes haven’t gotten much better since she first asked about them. That the recession is hitting everyone hard, the shop hasn’t been doing its best, and Jimi just seems to be biding her time while making sure Nairi has everything she needs.

And Magnus is grateful, even if his pride is wounded a bit. It’s really not a talk either of them wants to have. “Listen, if you need to come back to the shop for a bit, it’s not a problem–”

“It’s not that,” Jimi interrupts, then sighs, looking away. Her hands twist in her lap and this time Magnus doesn’t hesitate to take one. He watches Jimi’s shoulders sag, and the fight leaves her body, replaced with an emotion he can’t identify that’s gone as fast as a ripple. “I’ve just got a lot of time on my hands. Maybe I should go back to school. Actually finish this time.”

“That’s not a bad idea.”

“Mmh.”

He forgot how small her hands were compared to his, long and knobby and weathered as they are. Jimi holds his hand much more carefully than he handled all those bottles he knocked back. She looks at him now and her eyes are dark as midnight in the summer. He can see the glitter of stars, feel the warm breeze in his hair, the blades of grass on his skin.

“... hey, Magnus…”

“Yeah?”

Jimi squeezes his hand, worries her lower lip with her teeth. Soft, plush lips that he remembers should be treated delicately. “... Lemme finish up here.”

He’s not sure what he was expecting. He should be used to disappointment. “Right, yeah. Okay.”

Weeks and months pass and Magnus remembers feelings other than grief and monotony and apathy. Even tragedy can’t stop Dethklok from flaunting their wealth before the world and that familiar sneer of disgust curls Magnus’ lip, before he changes the channel away from news of that damn statue.

Charles is dead and Jimi’s back and the need for revenge still burns in his chest and Nairi is healthy and well. It’s not exactly his normal, because he’s missing more than he usually is, and maybe some part of him really did believe that negotiating his royalties wouldn’t be the last time he spoke to Charles. It was the band, the rest of those selfish assholes who cast him out, and Charles wasn’t much better than himself, casting away his heart in favor of reaching his goals.

Magnus feels like he’s on the verge of waking from a dream, like maybe he’s getting to the acceptance phase, when Jimi turns to him and says Nairi’s gone for the weekend.

And he snaps out of whatever haze he was in. “Oh?”

“Yep,” Jimi chirps, shrugging. She’s more relaxed as of late, did actually take up classes again. Went to see her family. Said work had slowed down, but it was fine, apparently. “Told her and Haséyá to go have some fun.”

That would explain the text he got from his daughter. “I see.”

“She won’t be back until Sunday afternoon.”

Jimi smells really nice today. “Uh huh.”

“So… I thought we could watch movies, or something.”

“... Oh.”

She does not want to watch no damn movies.

It’s Friday night and Magnus is not alone and he doesn’t really need to concern himself with opening the shop tomorrow. Or for the whole weekend. Jimi is dressed simply in a shirt and sweats and what seems to be little else, now that he takes a good look at the dips of her chest. Jimi is turned towards him on the couch, same as the first night she returned, only this time she’s not asking how he’s doing.

The offer has stayed open all these years and now she gives him an answer. Yes, now, because if not, when? Magnus’ breath catches, and her fingers brush his knee, and the walls he had started building up again atop his mound of grief come crumbling down.

Jimi’s hand is small against him. Her skull, too, feels tiny cradled in his hands as he threads long fingers into her thick hair to draw her face near. Magnus only sees half as well as he used to, yet he plainly sees that beneath the care and sweetness that is Jimi is a pain he can’t identify. He asks if she’s sure and she nods her consent. The last time they kissed outside of the holiday season was on that doomed date. Kissing her feels like tasting the rain after a long drought, only it pours, and pours, and pours.

Magnus pulls back from the deluge and the whimper Jimi lets out takes the rest of the air from him. He takes her hands in his own, kissing her palms and fingertips, unsure if they are promises or apologies. Jimi accepts them all the same. She accepts his touch everywhere; rough calluses over smooth skin, a vice grip on her soft hip, and his longing into the aching core of her.

For her, he tries to be a gentle lover, but Jimi doesn’t let him. She doesn’t look at him much, but they both have a lot of hair in the way, and with him having only one eye, Magnus isn’t sure if he wants to glimpse anything other than whatever pain drove her back here. This, at least, is familiar territory to him, so when she claws at him and holds him tighter, closer, he ducks his head down, and gives it back tenfold.

He buries himself in her and with it he tries to bury that grief, that guilt, the ‘what-ifs’ and ‘could be’s’ that haunt him every time he looks into the mirror and sees that pale ghost staring back at him. It’s far less than she deserves, but Jimi takes it all the same, and in turn does not allow him to ride the bliss that follows release. No, she drags more from him with biting nails and pleading cries, with a voracity that shatters any illusion of innocence he may have still held towards her.

