#to share your heart with the world in whatever form you choose

[lostfracturess]

LAST DECEMBER MORNING — SATORU GOJO

pairing — satoru gojo x sorcerer!reader

summary — on a frost-bitten december morning, you watch satoru gojo prepare for his fated battle with sukuna with infuriating calm, like he isn't planning to sacrifice himself for the greater good. you've spent years being his secret, clearing battlefields for him and stealing kisses between missions, but now you're faced with the most brutal truth. that sometimes the cruelest curse isn't the one that kills you — it's loving someone who belongs to the world before they belong to you.

word count — 5.4 k

warnings — heavy angst, hurt/no comfort, mentions of blood and violence, implied death, unhealthy relationship, sad ending

author's note — this has been rotting in my drafts since the final jjk chapter dropped, and i finally dragged it out into the light bc i'm procrastinating uni. fair warning, this is pure angst with zero comfort, just two people breaking each other's hearts because sometimes love isn't enough. anywayys, happy reading <3

masterlist

Winter had never felt so much like an ending.

You watched frost creep across the windows of your shared apartment, each crystalline pattern forming like cracks in glass, spreading slowly but inevitably.

Outside, the world lay hushed under winter's blanket, everything soft and serene. Birds traced lazy patterns against a sky so blue it hurt to look at, and fresh snow made everything clean and new.

It was the kind of morning that belonged in fairy tales, the kind poets write about when they want to capture peace in words. Strange, how you'd never imagined death would choose such a beautiful day.

You watched Satoru move through his routine, each gesture precise and unhurried. White hair caught the pale sunlight as he smoothed it back, his reflection in the mirror handsome as ever before he adjusted his clothes, and put on his blindfold.

You'd watched him prepare for countless missions before, but this felt different. This felt final.

The normality of it all was almost cruel — how he could stand there, getting ready like this was just another day, just another fight. Like the sun wasn't rising on what could be your last morning together.

The clock on the wall ticked steadily forward, each second falling like a stone into still water. Time felt strange, both rushing too fast and moving too slow. You wanted to grab the clock's hands, force them to stop, to give you just a few more moments in this morning that felt like borrowed time.

"You're staring," he said without turning around, a slight smile playing at his lips.

"Can you blame me?" You were curled up in the window seat, tea growing cold in your hands. "It's not every day your— whatever we are goes to fight the King of Curses."

He turned then, and even through the blindfold, you could feel the weight of his gaze. "Whatever we are?" There was amusement in his tone. "After all this time, you still don't know what we are?"

"Well, we're not exactly big on labels," you pointed out, trying to keep your voice light despite the heaviness in your chest. "Secret relationship and all that."

"Ah, but that's what makes it fun, isn't it?" He crossed the room to where you sat, reaching out to brush a strand of hair from your face. "The sneaking around, the secret meetings—"

"Satoru." You caught his hand. "How are you so calm about this?"

He tilted his head, considering. "Would you prefer if I was panicking?"

"I'd prefer if you showed any emotion at all about the fact that you're about to fight Sukuna." You stood up, setting your tea aside. "You've been acting like this is just another day, just another fight, but it's not. You know it's not."

"I think I've shown plenty of emotion," he said, pulling you closer with a playful smile. "Just last night, if I recall—"

"Don't." You pressed a hand against his chest, keeping him at arm's length. "Don't deflect. Not today."

The smile faded from his face, replaced by something more serious. "What do you want me to say?"

"I want you to tell me why you're so calm. I want you to tell me why you're not worried." Your voice cracked slightly, but you pushed on. "I want you to tell me why it feels like you're saying goodbye."

He was quiet for a long moment, his thumb tracing patterns on your wrist where he still held it. Finally, he spoke, his voice softer than before. "The world needs to move forward. It needs to find someone stronger."

"What are you talking about?" You pulled back slightly. "You're the strongest there is."

"Am I?" His smile was gentle, almost sad. "Or is that just what everyone needs to believe?"

"Satoru—"

"The world has relied on me for too long," he continued. "They've made me their symbol, their savior, their stupid hero. But what happens when I'm gone? Who protects them then?"

"You're not going anywhere," you said. "You're going to win. You always win."

He cupped your face in his hands, thumbs brushing your cheekbones. "Sometimes winning isn't about surviving. Sometimes it's about making sure what comes after is better than what came before."

"That's not funny."

"I'm not trying to be funny." He leaned forward, pressing his forehead against yours. "I'm trying to tell you that whatever happens today, the world will keep turning. It will find new leaders, new protectors. Maybe even better ones."

"I don't want new protectors," you whispered. "I want you."

"Ah, but you've always had me," he said softly. "Ever since that first mission together, when you told me my head was too big to fit through doorways. Do you remember?"

You huffed. "You were showing off, making everything more complicated than it needed to be."

"I was trying to impress you."

"You're always trying to impress me."

"But it's working, right?"

You pressed closer to him, breathing in his familiar scent. "You know it is, you idiot."

He wrapped his arms around you, holding you tight against his chest. For a moment, you both stood there in silence, listening to each other's heartbeats. The familiar rhythm brought back memories of how this all began, of the first time you'd been close enough to hear his heart race.

For loving Satoru Gojo had always been the most beautiful and dangerous thing in your world.

It started in blood, as most things in your world did. A mission gone wrong, cursed spirits thick in the air, the metallic taste of death sharp on your tongue. You’d seen him fight before—who hadn’t?

But that night was different. That night, you saw him bleed.

A special-grade curse caught you both off guard. One moment, he fought three curses at once like some untouchable god, and the next, he was crashing through three buildings, blood gushing from his mouth.

Something in your chest cracked at the sight — not from the impact of being thrown back yourself, but from seeing him, the strongest sorcerer alive, look so terrifyingly human.

You remembered how his blindfold had been torn, those devastating blue eyes meeting yours across the wreckage. Blood trickled down his chin, his usually perfect hair matted with debris, and yet he smiled. That damn smile that made your heart stutter even as cursed spirits attacked you from all sides.

“Trying to steal my spotlight?” he’d joked, wiping blood from his lips as he stood. “I’m the only one allowed to look cool here.”

You wanted to strangle him. You wanted to kiss him. You wanted to scream at him for making jokes when he could have died. You did none of those things. Instead, you cleared the area, giving him the perfect opening he needed to obliterate the special grade.

Later, after the dust had settled and the reports had been filed, he cornered you in the darkened hallway of Jujutsu High.

“You’re angry,” he said, not a question but a statement.

“I’m not angry.” You were furious. “I’m just wondering how someone who’s supposed to be the strongest can be so fucking reckless.”

He stepped closer, backing you against the wall. “Worried about me?”

“You wish.” But your voice shook, betraying you. Because you had been worried. Terrified, actually. The image of him lying in that wreckage, blood staining his white hair red, had burned itself into your mind.

“Liar,” he whispered, and then his lips were on yours.

Everything they said about Satoru Gojo was true — he was overwhelming, all-consuming, impossible to resist. Kissing him felt like being struck by lightning, like being unmade and remade in the space between heartbeats. You broke apart, both breathing hard, and reality came crashing back.

“Fuck,” you summarized eloquently.

He laughed, the sound low and rich. “That could be arranged.”

“Satoru.” You pressed a hand against his chest, feeling his heart race under your palm. “We can’t.”

“Why not?”

“Because you’re you. Because I’m me. Because there are a thousand reasons why this is a terrible idea.”

“I’m only hearing excuses.” He caught your hand, pressing a kiss to your palm. “Not actual reasons.”

And that was how it started — with blood and curses and kisses in dark hallways. With terrible ideas that felt too good to resist.

Keeping it secret was both easier and harder than you expected. Easier because everyone already knew how Satoru was — flirtatious, tactile, always pushing boundaries. No one questioned when he draped himself over your desk during meetings or appeared uninvited in your office and stayed for hours.

Harder because every moment felt like a lie of omission. Harder because you had to watch him walk into danger again and again, had to maintain professional distance when all you wanted was to grab him and never let go.

You stole moments where you could find them. Quick kisses in empty classrooms, heated encounters between missions, quiet nights in your apartment when the world thought he was somewhere else entirely.

It ate at you sometimes. Not because you wanted to announce it to the world, but because each moment felt borrowed, stolen from a future you might never have.

Every time he left for a mission, every time he faced another curse, you wondered if this would be it. If this would be the time your last memory of him would be a secret smile across a meeting room, a cryptic message that no one else understood. But then he’d come back, always with that insufferable smile, usually with some ridiculous story about how amazing he’d been.

He’d find ways to touch you in public that looked casual — a hand at the small of your back during briefings, fingers brushing as he passed you documents, his body angled toward yours in crowded rooms like a sunflower seeking light.

And the worst part? The absolute worst part was how good he was at pretending. How easily he maintained his public persona — the untouchable, unbeatable Satoru Gojo, who flirted with everyone and meant it with no one.

Sometimes you’d catch him looking at you in meetings with the same expression he gave everyone else, and for a moment, you’d wonder if you’d imagined everything between you.

But then night would fall, and he’d show up at your door with takeout and that soft smile he saved just for you. He’d kiss you like he was trying to apologize for every moment he had to pretend you were nothing special, like he was trying to prove that this, the two of you, was the only real thing in his world.

You never talked about the future. How could you? In your line of work, tomorrow was never guaranteed. Each mission could be your last, each kiss could be your goodbye. The closest you ever came to acknowledging it was in the desperate way he’d hold you after a close call, in the way you’d trace his features in the dark like you were trying to memorize them by touch.

Some nights, when sleep eluded you both, he’d tell you about the weight of being the strongest, about the exhaustion of being everyone’s last hope.

He’d whisper his fears into your skin — not of death or defeat, but of failing those who believed in him. Those were the moments when the great Satoru Gojo disappeared, leaving just Satoru, just a man who carried the world on his shoulders and made it look easy.

You lived for those moments. The quiet ones, the real ones, the ones where he wasn’t the strongest sorcerer alive but just yours. Just as you were his.

You carved out your own little infinity in the spaces between battles and duties. A secret world where his laugh wasn’t for show, where your touch wasn’t professional, where you could just be the two of you without the weight of expectations and reputations.

But infinity, as it turned out, had limits. Even his.

Looking at him now, preparing to face Sukuna with that same causality he brought to everything, you wondered if this was how your story was always meant to end. If all those stolen moments were just preparing you for this — one last morning, one last smile, one last chance to pretend tomorrow might come.

The world needed someone stronger, he said. But you needed him. And maybe that was the cruelest curse of all — loving someone the world needed more than you did.

"Promise me something," you said then.

"Hmm?"

"Promise me you won't just give up. Promise me you'll fight to come back."

He pulled back slightly, reaching up to remove his blindfold. His striking blue eyes met yours, intense and clear.

"I promise," he said, "that everything I do today will be for a better tomorrow."

"That's not what I asked."

"It's the only promise I can make."

"Stop." Your voice turned sharp, anger finally breaking through. "Stop talking about tomorrow. Stop talking about the future and the next generation and whatever noble sacrifice you think you need to make. I don't care about any of that."

"Don't you?"

"No, I don't." You grabbed his jacket, fingers twisting in the fabric. "I don't care if the world needs someone stronger. I don't care if the next generation needs to step up. I care about you, you impossible man. I want you here, alive, with me. Is that so wrong? Am I not allowed to be selfish when it comes to you?"

"Huh." He caught your hands in his, but didn't pull them away from his jacket. "And here I thought you understood me better than anyone."

"Don't." You tried to pull away, but he held firm. "Don't you dare try to make this about understanding. I understand perfectly. But you're wrong. You don't have to do this."

His smile faltered slightly. "It's not that simple."

"It is that simple!" Your voice cracked. "You're choosing to make it complicated. You're choosing to walk away, to... to what? Make some grand statement about the future? Prove that the world can survive without the great Satoru Gojo?"

"Someone has to."

"But why does it have to be you?" The words burst out of you, raw and desperate. "Why do you have to be the one to show them? Why can't you just fight to win, to live, to come back to—" You cut yourself off, biting back the words that wanted to follow.

"To you?" he finished softly.

"Yes," you said, dropping your forehead against his chest. "To me. Call me selfish, call me short-sighted, I don't care. I want more mornings like this. More everything. More of you, being insufferably calm and making terrible jokes and acting like the world isn't ending when we both know it might be."

He was quiet for a moment, one hand coming up to cradle the back of your head. When he spoke, his voice was gentler than before.

"I can't promise to come back." He leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. "But know this, every moment with you has been worth fighting for. Worth living for."

You pulled back enough to look at him, really look at him. "Then fight for more moments. Fight to make more memories. Fight to come back to me, not for some greater purpose or stupid sacrifice, but because you want to."

"And if I told you that wanting isn't enough?"

"Then I'd call you a liar." Your voice turned cold. "Because you're Satoru fucking Gojo. When has anything ever been impossible for you? When have you ever let anyone tell you what you can't do?"

​​"This is different—"

"How? How is this different? Because it's Sukuna? Because it's the fate of jujutsu society? Or because you've already decided how this story ends?"

His hands tightened on you, and for a moment, just a moment, you saw something flicker behind those blue eyes — doubt, fear, longing, you couldn't tell. But then it was gone, replaced by that same calm certainty that made you want to scream.

"Because I can't protect everyone—can't protect you if I allow myself to believe in a tomorrow," he whispered.

The gentleness in his voice, the soft way he delivered words meant to cut, made you want to tear the world apart. It was so perfectly Satoru — to break your heart like he was doing you a favor, to wound you with a tenderness that felt more cruel than any violence could be.

"I never asked you to protect me," you said finally. "I asked you to stay. There's a difference."

"Is there?" His hand came up to cup your face, shaking ever so slightly, betraying the calm he fought so hard to maintain. "Because every time I look at you, all I can think about is how many people would use you to get to me. How many would hurt you just to prove they could touch something I care about."

"So your solution is to what? Die nobly? Make sure there's nothing left for them to use against you?"

"My solution is to make sure the world doesn't need me anymore." His thumb brushed across your cheek, catching a tear you hadn't realized had fallen. "To make sure you don't need me anymore."

"That's not your choice to make. You don't get to decide what I need. You don't get to martyr yourself for some greater good and pretend it's for my protection."

"Then what would you have me do?" For the first time, there was a hint of frustration in his voice. "Ignore my responsibilities? Pretend I'm not who I am?"

"I would have you fight like you want to come back!" The words ripped from your throat. "Fight like there's someone waiting for you after. Fight like you love me as much as I love you!"

The confession rang out between you, and the moment it left your lips, you realized you'd never said it before. Through all the stolen moments, all the secret touches, all the nights you'd spent memorizing each other's bodies — you'd never actually spoken those words aloud.

You'd both danced around it, implied it in every action, every look, every unfinished sentence, but neither of you had ever dared to make it real with words.

Until now. Until you were angry enough, desperate enough, terrified enough to let it slip from your heart straight past your defenses.

"Love?" His voice was barely a whisper.

"Of course I love you, you idiot." Your voice equally quiet. "Why else would I be standing here, begging the strongest sorcerer alive to be selfish just once?”

He made a sound somewhere between a laugh and a sigh, maybe a sob, his fingers tightening on you. "Don't," he whispered, and for the first time that morning, his voice was shaking. "Don't make this harder than it already is. Don't say things that make me want to—" He cut himself off, jaw clenching. "That make me want impossible things."

"Impossible? Since when does Satoru Gojo believe in impossible?"

"Since I realized being with you means putting you at risk." His thumb brushed your cheek, the gesture achingly gentle. "Since I understood that staying alive isn't the same as keeping you safe."

"I hate this." You shook your head. "I hate how calmly you can stand here and talk about sacrifice like it's inevitable. Like there's no other way."

"Would you prefer if I fell apart?" His smile turned sad. "If I raged and cried and promised things I might not be able to keep?"

"Yes," you admitted, your hands coming up to cover his where they still held your face. "Because at least then I'd know you want to stay as much as I want you to."

"Oh, my love." The endearment fell from his lips like a confession. "Wanting to stay has never been the question. The question is whether I can live with myself if I do."

"And what about whether I can live with myself if you don't?" Your voice broke. "What about whether I can forgive myself for not fighting harder to make you stay?"

"This isn't your fight."

"Like hell it isn't." You pulled back. "You think I spent months learning to clear battlefields just so you could take center stage? You think I perfected my technique to complement your infinity because I had nothing better to do?" You dug your nails into your palms, throat tight with fury. "I've been fighting alongside you since before you ever kissed me in that hallway. Before you ever decided I was worth protecting. Don't you dare tell me this isn't my fight when I've spent years making sure you had the space you needed to be great."

He was quiet for a long moment, studying you. When he finally spoke, his voice was soft, almost reverent. "And that's exactly why I need to go. The world doesn't need more people making space for me. It needs people who'll fill that space themselves."

You recoiled like he'd slapped you, hurt burning in your chest. "Is that what you think I've been doing? Making myself smaller for you? Made space for you because I was afraid to reach higher?" You stepped closer, deadly calm now. "I made space for you because that's what you do when you love someone."

His lips twitched into a smile. "So you do understand me."

"Don't pretend those are the same thing."

He was quiet for a moment. Then, instead of answering, he pulled you into a kiss that tasted like goodbye. Like all the tomorrows you'd never have, all the moments you'd never share, all the promises neither of you could keep. You kissed him back with everything you had — all your fury and fear and love condensed into this one perfect, terrible moment.

His hands tangled in your hair like he was trying to memorize the feeling, yours gripping his jacket as if you could keep him here through sheer force of will. When you finally broke apart, hearts pounding, foreheads pressed together in the space between one heartbeat and the next.

"I'll hate you," you whispered against his lips. "If you don't come back, I'll hate you for the rest of my life."

He pulled back just enough to look at you, and for once, his smile held an edge of something raw, something that looked almost like pain. "No, you won't."

"I will." Your fingers tightened in his jacket. "I'll hate you for making me fall in love with someone who was always planning to leave. I'll hate you for every morning I wake up alone, for every mission briefing where someone else stands in your place, for every year I have to leave flowers on your grave."

"You'll move on. You'll find someone—"

"Fuck you," you cut him off, the words sharp enough to draw blood. "Don't you dare tell me how I'll feel. Don't you dare stand here and plan out my future without you in it."

"I'm just trying to—"

"To what? Prepare me? Make it easier? There's nothing easy about loving you, Satoru Gojo. There never has been. But I chose it anyway. Every day, knowing this moment would come."

"What do you want me to do? Do you want me to say goodbye? Make it messy and painful and real?"

"I want you to stop pretending this is just another mission and show me something that tells me this is killing you like it's killing me."

The silence stretched between you like a chasm. For just a moment, beneath his careful composure, you caught a glimpse of the man behind the name — vulnerable, conflicted, maybe even afraid. But he buried it quickly, like he buried everything that might make him waver from his chosen path.

You'd always known this about him, hadn't you? Known it from that first bloody mission, from every fight where he'd put himself between the world and destruction.

Satoru Gojo was a man built for sacrifice, shaped by duty and power into something that could never truly belong to just one person. You'd fallen in love with him anyway, foolishly hoping that maybe love could be enough to make him choose differently.

But watching him now, seeing the gentle finality in every movement, you understood with crushing clarity that this was always how it would end. No amount of pleading or anger or love could change what he'd already decided.

He'd made his choice long before this morning, probably before he'd ever kissed you in that darkened hallway.

"Keep the tea warm for me," he said finally, stepping back. The words were casual, almost playful — exactly the kind of thing he'd say on any other morning. But that's what made it cruel. Even now, he was trying to soften the blow, pretending this was just another goodbye, just another mission.

You didn't say anything as he walked to the door. Didn't wish him luck or tell him to be safe. The time for those platitudes had passed.

Instead, you watched him pause in the doorway, his hand resting on the frame. For a moment, you thought he might turn around, might drop the act and let you see something real. One last true moment before the end.

He didn't fully turn, but his voice carried back to you, soft and achingly sincere. "I love you. More than anything." A pause. "That's why I have to go."

The words hit you like a physical blow, knocking the air from your lungs. You'd never expected them, had made peace with the silence between heartbeats where those words should have lived.

You'd imagined them differently, in all the quiet moments you'd shared — whispered against your skin in the dark, laughed into your mouth between kisses, murmured sleepily on lazy mornings. Not like this. Never like this.

How cruel, that he would finally say them now, when they felt more like a funeral rite than a confession. A parting gift from a man walking towards his own chosen end, making what should have been beautiful feel like another wound. The words you'd never dared hope for now hurt more than a lifetime of silence ever could.

Your throat burned with all the things you wanted to scream at him — about how love should mean staying, about how he was breaking your heart while trying to save it, about how dare he make those words sound like goodbye when they should have been a beginning.

"I hate you," you whispered.

He made a sound that might have been a laugh or might have been something more broken. "No, you don't." The certainty in his voice felt like another wound. "You love me. You said so yourself."

"I'll hate you." Your voice hardened with each word. "I'll hate you so much it'll make you wish you'd stayed."

His hand tightened on the doorframe, knuckles white with tension. For a heartbeat, you thought you'd finally cracked his composure. That he might turn around and choose you over duty, love over destiny.

He didn't.

The door closed behind him with a soft click that sounded like an ending.

"But I'll wait for you anyway," you whispered to the empty room, hating yourself for the truth in those words.

The truth was, you'd always known it would end like this, known that loving Satoru Gojo meant loving someone who belonged to the world before he belonged to you.

But you'd been naive enough to hope. Foolish enough to think that maybe, just maybe, love could be enough to make him choose differently. That your selfish desire to keep him alive and whole could outweigh his selfless need to reshape the world.

The morning light cut across the empty room, highlighting the space where he'd stood moments before, and you wondered about the cruelty of it all.

Was it wrong to want to keep him here? To ask the strongest sorcerer alive to choose personal happiness over humanity's future? How many would suffer because you'd asked him to be selfish just this once?

But then again, how many had already been saved by him? How many times had he bled and broken and pieced himself back together for a world that only saw him as a shield, never as a man? Didn't he deserve the chance to live for himself, just once?

If love died today, buried six feet under noble intentions and greater goods, then maybe hate was all you had left. And wasn't there something pure in that? In hating him with the same intensity you'd loved him? In letting that hate fill the spaces he left behind, burning away the softness until all that remained was sharp edges and bitter truths?

The world needed Satoru Gojo the symbol, the untouchable god of jujutsu. But you'd needed Satoru, just Satoru, the man who brought you tea exactly how you liked it and kissed you like you were his everything. The man who was walking away, leaving you with nothing but memories and the taste of hate on your tongue.

Was it selfish to think your love was worth more than the world's need? Was it cruel to measure the weight of one heart against humanity's future?

Love and duty were never meant to be weighed against each other like this, weren't meant to be choices that tore a person in two. And perhaps that was the real tragedy — not that he was walking away, but that you'd let yourself believe he wouldn't.

You'd known how this story would end from that very first kiss. Had tasted it in every goodbye before a mission, felt it every time you waited anxiously for his return, seen it lurking behind every smile that never quite reached his eyes.

Loving Satoru Gojo meant loving someone who was always meant to be sacrificed. You'd just been naive enough to think sacrifice could look different, that it didn't have to end with you here, choking on love turned to ash in your mouth.

Your fingers traced your lips where those three words still lingered like a curse. The tea was getting cold on the windowsill. You should pour it out, make a fresh cup. Should start preparing for a world where Satoru Gojo was just a memory, a legend, a story of sacrifice and strength. Should learn how to breathe around the thorns growing in your chest where love used to live.

Instead, you stayed frozen, caught in the space between what was and what could have been. Because maybe he was wrong. Maybe the world didn't need someone stronger. Maybe it just needed him to come back. You certainly did.

But it was too late for maybes now. He was already gone, walking toward a destiny he'd chosen long before he'd chosen you. And you were left here, caught between hating him for leaving and loving him for exactly who he was — a man who would always choose the greater good, even when it shattered both your hearts.

But perhaps the cruelest irony was that in trying to protect humanity, he'd forgotten he was human too. That in becoming everyone's shield, he'd forgotten shields could break. That hearts could break. That yours was breaking.

The sun climbed higher in the sky, indifferent to your pain, indifferent to the way your world had just walked out the door with a smile and a promise he might not be able to keep.

You'd wait anyway. Even knowing how the story was meant to end, you'd wait. Because that's what love was — not just the beautiful parts, but the ugly parts too. The waiting. The hoping. The hating.

The choosing to love someone even when they choose something else. Even when that love turns to poison in your veins.

Even when they choose the world over you.

The tea had long gone cold when you finally moved, muscles stiff from standing still for so long. You'd sworn you wouldn't watch. Had promised yourself you wouldn't be there to see him die for his greater tomorrow.

But your hands were already reaching for your jacket.

Because that was the thing about loving Satoru Gojo — even when it turned to hate, even when it felt like acid in your throat, you couldn't look away. You'd watch him fight Sukuna. Watch him smile that infuriating smile as he chose the world one last time.

After all, you'd already promised to hate him if he didn't come back.

The least you could do was be there to keep that promise.

author's note — thank you for reading this little piece of heartbreak. i was very unsure if it will ever see the light of day but i finished it now bc i was in the mood for pain. if you enjoyed, i would greatly appreciate a reblog or comment. hope your heart isn't too broken <3

ps: if you want to get notifications for future updates, you can join my taglist here!

tags — @fayuki @starmapz @saurondriell @starlightanyaaa @sxnkuna

@cocomanga @nanamis-baker @rosso-seta @shervinss @chiyokoemilia

@janbannan @bloopsstuff

© lostfracturess. do not repost, translate, or copy my work.

[lesbianvillain]

one. One more comparison picture.

I’ve come a long way with my fursuit making skills even on just my 4th suit. Confetti will always be special bc she was my first and I poured a lot of love into her but I don’t think I will wear her ever again. She a real one tho.

[capquinn]

In Between | Q. Hughes

summary: your friendship with quinn is slowly transforming. there is an unspoken tension and feelings that simmer beneath the surface, keeping you on the edge of friendship and something more. the in-between is where you both linger, uncertain yet drawn to each other. based upon the song in between by gracie abrams [request] pairing: reader x quinn hughes content: friends to lovers, mutual pining, bit of fluff, easy reading word count: 4.9k ↪masterlist

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Quinn has felt it for a while, though he’s tried to push it aside. It’s subtle at first — small changes in the way he anticipates your messages, the way his heart skips when his phone buzzes, hoping it’s you. He finds himself checking his phone more than usual, almost unconsciously, just to see if you’ve sent something. And when you haven’t, there’s that quiet ache in his stomach, a flicker of disappointment that he tries to ignore. It’s ridiculous, he tells himself, we’re just friends. But the more he talks to you, the more he’s beginning to realise that, whatever it is, feels different.

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"I just can't come between 'em, they got their own thingI wish he'd stop pretendin', he won't let his phone ringFor more than a couple seconds, oh, I think maybe twoTwo hearts just fallin' in and out of love for somethin' new"

Quinn’s back home for the summer, a rare stretch of time when he’s free from the constant grind of the season. His brothers are sprawled out on the living room floor, teasing each other as they dive into a game of cards. It’s loud, it’s chaotic, and it feels like home. He loves it — this easy, familiar rhythm of being back with his family.

His phone buzzes on the coffee table, cutting through the noise. He glances at the screen and, without hesitation, picks it up. Your name flashes across the screen, and there’s no delay in his reaction — he’s quick to answer nowadays, barely letting it ring twice, his voice immediately softening as he presses the phone to his ear.

“Hey,” he says, and the easy grin that spreads across his face doesn’t go unnoticed by his brothers.

Jack and Luke exchange a knowing glance. It’s subtle, but it’s enough. They’ve seen this look before. The way Quinn’s whole demeanour shifts when he’s talking to you, how his voice drops to that soft, relaxed tone that only seems to happen when you call and a beaming smile that reaches his eyes. 

“Everything okay?” Quinn asks, his attention fully on you, completely oblivious to the smirks forming on his brothers' faces.

“Yeah, just wanted to check in,” you reply on the other end, your voice a little muffled, but he hears the warmth in it. “You doing anything important?”

Quinn leans back in his chair, ignoring Jack’s playful elbow jab as Luke mutters something under his breath that he chooses to ignore. “Nothing important. Just hanging out.”

Since Quinn has been away, you’ve been in more contact than usual; trying to stay connected despite the distance. Calls that stretch late into the night and texts exchanged throughout the day. What were once quick updates are now filled with small, meaningful details and random moments from your day, like you’re inviting him into your world. At first, it felt casual, like old friends catching up but somewhere along the way, it all started to feel different — more intimate and filled with silences that seem to say more than words.

The conversation flows easily, the kind of back-and-forth that’s always existed between you two. You talk about the little things in your day, sharing stories, inside jokes, and quick laughs that come effortlessly, just like always. Quinn’s responses are natural, his voice relaxed, his words flowing without hesitation. It feels familiar, comfortable — like home. But there’s something more beneath the surface now. 

Quinn has felt it for a while, though he’s tried to push it aside. It’s subtle at first — small changes in the way he anticipates your messages, the way his heart skips when his phone buzzes, hoping it’s you. He finds himself checking his phone more than usual, almost unconsciously, just to see if you’ve sent something. And when you haven’t, there’s that quiet ache in his stomach, a flicker of disappointment that he tries to ignore. It’s ridiculous, he tells himself, we’re just friends. But the more he talks to you, the more he’s beginning to realise that, whatever it is, feels different.

He’s trying to pretend it’s just the distance. It’s easier that way, less complicated. You haven’t seen each other in a while — of course he misses you. That’s normal, right? It’s been months since he’s been in the city, and he hasn’t had the chance to hang out with you like he used to. That’s all it is, he tells himself. He’s just missing his friend. But deep down, he knows it’s more than that. This longing he feels isn’t just about the physical distance between you; it’s about the emotional closeness that’s been growing steadily with every call, every shared laugh, every moment that feels more intimate than the last.

The truth is, it’s not just in his head. The way you talk to each other now — the pauses, the laughs, the silences that stretch a little too long — it all feels different. There’s a tension building beneath the surface, and no matter how much Quinn tries to downplay it, it’s there. He knows it, and he’s pretty sure you do too.

“Alright, I’ll let you get back to it,” you say after a few minutes, your voice carrying that familiar warmth that always makes Quinn smile. “Talk soon?”

“Yeah,” he says, his voice softening even more, trying to sound indifferent that the phone call is ending sooner than he’d like. “Talk soon.”

As soon as he hangs up, he’s met with the inevitable barrage of playful nudges from his brothers. Jack leans over, raising an eyebrow in Quinn’s direction. “You could’ve pretended not to be so eager, you know.”

Luke snickers from his spot on the floor, tossing a card into the pile. “She calls, and it’s like everything else just disappears.”

Quinn rolls his eyes, but he can’t hide the slight blush creeping up his neck. “Shut up.”

But Jack isn’t done. He leans forward, elbows on his knees, grinning widely. “Come on, man. We all see it.”

“There’s nothing to see,” Quinn insists, leaning back, trying to brush it off like he always does. But he knows it’s a weak deflection. He’s never been able to hide much from his brothers, and when it comes to you, they’ve seen right through him for a while now.

"Their past is cold and empty, they know it's been enoughOf waitin' on somebody, someone who doesn't careBut he knows her name, she knows he'll always be there"

The bar is buzzing with life — the hum of music, the clinking of glasses, the laughter of people drifting through the air — but it feels distant, like a backdrop to the moment unfolding between you and Quinn. Tucked away in a quiet corner booth, it’s just the two of you, like the rest of the world has blurred out. Ever since Quinn got back to town, it’s been different. The usual rhythm of your friendship has shifted, and you both feel it — the weight of something unsaid, the way every glance and touch feels like it carries a thousand unspoken words.

You’ve been trying to ignore it, trying to convince yourself that maybe you’re imagining things, but the way Quinn’s knee has been brushing against yours under the table, staying there a little too long, makes you question it. It feels deliberate, intentional, as if he’s just waiting for you to acknowledge it. His eyes keep flicking to yours as he talks about training, about the grind of the upcoming season, but you can sense his focus isn’t on hockey. He’s distracted — and so are you.

You take a deep breath, your fingers tracing the rim of your glass as you try to steady yourself. “I ended things with that guy.” You watch Quinn as the words leave your mouth, a little too quickly, a little too nervously.

His reaction is subtle — just a slight pause in his movements. His fingers tighten briefly around the glass in his hand, a flicker of surprise crossing his face before he quickly schools his expression back into something more neutral. But you’ve known Quinn long enough to catch the shift. The easy smile he wore just a second ago falters, and his eyes flicker away from yours, just for a moment. He’s listening, but something has shifted in him now, and you feel it settle in the air between you.

You should feel relieved, like you’ve gotten it off your chest, but instead, your pulse quickens, and the warmth in the room seems to move with it.

Quinn leans back in his seat, taking a long sip of his drink, his jaw tight. “Yeah? You weren’t happy?” His voice is calm, but there’s an edge there, something quiet and careful, as if he’s trying not to show too much. His eyes meet yours again, and though he’s trying to keep his usual steady demeanour, you can see the tension in his shoulders, the way his body has gone just a little bit rigid.

You hesitate, unsure how to answer. It wasn’t about being happy or unhappy with the guy, not really. It was more about how that relationship never stood a chance, not with the way your thoughts have been tangled up in Quinn. But you can’t say that — not here, not now. The tension between you both is palpable, and you’re not sure how much more you can handle.

You shrug, trying to play it off casually. “I guess it just didn’t feel right, you know?”

His gaze sharpens, and you swear you see something flicker behind his eyes, something that makes your breath catch in your throat. “Yeah,” he says, a little too quickly, his voice low and almost distant. “Sometimes it’s like that.”

There’s a beat of silence, and in that moment, everything feels heavy. His leg, which has been brushing against yours under the table, remains there. He doesn’t move away, doesn’t shift, and it sends a wave of awareness through you. You don’t move either. The tension is thick now, humming between you, filling the space that once felt comfortable, but now feels charged with everything you’re both avoiding.

Quinn’s fingers tap against the glass, a telltale sign of his discomfort, but his eyes are locked on yours. The casual ease of your conversation is gone, replaced by something deeper, something unspoken that neither of you can quite name. His usual calm demeanour is cracking, but he’s still trying to hold it together, just like you are.

“You good with it?” he asks, his voice softer now, but there’s a heaviness behind his words, like he’s asking about more than just the breakup. Like he’s asking if you’re okay with the way things are between you and him — the way they haven’t been acknowledged, the way you’ve both been skirting around the inevitable.

You feel your heart skip as you nod. “Yeah. I think it’s for the best.”

He looks down at the table, lips pressing into a thin line, and you wonder if he’s disappointed or if he’s relieved that you’ve dodged the real issue again. The tension between you feels almost unbearable now, like it’s right there, ready to spill over if either of you says the wrong thing. You can see it in the way his posture has shifted, more closed off than usual, and you know he’s doing the same thing you are — keeping it all locked up inside.

The longer the silence stretches, the more aware you become of the weight of his gaze, the subtle shift in his demeanour. His leg remains pressed against yours, and now it feels more deliberate, like he’s testing your boundaries without crossing the line. It sends a shiver through you, but still, you don’t pull away.

You clear your throat, trying to break the tension that’s winding tighter between you both. “So... hockey. You’re ready for the season?” It’s a weak attempt to redirect, but you can’t handle the intensity in his eyes any longer.

Quinn lets out a quiet breath, almost like a sigh of resignation, and his lips curve into a small, humourless smile. “Yeah,” he says, though it’s clear his mind is elsewhere. “Always ready.”

But he’s not talking about hockey anymore. You know it. He knows it. The tension between you is almost suffocating now. You’ve both sidestepped it once again, pretending everything is fine when you both know it’s not.

Still, the silence stretches, and his eyes drift back to yours, holding your gaze for just a moment longer than before. His leg stays where it is, pressed against yours, warm and steady, like an unspoken promise.

You don’t move. Neither does he.

And the tension, the thing you’ve both been avoiding for so long, continues to simmer beneath the surface, waiting for the moment when one of you finally decides to break.