Jimi’s arduous cries turn to shouts, turn to sobs, and eventually, their mingled, labored breaths. In the wake of the storm there is stillness, and silence, and for a while, there is no loneliness.

It’s been twenty years or more since Magnus has shared a bed with anyone through the night. He never did with Mari, and the last person he remembers doing so with is dead. But Jimi stays with him until morning and it’s not as strange as it could be when he wakes up and she’s smiling at him. Wearing his shirt. Pushing his hair from his face and chiding him for not tying it up.

He doesn’t ask if she was thinking of someone else, too, in the dark. In the morning light, she’s looking at him, kissing him, swinging her legs over his hips and sinking down onto him. Jimi moves like the waves and Magnus lets her pull him under.

Afterwards, once she’s cleaned up and he finally manages to rouse himself from bed and do the same, he finds Jimi in the kitchen. The tea she claimed she’d make is unbrewed. Instead, she stands at the sink, the water running over her fingers as she stares with an unreadable expression.

It’s the crack in the otherwise perfect image of her standing in his kitchen, in his shirt, still wearing his scent. Maybe this will only last the weekend. Maybe this is all he’ll ever have. But he had nothing before, has nothing with Charles dead, so he’ll hold onto what little he has, however long he has.

“Hey,” Magnus says softly, jolting Jimi out of her trance.

“Oh, hey.” Her smile is weary. “Sorry, I guess I just kinda zoned out there.”

Magnus says nothing at first. Just closes their distance and wraps his arms around her. With their height difference, her face presses to the center of his abdomen. “It’s okay.”

Jimi’s arms wind around him, too. For a moment, he feels the gravity of a collapsed star, and his raspy voice fills the void. “It’s okay.”

[Soft OTP Prompts]

[lamuradex]

Friday Kiss Tag ❤️

Thank you for the tag @the-golden-comet. Always appreciated.

Rules: From Your Story/WIP, share a kiss. It can be any kiss, from familial pecks on the cheek, forehead kisses, platonic smooches, to full-blown makeouts.

And for excerpts without a kiss, you can use this post as a writing share! :

Rules: Share a snippet of your writing!

Haven't done in tag in over a week. Been buried in trying to keep the momentum up to get Ninth Realm finished.

A lot of fun so far with a lot more romance in it than I initially planned, but that isn't a bad thing. So, let's have a kiss.

Barely a kiss, but we do later find them in bed together, so yeah.

Anyway. Here we go:

-

Some time on the rowing machine, and then onto the treadmill. He was a half a mile into his run when he became aware of someone else. Hunter was waiting in the doorway in sports gear.

“Mind if I join you?” he asked.

“I’ve never minded before,” Mike answered, slowing his run so he could talk.

“I know. It’s just things feel different now. Didn’t know if maybe you wanted to be alone.”

“Do you know what? I think I’ve been alone enough recently. I can’t think about all this shit anymore. False memories, evil scientists, aliens, Reggie…” His voice cracked but he swallowed and soldiered on. “I need to do something. And if it isn’t hunting down those creeps responsible, then it’s this.” He stopped the machine so he could lift some weights instead.

"You should have a spotter,” Hunter agreed.

Mike shot him a small look. He was only doing dumbbell curls.

“Sorry, clumsy metaphor,” Hunter explained. “What I meant is, you don’t have to do things alone. You know that, right?”

“I do. It’s just difficult. I can never just ask…”

“I get that,” Hunter smiled. “Pride cometh before the fall though. I used to hate asking my parents, or anyone for that matter, for any kind of help. But then I realised something. Your friends want to know how to help you. They want you to tell them.”

“It’s just…” Mike hesitated, formulating the thought. “I don’t really know what to do anymore. Without him.”

“Hey, welcome to the boat. We’re all in it,” Hunter patted his shoulder. “We’ll find a direction though. We’ve got one for the moment, hunting Solace. After that… we’ll work that out too, I’m sure of it. People have work, we’ll do jobs. Simple.”

Mike didn’t looked convinced, but he did smirk. “You ever thought of being a motivational speaker, Hunter? Because I’d advise against it.”

“Ouch!” Hunter said cattily. “All I mean is, we’ll keep doing stuff together. We’re a team. We’re all friends. More than that in places, but we’re all together. You understand that, right?”

“Of course. I wouldn’t walk out on you guys.”

“Always good to hear, but you don’t need to do it alone, is all. You don’t need to do anything alone." Hunter came and sat beside him. “There are things people can do together.”

Mike curled an eyebrow alongside his arm. “Another clumsy metaphor?”

“Less a metaphor, more a… double-entendre.”

“A clumsy one,” Mike chuckled. “But, before we do anything else, let’s get a workout in.”