"She toes the line between 'em, he says he's new at this There's holy ground beneath them, and sparks fly when they kiss"

It’s an unusually free Friday night for Quinn — no games, no media commitments, just a rare quiet slot of time that you had both been looking forward to. You’re both on his sofa, a bottle of red wine shared between you, glasses resting on the coffee table as the conversation ebbs and flows. The city is muted through the window, the distant hum of the nightlife outside contrasting with the stillness in his apartment.

The warmth of the wine is settling in, buzzing just beneath your skin, making everything feel a little softer, a little easier. You’re both relaxed, more than you’ve been in a while, and the absence of his usual responsibilities means there is nothing pulling him away. It’s just you and him, and this moment that feels long overdue. 

The conversation has slowed into something quieter now, the playful banter from earlier fading as the night deepens. You’re sitting closer than usual, your legs brushing his, your bodies naturally leaning toward each other in the comfortable warmth of the room, and while you’d like to blame it entirely on the wine, you both know that isn’t true. The drinks are just an excuse, a convenient explanation for the shift that’s been happening between you for weeks — the simmering tension that neither of you have acknowledged yet.

The wineglass in your hand feels warm, the liquid swirling as you take another sip, and you glance over at Quinn. He’s leaning back against the couch, his arm draped along the top, not quite touching you, but close enough that the proximity feels charged. 

You laugh at something Quinn says, the sound filling the quiet space between you, and without thinking, you scoot closer, resting your head on his shoulder. It feels natural, effortless, and you can feel his body relax slightly next to yours. 

“This is nice… being here with you,” you sigh softly, your words lingering in the air, more meaningful than they might seem.

Quinn shifts beside you, turning slightly as if to make more room for you to settle in even closer. His hand, now just brushing against your knee, lingers longer than before. His arm draped along the back of the couch still isn’t quite around your shoulders, but it’s close enough that anyone watching would assume the two of you were already past the point of casual.

There’s a silence between you, the kind that speaks louder than anything either of you could say. The tension, the closeness, the feeling that everything has led up to this moment — it’s undeniable.

Then, softly, Quinn breaks the silence, his voice low and a little hesitant, as if he needs confirmation of what’s already clear. “You feel it too, right?”

He looks at you, his eyes searching yours for clarity, for reassurance. His question isn’t just about tonight — it’s about everything that’s been building between you. The tension, the unspoken connection that’s simmered for a while now. His question hangs in the air, waiting.

You nod, the answer already written across your face before the words even come. “Yeah,” you say, your voice sure. “I do.”

The relief on his face is immediate, and for a moment, everything else fades away. The space between you closes, the weight of the unspoken words dissolves, and suddenly, you’re no longer just two friends dancing around something more.

Quinn’s eyes remain locked on yours, and there’s a vulnerability in his expression that wasn’t there before. He shifts again, his hand moving fully to rest against your thigh now, his touch warm and steady. The question had been lingering between you both for so long, and now, with the truth out in the open, it feels like something is shifting beneath your feet, like you’re standing on the edge of something new, something sacred.

He lets out a small, almost nervous laugh, and his lips curve into a soft smile. 

“I’m new at this,” he admits, his voice barely above a whisper. It’s not just about admitting he’s new to this kind of intimacy. It’s more than that. It’s about navigating uncharted territory, stepping into something that feels both familiar and foreign all at once. Moving this friendship into something more, and for the love of all things holy, not messing it up. His eyes flicker down for a moment, as if he’s trying to gather himself before looking back at you. “I don’t really know how to...”

The words trail off, but they don’t need to be completed. You can feel the weight of what he’s saying.

There’s a silence, but it isn’t uncomfortable. The ground beneath you feels as is its trembling with anticipation, and the moment stretches as Quinn inches closer, his breath warm against your skin. There’s a pause — like he’s giving you one last chance to pull back, to stay in the safety of what you were before — but you don’t.

Quinn's lips meet yours, and the world seems to tilt on its axis. The kiss is soft at first, almost hesitant, as if he's still unsure, but that uncertainty dissolves almost immediately. The tension that’s been coiling between you for weeks… months… finally snaps, unraveling with each second that passes. His hand tightens on your leg, fingers pressing into your skin like he’s grounding himself in this moment, tethering himself to the reality of what’s happening between you.

The kiss deepens, slow but intense, and it feels like every suppressed emotion, every lingering glance, every accidental touch is being released all at once. There’s a heat between you that wasn’t there before. It’s something that goes beyond the warmth of the room or the haze of the drinks. This is raw, electric, and it pulses through you with every breath you take.

His other hand, the one draped over the back of the couch, finally moves, slipping down to gently rest on your shoulder before sliding around to your back. His fingers trace a slow, deliberate path along your spine, and it sends shivers racing down your body. The contact is firm but tender, pulling you in closer, until there’s barely any space left between you.

You respond instinctively, your hands moving to his chest, feeling the steady rise and fall of his breathing beneath your palms. His heart is pounding just as hard as yours, and the realisation of that shared vulnerability only intensifies the moment. The air between you buzzes, charged with every unspoken word, every unsaid feeling. Your hands slide upward, fingers finding their way to the back of his neck, tangling in his hair, pulling him even closer.

There’s no hesitation now. The pent-up tension that’s been simmering for so long unravels in waves, and it’s not just the kiss. It’s the way your bodies move together, how every touch feels deliberate, meaningful, like you’re both making up for all the moments you held back.

Quinn shifts slightly, pulling you with him, deepening the kiss, and you feel the weight of him, the heat of him, pressing against you. His hands roam more freely now, one slipping from your back to rest on your waist, fingers curling into the fabric of your shirt, tugging you closer, needing you closer. Your legs brush against his, and it’s as though every point of contact is sparking something more urgent.

The world outside fades, and all you can feel is him. His warmth. His breath. His heart beating against yours. The tension between you isn’t just releasing — it’s transforming.

There’s no need for words. Everything is being said in the way his hands move over your body, the way your fingers press into his skin, the way the kiss deepens and slows, and deepens again. The tension that’s been keeping you apart for so long has unraveled, and now all that’s left is this — this raw, electric pull that neither of you are resisting anymore.

"She loves how he talks late at night, when there's no one else to say How she's beautiful and funny and smart like nothin' he's ever seen He's good to her and she wants it more than everything in between"

The phone buzzes softly on your nightstand, and you don’t hesitate to grab it, your heart skipping a beat when you see Quinn’s name lighting up the screen. You’ve been in bed for a while now, trying to lose yourself in a book, but the pages blurred as your thoughts drifted to him — away on a road trip for a series of games, alone in some unknown hotel room, hundreds of miles between you. Though it’s not the first time he’s been gone for a stretch, this is the first time you’ve been apart for so long since everything changed between you. The distance feels like more than just time zones. It’s a physical ache, an emptiness that lingers.

You answer on the second ring, eager to hear his voice. “Hey,” you murmur, the late hour making your voice rough.

“Hey,” Quinn’s voice comes through, low and familiar, and just hearing it feels like a balm to the loneliness that’s been creeping in. You can hear the soft rustle of sheets, maybe the distant murmur of a TV on low, and you imagine him in some anonymous hotel room, far from you but somehow closer with every word.

“How’s the trip?” you ask, trying to keep the conversation light even though your chest tightens just hearing his voice.

“Same as usual,” Quinn responds, a hint of exhaustion creeping into his tone. “Long flights, long days. But…” There’s a pause, and you know what he’s going to say before he even says it. “I miss you.”

There’s something so vulnerable in those three words, something that makes your heart clench, and you find yourself smiling into the phone. “I miss you too.”

You can picture him there, lying back in bed, maybe one arm draped over his forehead like he does when he’s trying to hide how tired he is. 

“I love this,” you murmur into the phone, your voice soft, barely cutting through the quiet. Your fingers absentmindedly trace the pattern of the blanket draped across your lap.

“What’s that?” Quinn’s voice, low and a little rough from the day, comes through the line, and even though you can’t see him, you can hear the curiosity in his tone.

“This,” you say with a quiet smile. “Just you. Talking like that.”

On the other end of the line, you hear Quinn chuckle softly, the sound rumbling through the phone in a way that makes you wish he was here, with his laughter vibrating against your skin. “You love hearing me talk, huh?” There’s a teasing lilt to his words.

You press the phone closer to your ear, as if somehow it could make him feel closer. “Yeah, I do,” you admit, feeling the warmth of your confession. “Especially when you get all sweet on me.”

There’s a pause, a beat of quiet between you, and you can practically see Quinn shifting, running a hand through his hair the way he does when he’s caught off guard. “I don’t get sweet,” he protests, but there’s no conviction in his voice. You both know better.

“Mhm, sure you don’t,” you tease gently, heart fluttering. “You don’t tell me I’m beautiful, funny, smart — none of that?”

He sighs, but you can hear the smile in his voice. “Alright, maybe I’ve said that once or twice.”

The air feels lighter between you now, but it’s not enough to shake the ache in your chest, the emptiness of the space beside you. Even through the phone, you can feel the weight of his absence like a shadow, clinging to every moment. This is the part of loving him you didn’t expect — the way missing him would feel so physical, like something tangible pressing against you in the quiet.

Time feels fluid, stretching and slipping away as you talk with Quinn. His voice, low and familiar, wraps around you like a blanket, and the distance between you feels inconsequential, almost forgotten. The conversation is effortless, a mix of soft teasing and the easy exchange of stories from your day — his tales from the road, your small updates, and the shared laughter that punctuates each moment. It's the kind of talk that feels more intimate than the miles would suggest, as if his voice alone closes the gap between you.

Every now and then, the conversation drifts into comfortable silence. You can hear the soft rustle of sheets on his end, the quiet rhythm of his breathing, steady and even.

For a fleeting second, you wonder if he’s fallen asleep — the stillness of his breathing so steady it lulls you, too, into a softer state. But just when you think he’s drifted off, his voice breaks through again, raspy and warm. The sound of it tugs at your heart, a gentle reminder that he’s just as reluctant to let go of this moment as you are.

“You should be sleeping,” you murmur gently, the words laced with both affection and concern.

Quinn chuckles softly, and the sound is so familiar that it tugs at your heart. “Yeah, I probably should,” he admits, though neither of you move to end the conversation. You hear the faint rustle of sheets as he shifts, settling deeper into bed, but there’s still no rush to say goodnight.

Eventually, you give in, your voice thick with exhaustion, still playful. “Goodnight, Quinn,” you say, the words rolling off your tongue in a sing-song tone.

“Don’t go,” he whines softly, and you can hear the smile in his voice, even though he’s clearly just as tired.

“It’s late,” you remind him, knowing he’s been dreading the blare of his alarm in just a few hours.

“Don’t care,” he half lies, and you know he’d stay on the line as long as you let him.

You let out a small laugh. “I’m going to hang up now, but I’m doing it for your own good, so you can’t be mad at me.” 

Quinn sighs on the other end of the line, a sound that’s both exasperated and warm, like he’s really not ready to say goodnight. But before he can protest again, the words slip out — “goodnight. Love you.” 

And for a split second, the air goes still, and your heart skips, freezing in this fragile moment where everything feels suspended. You realise what you’ve said, what’s just hung in the silence between you. Panic flares in your chest, sharp and hot, and before Quinn can respond, you fumble to end the call, your finger hitting the button too fast. 

You toss your phone under your pillow, rolling over as if you can outrun the wave of mortification crashing over you. Your mind spins, replaying the words, each syllable sharper than the last. How could you say it like that? Blurt it out so casually, without thought? What if it was too soon, too forward? What if you’ve pushed him away, scared him off when everything was finally right between you?

The thoughts whirl through your mind, gaining speed as you lie there, squeezing your eyes shut like it’ll stop the embarrassment creeping up your spine. But just as the spiral begins to tighten, your phone buzzes from beneath the pillow. You freeze, your breath catching in your throat. 

With trembling hands, you pull the phone out, dread settling like a heavy weight in your stomach. The screen lights up, and for a second, you hesitate, afraid of what you might see. But then your eyes land on the message, and your breath hitches.

Quinny: Love you too

Relief floods you so quickly it makes you dizzy, your heart swelling with a mixture of disbelief and happiness. You let out a breath you didn’t realise you were holding, a quiet laugh escaping your lips as the tension in your body melts away. The words linger in front of you, simple and sure, and you feel the warmth of them settle into your chest, softening everything.

Quinn’s message glows softly in the dim light, and though your relationship has been official for months, it still feels like a quiet, pivotal moment. The in-between — the space you both danced around for so long — has long since disappeared, but the echoes of it remain. It wasn’t just a transition from friends to something more; it was the space where your connection deepened, where the foundation of everything you have now was laid. The friendship that came first is woven into every moment of this relationship, grounding you both in something real, something steady.

You think about that, about how the laughter, trust, and late-night conversations that once kept you in the comfort of friendship are now the very things that make this love feel solid. The in-between was where you found your footing, but it’s the friendship that carried you here, to this place where being with Quinn, loving him, feels as natural as breathing.

[dead-boys-club]

†  what do you want? : the fatui.

❥ scenario: answering a simple question. ❥ no triggers ❥ i don't have any beta readers - you get what you get. ❥ taglist: @mimis-happiest-day

"what do you want from me?" the words slip out, trembling in the cold. your voice is barely louder than a whisper, as if the weight of the question itself could shatter the silence around you. they stare back—each gaze colder or hotter, more calculating or more devouring than the last. whatever their answers, you know the fatui don’t give anything freely.

❥ arlecchino.

her gaze remained sharp as you stared at her, cutting through you like glass. "what do i want?" she repeated, almost mocking, but there's a softness - she thought over your words. "everything," she finally says, her hand reaching to trace over your jaw with the tip of her nails. "your loyalty, your strength, your heart. and, only if you're strong enough, your soul." her words are both a demand and devotion, the only way she would deliver them.

❥ dottore.

he chuckles, the sound low and unhinged. "what do i want?" he purrs in amusement. he takes your hand to hold it open, his thumb rested against your pulse. "to see what makes you tick, of course. to pull you apart, piece by piece - and then, perhaps, if you're good.." he trails off for a moment, his smile mischievous. "i'll put you back together, better than you ever were."

❥ childe.

he grins, a mischievous glint to his eyes. "what do i want? hm.." he echoes, moving closer, voice playful but laced with a surprising depth. "i want everything you've got - every laugh, every secret, every scar." his hand finds yours, fingers threading between your own. :i want to fight beside you, protect you, and maybe.. just maybe, find another reason to stop fighting."

❥ pantalone.

his smile is knowing as it forms, eyes shining with something dark and calculating. "ah, my dear, you know very well what i want." he steps closer, fingers finding your cheek, his gaze holding a weight you couldn't name. "loyalty, love - such beautiful words." his hand lingers a beat too long. "but, what i truly want.. is to see how far you'll go for me."

❥ signora.

her gaze is fierce as always, though tempered by something gentler, softer than her usual demeanor. "what do i want?' her voice is barely audible and she pauses, eyeing you closely. "i want to burn the world down, watch it all turn to ash - with you by my side. you're the one spark i never expected," she adds, a rare smile gracing her lips. ❥ scaramouche.

he scoffs, arms crossing in his usual fashion, acting like your question offends him. his tone is biting and mocking as he repeats your question. "i want you to stop asking stupid questions." but he looks away, letting out a deep sigh, annoyed. "you should know by now.. i wouldn't keep you around if i didn't think you were important."

❥ columbina.

her smile is serene, unsettling so, as if she sees far beyond you. "what do i want?" she hums, thinking over the answers as her fingers dance against your shoulder. "i want you, my songbird. to sing for me, to shatter the silence. most of all.." her voice drops, becoming a whisper, like the next words were a deep secret. "i want you to stay, forever bound to this melody only we share."

❥ pierro.

his gaze is unreadable, maybe solemn if you had to choose a word, carrying to weight of worlds and beyond. he repeats your words, considering the question. "loyalty. strength. is that not what everyone wants? but with you.." his hand fingers your shoulder, steadying and grounding you both. "i want.. peace." there's a softness to his voice, a rare vulnerability that you deemed impossible. "stay besides me, and let us carve a legacy that will never be forgotten."

❥ sandrone.

her head tilts, observing you with an eerie, calculating gaze. she always looked at you as if you were a piece of her collection. she repeats the words, quiet and detached, in a way that made you feel like she didn't quite understand. "i want you to stay perfectly still, exactly as you are. i've never been fond of things that break too easily." he fingers lift, tracing your cheek bone, a possessive, chilling touch. "for you, i might make an exception. just don't disappoint me."

❥ capitano.

the weight of his voice is that of unspoken promises, deep and quiet, a rumble if nothing else. "what do i want?' he asks, his tone unwavering but something told you he'd never been asked such a thing. "i want you to stand beside me without fear. to see the world through your eyes and remember what it is i'm fighting for." a gloved hand rested on your upper arm, a surprisingly gentle touch. "and, you're willing, i want you.. as my reason to keep moving forward."

[stararch4ngelqueen]

hear me out…jason proposing 😵‍💫 i’m such a sucker for a lowkey proposal like you’re just having a normal convo and he’s like “marry me” and you’re like wtf but you laugh it off bc like ofc he’s joking so when you’re like “you’re funny” he’s just dead serious, “marry me.”

I don’t really know where I was going with this, but if you get the reference I respect you.

—

Time written - 10:10 a.m

—

You weren’t a criminal when you met Robin, years before his tragic prime. It wasn’t every day when your paths crossed with a cape wearing teen around your age, even more so on his search of a bag of valuables you were ready to deny when it ‘accidentally’ came into your hands.

“Care to tell me how that happened?” The Boy Wonder at the time smirked, amused at your gawking face.

“Cat got her own tongue? What, you need some milk?”

You rolled your eyes. I you were a thief, you’d have sense to throw the satchel at his head. The cheesy jokes must’ve been a Robin thing. “I’m more of an Ice cream girl, actually. But, I didn’t steal this!”

To add up on this horribly unprecedented situation, Robin quirked a brow behind that domino mask of his, gesturing his head towards the bag of valuables in question.

“Trade you a milkshake for that.”

It was your turn to be incredibly confused, your mouth left open for quite some time. Was he serious right now?

“I choose the flavor.” You state after a further moment of thought.

“Seems fair.”

“And the place it’s bought from.”

“That’s askin’ a bit much,” Robin began to huff, hinting his growing smirk as your frown deepens.

“All I’m asking for is a five dollar shake in exchange for this bag full of hundreds of dollars, bird boy.”

“A five dollar shake in exchange for about seven hundred bucks inside that bag,” Robin points out, his smile growing bigger and bigger. “Throw in your phone number, an’ we got a deal, kitty cat.”

It turned into unconventional milkshake roof dates, sitting over the skylines, staring down at the chaotic world below as the two of you shared an unintentional paradise.

He’d tease your fear of heights, constantly calling you a Catwoman rip off, but he always made sure to never let you fall. Your relationship was sweet, too sweet, and gone way too fast.

Your rooftop dates were a tradition you kept alive when he died, only to resurface when a knock at your window interrupted you of sleep, opening your balcony to find a single milkshake perfectly balanced, with a bright black arrow drawn on the cup to meet Red Hood on the roof.

Jason Todd wasn’t the same as you remembered him to be, but he was still Jason, underneath all that broodiness that shielded him from whatever unseen traumas he hadn’t shared with you quite yet.

All these months since he ‘returned’, he always made sure to keep up your ice cream date schedules. Nine o’clock sharp on the roof of your apartment building. Sometimes, ontop of Wayne Industries on special occasions. He’d always be the one to carry you, especially now.

What did stick with him was his horrible Robin humor, which was what you believed he was using when he popped such an unexpected question.

“What?” Came your first response, a nervous laugh leaving your lips. A strange warm throb formed in your heart, thudding rapidly in your chest.

“What did you say?”

“Marry me.” He repeats again, never putting off that firm expression plastered on his face.

What an untimely thing to say in the calm before an unknown storm. Both of you were out of breath after chatting for an hour, sipping on thick melted shakes and laughing over the previous Boy Wonder.

“Jason, this isn’t funny.” You peer down at your cup, nearly finished with its contents. He always got your favorite.

“You’re right,” He agrees, his tone a little too calm to be considered any sort of joke.

All possibility of opportunity to pop a laugh and admit he was joking weighed heavily in the air, carried around by the nightly breeze. He never says he’s joking, never shrugs off such an alarming, mind blowing question.

“What if you’re kidding?” Your denial still leaks through, making his lips twitch upwards. It has to be a joke, he wouldn’t say it like this.

“What if I’m not?” He casually responds, nearly wearing down your patience.

“You’re not joking, are you?”

“I’m not.”

“Jason.” Saying his name so softly, littered with fear and hesitancy makes his second life heart melt. Being so sweet on his girl, even after his death, taught him a great lesson about time.

Regardless if he didn’t arrive at nine o’ clock sharp, or if you arrived two minutes late, time could easily be taken away, ruining everything.

He remains quiet, watching your flustered expression vary from your hands along your cup before setting it down beside you. Taking this chance, he gently grasps hold of your hand before it had a chance to retreat into the safety of your jacket pocket.

“I meant what I said,” Jason speaks again in a more calm, soothing tone of voice. “I know this ain’t traditional. I don’t exactly do traditional, but … I wanna marry you.”

His hand squeezes yours, making you hesitant to speak further. He was serious, the realization was heavily daunting in such a unique way. A unique, exciting way.

“Why?” You look at him again, swallowing slowly as he leans closer, nearly making you anticipate a kiss.

Instead, his forehead settles against yours, taking in the rich, crystalline serenity of your unique, radiant beauty.

“Because,” he mutters, “You waited for me.”

Dedication, patience, hope; That was worth more to him than gold, worth much more than the bag of valuables he knew you didn’t steal.

“I have a ring for ya,” Jason continues on whilst his thumb strokes along the back of your hand. “If you don’t like it, I’ll getcha whatever you want. We’ll have as big of a wedding as you want, then we’re gonna go somewhere.”

“Somewhere?” You whisper.

“Yeah. Just you and me; no crime fighting, no danger. Nothing. Just us.”

“Just us?”

“Yeah babygirl,” Jason peers into your eyes, wanting to coo at your noticeable tears. “Wherever you want. I’ll follow you anywhere.”

You just needed to say yes.

You couldn’t help but giggle with an overwhelming mix of emotions, your trembling hand reaching up to settle behind his hooded head.

“Why do I feel like,” you nearly laugh in between your words. “Why do I get this feeling you put the ring in my cup?”

“An’ ruin a perfectly good five dollar shake?” Jason expresses in surprise, chuckling along with your giddy laughter. “C’mon babe. I’m not that inconspicuous.”

“Then where is it?”

Jason tilts his head, raising a brow. “Why’re you asking, kitty cat? Plan on stealing it?”

“No,” you muse, your nose nearly bumping against his.

“You expecting me to slip it on right about now?” His hand finds purchase along your hip, cradling your supple body. “Dosent work unless you—“

You cut him off via a kiss, one he graciously accepts.

You tasted like cherry sublime mixed with the highlife, a good life where you always existed in it. If he were to die again, he needed to know that he went with one successful accomplishment. Marrying his Robinhood sweetheart.

“Yes,” you whisper, those tears you worked so hard to hold back cascading down your cheeks. “I’ll marry you, Jason.”

In knowing him since he was Robin, till you met him as the muscular, ever brooding Red Hood, you’ve never seen the man smile so big. His eyes shining brighter than the moon that was ever so beautiful tonight.

Grasping hold of your hips, he pulls you into his arms, carelessly tilting over his half finished milkshake cup in the process. His lips find you once more after sitting you in his lap, muscled forearms snuggly hugging around your waist, holding you as physically close to him as possible.

“The ring I gotcha-“ he muffles against your pretty lips in between kisses. “- is at my place. Waiting for you—on my bed.”

Your laugh was all you could respond with. From the very start, it’s as if he planned this all out. All it took was a bag of misplaced valuables and the promise of a five dollar shake.

[theodorenmyth]

Mattheo with a s/o who literally had a past of fighting a lot 😭. Reader has changed and is more peaceful, but Mattheo figured out that reader was literally worst than him and it makes him question reader about their past.

Shadows of the Past

Pairings ; Mattheo Riddle x GN!Reader

Summary ; You and Mattheo Riddle have grown close, but rumors about your violent past begin to surface, casting a shadow over your budding relationship. As Mattheo confronts you with what he's heard, you reveal the anger and struggles that once defined you, and the person who helped you find peace. Through heartfelt conversations and shared moments, Mattheo seeks to understand the person you once were and the journey you've taken to become who you are now. Together, you navigate the complexities of your past, finding strength in each other's acceptance and love, and forging a bond that is ready to face whatever the future holds.

A/N ; Enjoy! :3

Warnings) ; nothing

Word count ; 1.2k+

The soft glow of the setting sun bathed the Hogwarts grounds in a warm, golden hue as you walked alongside Mattheo Riddle. The two of you had spent the afternoon exploring the quieter corners of the castle, enjoying each other’s company away from the prying eyes of your peers. For once, the conversation had been light, the laughter genuine.

As you reached the edge of the Forbidden Forest, Mattheo suddenly stopped, his expression shifting from relaxed to contemplative. You felt a knot form in your stomach as he turned to face you, his eyes searching yours.

"I've been hearing things," he began, his voice measured. "Things about your past."

Your heart skipped a beat. It was bound to come up sooner or later. "What kind of things?"

He took a deep breath, running a hand through his tousled hair. "People say you were... different. That you used to get into a lot of fights. Worse than me, even."

You sighed, looking away. The memories of your past were not something you liked to dwell on. "Yeah, I did. But that was a long time ago, Mattheo. I’m not that person anymore."

Mattheo studied you for a moment, his dark eyes unreadable. "Why did you fight so much?"

You hesitated, the old wounds threatening to reopen. "It’s complicated. I had a lot of anger back then. I didn’t know how to deal with it, so I fought. It was the only way I knew how to cope."

He nodded slowly, as if piecing together a puzzle. "What changed?"

You took a deep breath, the cool evening air filling your lungs. "I met someone who helped me see that there are other ways to handle things. They taught me how to find peace within myself. How to control my anger instead of letting it control me."

Mattheo’s gaze softened. "And you think you’ve changed?"

"I know I have," you replied firmly. "I’m not proud of who I used to be, but I’ve worked hard to become a better person."

He reached out, taking your hand in his. "I’m not judging you, you know. I just want to understand. It’s part of who you are, and I care about all of you, not just the parts that are easy to love."

You squeezed his hand, feeling a wave of relief wash over you. "Thank you, Mattheo. That means a lot."

There was a moment of silence, the two of you standing together at the edge of the forest. The air was filled with the sounds of nature, the rustling of leaves and the distant call of a bird.

"Tell me more about it," he said finally. "About who you were back then."

You swallowed hard, the memories flooding back. "I was angry at the world. I felt like I had to fight to be seen, to be heard. I didn’t care about the consequences. I just wanted to prove that I was strong, that no one could mess with me."

Mattheo nodded, his expression thoughtful. "And now?"

"Now, I’ve learned that true strength isn’t about how many fights you can win. It’s about having the courage to walk away. To choose peace over violence."

He smiled, a rare, genuine smile that made your heart skip a beat. "I’m proud of you. For changing. For becoming the person you are now."

You felt a tear slip down your cheek, quickly wiping it away. "Thank you. It hasn’t been easy, but it’s worth it."

Mattheo pulled you into a hug, holding you close. "We all have our demons. What matters is how we deal with them. And you, you’ve done something incredible."

You clung to him, feeling a sense of comfort and safety in his embrace. "I just hope you can accept me, past and all."

He pulled back slightly, looking into your eyes. "I do. I always will."

As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting the forest in shadows, you felt a weight lift from your shoulders. Mattheo knew the truth now, and he still cared. It was more than you could have hoped for.

"You know," he said with a grin, "I think I’d like to hear some of those stories. Maybe you can teach me a thing or two."

You laughed, the sound echoing through the trees. "Maybe. But only if you promise not to get any ideas."

"Deal," he said, pulling you back into a hug.

Together, you walked back towards the castle, the past no longer a shadow hanging over you but a part of your journey. And with Mattheo by your side, you knew you could face whatever came next.

─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──

The next few days were a whirlwind of exams, classes, and stolen moments with Mattheo. He had a way of making you feel at ease, his dark humor and sharp wit a constant source of amusement. But there was an underlying curiosity in his eyes, a desire to know more about the person you used to be.

One evening, as you sat by the fireplace in the Slytherin common room, Mattheo broached the subject again. "So, tell me about your most memorable fight."

You rolled your eyes playfully. "Are you sure you want to know?"

"Absolutely," he replied, leaning in closer. "I want to know everything about you."

You took a deep breath, recalling the incident that had marked the turning point in your life. "There was this one time, back in my fourth year. A group of older students thought they could push me around because I was younger. They didn’t expect me to fight back."

Mattheo’s eyes gleamed with interest. "What happened?"

"I ended up breaking one guy’s nose and giving another a black eye and a broken arm," you admitted, a hint of pride in your voice. "But it wasn’t just about the fight. It was what happened afterward that changed everything."

He frowned, intrigued. "What do you mean?"

"I got into a lot of trouble, obviously. Detention for a month, extra assignments, the whole deal. But Professor McGonagall, she took me aside and talked to me. She didn’t just lecture me about fighting. She asked why I was so angry."

Mattheo nodded, his expression thoughtful. "And what did you tell her?"

"I broke down," you confessed. "I told her everything. About how I felt invisible, how I thought fighting was the only way to get people to notice me. She listened, really listened. And then she helped me find a way to channel my anger into something positive."

Mattheo’s grip on your hand tightened. "Sounds like she really made a difference."

"She did," you agreed. "She suggested I take up dueling, but in a controlled environment. It wasn’t about hurting others, but about mastering my skills, my emotions. It helped me find a sense of control and peace."

He smiled, a genuine warmth in his eyes. "I’m glad she did. I can’t imagine Hogwarts without you."

You blushed, feeling a warmth spread through your chest. "Thanks, Mattheo. It means a lot to hear you say that."

He leaned in, his forehead resting against yours. "We all have our battles, our pasts. But what matters is how we move forward. And I’m here with you, no matter what."

You kissed him, a soft, lingering kiss that spoke of promises and unspoken words. When you pulled back, you felt a sense of calm and certainty.

"Thank you," you whispered, your voice barely audible. "For accepting me."

"Always," he murmured, pulling you close.

As the fire crackled and the shadows danced around you, you knew that with Mattheo by your side, you could face whatever the future held. Your past was a part of you, but it didn’t define you. And with him, you felt ready to embrace whatever came next.

[gnocchisworld]

Beautiful Stranger

Joost Klein x singer!reader

Summary: reader is playing at a festival and her set is right after Joost's, they meet in the backstage tent after his stage and hang out after reader does hers! Rumors circulate after fans spotted the pair and they reconnect after missed opportunities when they were together :PP

Word Count: 2.6k

Warnings: no use of y/n, YEARNING! no physical description of reader but uses of she/her and feminine descriptors!

A/N: omgomg this is my first fic ever on here so anyways I am a firm believer of the meeting people twice theory like yes second chances yes reconnection yes!

Entering the backstage tent of the festival, you were immediately hit with a wave of scorching heat, the sun's relentless rays seeping even through the canvas. The energy from the performance on stage outside was pulsing and lively, carried by the young artist who commanded the crowd's attention, music increasing the adrenaline in your blood. Yet even as you prepared for your own set, the background noise and excitement faded to a muted hum as you focused on your vocal exercises and cues. As you readied yourself, the atmosphere surrounding you was as sultry and intense as the heat outside, the hot air seemingly alive with a buzz of anticipation. 

With as much haste as the sound disappeared from your brain, a new, baritone voice flowed through the air. 

“Ah, sorry. Didn’t see you here.” 

You looked up from your daze and were met with a deep, hypnotic blue, one that would make even the skies jealous. The angles of his nose were perfectly shaped, as if God had taken extra time to mould the clay that would later take on his form. From the standpoint of a bystander, the two would seem like the sun and the moon; two opposites that seemingly complimented each other like second nature. As the silence lingered for a second too long and his gaze set comfortably on yours, you choked up the first words that came to mind.

“No worries! I was just lost in my own world there for a moment.”

He was entirely captivating — you were unsure of how to compose yourself as you burned under his stare. As if reading your mind, he quickly offers his hand out to you, eager to make any form of connection.

“You can call me Joost.” He urges, carefully tracing his eyes over every line in your face for a reaction.

Taking his hand in yours, you promptly share your name. A subtle yet powerful exchange — trading names — the fibres in which every invisible string between two people begins to entangle together. His hands felt as though they had once held the warmth of a flame, having the ability to breathe life into anything it touched. For lack of better word, you were electrified.

A careful knocking on the stage door alerted the two and prompted the release of your hands. Your manager walks in, choosing to ignore the other figure in the room.

“Sorry, you’re on in 3.” 

“I’ll be there, thanks, Jere.” He nods, closing the door with relative ease and resuming whatever words he was muttering into his walkie-talkie. 

A beat passes as Joost speaks up again, “Succes!” Smiling fervently, he lightly brushes the skin on your shoulder with his palm as he walks out into his own dressing room before you could even respond, taking with him the warmth of his presence.

Unsure of how to make sense of what had happened, you drowned in your own quandary. The blood in your veins were still pounding against the valves of your beating heart and your kidney was beginning to beat to the same rhythm. You were unsure of whether this was due to stage fright or your recent encounter, though it didn’t really matter anyways; it was the fact that they were both valid options. 

—-----------------------------------------------------------

As you step on stage, the roar of the crowd engulfed your senses like a crashing wave. Your eyes scan the sea of bodies, a kaleidoscope of colours and faces all there to witness your performance. Unconsciously, you were scouring for the blue that looked at you as if you had been the only girl in the world. 

Unbeknownst to you, he had joined the crowd to experience the passion that you had brought out with your music — he wanted to get to know you, and music is the window to one’s soul. As you sang your first song, it became adamantly clear to him how the atmosphere shifted and every light softened under your radiance. Your music highlighted the more subtle hues in life that Joost had not seen in awhile, eliciting memories of lustrous summers and fleeting springs; it felt as if his world, which was always turning at 100 kilometres an hour, began to slow. Your voice was mellow, it filled his eardrums and calmed the ringing which usually reverberated in every corner of his skull. He took note of everything you did, from the way you held your guitar to the reds blossoming on your fingertips as you held down on its strings. Ultimately, he was hopelessly captivated — by your lulling melody, your beauty, and the entirety of your being.

Diverting your eye from your guitar to the crowd, you locked your gaze on a familiar aquamarine — a shade you couldn’t get out of your head as it bloomed in your peripheral vision. A smile played on your lips; you couldn't help it. It was as if the corners of your mouth were tugged at, forcing them to curve upwards. The warmth which was previously absent in your stomach began to reignite and it felt as if rainbows were being drawn on the skies of your psyche. Being on stage in front of thousands has never felt so intimate before.

—-----------------------------------------------------------

As your final song comes to an end, your cheeks are numb from the constant smiling — not performatively but rather from sheer happiness. You step off the stage and back into the backstage tents, still dazed from the trance you were under as you had, prior, melted under the beautiful stranger’s gaze. You could feel a familiar set of eyes linger on you and you’re met at eye level with two deep blue pools. He spoke up gently, breaking the silence between the two before it could settle on your shoulders.

Joost grins at you, his eyes still sparkling with the same intensity as before. "You were phenomenal up there," he says. "I couldn't take my eyes off you."

You felt your cheeks flush a rosy pink, with a shy smile you replied, “you weren’t too bad either.”

Joost let out a hearty chuckle, amused by your comment. "Just 'not too bad'?" he teased, feigning offence. A beat passes as you forget to answer, as if wind had been sucked out of you from the mere sight of his laughter. Taking the initiative, he inquires you; “Hey, uh, I was thinking of walking around some more, take a look at some other stages if you wanted to hang out for a bit?”

Your eyes sparkle with a glint of excitement, “I was actually thinking the same thing — I’d love to join you.” Your voice cracking ever so subtly, betraying your nervous plight.

Carefully, he took your hand and started walking out of the tent, leading you towards the next stage — “so you don’t get lost.”