“I can think of a good workout.”

Mike stared over his shades at him.

“Alright, that was a clumsy metaphor,” Hunter admitted, putting a hand on Mike’s shoulder and leaning in to kiss his cheek.

-

And there we go. Having a lot of fun with this book, so I'll still be pretty quiet until it's finished most probably. I'm 80K words in and still have a way to go.

Anyway tags:

@wintherlywords @stephtuckerauthor @fayeiswriting @mikathewriter @sableglass @agirlandherquill

By the way, if anyone doesn't want to be tagged, or alternatively would love to be tagged, feel free to let me know. Currently I'm just tagging Writeblr mutuals, as best as I can work out.

[ugyunyun]

Shit posting + dumping some MeChat ✨gangstar✨headcanon

……yeah that’s a jojo reference.

It’s almost impossible to recreate Adam in Livly, but I did try.

Why?

Because I can relate to Adam now. As someone who made a bet, lost it, now have to write Mpreg……I understand you now, Adam.

It’s not our fault, nothing is wrong with us. It’s the world. The world isn’t ready for our masterpieces. Shame on them!

Time to knock up men

Special shout out to my friendㄧㄋ. Thanks for sticking around and tolerating all my nonsense 🫶

Age

I headcanon Tamura and Cedric are both around 28~35, while Jasper is around 25.

They are older than Jasper, so they treat Jasper as their younger brother.

Speaking about younger one, Bradley is probably around 20 since he’s still in college. Jasper’s father showed up in Bradley’s routine, I’m curious if Jasper and Bradley know each other? I do like Bradley, hope his story will continue.

Canonically speaking, Uberto is 43, Jeremiah is 30.

So this is my age scale from the oldest to the youngest:

Uberto>Tamura&Cedric&Jeremiah> Jasper>Bradley

My MC Edgar is 48, oof.

Heigh

I headcanon Cedric to be slightly shorter than Tamura. Cedric’s MC already joked about it in their second date, also, Idk why but I feel like Tamura is slightly bending knees or hunching in their “find the attacker” CG.

Speaking about Tamura……

Me:hello my friend

Me:should I?

ㄧㄋ:yes.

Me:yes.

Temper

People around Tamura said he’s such a hothead. But I think Cedric is also hot tempered🤔

Like, he stormed into the salon with his men recklessly when MC said police was there. Also he threw quite a fit when MC “kidnapped” him in the birthday date.

So I headcanon the trio to be:

Tamura: is hot tempered and knows he’s hot tempered.

Cedric: is hot tempered but act like he’s calmer than Tamura.

Jasper: actually the calmest of the three, because he always feels bad when things get violent……

Not to forget Tamura will immediately calm down for his MC. I think it would be hilarious to see Tamura trying to stop Cedric’s temper tantrum😂😂

This is how I picture Cedric when he snapped:

As for Jeremiah…… this is a man that blew up our ex’s party for us. A man that pointed a gun at Glenn, then kidnapped his MC without any hesitation.

Jeremiah doesn’t need to lose his cool to act insane. He IS insane.

J and J

Jeremiah is, without a doubt, MeChat’s new golden boy like Dylan. He’s on the loading screen, on the happy new year 2025 post, showing up in Glenn’s route. On the other hand, Jasper is almost forgotten.

It’s not just about cameo, Jasper has no tag at all after the newest app update🫠

He’s the only exclusive match I have that has no tag🫠🫠🫠

Still, I can’t help but headcanon that Tamura and Cedric like Jasper much more than Jeremiah.

It’s canon that they both view Jeremiah as enemy. Cedric took care of Jasper back in prison, so……

It’s funny to picture no matter how hard Mechat tries to put all the popular bad boys together, Tamura and Cedric keep ignoring Jeremiah completely and ask for Jasper🤣🤣

Cedric definitely acts like this:

Jeremiah doesn’t need friend anyway.

He’s ✨so tough✨✨so bad✨✨he lone wolf alpha male✨✨✨✨

……Okay I’m being quite sarcastic toward Jeremiah but I do like his routine!

Hobby

Jasper’s old profile mentioned he’s into the fandom things.

IMO MeChat changed it because Jasper never mentions those things in his routine.

I headcanon he’s bit similar to Optimo, really enjoy video games, comics, hero movies etc.

Jeremiah’s introduction said his favorite game is GTA, huh, so that man plays video games?

Anyway, I have been headcanoning Edgar and Jasper play interior design cozy games together.

Jasper makes really pretty modern houses while Edgar’s is so 80's/retro aesthetic. He also has an obsession for lava lamps and vintage toys. Jasper is fine with Edgar’s stuff as long as he stays in the basement.

Alright, that’s it.

Back to work on my masterpiece.

Bye.