As you shuffle through the labyrinth of crowds, your bodies are constantly pushed together, every small touch prompting an exchange of warmth in return. His doting predisposition was almost overbearing, each time he looked back to make sure you were still behind him was so subtle, yet so appetent. The implications of it all, his hands on yours as you traverse the field of human bodies, wide open for the consumption of a myriad of prying eyes, was not lost on either of you, yet it remained a fact that both of you choose to ignore.

Breathing away the air of silence encapsulating the two of you, he speaks up. “What kind of music are you into? Like what artist do you want to see right now?”

You hadn’t realised how your gaze was so readily fixed on him — as if it were a force of habit, until his voice fills the silence you’d had in your head; racing at 100 kilometres an hour to catch up to the speed of your heart. Without much time to formulate a response, you quickly mutter the first few words that enter your thoughts. “I’ll watch anyone! Plus — maybe you could introduce me to some new music?”

Your words elicited a gentle smile as he tugged you towards a new area; “truth be told I don’t know who’s performing either — but we can discover together!”

As you settle into the crowd and your bodies blended in to the splatter of colour amidst dancing souls, he rested his hand on the small of your back, fingers fidgeting with the fabric of your top — holding dear to you and praying to a higher being so as to not get partitioned in the middle of thousands.

Although you were sure your attention was focused on the performance just ahead, you could feel each time his gaze averted into your eye line — his stare burned into your cheek the same way a kiss would; searing your flesh with a romance that lingered like sun rays on burnt skin. You used each chance he looked away to do the same — to leave a persistent stain on his peripheral vision which sent his heart to the moon. This prolonged back and forth lasted all the way to the end of the artist’s set, his songs being nothing more than background noise as your heart pounded prolifically in your ears. 

Eager to extend your time together, you asked to buy him a drink — with which he gladly accepted.

—-----------------------------------------------------------

Minutes passed into hours discreetly — you were lost in conversations about everything and nothing at the same time, until the noise settled and the crowd thinned, bringing your conversation down to weak attempts at staying in each other’s company.

You take the final sip of your drink; you promised yourself this’d be the last. Eased by the momentum of your mutual exchange, you ask him: “Do you ever look out into the crowd and realise that every person that everyone’s ever met was brought together by chance?”

“Like how your set just so happened to be right after mine?”

Hesitantly, you replied, stepping on eggshells as you cherry pick each word carefully, trying to gauge some meaning behind your blooming relationship. “Yeah, I mean like what if I hadn’t been in that tent when you came in? Would you still watch my set? Would you be having a drink with me right now?”

“I’m pretty sure someone with a presence like yours would’ve caught my attention one way or another.” His response was delivered almost immediately, as if the answer were the most obvious thing in the world.

Attempting to hide the smile inevitably slipping onto your face and the pink creeping up your cheeks, you let out a sincere chuckle. “I’m glad you think so.”

As your conversations drift with the sunlight, a call from your manager reminds you of your responsibilities, prompting an exchange of see you soons and subtle glances over the shoulder as you both depart from each other’s warmth.

It was hard to be around him — to be close but not close enough. To say he charmed you would be an understatement, and to say that he didn’t feel the same would be a lie. Being back in your hotel room reminded you of how intoxicating it felt to be near him, and it felt like an itch as you traced back the steps that you took so carefully around him; how the two of you danced around each other so gently. You weren't sure you'd ever cross paths again; the regret of not being forward about how you'd felt with him loomed around you as you lay in bed, phone in hand, wondering if he was still thinking about you. His name rested on the tip of your tongue as you drifted off to sleep, naturally burrowing a home in your chest.

—-----------------------------------------------------------

Waking up to waning notifications and texts hardly alerted you as you were seemingly stuck in the same state of wonderstruck that you had been in the day before. As you recollect your fleeing consciousness, the blots of colour on your screen begin to form coherent shapes, revealing texts from your manager and PR team, all addressed at several tweets and posts discussing you; their messages growing more and more panicked with each one. With a deep breath, you clicked on the Twitter app, bracing yourself for what you knew was coming.

The tweets were overwhelming, discussing everything from your performance to your interaction with Joost. People were making assumptions about your relationship and dissecting every detail of your interaction.

Mindlessly scrolling through the barrage of tweets, a text from a number you have labelled as “Joost :)” halts every single movement and thought previously in motion.

J: hello girlfriend :D 

R: joost?

J: have u seen what theyre saying about us??

R: its really brutal

they dont hesitate

J: this is my first time experiencing something like this (・´з`・)

R: me too!

i hope youre ok with that kind of stuff though, its pretty intrusive

J: yup, but im going to have to get used to this (╥﹏╥)

and you are cute, so i dont mind  (⁀ᗢ⁀)

R: oh thank you, youre cute too :D 

You smiled as you read Joost's messages, feeling a warm sense of relief and happiness. Despite the gossip and speculation online, he seemed to be handling it all in stride – easing any preexisting worry that he’d be weirded out or pushed away by the assumptions forced upon you and your relationship. You stared intently at your screen, your fingers hovering anxiously over the keypad. Your heart rate quickened as you contemplated hitting send on the message, a wave of trepidation washing over her. 

R: maybe we can talk more over lunch? just to make sure ure all good!

Was it too desperate? Did it seem like you wanted a second? First? Date amidst an unfortunate impasse? Would he be discouraged? Did he even want to see you again?

J: i’d love 2!!!!

Oh. You release the breath you hadn’t noticed you were holding in, letting the pressure dissipate from your shoulders. Despite the weight of the situation, you found solace in knowing that he had playfully accepted the circumstances and was willing to brace the full extent of the accusations by risking another day with you. Finalising the details for lunch, you got ready and swiftly made your way out the door – towards the destined spot.

—-----------------------------------------------------------

Stumbling through the city, you took in the sights as you passed by slews of oscillating buildings and unnamed parks. Unanswered messages from your manager remain rigid and unread as you lock away your phone, looking forward for signs of the restaurant you were to meet Joost in. Determination sets in to the anterior parts of your brain – the tenacity to express your interest in growing together with the man you had just met the day prior. Although it was sudden, you were sure that getting to know him would only continue to confirm the feelings beginning to harbour at the base of your judgement. Rounding the last corner, you were hit by a familiar warmth; it was sudden, intrusive, preponderant, and all-consuming simultaneously.

“Hallo!” The Dutch accent slipped into his greeting like honey, the same baritone voice you’d come to be acquainted with to fill the air around you, as a blanket would. Suddenly every smell, minute sound, or gentle breeze that was prevalent became subdued – every one of your senses focusing on the presence of the alluring companion standing in front of you.

Your grin evident in your voice, you reply tenderly, “hello, stranger.”

[circeyoru]

Shadow and Void _ Part 2

[Yandere!Sung Jinwoo x Enemy Monarch!Reader]

Part 1 ― Part 2 (here)

Before Jinwoo woke up from his encounter with the Architect, Ashborn showed him something else or told him something else other than the war Ashborn was in. There were moments where it was showed Ashborn with someone. 

Ashborn was in a world void of war and violence, serenity and calmness as far as the eye could see. The ruler of such a place was a misty figure that barely reached Ashborn’s chest. The misty figure would reach out a hand to Ashborn and drag him around, showing him all sorts of stuff like a child, it almost resembles Earth’s nature. 

The misty figure seemed ignorant of what Ashborn is and floated around like a ghost. If it wasn’t for the fact that this misty figure didn’t share any trait of an extracted Shadow, Jinwoo would be thought this figure was one of them. 

“Monarch of Void. You can’t keep me here forever.” Ashborn spoke in the softest tone possible.

“How many times do I have to tell you to call be ‘               ’? Aren’t we close enough for that?” The misty figure spoke, the voice all echoy and mythical as if everywhere and nowhere at the same time. “And for your information, I can keep you here forever. No one can enter my domain without my permission.”

“We aren’t close enough that you’d put me over your own safety nor I yours.” Ashborn sighed. “And the war is ongoing. Blank.”

The misty figure seemed to pout, how Jinwoo figured that he has no idea, “Now calling me that is just…. Whatever….” The figure turned away without a care, “So what if the war is ongoing, just let them fight to their heart’s content and we can take whatever’s left.”

Ashborn got up from his seat and headed to a direction, “I will not stand idly by.”

“You can’t leave! I forbid it!” The figure’s shout made the King of the Dead stop in his path. “If you leave… You’ll regret it! It’s all over!”

“What aren’t you telling me, King of Mist?”

The misty figure held back, staying silent. 

“You know you can’t always stay like this, yes?” Ashborn questioned, he continued without looking back. “You’re strong but you choose to hide it and lend others your strength. You know to side with the strong and aid them in return for security and safety. But what if, one day, you found someone to side with no matter their strength? And your former clients come back to bite?”

You stayed silent but muttered, “There won’t be a day. I will always prioritize myself and my survivability.”

Ashborn chuckled, “You say that now, but you never know the future. We, Monarchs and Rulers, have been here since the beginning. There can always be change. Monarch of Void.”

“...”

“There will be a time where you have to pick a side and I mean your priority won’t be just yourself.” Ashborn spoke in a lecturing manner. “Remember well, if they can’t have what they want, they would rather no one else has it.”

With a wave of a hand, a vortex opened before Ashborn. “I’ll… Keep it in mind…” The figure’s voice seemed to have cracked, “You may leave… King of the Dead.”

Then the memory played back to the war and Ashborn’s betrayal. The words of that misty figure rang in Jinwoo’s mind the moment he in Ashborn’s form was impaled. Jinwoo deduced, that misty figure already knew about the betrayal and tried to keep Ashborn from getting hurt but it wasn’t enough. That mysterious figure was the Monarch of Void and King of Mist, a master of spatial magic. 

“You’re the King of Mist, Blank, aren’t you?” Jinwoo questioned. 

“You have no right to call me that…” You hummed, “Not unless you’re Ashborn. Which you don’t appear to be.” Your eyes glowed when you stared at him, “You have a great Shadow Army and great abilities, but you’re not Ashborn. Vessel.”

Jinwoo crossed his arms, this was a bad spot to begin with. It was obvious you held nothing but annoyance towards him and maybe impatience since you kept calling him ‘Vessel’ or ask when Ashborn was going to appear. Meanwhile, he didn’t like you too, you are a Monarch and the cause of Chairman Go’s death. The barrier around his office was your work and you were there when Gunhee died, he even protected you, for some unknown reason. 

He prevented you from leaving through whatever gate that Monarch of Frost left through and thus you were pinned to the wall. Yet, if memory serves correctly, you have a misty form that could escape anytime. The question was why didn’t or haven’t you retaliate even when you were in pain?

“I’ll give you protection.” Jinwoo tried to bargain as he recalled what little information the memory flashback from the Double Dungeon gave him. “In exchange, you stay by my side.”

Your eyes blinked twice and glanced over to the daggers impaled into your vessel’s flesh. You have taken over this body completely so you do feel pain and the blood lost will be fatal. “Whatever you’re doing now is contradicting your words, Ashborn’s vessel.”

His eye twitched at the name, “Call me Jinwoo. Or Hunter Sung, even.” He thought for a second if he should let you go, but if you wanted to escape, you would have. So he summoned back his daggers and made them disappear. He took out a healing potion from his System’s store and handed it to you. “Now will you believe me and agree to my terms?”

Hesitantly, you took the potion and inspected it before drinking it down in one gulp. Within seconds of its consumption, you felt refreshed and energized that you let out a hummed moan. You exhaled and relaxed yourself, it was a familiar feeling. Perhaps it was because Jinwoo was Ashborn’s vessel that’s why you could be this way with him. “Logically speaking, I should be your enemy, wouldn’t it be… Beneficial for you to cut down the numbers?”

“You’re knowledgeable of what I want and need to know, so it’s better for me to keep you by my side.” Jinwoo answered easily, it was the perfect cover story until he could sort out his thoughts regarding you. “And I know you can make your targets more powerful.” Ever since his eyes first laid on your misty form in Ashborn/his memories, he wanted to keep you by his side. “I saw Ashborn’s memories.”

Jinwoo noticed the visible flinch and frozen state of your form when he told you that information. You appeared puzzled, your eyebrows furrowed together and your eyes looked down in deep thought, even your lips were pressed together. “There’s no way Ashborn would… He was serious? A successor…? Not a vessel?”

He couldn’t understand the phases you’d mumble from time to time. What he does know was that you were too fixiated with Ashborn. While he was grateful for this otherworldly being for giving him all this power and the opportunity to meet you, he didn’t like how you were this concerned with Ashborn when he was in front of you. 

Jinwoo flinched as he turned around, his expression that of confusion. Why was he having such thoughts? What’s it matter what you were concerned with so long as you’d be making him stronger and giving him more power to protect his loved ones? Plus the protection he offered you, was it because it was a leverage for you to stay simply because you’d be targetted by the other Monarchs? Or was there more to his own words?

“Fine, I’ll take your offer.” Your words snapped Jinwoo out of his thoughts. You waited until Jinwoo turned around and composed himself for whatever reason you didn’t care for. As long as you’re next to this Jinwoo, Ashborn’s vessel and maybe successor, you have a chance of atoning for what you did to Ashborn. Perhaps a chance to see Ashborn even for a while. 

“Great. Cool.” Jinwoo nodded. He controlled the urge to smile or raffling your hair that looked misty and soft. Instead, he rubbed the back of his neck, “So, do you have a place to stay, or do you stay in some dimensional crack?”

“I have an apartment. There’s no need to worry.”

There goes his idea to have you close monitor you in close range. There was another idea… “I’ll send some Shadows on you. I can’t have you warning the other Monarchs or betraying me.”

You eyed as some Shadows moved from Jinwoo’s into yours, feeling the added weight on your form and the chills. It was a familiar feelings. Jinwoo does remind you of Ashborn but different. “Betrayal would suggest that we are close, friends even, in your human terms. So I believe the phase ‘stabbing you in the back’ would be more fitting.”

Jinwoo shrugged while internally fuming, “The idea is not to have you be a disadvantage to me or cause one.” His eyes glowed and bloodlust was released, “That understood?”

As hard as it was, you stood your ground. You laughed at yourself mentally. An enemy is still an enemy. This human was picked by Ashborn himself, so you shouldn’t have underestimate him. Even more so when he is going to be the successor instead of a mere vessel. Shamefully, you bowed your head in the form of a bow of submission. “Understood.”

Note: I've decided to continue this and turn it into a series. There's more parts to come and it will be heavy manhwa focus, plus some scenes and events will be moved around. Do join me on this journey!

Also. Happy Halloween!

Circe Y.

My Works: MASTERLIST

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@o-qi-shisme @2021animeandwebtoons @mochinon-yah

[thewulf]

I Choose You || Legolas

Summary: Request - Hii hope you're having a good day, is it okay if I request a Legolas x reader where reader is Gandalf's granddaughter and joined the fellowship on their quest to destroy the ring? They both slowly fell in love with each other along the way and when the incident in Moria happened where Gandalf dies, Legolas comforts her.

A/N: Thank you for the amazing request! Had a blast writing this as usual :) It's a lil long, so enjoy!

Pairing: Legolas x Female Reader

Word Count: 5.5k +

TW: Talks of war/death, war, death, orcs, general LOTR triggers

You stand silently amidst the gathered council fading into the background as best you could. The murmur of many voices echoing softly through the vaulted halls of Rivendell. The air is crisp, filled with the mingling scents of ancient scrolls and the distant freshness of autumnal leaves. Elves, men, dwarves, and even a few hobbits have come to discuss the fate of Middle-earth, their faces marked by concern and resolve.

Your grandfather, Gandalf the Grey, stands at the center of it all. His presence both commanding and comforting. You’ve always admired his wisdom and strength and today, more than ever, you feel the weight of your lineage. You are his granddaughter, gifted with a touch of his magical prowess and a deep love for the mysteries of this world.

As the debate swirls around you, Elrond, the lord of Rivendell calls for silence. His gaze settles on the small golden ring laid upon the pedestal. It’s simple form belying its terrible power. The task is clear though the path is fraught with peril: the ring must be destroyed in the fires of Mount Doom. "We must form a fellowship," Elrond declares. His voice resonant and clear. "Those who will take this burden upon themselves and walk into the shadow to see this evil undone."

A hush falls over the council. Eyes turn, some in fear, others in anticipation, seeking those who might step forward. This is the moment you’ve prepared for, not just since you arrived in Rivendell but throughout your life under Gandalf’s tutelage. With a breath that steadies your resolve you step forward. The rustle of your cloak is like a whisper against the stone floor and several members of the council turn in surprise as you move into the circle of light cast by the morning sun through the high windows.

"I will go," you say, your voice firm and clear. "For the love of my grandfather and for the safety of middle earth. I will see this quest through to its end."

Murmurs of approval ripple through the room and Gandalf meets your eyes across the circle. There’s pride in his gaze and a touch of sorrow, knowing well the dangers that lie ahead. But in this moment you see also the unspoken bond between the two of you. An acknowledgment of the shared commitment to what is right, no matter the cost.

Legolas, a prince of the Woodland Realm, nods to you with respect clear in his bright eyes. Beside him, a stout figure grumbles under his breath, yet Gimli the Dwarf gives a curt nod of assent, recognizing your courage. Beside them a young hobbit named Frodo, who is to be the Ringbearer, looks on with wide, earnest eyes. It is for him, and for all who call this land home, that you pledge your strength. As the council disperses to prepare for the journey you stand beside Gandalf feeling the ancient power of Rivendell around you and the even older strength that lies within your own heart. This is just the beginning you know but you are ready. For the Fellowship, for middle earth, for Gandalf.

You will face whatever comes, together.

As the Fellowship journeys south from Rivendell the path grows increasingly treacherous, winding through craggy mountain passes and shadowed forests. The air is crisp and the first frost of winter sparkles on the leaves. Your companions walk close together. Each step a testament to the weight of the task ahead.

Aragorn leads with a steady hand, his ranger skills essential as the terrain becomes more challenging. Beside him, Boromir of Gondor often lends his strength. His booming voice echoing off the stone trying to keep spirits high among the group, especially the hobbits—Frodo, Sam, Merry, and Pippin—who find amusement in the smallest wonders along the way. Like the frost patterns on the leaves or a particularly stubborn squirrel.

Legolas glides effortlessly beside you. His elven grace a stark contrast to Gimli who stumps along with a determined scowl, his axe ever at the ready. Despite the solemnity of your mission the elf and the dwarf have already begun what seems to be an endless competition, each trying to outdo the other in tracking skills, strength, and the telling of tall tales.

One balmy afternoon as the path narrows along the edges of a steep ravine the rivalry comes to a head between the two of them. Gimli insists he can clear a particularly large fallen tree with a single vault much to Legolas’s skepticism.

“Watch and learn, Master Elf,” Gimli grunts as he began to back up for a running start. Legolas watches with an arched eyebrow, clearly very amused by the red headed dwarf travelling beside him.

Just as Gimli begins to charge forward you step in placing a calming hand on his shoulder. “Perhaps, Gimli, it would be wiser to assist each other over the obstacle rather than compete with others. After all, the road ahead promises ample challenge for both of your strengths.” You smile warmly down at the ambitious dwarf set out to prove himself.

Gimli stops mid-stride puffing out his chest a bit as he turns to you, then to Legolas. “Hmm, perhaps you are right, lass. What say you, Legolas? Shall we make this journey a test of our cooperation rather than our competition?”

Legolas’s lips curve into a smile. His eyes sparkling with a newfound respect. “I believe our companion speaks wisely. Let us proceed together.” He offers his hand to Gimli who looks at it for a moment before shaking it heartily.

As the journey continues you find yourself often mediating and bringing lightness to tense moments. One evening as the Fellowship gathered around the campfire you recount a humorous anecdote from your days studying under your grandfather. Making sure to mimic Gandalf’s stern voice and dramatic gestures. The group erupts into laughter, the sound carrying through the trees and lifting the spirits of all including the hobbits who clap delightedly and ask for more stories.

Aragorn, sitting across from you nods appreciatively. His eyes meeting yours with a silent thank-you for the lightness you bring. Boromir chuckles, wiping tears of laughter from his eyes clearly more at ease. “You have the gift of your grandfather. Not only in magic but in spirit.” Aragorn comments, his voice warm in the chill air.

Legolas who was sitting beside you leans closer and speaks softly, “Your wisdom brings much-needed peace. And your humor is a light in dark times. It is a rare gift.”

You meet his gaze. The firelight cast dancing shadows across his features. All elves were beautiful but there was something about the Price of Mirkwood that drew you in. “We all carry our gifts, Legolas. Yours is your unerring optimism and sharp eye. Gimli’s his steadfastness and heart. Boromir’s his valor. Aragorn’s his leadership. And the hobbits’ their enduring cheer. Together we are stronger than each individual.”

As the nights grow longer and the path more daunting the bonds within the Fellowship deepen, fortified by shared challenges and your quiet efforts to understand, and support each other. In the quiet moments Legolas teaches you Elvish songs of old. And Gimli shares tales of the great Dwarven halls, their voices blending into the night creating a tapestry of friendship and hope.

As the Fellowship delves into the ancient depths of Moria the air grows thick with the mustiness of ages and the weight of stone. The walls echo with the memory of Dwarven voices, now silent. The path is lit only by the faint glow of Gandalf’s staff. Gimli moves with a mix of reverence and sorrow. His eyes reflecting a deep familial connection to the lost realm of his kin. The narrow passages twist and turn leading you deeper into the mountain’s heart. The quiet is oppressive, only broken by the occasional drip of water or the scuffle of a boot on stone. Tension mounts with each step and even the normally unflappable Legolas seems taut, his eyes scanning the shadows.

All too suddenly, the dark stillness erupts into chaos. A low growl escalates into a deafening roar as the Balrog, a creature of fire and shadow, reveals itself. The ground trembles beneath its weight and the air sears with heat. Gandalf steps forward his face set with grim determination. “Lead them on, Aragorn,” he commands. “The bridge is near. Do as I say! Swords are no more use here!” Your grandfather cries as he gives you a sharp look. Obey. You must listen to him now.

The Fellowship rushes forward driven by fear and the urgent need to escape, but you hesitate, your heart torn as Gandalf faces the monster alone. As the others cross the bridge of Khazad-dûm you watch, helpless, as Gandalf confronts the Balrog. His staff was raised, a brilliant light flaring to meet the darkness.

“You cannot pass,” Gandalf declares. His voice echoing powerfully. It sends a shutter down even your spine.

The Balrog advances and with a defiant cry Gandalf strikes the bridge with his staff. It crumbles sending the creature plummeting into the abyss. But the Balrog’s fiery whip lashes out, catching Gandalf’s leg, pulling him towards the edge. With a calm but utterly sad glance back at you, he murmurs, “Fly, you fools,” before falling into the darkness below.

Shock paralyzes you momentarily, tears blurring your vision. The others tug at you, pulling you away from the crumbling edge. As you flee Moria the loss of your beloved grandfather hits you. A deep ache that seems to echo through the empty halls. Outside, under the grey, mourning sky, the Fellowship collapses in a clearing. Each member grappling with grief. Your knees give out and you sink to the ground, overwhelmed by sorrow. Legolas is at your side in an instant, his presence a silent solace. He does not speak, but his hand finds yours, squeezing gently. A clear reminder that you are not alone.

Gimli joins you. His own eyes rimmed red. “He was the greatest of us all,” he says gruffly with his voice thick with emotion. “I am honored to have walked beside him and I vow to you, we will see this quest through. For him and for all our sakes.”

The words are a balm to your spirit even as you could not reply. Words were too hard for you now. You lean into Legolas, his strength supporting you. You mourn the loss of the only thing you knew. Legolas and Gimli by your side reminding you that even in the depths of loss, the bonds of friendship and love hold firm.

You manage to whisper a weak "Thank you," before the sorrow overwhelms you once more. Tears flood your cheeks, each one a memory, a moment shared with Gandalf that you'll never experience again. Overcome, you turn into Legolas's side, seeking the comfort that only close, physical presence can provide.  Though he was not typically fond of physical touch he does not hesitate to comfort you. He wraps his arms around you, his embrace firm and unwavering. In this moment your need transcends his usual reservations, and he holds you close. A silent sentinel in your hour of vulnerability.

His hands are steady on your back, one arm around your shoulders, the other at your waist, grounding you as your grief spills forth unchecked. Legolas's heart aches for your loss and though he may not express his emotions openly his actions speak a clear language of care and adoration. As you cry into his side, Legolas rests his chin atop your head. His gaze was fixed on the distant horizon where the last light of day gives way to twilight. He feels the weight of your sorrow as if it were his own, yet he knows he must stand strong for you.

Legolas knows that the road ahead will be fraught with further trials but for now, he offers you all that he can—protection, comfort, and an unspoken promise that no matter what lies ahead, you will not face it alone. In the stillness that wraps around you and Legolas there's a respectful pause from the rest of the Fellowship. They were giving you a moment to collect yourself under the cloak of Legolas's support. Aragorn, ever attentive to the needs of his comrades, notices the depth of your grief and the comfort Legolas provides. He understands the significance of this moment, the necessity of mourning and the importance of support in such times.

Standing a short distance away Aragorn speaks quietly with the hobbits making sure everyone is ready to continue but delaying their departure ever so slightly for your sake. His leadership is subtle. His decisions shaped by a deep understanding of his people's emotional and physical stamina.

After a brief moment, Aragorn looks over, his eyes meeting Legolas’s over your bowed head. There’s a silent communication between them. A leader’s acknowledgement and a friend’s gratitude for the support given to one of their own. Aragorn’s face softens, his respect for whatever was forming between you two clear in his gentle nod.

With a deep breath, signaling both readiness and respect, Aragorn approaches. His voice is soft yet carries a necessary urgency as he speaks. His words meant to soothe but also to remind of the path ahead. “We must move on for night will not wait for us and neither will our enemies,” he spoke with his tone conveying both compassion and resolve. “Take the time you need but remember we must not linger long.”

Legolas gently helps you stand straighter his arms still offering support. As you wipe away the last of your tears, strengthened by the comfort you’ve received, you nod in understanding. Legolas gives you a reassuring look. His eyes promising continued support and then he gently releases you. He was ready to stand by your side as you all prepare to resume the journey. With a final glance at Gandalf’s last stand you and the Fellowship gather your gear and set off once more into the fading light. The memory of Gandalf a guiding light that pushes you forward through the darkness.

Emerging into the sunlight of the world again does little to lift the sorrow of the Fellowship which soon deepens with Boromir’s tragic fall at Amon Hen. His valiant defense of Merry and Pippin against the Uruk-hai, though ultimately costing him his life, marked him forever a hero in the annals of your journey. The loss of such a stalwart companion leaves a void in your heart and within the group, casting a pall over your spirits.

Driven by a fierce determination to honor Boromir’s sacrifice, you, Aragorn, Legolas, and Gimli give chase across the plains of Rohan to rescue Merry and Pippin from their captors. The pursuit is grueling. Pushing each of you to your very limits. The landscape of Rohan is vast and relentless, but the tracks are clear, guiding you unerringly toward the thick fringes of Fangorn Forest. The hope of rescuing the hobbits fuels your weary bodies onward even as your hearts ache with the memory of Gandalf's fall and Boromir’s courageous end.

As you follow the trail into the shadowy depths of Fangorn a sense of ancient watchfulness grows. The forest feels alive, old beyond reckoning, and filled with secrets. It is here among the whispering trees that the unexpected happens. A figure steps out from the shadows garbed in white, his presence bright against the dark underbrush. The shock of seeing what you believe might be Saruman stops you in your tracks. But as the figure approaches the energy changes—the air around him shimmers with a familiar warmth and power. Not the cold malice of Saruman.

"Gandalf?" Legolas breathes. A note of awe mingling with disbelief.

You squint, hardly daring to believe it to be true. As he draws closer, clarity dawns, and recognition floods your senses. Overcome with emotion you shout, "Grandfather!" and sprint toward him. Your heart swelling with joy and relief.

Gandalf opens his arms wide, and you crash into his embrace. The impact strong yet comforting. "My dear child," he murmurs. His voice warm and welcoming as he wraps his arms around you. His cloak envelops you with a familiar scent of pipe-weed and the road clinging to the fabric grounding you in the reality of his return.

"Yes, it is I," Gandalf responds gently, now looking down at you with sparkling eyes, "but as Gandalf the White. I come back to you at the turn of the tide. Stronger and renewed. Just as our hope must now be."

The grief at Boromir’s death and the shock of Gandalf's return blend into a complex tapestry of emotions. The initial shock gives way to a festive air as relief and joy wash over Aragorn, Legolas, and Gimli. They join in, their earlier despair replaced by laughter and words of amazement, forming a tight circle around you and Gandalf.

As Gandalf explains his battle with the Balrog and his subsequent rebirth his words filling the gaps in your understanding and rekindling hope in your hearts. His return not only signifies a miraculous second chance but also invigorates the Fellowship with renewed purpose and determination. With Gandalf's guidance now as Gandalf the White you all feel a renewed sense of purpose. The path forward is still fraught with danger but with Gandalf returned, and in memory of Boromir’s bravery, you are reminded that even in the darkest times there can be resurrection and hope. Together you prepare to resume the quest, stronger and more determined than ever.

"Your guidance has been sorely missed, Gandalf," Aragorn says. His voice steady but thick with emotion as he joins you. He captures the mood of the moment, channeling the Fellowship’s relief into focus. "What should we do? Frodo and Sam are gone to Mordor. Merry and Pippin are captives of the enemy." Gandalf releases you from the embrace but keeps one hand on your shoulder, grounding, and comforting. He surveys the small group with a decisive gaze and the air around you seems to thrum with renewed energy and urgency.

"We will split our efforts," he declares. "Aragorn, Legolas, Gimli, and you," he nods at you, "will pursue the orcs who took Merry and Pippin. Every second counts and your skills will be crucial in navigating this perilous chase."

You try and protest, but he shakes his head continuing along. "Meanwhile, I shall seek aid from the Ents of Fangorn," Gandalf continues, turning to look at the dense woods behind him. "Their strength will be necessary in the wars to come. We must rally all allies for the shadow from the East grows ever bolder."

As plans are made Legolas stands close by your side, his presence a silent vow of protection and partnership. You feel his hand briefly squeeze yours. A gesture of support that sends a surge of warmth through your heart that he had done so many times before.

"You have grown much, under shadow and trial," Gandalf remarks. Looking at you with a blend of pride and affection With the reunion drawing to a close and the path forward set you all prepare to leave. Gandalf’s return has not only brought back a beloved mentor and friend but has reignited the flame of hope within your heart. Together you feel ready to face the challenges that await knowing that the bonds of friendship and duty will guide you through the darkest of times.

As you traverse the expansive lands towards Rohan the camaraderie within the group deepens, each member adjusting to the rhythms of travel and the complexities of intertwined destinies. Amidst these dynamics your relationship with Legolas finds new ground. The elven prince, always serene and composed, begins to show a more attentive and tender side in his interactions with you. His glances linger longer and his conversations, once filled with tales of ancient elven lore, now often drift towards thoughts and dreams of the future, your future.

It’s during one of the long nights while camped under the vast, starlit sky near the borders of Fangorn Forest, that Gimli noticed the growing tension between you and Legolas. He decided to give you both some space. With a knowing wink and a gruff voice Gimli volunteers for the first watch, his tone unusually gentle. "I reckon the night is best shared with stars and heartfelt words, not an old dwarf's snoring."

Grateful, you share a smile with Legolas as Gimli settles a little distance away, his back to you, affording you a semblance of privacy. Legolas turns to you with his blue eyes reflecting the starlight, and for a moment he simply looks at you as if contemplating a thought long held in silence. "I have seen many wonders in my long life," he starts, his voice soft and mesmerizing under the night sky. "But none compared to the courage and kindness I've seen in you. In these trying times you have become a light guiding me."

Your heart flutters at his words, and you feel a warmth spread through you. "And you, Legolas, have been my solace. In you I find peace amidst turmoil. A joy that even the darkest shadows cannot diminish." He smiles. His gaze intensifying with affection and something more, something unspoken yet palpable between you. Then, in a move that surprises you both for its boldness and its intimacy, Legolas shifts closer and gently pulls you into his side. It's a daring gesture for an elf, particularly one as reserved as Legolas. But it feels right as if many paths had converged to bring this moment into being.

The warmth of his body against yours, the protective embrace of his arm—these are things you never expected to find so far from home. "It seems we have found comfort in one another's presence," he says softly. "Would that we might find a way to keep this light alive… no matter what lies ahead?"

"I would like that very much," you whisper as you leaned into the strength of his embrace.

The two of you sit under the blanket of night talking softly of dreams for a peaceful future and the immediate plans for the days to come. The reality of the quest remains but for now, under the stars, you both allow yourselves the luxury of imagining a life beyond the war. Both of you bound by a newfound affection that promises to grow with each passing day.

At Helm's Deep the air is thick with the tension of impending battle. The great fortress, built into the deep folds of the mountain, stands as the last bastion of hope against the relentless march of Saruman's forces. As the sky darkens and the torches flicker against the night you stand on the ramparts beside Legolas watching the sea of enemies gathering in the distance.

Legolas turns to you, his expression clouded with concern. “You should not be here,” he says softly. His voice barely above the howl of the wind. “This battle... it is not like the ones before. I fear—”

“I know,” you interrupt, understanding his fear but meeting his gaze with a resolve that mirrors the steel of the swords of your comrades below. “I know what this battle could mean for all of us. But I must stand with you, with all of you. There is no other place for me now, Legolas.”

Seeing the determination in your eyes, Legolas's expression softens and he pulls you gently against his side. It was a bold move for him, especially in such a public setting. “Then we will face it together,” he says squeezing your hand tightly as a silent promise passes between you.

The night deepens and the enemy’s drums beat a terrifying rhythm that seems to match the racing of your heart. Legolas pulls you closer. His eyes searching yours in the dim light. “No matter what happens tonight, know this,” he whispers, his voice steady despite the chaos swelling around you. “I love you. I have loved you amidst the shadows of our journey, and I will love you beyond the reaches of time.”

Your breath catches at his words. The simplicity and depth of his confession anchoring you amidst your fears. “And I love you,” you repl. Your voice strong even though you felt so weak. “Whatever may come, whatever we face… we face it together.”

As the battle commences the air fills with the clash of steel and the cries of warriors. You fight back-to-back, Legolas’s arrows finding their marks with deadly precision while you fend off attackers with sword and spell.

Gimli joins two of you, his axe a blur as he protects your flank. “Ha! I’d like to see them try to break this line!” he bellows. His voice a rumble of thunder over the din of battle.

The hours stretch. Each moment a lifetime but you fight with a clarity borne of love and the will to protect not just middle earth but the futures you hope to share. Legolas’s presence is a constant reassurance. His quick glances amidst the fray a reminder of everything worth fighting for.

As dawn breaks the tide of battle shifts. With Gandalf’s timely arrival and the charge of the Rohirrim, a new hope is rekindled. The enemy falters and breaks. Exhausted but alive, you, Legolas, and Gimli regroup, your bodies weary but spirits lifted by the victory, however costly it may have been.

Standing amidst the ruins of the battle you all share a look of relief and unspoken understanding. The war is far from over, but the strength of your bonds, the depth of your love, and the courage of your friends give you the fortitude to press on, to fight another day. With Legolas watch the sunrise, the light washing over Helm’s Deep painting the world in hues of gold and red. A daily rebirth, a reminder that after darkness there always comes a new dawn.

After the long shadow of war finally lifts with the destruction of the One Ring the world begins to breathe again. Minas Tirith stands gleaming under the bright sun, its banners waving in a joyous breeze. The streets are filled with music and laughter as people from all corners of middle earth gather to celebrate the victory. The air is sweet with the scent of blossoming flowers brought forth by a spring that signifies not just the changing of seasons but the dawn of a new era.

You, Legolas, and Gimli stand on a balcony overlooking the jubilant city with a cup of fine wine in hand. The Fellowship has been honored by kings and lords, sung by minstrels, and cheered by crowds. But in this moment, the three of you share a quiet moment that speaks of deeper bonds forged in the fires of your shared trials.

Legolas looks out over the city, his eyes reflecting the green of the fields below. “The world is changed,” he says thoughtfully. “I feel it in the earth, I smell it in the air. The darkness that once threatened to swallow us whole is now but a shadow of the past.”

Gimli nods. His eyes twinkling under his bushy brows. “Aye, and it’s time for more pleasant journeys,” he chuckles. “I promised you both a tour of the Glittering Caves, did I not? And I intend to keep that promise. You’ll find no finer sight beneath the mountains, mark my words!”

“And I,” Legolas adds turning to you with a gentle smile, “would have you both come to Mirkwood. The forests have suffered in the darkness. But they recover, much like us. There are places of such beauty and tranquility that they deserve to be witnessed with friends.”

You sip your wine, letting the rich flavors linger on your tongue as you consider the future. “And what of you?” Gimli asks, looking at you with an expectant raise of his eyebrow.

“I think,” you say slowly, smiling at the possibilities that stretch before you, “that I would like to see more of this world that we have fought so hard to save. From the forests of Mirkwood to the caves of the mountains and perhaps even beyond. There’s so much to explore, so much to learn.”

“And so much to rebuild,” Legolas adds. “Wherever we go we carry with us the legacy of those who fought beside us. Those who fell, and those who lived to see this day. Gandalf’s wisdom, Aragorn’s courage, and even Frodo’s quiet determination—they remain with us, guiding us forward.”

Gimli raises his cup, and you and Legolas do the same. “To the future,” Gimli declares heartily.

“To peace,” Legolas adds, his voice warm.

“To friendship,” you conclude. The three of you clink your cups together, the sound crisp and clear.

As the celebration continues below you lean against the stone railing admiring the city sprawling at your feet. Around you the laughter and music rise to the starlit sky, and you feel a profound sense of contentment. The road ahead is uncharted, but you face it not as a lone wanderer but as part of a fellowship that has endured the darkest of times to see the brightest of days.

With Legolas and Gimli by your side you know that whatever adventures lie ahead, they will be filled with joy, discovery, and the unbreakable bonds of friendship. This is not the end of your story but the beginning of a new chapter, one that you will write together.

As the celebrations in Minas Tirith begin to quiet down into a gentle hum of merriment and the evening deepens, Gimli, with a knowing grin and a subtle nod towards Legolas excuses himself to “inspect the integrity of the ale supply,” leaving you two alone on the quieter side of the terrace that overlooks the city’s sprawling, illuminated gardens.

Legolas watches Gimli depart and then turns to you with a serene expression. His eyes reflecting the myriad lights of the city. He reaches into the folds of his tunic and pulls out a small, exquisitely carved wooden box. “I have something for you,” he says. His voice low and filled with a tender emotion that sends a thrill through your heart.

You watch, curious and expectant, as he opens the box to reveal a pendant. It’s a delicate piece, shaped like a leaf but crafted with such intricacy that each vein in the leaf is visible. It shimmered with a light that seems to emanate from within the silver itself.

“This is a leaf from the Mallorn trees of Lothlórien,” Legolas explains as he carefully lifts the pendant from the box. “Galadriel herself gave this to me before we departed and though I cherish it... I believe it was always meant for you.”

He steps closer. His presence so familiar and yet so heart-stirringly profound at this intimate moment. “In the elven tradition,” he continues, his eyes locked onto yours, “to give such a gift is to choose a companion. To offer a token of one’s heart and soul. I give this to you not out of obligation but from a free and willing heart. I choose you and it’s you I wish to be with through all the ages of this world.”

He pauses while holding the pendant up between you. His eyes searching yours for an answer, a confirmation of your feelings. You nod gently, overwhelmed by the emotion in his gaze and the significance of his gift.

Legolas smiles, a soft, joyous curve of his lips, and delicately clasps the pendant around your neck. His fingers brush lightly against your skin as he secures the clasp sending shivers down your spine. The metal feels warm as if charged with his affection and presence.

“I cannot promise that the road ahead will be free from hardship,” Legolas says softly while drawing you close so that your foreheads touch lightly, “but I can promise that you will never walk it alone. Where you go I will follow. And where I go I hope you will be by my side.”

“Legolas,” you whisper. Your voice thick with emotion. “There is no one else I would rather have by my side. No one else I would want to share my path with. I choose you, too, today, and always.”

Without hesitation Legolas leans in to capture your lips in a kiss. It’s gentle at first. A tender meeting that speaks of mutual respect and deep affection. But as you respond the kiss deepens, becoming a profound expression of your shared love and commitment.

The world around you—the city of Minas Tirith, the sounds of celebration—fades into a blissful quiet. In this moment wrapped in Legolas’s embrace, you realize that while the war might have brought you together it is love that will lead you into your future. Beneath the stars and above the glowing city you share a promise of a thousand sunrises to come. Each one a new day to explore and cherish the world together.

Taglist Sign Up: @loving-and-dreaming @kmc1989 @memeorydotcom @matisse556 @buckylov3r @taygrls @ah-blossom @hardballoonlove @rosiahills22 @djs8891 @guacam011y @illisea @il0vebeingdelulu @hiireadstuff @kenn-spencerswifey @avada-kedavra-bitch-187

[haven-0325]

Evening imagine - Bangchan x Gn reader (18+)

A difficult dinner with his parents has left you upset, but Chan never fails to say just the right things to make you forget all about it.

'How are you feeling?', Chan asked sweetly, making the bed dip as he sat down next to you. You looked up at him, eyes previously glued to your hands that were fidgetting restlessly.

Chan's eyes were sparkly, almost as if he had some tears leftover in his eyes from crying, but he never did. Your eyebrows crunched together, your heart aching to choose between a lie or the truth. But just a few more seconds of your eyes in his and you knew what to say.

'I don't know Chris, today was...', you looked down and back up to his gentle expression, making you feel more at ease that he wouldn't judge whatever you were going to say. 'Today was a lot', you spoke quietly as a tear rolled down your cheek.

Chan didn't waste much time to lift his hand from the bed to wipe the tear away. His simple but warm touch making you feel heard and loved.

'I know baby', Chan responded as he guided your hand in his, drawing circles over the top of it. You watched your hand in his, no longer looking up at him.

"You know it doesn't matter what they think though right? It wouldn't change anything between us', Chan tried to reassure you. You held his hand tighter, breathing out a few more tears and stopping them eventually.

'You're right, I just...I just really want them to like me', you replied. With every sentence you two shared your bodies couldn't help but move in closer to each other in a need for more comfort.

'Even if it's just a part of how much you like me, you know', you continued. 'Hey...', Chan whispered, two of his warm fingers wrapping around your chin to guide you back to look at him. This time his eyes really seemed teary, not just full of their usual spark, however his smile slowly grew.

'I don't just like you', Chan whispered almost so close that a kiss too soon could have prevented all of this from coming out. You couldn't help but lean in even though you know more was coming, placing a soft kiss of encouragement on his lips.

Even with a small kiss both of you were out of breath, eyes glued together. Chan soon pulled you even closer by the small of your back, his hand eagerly rubbing your thigh higher and higher the longer you two were kissing. Before you could even register this moment in your head you moved on top of him, continuing to kiss him eagerly.

'You didn't even let me finish my sentence', Chan teased as he moved his kisses down your neck instead, his hands resting gently on your waist. His big lips made it feel even better, always wrapping so easily around the skin to leave his mark too. No matter what his parents thought of you, Chan never cared enough to stop showing the world that you were his.

The longer he kissed your neck the stronger the pulsing between your legs became, the more you could feel him right below you too. You moved your hands over his back, touching him all the way up to back of his neck where goosebumps had formed from your touch.

He hummed against you sweetly as your fingers disappeared into his hair, lacing your fingers into the strands to guide him downwards towards your chest.

'Just show me instead'

[thesensteawitch]

What Blessings Are Coming For You In 2024?

🤍🙏🏼🤍🙏🏼🤍🙏🏼🤍🙏🏼

Pick A Pile Reading

(Left to Right- Pile 1, Pile 2, Pile 3)

Hello, Senstea Souls!🩵

I am back with another collective reading. Take a deep breath and choose your pile intuitively!🤍

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-Booking Form

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Pile 1

Tarot Cards- Ace of Cups, 8 of Swords, 4 of Swords, Seven of Wands, The Tower

~You will be blessed with a solution during tough times.

~You'll be given enough time to relax and reflect. Know that you'll feel that time is running out but that'll all be in your head.

~ Anything that doesn't work out in your favor will be a blessing in disguise.

~ Your new self will be taking birth.

~ Don't sleep on the calling of your heart.

~There's a childhood dream of yours that destiny will be pushing you to go after. You'll be unsure as it will be a new territory for you. Your old life has to die for the new life to begin.

~Close your eyes and sit in a meditating position to get clear guidance. Your dreams will give you some clues. Track them.

~I also see someone new coming into your life (romantic or work). This will be an emotionally fulfilling connection.

~You will be called to follow an artistic pursuit. The choice to paint the picture of your life will be in your hands.

~Your thoughts will be very powerful this year. Whatever you think will manifest. So don't fall into negative thinking patterns.

Pile 2

Tarot Cards- The Sun, 9 of Swords, 10 of Cups, King of Wands, The Hierophant

~After weeks/months of anxiety a new life will emerge. Your mental health will improve.

~A new chapter of your life will be beginning. You'll feel anew.

~The answers you have been desperately looking for will be coming to you. The answers will be divinely guided.

~As you've grown so much you'll be helping others based on your experience of life. You'll have some great insights to share with the world.

~People will be interested in knowing what you've got to say.

~For some of you I even see popularity on social media.

~Know that the difficult phase is over. You'll feel abundant in every way possible. Especially emotionally! You'll be surrounded by your kind of people.

~Expect new and deep connections on your journey ahead. You'll be overjoyed to have such amazing and understanding people in your life!

~The fulfillment you've been seeking in several areas of your life is coming! I also see travel to your desired place.

~Initially this year your income might be equal to your expenditure. But soon you'll be entering the abundant phase as you playfully put efforts into your work. The more you enjoy the process the more you'll gain.

~2024 is your year!

Pile 3

Tarot Cards- Knight of Swords, 7 of Wands, 5 of Cups, 9 of Pentacles, 7 of Cups

~Your angels will try to communicate with you with angel numbers such as 777, 789, etc.

~An emotional breakthrough will bring some positive change in your life.

~Peace will again be restored.

~You are recommended to spend time alone and get comfortable in your own company.

~Financially you'll be doing great but you'll see the results of your hard work near September.

~Try not to find your escape in connecting with people from the past. It will only bring more confusion and heartbreak.

~Stay happy with a few relations that you have got. They are the true blessings in your life. Because if those who left would've been a blessing too then they wouldn't have left in the first place. They were simply a lesson. Don't cry over spilled water. Look what you've got.

~You will be spiritually awakened this year. You'll be called to practice gratitude. The more you're grateful for the more you get.

~You will receive great communication in work-related areas.

~To have more fulfilling connections start valuing yourself first. Don't try to find your worth through other people.

~This year is here to transform you and make you comfortable in your skin. It will show you that you're worthy of love and you don't need to prove that to anyone at all.

~Birds and cats can be another sign that your guides are near and are protecting you from any challenges coming up in your life.

[dreamyelectronicmusic]

Aaah I missed you were asking for drabbles! Honestly I think you would do an amazing job on all of them but I was thinking value me? Or quiet me or tell me or unbind me? Hahaha ok so I couldn’t choose

have a great day!

Thank you so much! I went with your first choice and picked "value me" so I could write a scene from a wip that's unlikely to see the light of day in full. For context, Wille and Simon have been broken up for five years, then some things happen and when they see each other again, it takes them approximately 0.5 seconds to fall into bed together.

I hope you have a great day too!

------------------------

Wille brushed a sweaty curl from Simon’s forehead, letting his fingers run along his hairline and down his jaw. Simon’s eyelashes fluttered at the touch as they lay facing each other, their breathing slowly getting back to normal. He returned Wille’s gaze, seemingly equally unwilling to look away, searching Wille’s face for evidence of the years gone by. He was so beautiful. For what felt like the millionth time today, Wille wondered if Simon had become even more beautiful in time they’d been apart. He wanted to remember him like this, flushed and glowing from the pleasure they’d shared and looking at Wille like he was the only real thing in the world.

All too soon, though, his face grew sombre as Wille had known it would, and he flopped on his back to stare at the ceiling, Wille’s hand sliding off his face and falling empty on the pillow.

“What are we doing here, Wille?” he asked.

Wille hadn’t expected today to go the way it had, hadn’t imagined he’d ever end up sharing a bed with Simon again, but he knew the answer to the question.

“That’s up to you,” he said softly. “I’ll respect your decision.”

Simon exhaled through his nose, shaking his head minutely. “What does that mean?”

Wille briefly considered mirroring Simon’s position and lying on his back, wondering if it would be easier to talk about this like that. But he couldn’t bring himself to move. He wanted to keep looking, for as long as he could.

“I would very much like to have you in my life again, Simon,” he said, grateful to find his voice didn’t shake. “In whatever capacity you’re comfortable with. As friends or acquaintances or…” His mouth refused to form the words casual hookup, knowing too well nothing involving Simon could ever be casual for him. “... or whatever you want. But I don’t want to cause you any more pain or complicate your life. I’ll understand if you just want me to go and leave you alone again.”

Simon was quiet for a moment, blinking up at the ceiling. He ran his hand over his face, sighed. “I think I ruined our chances of being friends when I jumped your bones the moment you walked in,” he said with a strained little chuckle. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have– I wasn’t thinking.”

“You promised you wouldn’t regret it,” Wille blurted. It wasn’t strictly speaking true. What Simon had said, when Wille had stilled his hand on his belt buckle and asked him not to do anything he’d end up regretting, fully aware he couldn’t ever say no to Simon, was I have never regretted a single thing that happened between us.

That was the only thing that mattered to Wille. He would do anything, but he didn’t want to be Simon’s bad decision.

Simon turned his head to look at him, then turned his whole body, scooting closer. “I don’t,” he murmured. He lifted a hand and stroked the side of Wille’s face the way Wille had touched him earlier, so exquisitely tender Wille felt like his heart was going to shatter. He was powerless against the urge to lean his cheek into the touch. “I don’t. But I’m – I don’t know if I can –” Simon sighed. “I don’t want to hurt you, either.”

Wille smiled softly. His kind, caring Simon. (Well, not his. But his anyway. Always his.) “Please don’t worry about that,” he said. “I promise I’m not getting my hopes up. I meant what I said. Whatever you want is fine. Anything or nothing. I’ll always be grateful that I got to spend a little more time with you, but you have to do what’s right for you.” He swallowed the lump in his throat. “All I want is for you to be happy, and I know that wasn’t so easy with me around.” It was a hard thing to say but it was true, and not much about their circumstances had changed in any meaningful way. 

Simon squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, a droplet of moisture clinging to his lashes. “What about you?” he asked, sounding slightly choked. “Do you get to be happy?”

Simon’s hand was still cupping Wille’s cheek, thumb stroking gently. Wille covered his hand with his, pressing it closer while he still could.

“I get to have known you and loved you. That’s pretty much the same thing.” 

[ghostwise]

WILDCARD! Dealer's choice :) for the kiss prompts … or maybe roll a dice and see which one you get 👀 whatever sounds fun ..

23. A kiss influenced by alcohol/other substances For Ziraheart, thank you Jay! cw: alcohol as stated on AO3 now!

Lady Shar extolls her faithful when they choose the ways of oblivion; a fact Shadowheart reminds herself of in her quiet and aching moments, in her self-imposed exile from memory, and now, as she pours herself a second cup of wine.

To be untethered from sentiment and obligation is the purest form of freedom. She takes great comfort in knowing that the uncertainty of her life is by design. That her suffering exists to hone her into something sharp and useful and wanted.

When she is a Dark Justiciar, enveloped in Shar’s unconditional embrace with her memories back and her mind complete, this will all make sense. For now she must be patient.

The rush of falling water drowns out the sounds of the party, enveloping her in a bubble of water and moonlight. She’d longed for this peace… longed to share it with someone, too, but she just feels all the lonelier for the absence of music and voices and laughter.

Which is why her heart skips a beat and her lips lift into an effortless smile when her fellow cleric comes into view.

“You made it,” Shadowheart calls out. “Come here. Sit with me.”

She has to speak up, to be heard over the water, and for a moment she second-guesses her choice. But then Zirahuén compensates by sitting right up close to her—closer than they’ve ever lingered in one another’s company—and any worry vanishes from Shadowheart’s mind.

She presses the goblet of wine into Zirahuén’s hands, relishing the brush of their fingers together.

“How thoughtful,” Zirahuén laughs. “I do hope I didn’t keep you waiting long?”

“Not very,” Shadowheart lies.

Zirahuén purses her lips, a convivial smile scrunching her face as she whispers, “Lae’zel and Rolan got into a rather heated argument. That man is braver than I gave him credit for.”

Shadowheart laughs. “This I have to hear.”

There will be time for penance later. For now she’s warmed by the thought that Zirahuén chose, above continuing the celebrations with anyone else, to come to her.

As they chat about their day, their companions, and everything, and nothing at all, Shadowheart feels the knot in her stomach unwind.

It’s odd. They’ve spent weeks in one each other’s company, yet she feels like she’s known Zirahuén much longer. They’ve spent hours deep in heated discussion over such grand topics as death, morality, worship, and the distinct qualities of the soul—yet the conversation tonight feels somehow more significant than all of these.

“A think a toast is in order,” Shadowheart proposes hours into the night. The bottle feels light in her hand as she pours. “Any suggestions?”

Zirahuén doesn’t miss a beat. “To Death,” she proclaims. “That most noble pursuit. The only task which every creature blessed of mortality is undertaking together. The great unifier.”

“To Death,” Shadowheart agrees readily. “May it evade us until just the right moment.”

Zirahuén looks deeply pleased with that. They drink, and she shoots her a look that warms her right to her ears, and sets her heart beating a little faster.

“Well said,” Zirahuén says.

Shadowheart wipes her mouth with the back of her hand.

“I try,” she says with a little smile. “Your Death is not too unlike my Loss. We are a rare sort, you and I; we do not shy away from such things, but instead face them, head-on.”

“As you say. Not that there’s anything wrong with it,” Zirahuén says. “Shying away, I mean. These are weighty forces in our world, after all. People find them… intimidating.”

“I don’t,” Shadowheart quips. She shakes her head at the thought.

Zirahuén giggles. “No, you don’t.” Then, with a hint of a sigh, she muses further, “But Death has been with me for so long, it’s like an old friend. It does not frighten me—not anymore. What is considered frightening about Death is never Death itself, anyway. Just experiences adjacent to Death. I think that’s what scares people. Things like pain, illness, loneliness. These things are frightening. I know they frighten me.”

“Do they?” Shadowheart asks, watching her.

Zirahuén nods. “I am afraid, you know. Afraid of catastrophe and plague. Ceremorphosis. Afraid of being apart from the people I… care about. But of Death? Never. It is a comfort, if anything. It’s where the pain stops. It’s where the illness loses. It’s where love is reunited. I know this. I’ve seen it. I swear it.”

Her words are calm and soothing and twist something up in Shadowheart’s gut.

“Silly, isn’t it?” Shadowheart asks, after a moment. “I’m almost jealous.”

“Oh?” Zirahuén raises a brow.

“Of Death,” Shadowheart clarifies. “Oh, to be on your mind half as much.”

Her words falter. She’s missed the mark, imbuing them with a sigh of longing instead of humor—an amateur mistake, she realizes. But Zirahuén is staring at her now with a completely inscrutable look in her eyes.

Shadowheart stalls, feeling unsteady. “What-?”

Zirahuén leans in to kiss her.

Going from not-kissing-Zirahuén to kissing-Zirahuén is like going from cold blue shadows into warm golden sunlight. Shadowheart breaks away with a gasp. Then there’s a tenuous moment of silence.

Zirahuen lowers her head. “I- I’m sorry.”

Shadowheart’s hand spasms, the muscle screaming and twitching all the way up her forearm. She’s never ignored anything harder.

“Oh, hush,” she whispers.

Zirahuén’s surprised expression melts into one of joy and relief as Shadowheart loops her arms around her shoulders, and pulls her in for another kiss.

There’s a warning taste of wine with it. They’re both experienced enough to know; to ignore the trembling in the hips and the warmth pouring over their skin. To keep this very civil, even as Zirahuén’s exhale dances across Shadowheart’s cheek, and Shadowheart lingers on the softness of the contact between them.

No matter how much they’d like to carry on. This much wine makes for a headache in the morrow, and this is delicate as it is.

So Shadowheart breaks the kiss and, with a little groan, slides into the crook of the other woman’s neck.

They’re really such fragile things. Mortal and fleeting and prone to all sorts of pains and misfortunes, left reeling at the whims of gods and fortune alike. But if Zirahuén is okay with it, so is she.

She lets Zirahuén hold her.

They can talk about it later.

[bigsoftmarshmallow]

Continuation of the Goddess In Love Ask: As the Demon King heals, the Goddess does her best to feed him, heal him, and give him enrichment with whatever he desires, within reason. When he shows signs of being fully healed, her heart is breaking. Before she releases him, she asks him if he desires going back, if he would rather stay here, with her. She will fully release him without fighting, but if he wishes… he can stay in her realm. How would the Ganondorfs (Wind Waker, Ocarina of Time, Twilight Princess, Hyrule Warriors, and Tears of the Kingdom) & Demise answer?

Wind Waker Ganondorf

Thoughts and Reactions: Wind Waker Ganondorf, despite the goddess’s care, remains deeply embittered by his past. He is a man who has endured much and has little faith in the world or its gods. However, the goddess’s genuine affection and kindness may have softened him slightly, making him consider her offer. Yet, his desire to see his plans through and his pride would likely push him to return.

Scene: As the goddess carefully wraps the last bandage, Ganondorf watches her with a mixture of curiosity and skepticism. Her touch is gentle, her eyes filled with sorrow.

“You’re healed now,” she says softly, her voice trembling. “You can return to your world… or you could stay here, with me.”

Ganondorf’s eyes narrow as he studies her. “And what would staying here accomplish? I would be a caged beast, tamed by your affection.”

She shakes her head, tears forming in her eyes. “You wouldn’t be caged… I’d never force you to stay. But if you choose to, I’d… I’d try to make you happy.”

He laughs bitterly, the sound echoing through the sacred realm. “Happiness? Do you think that’s what I seek? I am not a man who finds solace in peace, goddess.”

Her heart breaks at his words, but she nods. “I understand. I… I just needed to ask.”

Ganondorf stands, his eyes locked on hers. “You’ve shown me kindness, more than I expected. But I have unfinished business in the world. I cannot stay.”

He turns to leave, but before he steps away, he pauses. “Perhaps… in another life, things could have been different.”

The goddess watches him go, her heart heavy with regret, yet grateful for the moment of vulnerability he shared.

Ocarina of Time Ganondorf

Thoughts and Reactions: Ocarina of Time Ganondorf, driven by ambition and a thirst for power, would see the goddess’s offer as a moment of weakness, both on her part and his. He might be tempted by the idea of peace, but his pride and need to assert his dominance over Hyrule would outweigh any desire to stay in the sacred realm.

Scene: The goddess approaches Ganondorf as he finishes his meal, her hands trembling slightly as she speaks. “You’ve healed well. Soon, you’ll be strong enough to return to your world… But if you wish, you can stay here with me.”

Ganondorf’s eyes flash with surprise, then suspicion. “Stay here? With you? What game is this, goddess?”

“No game,” she replies, her voice barely above a whisper. “I… I care for you. I don’t want you to leave, but I won’t force you to stay.”

He leans back, contemplating her offer. “And what would this realm offer me? Peace? Love?” His tone is mocking, but there’s a hint of something deeper beneath the surface.

“Peace, yes. Love… if you wanted it,” she admits, her eyes pleading with him to consider.

Ganondorf stands, his expression cold. “I am a man of power, not of love. The world has much to offer me still, and I intend to claim it.”

He starts to walk away, but then pauses. “But know this, goddess… If I had nothing left to fight for, perhaps I would have stayed.”

The goddess watches him disappear, tears slipping down her cheeks, knowing she will never see him again.

Twilight Princess Ganondorf

Thoughts and Reactions: Twilight Princess Ganondorf, with his vengeful nature and deep-seated hatred, would be skeptical of the goddess’s offer. He might briefly entertain the idea of staying, but his burning desire to conquer and exact revenge would drive him to reject her.

Scene: The goddess stands at the edge of the sacred realm, watching Ganondorf as he practices his swordplay. Her heart aches with the knowledge of what she must ask.

“Ganondorf,” she calls, her voice soft. “You’re nearly healed… Soon, you’ll be ready to return. But before you go… I must ask—would you rather stay here, with me?”

Ganondorf lowers his sword, turning to face her. His eyes are dark, unreadable. “Stay? In this realm of light and silence? What would I gain from that?”

“I could give you peace,” she says, her voice trembling. “I could give you a life free of pain, free of hatred…”

He laughs, a harsh, bitter sound. “Hatred is what drives me, goddess. Without it, I am nothing.”

The goddess steps closer, tears in her eyes. “But you could be more… you could find happiness.”

Ganondorf shakes his head, a cruel smile playing on his lips. “Happiness is for the weak. I have a destiny to fulfill, and it is not in this place.”

He turns away from her, his steps firm and resolute. “Your offer was kind, but wasted on me.”

The goddess watches him leave, her heart shattering, knowing she could never reach him.

Hyrule Warriors Ganondorf

Thoughts and Reactions: Hyrule Warriors Ganondorf, with his thirst for chaos and dominance, would see the goddess’s offer as both a temptation and a test. He might be tempted by the idea of ruling over the sacred realm or bending the goddess to his will, but ultimately, his desire to control the world would push him to return.

Scene: Ganondorf sits in the sacred realm, his eyes closed as he enjoys the fleeting moments of peace. The goddess approaches him, her heart heavy with the decision she knows he must make.

“You’re almost fully healed,” she says softly, her voice trembling. “When you are, you can return… But I must ask, would you rather stay here, with me?”

Ganondorf opens his eyes, regarding her with a mixture of curiosity and amusement. “Stay here? In this realm? What would you offer me, goddess?”

“Peace,” she whispers, her voice filled with emotion. “A life free of battle, free of bloodshed… with me.”

He chuckles darkly, rising to his feet. “Peace? That is not what I seek. I crave power, control, dominion. This realm holds no interest for me.”

The goddess’s heart breaks, but she nods. “I understand. I just… I had to ask.”

Ganondorf steps closer, his gaze piercing. “You were foolish to offer, but your boldness is… admirable.”

He turns away, his decision made. “I will return, and I will conquer. But know this—had I desired peace, I might have stayed.”

The goddess watches him leave, tears in her eyes, knowing that she could never change him.

Tears of the Kingdom Ganondorf

Thoughts and Reactions: Tears of the Kingdom Ganondorf, a man driven by a deep ambition to reshape the world, would be torn by the goddess’s offer. While the idea of staying in a realm where he is cherished and cared for might tempt him, his desire to fulfill his destiny would ultimately compel him to leave.

Scene: Ganondorf stands at the edge of the sacred realm, staring out into the endless horizon. The goddess approaches him, her heart heavy with the weight of her feelings.

“You’re healed now,” she says softly, her voice trembling. “You can return to your world… But if you wish, you can stay here, with me.”

He turns to face her, his eyes filled with a mixture of emotions. “Stay here? In this place of light and peace? What would I gain from that?”

“You would have peace,” she whispers, her voice filled with emotion. “You would be loved, cherished… you could find happiness.”

Ganondorf’s expression hardens, his eyes narrowing. “Happiness is not what I seek, goddess. I have a world to conquer, a destiny to fulfill.”

The goddess’s heart breaks, but she nods. “I understand. I just… I needed to ask.”

He steps closer to her, his gaze intense. “You’ve shown me kindness, more than I deserve. But I cannot stay.”

He turns away, ready to leave, but then pauses. “Perhaps, in another life, I might have considered it.”

The goddess watches him go, tears slipping down her cheeks, knowing she will never see him again.

Demise

Thoughts and Reactions: Demise, the embodiment of hatred and destruction, would find the goddess’s offer both confusing and repulsive. The idea of staying in a realm of peace would be utterly foreign to him, and he would likely reject it outright, driven by his need to spread his influence and fulfill his dark destiny.

Scene: Demise sits in the sacred realm, his dark aura contrasting sharply with the light around him. The goddess approaches, her heart pounding with fear and sorrow.

“You’re healed now,” she says softly, her voice trembling. “You can return to your world… But if you wish, you can stay here, with me.”

Demise turns to her, his eyes blazing with fury. “Stay here? In this place of light and weakness? Do you think I would ever choose such a fate?”

The goddess flinches at his tone, but she doesn’t back down. “I… I care for you, Demise. I don’t want you to leave, but I won’t force you to stay.”

He stands, towering over her, his expression filled with disdain. “You are a fool, goddess. My place is in the world, spreading my darkness, not hiding in your realm of light.”

The goddess’s heart shatters, but she nods. “I understand. I just… I needed to ask.”

Demise laughs, a cruel, mocking sound. “Your weakness disgusts me. I have no need for your pity or your love.”

He turns to leave, his steps heavy and deliberate. “But know this—your foolishness has amused me.”

The goddess watches him disappear, tears streaming down her face, knowing she could never reach the darkness within him.

[untoldreader]

Shadows of Betrayal

Melinda May x Reader

Chapter 2

The chill in the air sends a shiver down my spine as I walk alone through the dimly lit streets. Anxiety tightens its grip on my heart, a premonition of the darkness that looms ahead. Little do I know that fate has chosen this night to forever alter the course of my life.

A sudden noise startles me, and before I can react, a cloth is pressed against my mouth. The world swirls into a haze of confusion as darkness claims my consciousness.

When I awaken, disoriented and groggy, the surroundings are unfamiliar. Cold metal presses against my back, and the acrid smell of dampness fills the air. Panic surges through my veins like a wild river, realizing that I have become a prisoner in a place unknown.

A voice cuts through the silence, its tone laced with malice. "Welcome to your new reality, my dear. You are now a guest of Hydra."

Hydra—an organization synonymous with malevolence and destruction. Images of their sinister deeds flash through my mind, tales of manipulation and control that have plagued the world. How did I become entangled in their web?

Days turn into weeks as I find myself subjected to grueling training sessions designed to break my spirit and mold me into a weapon of their choosing. They strip away my identity, reducing me to a mere pawn in their twisted game. The cruelty of my captors knows no bounds, their methods calculated to inflict both physical and psychological pain.

But amidst the darkness, a glimmer of resistance flickers within me. The memory of who I once was, the strength and resilience that defined me, refuses to be extinguished. I vow to fight, to reclaim my freedom, even if it means playing the part of a compliant captive.

As time stretches on, I become adept at concealing my true intentions, disguising my growing resolve beneath a facade of compliance. I observe my captors, studying their weaknesses, searching for an opportunity to strike back. The knowledge that I am not alone in this struggle fuels my determination. There are others, like me, trapped within Hydra's clutches. Together, we form a fragile alliance, sharing whispered stories of hope and survival in the dead of night.

In the shadows, we plan our escape, meticulously laying the groundwork for our liberation. We know the risks, the dangers that lie ahead, but the thirst for freedom outweighs the fear that threatens to consume us.

And so, as the night of our daring escape finally arrives, I take a deep breath, steeling myself for what lies ahead. It's a moment of reckoning, where the strength of my spirit will be tested against the might of Hydra.

As we slip through the labyrinthine corridors, avoiding the watchful eyes of our captors, each step carries the weight of our collective determination. The taste of freedom is within reach, and we refuse to let it slip away.

But Hydra's grip is tenacious, their reach extending far and wide. The path to our liberation is fraught with peril and sacrifice. We navigate treacherous obstacles, engage in fierce battles, and endure unimaginable hardships. Our bodies ache, and our spirits waver, but the flame of hope burns bright within us, guiding us through the darkest of nights.

And so, with hearts aflame and a burning desire for justice, we press forward, fueling our resolve with the memories of all we have lost. For we are no longer mere captives; we have become warriors, united in our quest to dismantle the very organization that sought to break us.

The journey ahead is arduous, and the shadows of betrayal linger. But together, we stand, ready to defy the forces that sought to extinguish our light. United by our shared purpose, we march forward, prepared to face whatever challenges may come our way, determined to reclaim the lives that were stolen from us.

≈========================≈

May's Masterlist Next >

[spenglersglasses]

✨🧪MASTER FIC LIST☄️✨

Complete List of links and tags for works posted on AO3!

Click on the name of fic to read! If you don't see something you are interested in, please feel free to send an ask when open as well as commission me through the heart mug site. Link in pinned post on main blog @copiousloverofcopia or carrd info at the bottom of this post!

Updates:

I will be adding more as I go. Check them out if you’re into Egon Spengler, Weyoun, Milton Dammers, Herbert West (like all Jeffrey Combs content lol), fluff and smut, you know all the things lol. Fics are listed by main Character featured in them, if it's a duo fic then the fic is listed under BOTH of them.

Asks/Requests- OPEN

Commissions- OPEN

Egon Spengler

Multi-Chapter Works:

🧫Observations in Love (ONGOING) >>> Egon & OC Molly Webber Things have fallen on hard times for the members of the Ghostbusters when the memory of saving the world from the threat of supernatural destruction fades in the minds of the city. Now, with each of them going their separate ways, Egon joins up with another scientist to share a lab so he can continue his experiments. When an innocent mistake by his lab mate leads to a mix up that could mean big consequences for Egon, he must choose whether or not to reveal the truth to Molly, the test subject or keep it secret forever. (NSFW-Fluff/Romance/Accidental Lovers/Pregnancy/Semi-canon following)

One Off Works:

The Twinkie Experiment No turning back now, you had already agreed to it. Agreed to whatever it was the dear former Ghostbuster and his newfound friend from Arkham would ask of you. You were more than happy to participate, that was until you took the first step onto the stoop leading to the lab. Only then you hesitated—breath quickening and your nerves firing from all sides. (NSFW-Breeding/Pregnancy/Three-way/Reader)

Weyoun

Multi-Chapter Works:

☄️Diplomacy (ONGOING) >>> Weyoun & Chercut Ara (Reader) As a Bajoran crew member of Deep Space Nine you know you should loathe the Dominion and their diplomat Weyoun. Despite everything, you are drawn to him and though you have tried to deny it everything changes when he comes to you with a proposition. (NSFW-Enemies to Lovers/Romance/Angst/Breeding/Pregnancy/Reader)

Milton Dammers

Multi-Chapter Works:

🕯️An Unlikely Pair (ONGOING) >>> Dammers & OC Zoey Weston Special Agent turned paranormal private investigator; Milton Dammers has mysteriously risen from the dead (after the events of the film), finding himself in a body bag in the morgue of the Fairwater Medical Center. Dammers has no idea of how he got back just glimpses of a woman dressed in black, haunting his mind. Now years after his mysterious return to physical form, he has continued his investigations into the occult and spiritual disturbances of the quiet town with the help of Frank Banister, who has become an unlikely friend. When one fateful meeting puts Zoey Westin in his path, Milton's life and changes forever. (NSFW-Romance/Angst/Pregnancy/Paranormal/Gore/Violence)

Herbert West

Multi-Chapter Works:

💉Playing God (Coming Soon!) >>> Herbert West & Danielle Cain When Miskatonic University medical student Danielle Cain rents a room to a newly transferred classmate Herbert West, upon his transfer from Switzerland her life turns upside down. Turns out West is a bit of a mad scientist, wanting to create life—at any cost. (NSFW-Angst/Romance/Gore/Violence/Horror/Breeding/Gender-swapped Dan/Semi-canon following)

One Off Works:

The Twinkie Experiment No turning back now, you had already agreed to it. Agreed to whatever it was the dear former Ghostbuster and his newfound friend from Arkham would ask of you. You were more than happy to participate, that was until you took the first step onto the stoop leading to the lab. Only then you hesitated—breath quickening and your nerves firing from all sides. (NSFW-Breeding/Pregnancy/Three-way/Reader)

If you would like to commission me or check out my other social media, please see my carrd linked below:

(*carrd is linked to my main blog on Tumblr @copiousloverofcopia)